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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0cd4ad9 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #53791 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53791) diff --git a/old/53791-8.txt b/old/53791-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 99de99a..0000000 --- a/old/53791-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,13637 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Philosophical Works, v. 1 (of 4), by David Hume - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Philosophical Works, v. 1 (of 4) - Including all the Essays, and Exhibiting the more Important - Alterations and Corrections in the Successive Editions - Published by the Author - -Author: David Hume - -Release Date: December 22, 2016 [EBook #53791] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS, V. 1 (OF 4) *** - - - - -Produced by Madelaine Kilsby and Marc D'Hooghe at Free -Literature (back online soon in an extended version, also -linking to free sources for education worldwide ... MOOC's, -educational materials,...) Images generously made available -by the Bodleian Library, Oxford. - - - - - -THE - -PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS - -OF - -DAVID HUME. - - -INCLUDING ALL THE ESSAYS, AND EXHIBITING THE - -MORE IMPORTANT ALTERATIONS AND CORRECTIONS - -IN THE SUCCESSIVE EDITIONS PUBLISHED - -BY THE AUTHOR. - - -IN FOUR VOLUMES. - - -VOL. I. - - -EDINBURGH: - -PRINTED FOR ADAM BLACK AND WILLIAM TAIT; - -AND CHARLES TAIT, 63, FLEET STREET, - -LONDON. - -MDCCCXXVI. - - -[Illustration: Allan Ramsey pinx.--Robert Grace Sculp.--David Hume] - - -ADVERTISEMENT. - - -The Philosophical Writings of Mr Hume are here for the first time -collected in a uniform edition. The Essays are reprinted from the -Edition of 1777, in two octavo volumes, corrected by the Author for -the press, a short time before his death, and which he desired might -be regarded as containing his philosophical principles. The text of -that Edition has been faithfully adhered to in the present; but as -it has been thought an interesting object of curiosity, to trace the -successive variations of sentiment and taste in a mind like that of -Hume, and to mark the gradual and most observable increase of caution -in his expression of those sentiments, it has been the care of the -present Editor to compare the former Editions, of which a List is -here subjoined, and where any alterations were discovered, not merely -verbal, but illustrative of the philosophical opinions of the author, -to add these as Notes to the passages where they occur. - -The Essays contained in the early Editions, but which were omitted -in that of 1777, will be found at the end of the last volume of the -present Collection of his Works, together with the Two Essays, on -Suicide, and the Immortality of the Soul. - -In addition to the Author's Life, written by himself, the Account -of the Controversy with M. Rousseau has also been prefixed. It was -originally printed in French, and shortly afterwards in English, in the -year 1766. The English translation was superintended by Mr Hume; and as -it relates to an extraordinary occurrence in the Lives of these eminent -philosophers, has been thought a suitable appendage to the short Memoir -of himself. - -EDINBURGH, -JUNE 1825. - - - - -EDITIONS OF THE ESSAYS COLLATED AND REFERRED TO. - - Essays, Moral and Political. Edinburgh, Kincaid, 1741. - 12mo. (A) - - Essays, Moral and Political, Vol. II. Edinburgh, Kincaid, - 1742. 12mo. pp. 105. (B) - - Essays, Moral and Political, 2d Edition, corrected. - Edinburgh, Kincaid, 1742. 12mo. pp. 189. (C) - - Essays, Moral and Political. By D. Hume, Esq. 3d Edition, - corrected, with additions. London, Millar, 1748. 12mo. (D) - - Three Essays, Moral and Political, never before published, - which completes the former Edition, in two volumes octavo. - By D. Hume, Esq. London, Millar, 1748. 12mo. (E) - - Political Discourses. By D. Hume, Esq. Edinburgh, Kincaid, - 1752. Small 8vo. _To this Edition there is sometimes added - 'a List of Scotticisms_.' (F) - - Political Discourses. By D. Hume, Esq. 2d Edition. - Edinburgh, Kincaid, 1752. 12mo. _Merely a reprint of the - preceding_. (G) - - Essays and Treatises on several Subjects. By D. Hume, Esq. - Vol. IV. containing Political Discourses. 3d Edition, with - Additions and Corrections. London, Millar, 1754. (H) - - Four Dissertations: 1st, Natural History of Religion: 2d, - of the Passions: 3d, of Tragedy: 4th, of the Standard of - Taste. By D. Hume, Esq. London, Millar, 1757. 12mo. (I) - - Philosophical Essays concerning Human Understanding. By the - Author of the Essays Moral and Political. London, Millar, - 1748. 12mo. (K) - - Philosophical Essays concerning Human Understanding. By - D. Hume, Esq. 2d Edition, with Additions and Corrections. - London, Millar, 1750. 12mo. (L) - - An Enquiry concerning the Principles of Morals. By D. Hume, - Esq. London, Millar, 1751. (M) - - Essays and Treatises on several Subjects. By D. Hume, Esq. - London, Millar, 1768. 2 vols. 4to. (N) - - Essays and Treatises on several Subjects. By D. Hume, Esq. - London, Cadell, 1777. 2 vols 8vo. (O) - - _The above List comprehends all the Editions which vary - materially from each other. Those which have been found on - examination to be mere reprints, are not included._ - - - - - CONTENTS OF VOLUME FIRST. - - Life of the Author - Letter from Adam Smith, LL.D. to William Strachan Esq., - and Latter-will and Testament of Mr Hume - Account of the Controversy between Hume and Rousseau - List of Scotticisms - - TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. - - INTRODUCTION - - BOOK I.--OF THE UNDERSTANDING. - - PART I. - - OF IDEAS, THEIR ORIGIN, COMPOSITION, CONNEXION, ABSTRACTION, &c. - - Of the Origin of our Ideas - Division of the Subject - Of the Ideas of the Memory and Imagination - Of the Connexion or Association of Ideas - Of Relations - Of Modes and Substances - Of Abstract Ideas - - PART II. - - OF THE IDEAS OF SPACE AND TIME. - - Of the infinite Divisibility of our Ideas of Space and Time - Of the infinite Divisibility of Space and Time - Of the other Qualities of our Ideas of Space and Time - Objections answered - The same Subject continued - Of the Idea of Existence, and of external Existence - - PART III. - - OF KNOWLEDGE AND PROBABILITY. - Of Knowledge - Of Probability, and of the Idea of Cause and Effect - Why a Cause is always necessary - Of the component parts of our Reasonings concerning Cause and - effect - Of the Impressions of the Senses and Memory - Of the Inference from the Impression to the Ideax - Of the Nature of the Idea or Belief - Of the Causes of Belief - Of the Effects of other Relations and other Habits - Of the Influence of Belief - Of the Probability of Chances - Of the Probability of Causes - Of unphilosophical Probability - Of the Idea of Necessary Connexion - Rules by which to judge of Causes and Effectsx - Of the Reason of Animals - - PART IV. - - OF THE SCEPTICAL AND OTHER SYSTEMS OF PHILOSOPHY. - - Of Scepticism with regard to Reason - Of Scepticism with regard to the Sensesx - Of the Ancient Philosophy - Of the Modern Philosophyx - Of the Immateriality of the Soul - Of Personal Identity - Conclusion of this Book - - - - -LIFE OF THE AUTHOR BY HIMSELF. - - - - -MY OWN LIFE. - - -It is difficult for a man to speak long of himself without vanity; -therefore, I shall be short. It may be thought an instance of vanity -that I pretend at all to write my life; but this Narrative shall -contain little more than the History of my Writings; as, indeed, almost -all my life has been spent in literary pursuits and occupations. The -first success of most of my writings was not such as to be an object of -vanity. - -I was born the 26th of April 1711, old style, at Edinburgh. I was of a -good family, both by father and mother. My father's family is a branch -of the Earl of Home's or Hume's; and my ancestors had been proprietors -of the estate, which my brother possesses, for several generations. My -mother was daughter of Sir David Falconer, President of the College of -Justice; the title of Lord Halkerton came by succession to her brother. - -My family, however, was not rich; and, being myself a younger brother, -my patrimony, according to the mode of my country, was of course very -slender. My father, who passed for a man of parts, died when I was -an infant, leaving me, with an elder brother and a sister, under the -care of our mother, a woman of singular merit, who, though young and -handsome, devoted herself entirely to the rearing and educating of -her children. I passed through the ordinary course of education with -success, and was seized very early with a passion for literature, which -has been the ruling passion of my life, and the great source of my -enjoyments. My studious disposition, my sobriety, and my industry, gave -my family a notion that the law was a proper profession for me; but I -found an unsurmountable aversion to every thing but the pursuits of -philosophy and general learning; and while they fancied I was poring -upon Voet and Vinnius, Cicero and Virgil were the authors which I was -secretly devouring. - -My very slender fortune, however, being unsuitable to this plan of -life, and my health being a little broken by my ardent application, I -was tempted, or rather forced, to make a very feeble trial for entering -into a more active scene of life. In 1734, I went to Bristol, with some -recommendations to eminent merchants, but in a few months found that -scene totally unsuitable to me, I went over to France, with a view of -prosecuting my studies in a country retreat; and I there laid that plan -of life, which I have steadily and successfully pursued. I resolved -to make a very rigid frugality supply my deficiency of fortune, to -maintain unimpaired my independency, and to regard every object as -contemptible, except the improvement of my talents in literature. - -During my retreat in France, first at Rheims, but chiefly at La Flêche, -in Anjou, I composed my _Treatise of Human Nature_. After passing three -years very agreeably in that country, I came over to London in 1737. -In the end of 1738, I published my Treatise, and immediately went down -to my mother and my brother, who lived at his country-house, and was -employing himself very judiciously and successfully in the improvement -of his fortune. - -Never literary attempt was more unfortunate than my Treatise of Human -Nature. It fell _dead-born from the press_, without reaching such -distinction, as even to excite a murmur among the zealots. But being -naturally of a cheerful and sanguine temper, I very soon recovered -the blow, and prosecuted with great ardour my studies in the country. -In 1742, I printed at Edinburgh the first part of my Essays: the work -was favourably received, and soon made me entirely forget my former -disappointment. I continued with my mother and brother in the country, -and in that time recovered the knowledge of the Greek language, which I -had too much neglected in my early youth. - -In 1745, I received a letter from the Marquis of Annandale, inviting me -to come and live with him in England; I found also, that the friends -and family of that young nobleman were desirous of putting him under -my care and direction, for the state of his mind and health required -it. I lived with him a twelvemonth. My appointments during that time -made a considerable accession to my small fortune. I then received -an invitation from General St Clair to attend him as a secretary to -his expedition, which was at first meant against Canada, but ended -in an incursion on the coast of France. Next year, to wit, 1747, I -received an invitation from the General to attend him in the same -station in his military embassy to the courts of Vienna and Turin. -I then wore the uniform of an officer, and was introduced at these -courts as _aide-de-camp_ to the General, along with Sir Harry Erskine -and Captain Grant, now General Grant. These two years were almost the -only interruptions which my studies have received during the course -of my life. I passed them agreeably, and in good company; and my -appointments, with my frugality, had made me reach a fortune, which I -called independent, though most of my friends were inclined to smile -when I said so; in short, I was now master of near a thousand pounds. - -I had always entertained a notion, that my want of success in -publishing the Treatise of Human Nature, had proceeded more from the -manner than the matter, and that I had been guilty of a very usual -indiscretion, in going to the press too early. I, therefore, cast -the first part of that work anew in the Inquiry concerning Human -Understanding, which was published while I was at Turin. But this piece -was at first little more successful than the Treatise of Human Nature. -On my return from Italy, I had the mortification to find all England -in a ferment, on account of Dr Middleton's Free Inquiry, while my -performance was entirely overlooked and neglected. A new edition, which -had been published at London, of my Essays, Moral and Political, met -not with a much better reception. - -Such is the force of natural temper, that these disappointments made -little or no impression on me. I went down in 1749, and lived two years -with my brother at his country-house, for my mother was now dead. I -there composed the second part of my Essays, which I called Political -Discourses, and also my Inquiry concerning the Principles of Morals, -which is another part of my Treatise that I cast anew. Meanwhile, my -bookseller A. Millar informed me, that my former publications (all -but the unfortunate Treatise) were beginning to be the subject of -conversation; that the sale of them was gradually increasing, and that -new editions were demanded. Answers by Reverends, and Right Reverends, -came out two or three in a year; and I found, by Dr Warburton's -railing, that the books were beginning to be esteemed in good company. -However, I had fixed a resolution, which I inflexibly maintained, never -to reply to any body; and not being very irascible in my temper, I have -easily kept myself clear of all literary squabbles. These symptoms of -a rising reputation gave me encouragement, as I was ever more disposed -to see the favourable than unfavourable side of things; a turn of mind -which it is more happy to possess, than to be born to an estate of ten -thousand a year. - -In 1751, I removed from the country to the town, the true scene for -a man of letters. In 1752, were published at Edinburgh, where I -then lived, my Political Discourses, the only work of mine that was -successful on the first publication. It was well received abroad -and at home. In the same year was published at London, my Inquiry -concerning the Principles of Morals; which, in my own opinion (who -ought not to judge on that subject), is of all my writings, historical, -philosophical, or literary, incomparably the best. It came unnoticed -and unobserved into the world. - -In 1752, the Faculty of Advocates chose me their Librarian, an office -from which I received little or no emolument, but which gave me the -command of a large library. I then formed the plan of writing the -History of England; but being frightened with the notion of continuing -a narrative through a period of 1700 years, I commenced with the -accession of the House of Stuart, an epoch when, I thought, the -misrepresentations of faction began chiefly to take place. I was, I -own, sanguine in my expectations of the success of this work. I thought -that I was the only historian that had at once neglected present -power, interest, and authority, and the cry of popular prejudices; and -as the subject was suited to every capacity, I expected proportional -applause. But miserable was my disappointment: I was assailed by one -cry of reproach, disapprobation, and even detestation; English, Scotch, -and Irish, Whig and Tory, Churchman and Sectary, Free-thinker and -Religionist, Patriot and Courtier, united in their rage against the -man, who had presumed to shed a generous tear for the fate of Charles -I. and the Earl of Strafford; and after the first ebullitions of their -fury were over, what was still more mortifying, the book seemed to sink -into oblivion. Mr Millar told me, that in a twelvemonth he sold only -forty-five copies of it. I scarcely, indeed, heard of one man in the -three kingdoms, considerable for rank or letters, that could endure the -book. I must only except the primate of England, Dr Herring, and the -primate of Ireland, Dr Stone, which seem two odd exceptions. These -dignified prelates separately sent me messages not to be discouraged. - -I was however, I confess, discouraged; and had not the war been at that -time breaking out between France and England, I had certainly retired -to some provincial town of the former kingdom, have changed my name, -and never more have returned to my native country. But as this scheme -was not now practicable, and the subsequent volume was considerably -advanced, I resolved to pick up courage, and to persevere. - -In this interval, I published at London my Natural History of Religion, -along with some other small pieces. Its public entry was rather -obscure, except only that Dr Hurd wrote a pamphlet against it, with all -the illiberal petulance, arrogance and scurrility, which distinguish -the Warburtonian school. This pamphlet gave me some consolation for the -otherwise indifferent reception of my performance. - -In 1756, two years after the fall of the first volume, was published -the second volume of my History, containing the period from the death -of Charles I. till the Revolution. This performance happened to give -less displeasure to the Whigs, and was better received. It not only -rose itself, but helped to buoy up its unfortunate brother. - -But though I had been taught, by experience, that the Whig party -were in possession of bestowing all places, both in the state and -in literature, I was so little inclined to yield to their senseless -clamour, that in above a hundred alterations, which farther study, -reading or reflection, engaged me to make in the reigns of the two -first Stuarts, I have made all of them invariably to the Tory side. It -is ridiculous to consider the English constitution before that period -as a regular plan of liberty. - -In 1759, I published my History of the House of Tudor. The clamour -against this performance was almost equal to that against the History -of the two first Stuarts. The reign of Elizabeth was particularly -obnoxious. But I was now callous against the impressions of public -folly, and continued very peaceably and contentedly in my retreat -at Edinburgh, to finish, in two volumes, the more early part of the -English History, which I gave to the public in 1761, with tolerable, -and but tolerable success. - -But, notwithstanding this variety of winds and seasons, to which my -writings had been exposed, they had still been making such advances, -that the copy-money given me by the booksellers, much exceeded any -thing formerly known in England; I was become not only independent, but -opulent. I retired to my native country of Scotland, determined never -more to set my foot out of it; and retaining the satisfaction of never -having preferred a request to one great man, or even making advances of -friendship to any of them. As I was now turned of fifty, I thought of -passing all the rest of my life in this philosophical manner, when I -received, in 1763, an invitation from the Earl of Hertford, with whom I -was not in the least acquainted, to attend him on his embassy to Paris, -with a near prospect of being appointed secretary to the embassy, -and, in the meanwhile, of performing the functions of that office. -This offer, however inviting, I at first declined, both because I was -reluctant to begin connexions with the great, and because I was afraid -that the civilities and gay company of Paris, would prove disagreeable -to a person of my age and humour: but on his Lordship's repeating the -invitation, I accepted of it, I have every reason, both of pleasure and -interest, to think myself happy in my connexions with that nobleman, as -well as afterwards with his brother, General Conway. - -Those who have not seen the strange effects of Modes, will never -imagine the reception I met with at Paris, from men and women of all -ranks and stations. The more I resiled from their excessive civilities, -the more I was loaded with them. There is, however, a real satisfaction -in living at Paris, from the great number of sensible, knowing, and -polite company with which that city abounds above all places in the -universe. I thought once of settling there for life. - -I was appointed secretary to the embassy; and, in summer 1765, Lord -Hertford left me, being appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. I was -_chargé d'affaires_ till the arrival of the Duke of Richmond, towards -the end of the year. In the beginning of 1766, I left Paris, and -next summer went to Edinburgh, with the same view as formerly, of -burying myself in a philosophical retreat. I returned to that place, -not richer, but with much more money, and a much larger income, -by means of Lord Hertford's friendship, than I left it; and I was -desirous of trying what superfluity could produce, as I had formerly -made an experiment of a competency. But, in 1767, I received from Mr -Conway an invitation to be Under-secretary; and this invitation, both -the character of the person, and my connexions with Lord Hertford, -prevented me from declining. I returned to Edinburgh in 1769, very -opulent (for I possessed a revenue of 1000_l_. a year), healthy, and, -though somewhat stricken in years, with the prospect of enjoying long -my ease, and of seeing the increase of my reputation. - -In spring 1775, I was struck with a disorder in my bowels, which at -first gave me no alarm, but has since, as I apprehend it, become -mortal and incurable. I now reckon upon a Speedy dissolution. I have -suffered very little pain from my disorder; and what is more strange, -have, notwithstanding the great decline of my person, never suffered -a moment's abatement of my spirits; insomuch, that were I to name the -period of my life, which I should most choose to pass over again, I -might be tempted to point to this later period. I possess the same -ardour as ever in study, and the same gaiety in company. I consider, -besides, that a man of sixty-five, by dying, cuts off only a few -years of infirmities; and though I see many symptoms of my literary -reputation's breaking out at last with additional lustre, I knew that -I could have but few years to enjoy it. It is difficult to be more -detached from life than I am at present. - -To conclude historically with my own character. I am, or rather was -(for that is the style I must now use in speaking of myself, which -emboldens me the more to speak my sentiments); I was, I say, a man -of mild dispositions, of command of temper, of an open, social, -and cheerful humour, capable of attachment, but little susceptible -of enmity, and of great moderation in all my passions. Even my -love of literary fame, my ruling passion, never soured my temper, -notwithstanding my frequent disappointments. My company was not -unacceptable to the young and careless, as well as to the studious and -literary; and as I took a particular pleasure in the company of modest -women, I had no reason to be displeased with the reception I met with -from them. In a word, though most men any wise eminent, have found -reason to complain of calumny, I never was touched, or even attacked -by her baleful tooth: and though I wantonly exposed myself to the -rage of both civil and religious factions, they seemed to be disarmed -in my behalf of their wonted fury. My friends never had occasion to -vindicate any one circumstance of my character and conduct: not but -that the zealots, we may well suppose, would have been glad to invent -and propagate any story to my disadvantage, but they could never find -any which they thought would wear the face of probability. I cannot say -there is no vanity in making this funeral oration of myself, but I hope -it is not a misplaced one; and this is a matter of fact which is easily -cleared and ascertained. - -APRIL 18. 1776. - - - - -LETTER FROM ADAM SMITH, LL.D. - -TO - -WILLIAM STRACHAN, ESQ. - - - _Kirkaldy, Fifeshire, Nov_. 9, 1776. - - -DEAR SIR, - -It is with a real, though a very melancholy pleasure, that I sit down -to give you some account of the behaviour of our late excellent friend, -Mr Hume, during his last illness. - -Though, in his own judgment, his disease was mortal and incurable, -yet he allowed himself to be prevailed upon, by the entreaty of his -friends, to try what might be the effects of a long journey. A few -days before he set out, he wrote that account of his own life, which, -together with his other papers, he has left to your care. My account, -therefore, shall begin where his ends. - -He set out for London towards the end of April, and at Morpeth met -with Mr John Home and myself, who had both come down from London on -purpose to see him, expecting to have found him at Edinburgh. Mr Home -returned with him, and attended him during the whole of his stay in -England, with that care and attention which might be expected from a -temper so perfectly friendly and affectionate. As I had written to my -mother that she might expect me in Scotland, I was under the necessity -of continuing my journey. His disease seemed to yield to exercise -and change of air, and when he arrived in London, he was apparently -in much better health than when he left Edinburgh. He was advised to -go to Bath to drink the waters, which appeared for some time to have -so good an effect upon him, that even he himself began to entertain, -what he was not apt to do, a better opinion of his own health. His -symptoms, however, soon returned with their usual violence, and from -that moment he gave up all thoughts of recovery, but submitted with the -utmost cheerfulness, and the most perfect complacency and resignation. -Upon his return to Edinburgh, though he found himself much weaker, yet -his cheerfulness never abated, and he continued to divert himself, -as usual, with correcting his own works for a new edition, with -reading books of amusement, with the conversation of his friends; and, -sometimes in the evening, with a party at his favourite game of whist. -His cheerfulness was so great, and his conversation and amusements run -so much in their usual strain, that, notwithstanding all bad symptoms, -many people could not believe he was dying. "I shall tell your friend, -Colonel Edmondstone," said Doctor Dundas to him one day, "that I left -you much better, and in a fair way of recovery." "Doctor," said he, "as -I believe you would not choose to tell any thing but the truth, you -had better tell him, that I am dying as fast as my enemies, if I have -any, could wish, and as easily and cheerfully as my best friends could -desire." Colonel Edmondstone soon afterwards came to see him, and take -leave of him; and on his way home, he could not forbear writing him a -letter bidding him once more an eternal adieu, and applying to him, as -to a dying man, the beautiful French verses in which the Abbé Chaulieu, -in expectation of his own death, laments his approaching separation -from his friend, the Marquis de la Fare. Mr Hume's magnanimity and -firmness were such, that his most affectionate friends knew that they -hazarded nothing in talking or writing to him as to a dying man, -and that so far from being hurt by this frankness, he was rather -pleased and flattered by it. I happened to come into his room while -he was reading this letter, which he had just received, and which he -immediately showed me. I told him, that though I was sensible how very -much he was weakened, and that appearances were in many respects very -bad, yet his cheerfulness was still so great, the spirit of life seemed -still to be so very strong in him, that I could not help entertaining -some faint hopes. He answered, "Your hopes are groundless. An habitual -diarrhoea of more than a year's standing, would be a very bad disease -at any age: at my age it is a mortal one. When I lie down in the -evening, I feel myself weaker than when I rose in the morning; and when -I rise in the morning, weaker than when I lay down in the evening. I -am sensible, besides, that some of my vital parts are affected, so -that I must soon die." "Well," said I, "if it must be so, you have at -least the satisfaction of leaving all your friends, your brother's -family in particular, in great prosperity." He said that he felt that -satisfaction so sensibly, that when he was reading, a few days before, -Lucian's Dialogues of the Dead, among all the excuses which are alleged -to Charon for not entering readily into his boat, he could not find -one that fitted him; he had no house to finish, he had no daughter to -provide for, he had no enemies upon whom he wished to revenge himself. -"I could not well imagine," said he, "what excuse I could make to -Charon in order to obtain a little delay. I have done every thing of -consequence which I ever meant to do; and I could at no time expect -to leave my relations and friends in a better situation than that in -which I am now likely to leave them. I therefore have all reason to die -contented." He then diverted himself with inventing several jocular -excuses, which he supposed he might make to Charon, and with imagining -the very surly answers which it might suit the character of Charon -to return to them. "Upon further consideration," said he, "I thought -I might say to him, Good Charon, I have been correcting my works for -a new edition. Allow me a little time, that I may see how the public -receives the alterations." But Charon would answer, "When you have seen -the effect of these, you will be for making other alterations. There -will be no end of such excuses; so, honest friend, please step into the -boat." But I might still urge, "Have a little patience, good Charon; I -have been endeavouring to open the eyes of the public. If I live a few -years longer, I may have the satisfaction of seeing the downfall of -some of the prevailing systems of superstition." But Charon would then -lose all temper and decency. "You loitering rogue, that will not happen -these many hundred years. Do you fancy I will grant you a lease for so -long a term? Get into the boat this instant, you lazy loitering rogue." - -But, though Mr Hume always talked of his approaching dissolution -with great cheerfulness, he never affected to make any parade of his -magnanimity. He never mentioned the subject but when the conversation -naturally led to it, and never dwelt longer upon it than the course of -the conversation happened to require: it was a subject, indeed, which -occurred pretty frequently, in consequence of the inquiries which his -friends, who came to see him, naturally made concerning the state of -his health. The conversation which I mentioned above, and which passed -on Thursday the 8th of August, was the last, except one, that I ever -had with him. He had now become so very weak, that the company of his -most intimate friends fatigued him; for his cheerfulness was still so -great, his complaisance and social disposition were still so entire, -that when any friend was with him, he could not help talking more, -and with greater exertion, than suited the weakness of his body. At -his own desire, therefore, I agreed to leave Edinburgh, where I was -staying partly upon his account, and returned to my mother's house -here, at Kirkaldy, upon condition that he would send for me whenever he -wished to see me; the physician who saw him most frequently, Dr Black, -undertaking, in the mean time, to write me occasionally an account of -the state of his health. - -On the 22d of August, the Doctor wrote me the following letter: - -"Since my last, Mr Hume has passed his time pretty easily, but is -much weaker. He sits up, goes down stairs once a day, and amuses -himself with reading, but seldom sees anybody. He finds that even the -conversation of his most intimate friends fatigues and oppresses him; -and it is happy that he does not need it, for he is quite free from -anxiety, impatience, or low spirits, and passes his time very well with -the assistance of amusing books." - -I received the day after a letter from Mr Hume himself, of which the -following is an extract. - - - "_Edinburgh_, 23_d August_, 1776. - -"MY DEAREST FRIEND, - -"I am obliged to make use of my nephew's hand in writing to you, as I -do not rise to-day. - - * * * * * - -"I go very fast to decline, and last night had a small fever, which I -hoped might put a quicker period to this tedious illness, but unluckily -it has, in a great measure, gone off. I cannot submit to your coming -over here on my account, as it is possible for me to see you so small a -part of the day, but Doctor Black can better inform you concerning the -degree of strength which may from time to time remain with me. Adieu," -&c. - -Three days after I received the following letter from Doctor Black. - - "_Edinburgh, Monday_, 26_th August_, 1776. - -"DEAR SIR, - -"Yesterday about four o'clock afternoon, Mr Hume expired. The near -approach of his death became evident in the night between Thursday -and Friday, when his disease became excessive, and soon weakened him -so much, that he could no longer rise out of his bed. He continued to -the last perfectly sensible, and free from much pain or feelings of -distress. He never dropped the smallest expression of impatience; but -when he had occasion to speak to the people about him, always did it -with affection and tenderness. I thought it improper to write to bring -you over, especially as I heard that he had dictated a letter to you -desiring you not to come. When he became very weak, it cost him an -effort to speak, and he died in such a happy composure of mind, that -nothing could exceed it." - -Thus died our most excellent, and never to be forgotten friend; -concerning whose philosophical opinions men will, no doubt, judge -variously, every one approving, or condemning them, according as they -happen to coincide or disagree with his own; but concerning whose -character and conduct there can scarce be a difference of opinion. -His temper, indeed, seemed to be more happily balanced, if I may be -allowed such an expression, than that perhaps of any other man I have -ever known. Even in the lowest state of his fortune, his great and -necessary frugality never hindered him from exercising, upon proper -occasions, acts both of charity and generosity. It was a frugality -founded, not upon avarice, but upon the love of independency. The -extreme gentleness of his nature never weakened either the firmness of -his mind, or the steadiness of his resolutions. His constant pleasantry -was the genuine effusion of good nature and good humour, tempered -with delicacy and modesty, and without even the slightest tincture of -malignity, so frequently the disagreeable source of what is called wit -in other men. It never was the meaning of his raillery to mortify; -and therefore, far from offending, it seldom failed to please and -delight, even those who were the objects of it. To his friends, who -were frequently the objects of it, there was not perhaps any one of all -his great and amiable qualities, which contributed more to endear his -conversation. And that gaiety of temper, so agreeable in society, but -which is so often accompanied with frivolous and superficial qualities, -was in him certainly attended with the most severe application, the -most extensive learning, the greatest depth of thought, and a capacity -in every respect the most comprehensive. Upon the whole, I have -always considered him, both in his lifetime and since his death, as -approaching as nearly to the idea of a perfectly wise and virtuous man, -as perhaps the nature of human frailty will permit. - - I ever am, dear Sir, - - Most affectionately yours, - - ADAM SMITH. - -[Illustration: Drawn by A. Nasmyth--Engraved by W. Miller--HUME'S -MONUMENT, CALTON HILL.] - - - - -THE LATTER-WILL AND TESTAMENT OF DAVID HUME. - - -I, David Hume, second lawful son of Joseph Home of Ninewells, -advocate, for the love and affection I bear to John Home of Ninewells, -my brother, and for other causes, DO, by these presents, under the -reservations and burdens after-mentioned, GIVE and DISPOSE to the said -John Home, or, if he die before me, to David Home, his second son, -his heirs and assigns whatsomever, all lands, heritages, debts, and -sums of money, as well heritable as moveable, which shall belong to me -at the time of my decease, as also my whole effects in general, real -and personal, with and under the burden of the following legacies, -viz. to my sister Catherine Home, the sum of twelve hundred pounds -sterling, payable the first term of Whitsunday or Martinmas after my -decease, together with all my English books, and the life-rent of my -house in St James's Court, or in case that house be sold at the time -of my decease, twenty pounds a year during the whole course of her -life: To my friend Adam Ferguson, Professor of Moral Philosophy in -the College of Edinburgh, two hundred pounds sterling: To my friend -M. d'Alembert, member of the French Academy, and of the Academy of -Sciences in Paris, two hundred pounds: To my friend Dr Adam Smith, late -Professor of Moral Philosophy in Glasgow, I leave all my manuscripts -without exception, desiring him to publish my _Dialogues on Natural -Religion_, which are comprehended in this present bequest; but to -publish no other papers which he suspects not to have been written -within these five years, but to destroy them all at his leisure: And -I even leave him full power over all my papers, except the Dialogues -above mentioned; and though I can trust to that intimate and sincere -friendship, which has ever subsisted between us, for his faithful -execution of this part of my will, yet, as a small recompense of his -pains in correcting and publishing this work, I leave him two hundred -pounds, to be paid immediately after the publication of it: I also -leave to Mrs Anne and Mrs Janet Hepburn, daughters of Mr James Hepburn -of Keith, one hundred pounds a piece: To my cousin David Campbell, son -of Mr Campbell, minister of Lillysleaf, one hundred pounds: To the -Infirmary of Edinburgh, fifty pounds: To all the servants who shall be -in my family at the time of my decease, one year's wages; and to my -housekeeper, Margaret Irvine, three year's wages: And I also ordain, -that my brother, or nephew, or executor, whoever he be, shall not pay -up to the said Margaret Irvine, without her own consent, any sum of -money which I shall owe her at the time of my decease, whether by bill, -bond, or for wages, but shall retain in his hand, and pay her the legal -interest upon it, till she demand the principal: And in case my brother -above-mentioned shall survive me, I leave to his son David, the sum of -a thousand pounds to assist him in his education: But in case that by -my brother's death before me, the succession of my estate and effects -shall devolve to the aforesaid David, I hereby burden him, over and -above the payment of the aforesaid legacies, with the payment of the -sums following: To his brothers Joseph and John, a thousand pounds -a piece: To his sisters Catherine and Agnes, five hundred pounds a -piece: all which sums, as well as every sum contained in the present -disposition (except that to Dr Smith), to be payable the first term of -Whitsunday and Martinmas, after my decease; and all of them, without -exception, in sterling money. And I do hereby nominate and appoint -the said John Home, my brother, and failing of him by decease, the -said David Home, to be my sole executor and universal legatee, with -and under the burdens above mentioned; reserving always full power and -liberty to me, at any time of my life, even in deathbed, to alter and -innovate these presents, in whole or in part, and to burden the same -with such other legacies as I shall think fit. And I do hereby declare -these presents to be a good, valid, and sufficient evidence, albeit -found in my custody, or in the custody of any other person at the time -of my death, &c. (_in common style_.) Signed 4 January 1776, before -these witnesses, the Right Honourable the Earl of Home, and Mr John -McGowan, Clerk to the Signet. - - DAVID HUME. - -I also ORDAIN, that if I shall die any where in Scotland, I shall be -buried in a private manner in the Calton churchyard, the south side -of it, and a monument to be built over my body, at an expense not -exceeding a hundred pounds, with an inscription containing only my -name, with the year of my birth and death, leaving it to posterity to -add the rest. - -_At Edinburgh_, 15_th April_, 1776. DAVID HUME. - -I also leave for rebuilding the bridge of Churnside the sum of a -hundred pounds; but on condition that the managers of the bridge -shall take none of the stones for building the bridge from the quarry -of Ninewells, except from that part of the quarry which has been -already opened. I leave to my nephew Joseph, the sum of fifty pounds to -enable him to make a good sufficient drain and sewer round the house -of Ninewells, but on condition that, if that drain and sewer be not -made, from whatever cause, within a year after my death, the said fifty -pounds shall be paid to the poor of the parish of Churnside: To my -sister, instead of all my English books, I leave her a hundred volumes -at her choice: To David Waite, servant to my brother, I leave the sum -of ten pounds, payable the first term after my death. - -DAVID HUME. - - - - -AN - -ACCOUNT - -OF THE CONTROVERSY - -BETWEEN - -HUME AND ROUSSEAU. - - -LONDON. M.D.CC.LXVI. - - - - -ADVERTISEMENT OF THE FRENCH EDITORS. - - -The name and writings of Mr Hume have been long since well known -throughout Europe. At the same time, his personal acquaintance -have remarked, in the candour and simplicity of his manners, that -impartiality and ingenuousness of disposition which distinguishes his -character, and is sufficiently indicated in his writings. - -He hath exerted those great talents he received from nature, and the -acquisitions he made by study, in the search of truth, and promoting -the good of mankind; never wasting his time, or sacrificing his repose, -in literary or personal disputes. He hath seen his writings frequently -censured with bitterness, by fanaticism, ignorance, and the spirit of -party, without ever giving an answer to his adversaries. - -Even those who have attacked his works with the greatest violence, have -always respected his personal character. His love of peace is so well -known, that the criticisms written against his pieces, have been often -brought him by their respective authors, for him to revise and correct -them. At one time, in particular, a performance of this kind was shown -to him, in which he had been treated in a very rude and even injurious -manner; on remarking which to the author, the latter struck out the -exceptionable passages, blushing and wondering at the force of that -_polemic spirit_ which had carried him imperceptibly away beyond the -founds of truth and decency. - -It was with great reluctance that a man, possessed of such pacific -dispositions, could be brought to consent to the publication of the -following piece. He was very sensible that the quarrels among men -of letters are a scandal to philosophy; nor was any person in the -world less formed for giving occasion to a scandal, so consolatory to -blockheads. But the circumstances were such as to draw him into it, in -spite of his inclinations. - -All the world knows that Mr Rousseau, proscribed in almost every -country where he resided, determined at length to take refuge in -England; and that Mr Hume, affected by his situation, and his -misfortunes, undertook to bring him over, and to provide for him a -peaceful, safe, and convenient asylum. But very few persons are privy -to the zeal, activity, and even delicacy, with which Mr Hume conferred -this act of benevolence. What an affectionate attachment he had -contracted for this new friend, which humanity had given him! with what -address he endeavoured to anticipate his desires, without offending his -pride! in short, with what address he strove to justify, in the eyes of -others, the singularities of Mr Rousseau, and to defend his character -against those who were not disposed to think so favourably of him as he -did himself. - -Even at the time when Mr Hume was employed in doing Mr Rousseau the -most essential service, he received from him the most insolent and -abusive letter. The more such a stroke was unexpected, the more it was -cruel and affecting. Mr Hume wrote an account of this extraordinary -adventure to his friends at Paris, and expressed himself in his letters -with all that indignation which so strange a proceeding must excite. -He thought himself under no obligation to keep terms with a man, who, -after having received from him the most certain and constant marks -of friendship, could reproach him, without any reason, as false, -treacherous, and as the most wicked of mankind. - -In the mean time, the dispute between these two celebrated personages -did not fail to make a noise. The complaints of Mr Hume soon came to -the knowledge of the public, which at first hardly believed it possible -that Mr Rousseau could be guilty of that excessive ingratitude -laid to his charge. Even Mr Hume's friends were fearful, lest, in -the first effusions of sensibility, he was not carried too far, and -had not mistaken for wilful crimes of the heart, the vagaries of -the imagination, or the deceptions of the understanding. He judged -it necessary, therefore to explain the affair, by writing a precise -narrative of all that passed between him and Mr Rousseau, from -their first connection to their rupture. This narrative he sent to -his friends, some of whom advised him to print it, alleging, that -as Mr Rousseau's accusations were become public, the proofs of his -justification ought to be so too. Mr Hume did not give into these -arguments, choosing rather to run the risk of being unjustly censured, -than to resolve on making himself a public party in an affair so -contrary to his disposition and character. A new incident, however, at -length overcame his reluctance. Mr Rousseau had addressed a letter to -a bookseller at Paris, in which he directly accuses Mr Hume of having -entered into a league with his enemies to betray and defame him; and -in which he boldly defies Mr Hume to print the papers he had in his -hands. This letter was communicated to several persons in Paris, was -translated into English, and the translation printed in the public -papers in London. An accusation and defiance so very public could not -be suffered to pass without reply, while any long silence on the part -of Mr Hume might have been interpreted little in his favour. - -Besides, the news of this dispute had spread itself over Europe, and -the opinions entertained of it were various. It had doubtless been -much happier, if the whole affair had been buried in oblivion, and -remained a profound secret; but as it was impossible to prevent the -public interesting itself in the controversy, it became necessary at -least that the truth of the matter should be known. Mr Hume's friends -unitedly represented to him all these reasons, the force of which he -was at length convinced of; and seeing the necessity, consented, though -with reluctance, to the printing of his memorial. - -The narrative, and notes, are translated from the English.[1] The -letters of Mr Rousseau, which serve as authentic proofs of the facts -are exact copies of the originals.[2] - -This pamphlet contains many strange instances of singularity, that -will appear extraordinary enough to those who will give themselves -the trouble to peruse it. Those who do not choose to take the trouble, -however, may possibly do better, as its contents are of little -importance, except to those who are immediately interested. - -On the whole, Mr Hume, in offering to the public the genuine pieces of -his trial, has authorized us to declare, that he will never take up the -pen again on the subject. Mr Rousseau indeed may return to the charge; -he may produce suppositions, misconstructions, inferences, and new -declamations; he may create and realize new phantoms, and envelop them -in the clouds of his rhetoric, he will meet with no more contradiction. -The facts are all laid before the public;[3] and Mr Hume submits his -cause to the determination of every man of sense and probity. - - - - -[1] And are now re-translated, for the most part, from the French, -the French editors having taken some liberties, not without Mr Hume's -consent, with the English original.--_English translator_. - -[2] in the present edition Mr Hume's letters are printed _verbatim_; -and to Mr Rousseau's the translator hath endeavoured to do justice, -as well with regard to the sense as the expression. Not that he can -flatter himself with having always succeeded in the latter. He has -taken the liberty also to add a note or two, regarding some particular -circumstances which had come to his knowledge. - -[3] The original letters of both parties will be lodged in the British -Museum, on account of the above mentioned defiance of Mr Rousseau, and -his subsequent insinuation, that if they should be published, they -would be falsified. - - - - -AN - -ACCOUNT OF THE CONTROVERSY - -BETWEEN - -MR HUME AND MR ROUSSEAU. - - - - -_August_ 1, 1766. - -My connexion with Mr Rousseau began in 1762, when the Parliament of -Paris had issued an arrêt for apprehending him, on account of his -_Emilius_. I was at that time at Edinburgh. A person of great worth -wrote to me from Paris, that Mr Rousseau intended to seek an asylum -in England, and desired I would do him all the good offices in my -power. As I conceived Mr Rousseau had actually put his design in -execution, I wrote to several of my friends in London, recommending -this celebrated exile to their favour. I wrote also immediately to Mr -Rousseau himself; assuring him of my desire to oblige, and readiness -to serve him. At the same time, I invited him to come to Edinburgh, -if the situation would be agreeable, and offered him a retreat in my -own house, so long as he should please to partake of it. There needed -no other motive to excite me to this act of humanity, than the idea -given me of Mr Rousseau's personal character, by the friend who had -recommended him, his well known genius and abilities, and above all, -his misfortunes; the very cause of which was an additional reason to -interest me in his favour. The following is the answer I received. - - - - -MR ROUSSEAU TO MR HUME. - - -_Motiers-Travers_, _Feb_. 19, 1763. - - SIR, - - I did not receive till lately, and at this place, the - letter you did me the honour to direct to me at London, the - 2d of July last, on the supposition that I was then arrived - at that capital. I should doubtless have made choice of - a retreat in your country, and as near as possible to - yourself, if I had foreseen what a reception I was to meet - with in my own. No other nation could claim a preference to - England. And this prepossession, for which I have dearly - suffered, was at that time too natural not to be very - excusable; but, to my great astonishment, as well as that - of the public, I have met with nothing but affronts and - insults, where I hoped to have found consolation at least, - if not gratitude. How many reasons have I not to regret - the want of that asylum and philosophical hospitality - I should have found with you! My misfortunes, indeed, - have constantly seemed to lead me in a manner that way. - The protection and kindness of my Lord Marshall, your - worthy and illustrious countryman, hath brought Scotland - home to me, if I may so express myself, in the midst of - Switzerland; he hath made you so often bear a part in our - conversation, hath brought me so well acquainted with your - virtues, which I before was only with your talents, that - he inspired me with the most tender friendship for you, - and the most ardent desire of obtaining yours, before I - even knew you were disposed to grant it. Judge then of the - pleasure I feel, at finding this inclination reciprocal. - No, Sir, I should pay your merit but half its due, if - it were the subject only of my admiration. Your great - impartiality, together with your amazing penetration and - genius, would lift you far above the rest of mankind, - if you were less attached to them by the goodness of - your heart. My Lord Marshal, in acquainting me that the - amiableness of your disposition was still greater than the - sublimity of your genius, rendered a correspondence with - you every day more desirable, and cherished in me those - wishes which he inspired, of ending my days near you. Oh, - Sir, that a better state of health, and more convenient - circumstances, would but enable me to take such a journey - in the manner I could like! Could I but hope to see you and - my Lord Marshal one day settled in your own country, which - should for ever after be mine, I should be thankful, in - such a society, for the very misfortunes that led me into - it, and should account the day of its commencement as the - first of my life. Would to Heaven I might live to see that - happy day, though now more to be desired than expected! - With what transports should I not exclaim, on setting foot - in that happy country which gave birth to David Hume and - the Lord Marshal of Scotland! - - Salve, facis mihi debita tellus! - Hĉc domus, hĉc patria est. - J.J.R. - - - -This letter is not published from a motive of vanity; as will be seen -presently, when I give the reader a recantation of all the eulogies it -contains; but only to complete the course of our correspondence, and to -show that I have been long since disposed to Mr Rousseau's service. - -From this time our correspondence entirely ceased, till about the -middle of last autumn (1765), when it was renewed by the following -accident. A certain lady of Mr Rousseau's acquaintance, being on a -journey to one of the French provinces, bordering on Switzerland, had -taken that opportunity of paying a visit to our solitary philosopher, -in his retreat at Motiers-Travers. To this lady he complained, that -his situation in Neufchâtel was become extremely disagreeable, as well -on account of the superstition of the people, as the resentment of the -clergy; and that he was afraid he should shortly be under the necessity -of seeking an asylum elsewhere; in which case, England appeared to -him, from the nature of its laws and government, to be the only place -to which he could retire with perfect security; adding, that my Lord -Marshal, his former protector, had advised him to put himself under my -protection, (that was the term he was pleased, to make use of), and -that he would accordingly address himself to me, if he thought it would -not be giving me too much trouble. - -I was at that time charged with the affairs of England at the court of -France; but as I had the prospect of soon returning to London, I could -not reject a proposal made to me under such circumstances, by a man -so celebrated for his genius and misfortunes. As soon as I was thus -informed, therefore, of the situation and intentions of Mr Rousseau, I -wrote to him, making him an offer of my services; to which he returned -the following answer. - - - - MR ROUSSEAU TO MR HUME. - - -_Strasbourg_, _Dec_. 4, 1765. - - SIR, - - Your goodness affects me as much as it does me honour. - The best reply I can make to your offers is to accept - them, which I do. I shall set out in five or six days to - throw myself into your arms. Such is the advice of my Lord - Marshal, my protector, friend and father; it is the advice - also of Madam * * * [1] whose good sense and benevolence - serve equally for my direction and consolation; in fine, - I may say it is the advice of my own heart, which takes - a pleasure in being indebted to the most illustrious of - my contemporaries, to a man whose goodness surpasses his - glory. I sigh after a solitary and free retirement, wherein - I might finish my days in peace. If this be procured me by - means of your benevolent solicitude, I shall then enjoy at - once the pleasure of the only blessing my heart desires, - and also that of being indebted for it to you. I am, Sir, - with all my heart, &c. - - J. J. R. - - -[1] The person here mentioned desired her name might be suppressed. -_French Editor_. - -As the motive to the suppression of the lady's name can hardly be -supposed to extend to this country, the _English translator_ takes the -liberty to mention the name of the Marchioness de Verdelin. - - -Not that I had deferred till this time my endeavours to be useful to Mr -Rousseau. The following letter was communicated to me by Mr Clairaut, -some weeks before his death. - - - - MR ROUSSEAU TO MR CLAIRAUT. - - -_Motiers-Travers_, _March_ 3, 1765. - - SIR, - - The remembrance of your former kindness, induces me to - be again importunate. It is to desire you will be so - good, for the second time, to be the censor of one of - my performances. It is a very paltry rhapsody, which I - compiled many years ago, under the title of _A Musical - Dictionary_, and am now obliged to republish it for - subsistence. Amidst the torrent of misfortunes that - overwhelm me, I am not in a situation to review the work; - which, I know, is full of oversights and mistakes. If any - interest you may take in the lot of the most unfortunate - of mankind, should induce you to bestow a little more - attention on his work than on that of another, I should be - extremely obliged to you, if you would take the trouble to - correct such errors as you may meet with in the perusal. - To point them out, without correcting them, would be doing - nothing, for I am absolutely incapable of paying the - least attention to such a work; so that if you would but - condescend to alter, add, retrench, and, in short, use it - as you would do your own, you would do a great charity, for - which I should be extremely thankful. Accept, Sir, my most - humble excuses and salutations. - - J. J. R. - - -It is with reluctance I say it, but I am compelled to it; I now know of -a certainty that this affectation of extreme poverty and distress was a -mere pretence, a petty kind of imposture which Mr Rousseau successfully -employed to excite the compassion of the public; but I was then very -far from suspecting any such artifice. I must own, I felt on this -occasion an emotion of pity, mixed with indignation, to think a man -of letters of such eminent merit, should be reduced, in spite of the -simplicity of his manner of living, to such extreme indigence; and that -this unhappy state should be rendered more intolerable by sickness, -by the approach of old age, and the implacable rage of persecution. -I knew that many persons imputed the wretchedness of Mr Rousseau to -his excessive pride, which induced him to refuse the assistance of -his friends; but I thought this fault, if it were a fault, was a very -respectable one. Too many men of letters have debased their character -in stooping so low as to solicit the assistance of persons of wealth -or power, unworthy of affording them protection; and I conceived that -a noble pride, even though carried to excess, merited some indulgence -in a man of genius, who, borne up by a sense of his own superiority and -a love of independence, should have braved the storms of fortune and -the insults of mankind. I proposed, therefore, to serve Mr Rousseau -in his own way. I desired Mr Clairaut, accordingly, to give me his -letter, which I showed to several of Mr Rousseau's friends and patrons -in Paris. At the same time I proposed to them a scheme by which he -might be relieved, without suspecting any thing of the matter. This -was to engage the bookseller, who was to publish his _Dictionary_, to -give Mr Rousseau a greater sum for the copy than he had offered, and -to indemnify him by paying him the difference. But this project, which -could not be executed without the assistance of Mr Clairaut, fell to -the ground at the unexpected decease of that learned and respectable -academician. - -Retaining, however, still the same idea of Mr Rousseau's excessive -poverty, I constantly retained the same inclination to oblige him; -and when I was informed of his intention to go to England under my -conduct, I formed a scheme much of the same kind with that I could not -execute at Paris. I wrote immediately to my friend, Mr John Stewart of -Buckingham Street, that I had an affair to communicate to him, of so -secret and delicate a nature, that I should not venture even to commit -it to paper, but that he might learn the particulars of Mr Elliot -(now Sir Gilbert Elliot), who would soon return from Paris to London. -The plan was this, and was really communicated by Mr Elliot some time -after to Mr Stewart, who was at the same time enjoined to the greatest -secrecy. - -Mr Stewart was to look out for some honest discreet farmer in his -neighbourhood in the country, who might be willing to lodge and board -Mr Rousseau and his gouvernante in a very decent and plentiful manner, -at a pension which Mr Stewart might settle at fifty or sixty pounds a -year; the farmer engaging to keep such agreement a profound secret, and -to receive from Mr Rousseau only twenty or twenty-five pounds a year, I -engaging to supply the difference. - -It was not long before Mr Stewart wrote me word he had found a -situation which he conceived might be agreeable; on which I desired he -would get the apartment furnished in a proper and convenient manner at -my expense. But this scheme, in which there could not possibly enter -any motive of vanity on my part, secrecy being a necessary condition of -its execution, did not take place, other designs presenting themselves -more convenient and agreeable. The fact, however, is well known both to -Mr Stewart and Sir Gilbert Elliot. - -It will not be improper here to mention another plan concerted with -the same intentions. I had accompanied Mr Rousseau into a very -pleasant part of the county of Surry, where he spent two days at -Colonel Webb's, Mr Rousseau seeming to me highly delighted with the -natural and solitary beauties of the place. Through the means of Mr -Stewart, therefore, I entered into treaty with Colonel Webb for the -purchasing the house, with a little estate adjoining, in order to make -a settlement for Mr Rousseau. If, after what has passed, Mr Rousseau's -testimony be of any validity, I may appeal to himself for the truth of -what I advance. But be this as it will, these facts are well known to -Mr Stewart, to General Clarke, and in part to Colonel Webb. - -But to proceed in my narrative. Mr Rousseau came to Paris, provided -with a passport which his friends had obtained for him. I conducted him -to England. For upwards of two months after our arrival, I employed -myself and my friends in looking out for some agreeable situation for -him. We gave way to all his caprices; excused all his singularities; -indulged him in all his humours; in short, neither time nor trouble -was spared to procure him what he desired;[2] and, notwithstanding he -rejected several of the projects which I had laid out for him, yet I -thought myself sufficiently recompensed for my trouble by the gratitude -and even affection with which he appeared to repay my solicitude. - -At length his present settlement was proposed and approved. Mr -Davenport, a gentleman of family, fortune and worth, offered him his -house at Wooton, in the county of Derby, where he himself seldom -resides, and at which Mr Rousseau and his housekeeper are boarded at a -very moderate expense. - -When Mr Rousseau arrived at Wooton, he wrote me the following letter. - - -[2] It is probably to this excessive and ill-judged complaisance Mr -Hume may in a great degree impute the disagreeable consequences that -have followed. There is no end in indulging caprice, nor any prudence -in doing it, when it is known to be such. It may be thought humane -to indulge the weak of body or mind, the decrepitude of age, and -imbecility of childhood; but even here it too often proves cruelty to -the very parties indulged. How much more inexcusable, therefore, is it -to cherish the absurdities of whim and singularity in men of genius and -abilities! How is it possible to make a man easy or happy in a world, -to whose customs and maxims he is determined to run retrograde? No. -Capricious men, like forward children, should be left to kick against -the pricks, and vent their spleen unnoticed. To humour, is only to -spoil them.--_English Translator_. - - - - - MR ROUSSEAU TO MR HUME. - - - _Wooton_, _March_ 22, 1766. - - You see already, my dear patron, by the date of my letter, - that I am arrived at the place of my destination; but you - cannot see all the charms which I find in it. To do this, - you should be acquainted with the situation, and be able - to read my heart. You ought, however, to read at least - those of my sentiments with respect to you, and which you - have so well deserved. If I live in this agreeable asylum - as happy as I hope to do, one of the greatest pleasures of - my life will be, to reflect that I owe it to you. To make - another happy, is to deserve to be happy one's self. May - you therefore find in yourself the reward of all you have - done for me! Had I been alone, I might perhaps have met - with hospitality; but I should have never relished it so - highly as I now do in owing it to your friendship. Retain - still that friendship for me, my dear patron; love me for - my sake, who am so much indebted to you; love me for your - own, for the good you have done me. I am sensible of the - full value of your sincere friendship: it is the object of - my ardent wishes: I am ready to repay it with all mine, - and feel something in my heart which may one day convince - you that it is not without its value. As, for the reasons - agreed on between us, I shall receive nothing by the post, - you will be pleased, when you have the goodness to write to - me, to send your letters to Mr Davenport. The affair of the - carriage is not yet adjusted, because I know I was imposed - on. It is a trifling fault, however, which may be only the - effect of an obliging vanity, unless it should happen to be - repeated. If you were concerned in it, I would advise you - to give up, once for all, these little impositions, which - cannot proceed from any good motive, when converted into - snares for simplicity. I embrace you, my dear patron, with - the same cordiality which I hope to find in you. - - J. J. R. - -Some few days after, I received from him another letter, of which the -following is a copy. - - - - MR ROUSSEAU TO MR HUME. - - - _Wooton_, _March_ 29, 1766. - - You will see, my dear patron, by the letter Mr Davenport - will have transmitted you, how agreeably I find myself - situated in this place. I might perhaps be more at my ease - if I were less noticed; but the solicitude of so polite an - host as mine is too obliging to give offence; and as there - is nothing in life without its inconvenience, that of - being too good is one of those which is the most tolerable. - I find a much greater inconvenience in not being able to - make the servants understand me, and particularly in my not - understanding them. Luckily Mrs le Vasseur serves me as - interpreter, and her fingers speak better than my tongue. - There is one advantage, however, attending my ignorance, - which is a kind of compensation; it serves to tire and keep - at a distance impertinent visitors. The minister of the - parish came to see me yesterday, who, finding that I spoke - to him only in French, would not speak to me in English, so - that our interview was almost a silent one. I have taken - a great fancy to this expedient, and shall make use of it - with all my neighbours, if I have any. Nay, should I even - learn to speak English, I would converse with them only in - French, especially if I were so happy as to find they did - not understand a word of that language; an artifice this, - much of the same kind with that which the Negroes pretend - is practised by the monkeys, who, they say, are capable of - speech, but cannot be prevailed upon to talk, lest they - should be set to work. - - It is not true in any sense that I agreed to accept of - a model from Mr Gosset as a present. On the contrary, I - asked him the price, which he told me was a guinea and - half, adding that he intended to present me with it; an - offer I did not accept. I desire you therefore to pay him - for it, and Mr Davenport will be so good as repay you the - money. And if Mr Gosset does not consent to be paid for it, - it must be returned to him, and purchased by some other - hand. It is designed for Mr du Peyrou, who desired long - since to have my portrait, and caused one to be painted - in miniature, which is not at all like me. You were more - fortunate in this respect than me; but I am sorry that, by - your assiduity to serve me, you deprived me of the pleasure - of discharging the same friendly obligation with regard to - yourself. Be so good, my dear patron, as to order the model - to be sent to Messrs Guinand and Hankey, Little St Helen's, - Bishopsgate Street, in order to be transmitted to Mr du - Peyrou by the first safe conveyance. It hath been a frost - ever since I have been here; the snow falls daily; and the - wind is cutting and severe; notwithstanding all which, I - had rather lodge in the hollow trunk of an old tree, in - this country, than in the most superb apartment in London. - Good day, my dear patron. I embrace you with all my heart. - J. J. R. - - -Mr Rousseau and I having agreed not to lay each other under any -restraint by a continued correspondence, the only subject of our future -letters was the obtaining a pension for him from the King of England, -which was then in agitation, and of which affair the following is a -concise and faithful relation. - -As we were conversing together one evening at Calais, where we were -detained by contrary winds, I asked Mr Rousseau if he would not accept -of a pension from the King of England, in case his Majesty should be -pleased to grant him one. To this he replied, it was a matter of some -difficulty to resolve on, but that he should be entirely directed -by the advice of my Lord Marshall. Encouraged by this answer, I no -sooner arrived in London than I addressed myself to his Majesty's -Ministers, and particularly to General Conway, Secretary of State, and -General Grĉme, Secretary and Chamberlain to the Queen. Application was -accordingly made to their Majesties, who, with their usual goodness, -consented, on condition only that the affair should not be made public. -Mr Rousseau and I both wrote to my Lord Marshall; and Mr Rousseau -expressly observed in his letter, that the circumstance of the affair's -being to be kept secret was very agreeable to him. The consent of my -Lord Marshall arrived, as may readily be imagined; soon after which Mr -Rousseau set out for Wooton, while the business remained some time in -suspense, on account of the indisposition of General Conway. - -In the mean time, I began to be afraid, from what I had observed of -Mr Rousseau's disposition and character, that his natural restlessness -of mind would prevent the enjoyment of that repose, to which the -hospitality and security he found in England invited him. I saw, with -infinite regret, that he was born for storms and tumults, and that the -disgust which might succeed the peaceful enjoyment of solitude and -tranquillity, would soon render him a burthen to himself and every body -about him.[3] But, as I lived at the distance of an hundred and fifty -miles from the place of his residence, and was constantly employed in -doing him good offices, I did not expect that I myself should be the -victim of this unhappy disposition. - - -[3] In forming the opinion of Mr Rousseau's disposition, Mr Hume was by -no means singular. The striking features of Mr Rousseau's extraordinary -character having been strongly marked in the criticisms on his several -writings, in the Monthly Review, particularly in the account of his -Letters from the Mountains, in the appendix to the 31st vol. of that -work, where this celebrated genius is described, merely from the -general tenour of his writings and the outlines of his public conduct, -to be exactly such a kind of person as Mr Hume hath discovered him from -intimate and personal acquaintance.--_English translator_. - - -It is necessary to introduce here a letter, which was written last -winter, at Paris, in the name of the king of Prussia. - - - MY DEAR JOHN JAMES, - - You have renounced Geneva, your native soil. You have been - driven from Switzerland, a country of which you have made - such boast in your writings. In France you are outlawed: - come then to me. I admire your talents, and amuse myself - with your reveries; on which, however, by the way, you - bestow too much time and attention. It is high time to grow - prudent and happy; you have made yourself sufficiently - talked of for singularities little becoming a truly great - man: show your enemies that you have sometimes common - sense: this will vex them without hurting you. My dominions - afford you a peaceable retreat: I am desirous to do you - good, and will do it, if you can but think it such. But - if you are determined to refuse my assistance, you may - expect that I shall say not a word about it to any one. - If you persist in perplexing your brains to find out new - misfortunes, choose such as you like best; I am a king, - and can make you as miserable as you can wish; at the same - time, I will engage to do that which your enemies never - will, I will cease to persecute you, when you are no longer - vain of persecution. - - Your sincere friend, FREDERICK. - - -This letter was written by Mr Horace Walpole, about three weeks before -I left Paris; but though we lodged in the same hotel, and were often -together, Mr Walpole, out of regard to me, carefully concealed this -piece of pleasantry till after my departure. He then showed it to some -friends, who took copies; and those of course presently multiplied; so -that this little piece had been spread with rapidity all over Europe, -and was in every body's hands when I saw it, for the first time, in -London. - -I believe every one will allow, who knows any thing of the liberty of -this country, that such a piece of raillery could not, even by the -utmost influence of kings, lords and commons, by all the authority -ecclesiastical, civil and military, be kept from finding its way to the -press. It was accordingly published in the St James's Chronicle, and a -few days after I was very much surprised to find the following piece in -the same paper. - - - - MR ROUSSEAU TO THE AUTHOR OF THE ST JAMES'S CHRONICLE. - - - _Wooton_, _April_ 7_th_, 1766. - - SIR, - - You have been wanting in that respect which every private - person owes to crowned heads, in publickly ascribing - to the King of Prussia, a letter full of baseness and - extravagance; by which circumstance alone, you might be - very well assured he could not be the author. You have even - dared to subscribe his name, as if you had seen him write - it with his own hand. I inform you, Sir, that this letter - was fabricated at Paris, and, what rends and afflicts my - heart, that the impostor hath his accomplices in England. - - In justice to the King of Prussia, to truth, and to myself, - you ought therefore to print the letter I am now writing, - and to which I set my name, by way of reparation for a - fault, which you would undoubtedly reproach yourself for - if you knew of what atrociousness you have been made the - instrument. Sir, I make you my sincere salutations. - - J. J. R. - - -I was sorry to see Mr Rousseau display such an excess of sensibility, -on account of so simple and unavoidable an incident, as the publication -of this pretended letter from the King of Prussia. But I should have -accused myself of a most black and malevolent disposition, if I had -imagined Mr Rousseau could have suspected me to have been the editor of -it, or that he had intentionally directed his resentment against me. -He now informs me, however, that this was really the case. Just eight -days before, I had received a letter, written in the most amicable -terms imaginable.[4] I am, surely, the last man in the world, who, in -common sense, ought to be suspected; yet, without even the pretence -of the smallest proof or probability, I am, of a sudden, the first -man not only suspected, but certainly concluded to be the publisher; -I am, without further inquiry or explication, intentionally insulted -in a public paper; I am, from the dearest friend, converted into a -treacherous and malignant enemy; and all my present and past services -are at one stroke very artfully cancelled. Were it not ridiculous to -employ reasoning on such a subject, and with such a man, I might ask -Mr Rousseau, "Why I am supposed to have any malignity against him?" -My actions, in a hundred instances, had sufficiently demonstrated -the contrary; and it is not usual for favours conferred to beget ill -will in the person who confers them. But supposing I had secretly -entertained an animosity towards him, would I run the risk of a -discovery, by so silly a vengeance, and by sending this piece to the -press, when I knew, from the usual avidity of the news-writers to find -articles of intelligence, that it must necessarily in a few days be -laid hold of? - -[4] That of the 29th of March. - -But not imagining that I was the object of so black and ridiculous a -suspicion, I pursued my usual train, by serving my friend in the least -doubtful manner. I renewed my applications to General Conway, as soon -as the state of that gentleman's health permitted it: the General -applies again to his Majesty: his Majesty's consent is renewed: the -Marquis of Rockingham, first Commissioner of the Treasury, is also -applied to: the whole affair is happily finished; and full of joy, I -conveyed the intelligence to my friend. On which Mr Conway soon after -received the following letter. - - - - MR ROUSSEAU TO GENERAL CONWAY. - - - _May_ 12_th_, 1766. - - SIR, - - Affected with a most lively sense of the favour his - Majesty hath honoured me with, and with that of your - goodness, which procured it me, it affords me the most - pleasing sensation to reflect, that the best of Kings, and - the Minister most worthy of his confidence, are pleased - to interest themselves in my fortune. This, Sir, is an - advantage of which I am justly tenacious, and which I will - never deserve to lose. But it is necessary I should speak - to you with that frankness you admire. After the many - misfortunes that have befallen me, I thought myself armed - against all possible events. There have happened to me - some, however, which I did not foresee, and which indeed an - ingenuous mind ought not to have foreseen: hence it is that - they affect me by so much the more severely. The trouble - in which they involve me, indeed, deprives me of the ease - and presence of mind necessary to direct my conduct: all - I can reasonably do, under so distressed a situation, - is to suspend my resolutions about every affair of such - importance as is that in agitation. So far from refusing - the beneficence of the King from pride, as is imputed to - me, I am proud of acknowledging it, and am only sorry I - cannot do it more publicly. But when I actually receive - it, I would be able to give up myself entirely to those - sentiments which it would naturally inspire, and to have an - heart replete with gratitude for his Majesty's goodness and - yours. I am not at all afraid this manner of thinking will - make any alteration in yours towards me. Deign, therefore, - Sir, to preserve that goodness for me, till a more happy - opportunity, when you will be satisfied that I defer taking - the advantage of it, only to render myself more worthy of - it. I beg of you, Sir, to accept of my most humble and - respectful salutations. - - J. J. R. - -This letter appeared both to General Conway and me a plain refusal, as -long as the article of secrecy was insisted on; but as I knew that Mr -Rousseau had been acquainted with that condition from the beginning, -I was the less surprised at his silence towards me. I thought that my -friend, conscious of having treated me ill in this affair, was ashamed -to write to me; and having prevailed on General Conway to keep the -matter still open, I wrote a very friendly letter to Mr Rousseau, -exhorting him to return to his former way of thinking, and to accept of -the pension. - -As to the deep distress which he mentions to General Conway, and which, -he says, deprives him even of the use of his reason, I was set very -much at ease on that head, by receiving a letter from Mr Davenport, who -told me, that his guest was at that very time extremely happy, easy, -cheerful, and even sociable. I saw plainly, in this event, the usual -infirmity of my friend, who wishes to interest the world in his favour, -by passing for sickly, and persecuted, and distressed, and unfortunate, -beyond all measure, even while he is the most happy and contented. His -pretences of an extreme sensibility had been too frequently repeated, -to have any effect on a man who was so well acquainted with them. - -I waited three weeks in vain for an answer: I thought this a little -strange, and I even wrote so to Mr Davenport; but having to do with -a very odd sort of a man, and still accounting for his silence by -supposing him ashamed to write to me, I was resolved not to be -discouraged, nor to lose the opportunity of doing him an essential -service, on account of a vain ceremonial. I accordingly renewed my -applications to the Ministers, and was so happy as to be enabled to -write the following letter to Mr Rousseau, the only one of so old a -date of which I have a copy. - - - - MR HUME TO MR ROUSSEAU. - - - _Lisle-street_, _Leicester-fields_, 19_th June_, 1766. - - As I have not received any answer from you, I conclude, - that you persevere in the same resolution of refusing all - marks of his Majesty's goodness, as long as they must - remain a secret. I have therefore applied to General Conway - to have this condition removed; and I was so fortunate as - to obtain his promise that he would speak to the King for - that purpose. It will only be requisite, said he, that we - know previously from Mr Rousseau, whether he would accept - of a pension publicly granted him, that his Majesty may - not be exposed to a second refusal. He gave me authority - to write to you on that subject; and I beg to hear your - resolution as soon as possible. If you give your consent, - which I earnestly entreat you to do, I know, that I could - depend on the good offices of the Duke of Richmond, to - second General Conway's application; so that I have no - doubt of success. I am, my Dear Sir, Yours, with great - sincerity, - - D. H. - - -In five days I received the following answer. - - MR ROUSSEAU TO MR HUME. - - - _Wooton_, _June_ 23_d_, 1766. - - I imagined, Sir, that my silence, truly interpreted by your - own conscience, had said enough; but since you have some - design in not understanding me, I shall speak. You have - but ill disguised yourself. I know you, and you are not - ignorant of it. Before we had any personal connections, - quarrels, or disputes; while we knew each other only by - literary reputation, you affectionately made me the offer - of the good offices of yourself and friends. Affected by - this generosity, I threw myself into your arms; you brought - me to England, apparently to procure me an asylum, but in - fact to bring me to dishonour. You applied to this noble - work, with a zeal worthy of your heart, and a success - worthy of your abilities. You needed not have taken so much - pains: you live and converse with the world; I with myself - in solitude. The public love to be deceived, and you were - formed to deceive them. I know one man, however, whom you - can not deceive; I mean myself. You know with what horror - my heart rejected the first suspicion of your designs. You - know I embraced you with tears in my eyes, and told you, if - you were not the best of men, you must be the blackest of - mankind. In reflecting on your private conduct, you must - say to yourself sometimes, you are not the best of men: - under which conviction, I doubt much if ever you will be - the happiest. - - I leave your friends and you to carry on your schemes as - you please; giving up to you, without regret, my reputation - during life; certain that, sooner or later, justice will be - done to that of both. As to your good offices in matters - of interest, which you have made use of as a mask, I thank - you for them, and shall dispense with profiting by them. I - ought not to hold a correspondence with you any longer, or - to accept of it to my advantage in any affair in which you - are to be the mediator. Adieu, Sir, I wish you the truest - happiness; but as we ought not to have any thing to say to - each other for the future, this is the last letter you will - receive from me. - - J. J. R. - -To this I immediately sent the following reply. - - - MR HUME TO MR ROUSSEAU. - - - _June_ 26_th_, 1766. - - As I am conscious of having ever acted towards you the most - friendly part, of having always given the most tender, the - most active proofs of sincere affection; you may judge of - my extreme surprize on perusing your epistle. Such violent - accusations, confined altogether to generals, it is as - impossible to answer, as it is impossible to comprehend - them. But affairs cannot, must not remain on that footing. - I shall charitably suppose, that some infamous calumniator - has belied me to you. But in that case, it is your duty, - and I am persuaded it will be your inclination, to give me - an opportunity of detecting him, and of justifying myself; - which can only be done by your mentioning the particulars - of which I am accused. You say, that I myself know that - I have been false to you; but I say it loudly, and will - say it to the whole world, that I know the contrary, that - I know my friendship towards you has been unbounded and - uninterrupted, and that though instances of it have been - very generally remarked both in France and England, the - smallest part of it only has as yet come to the knowledge - of the public. I demand, that you will produce me the man - who will assert the contrary; and above all, I demand, - that he will mention any one particular in which I have - been wanting to you. You owe this to me; you owe it to - yourself; you owe it to truth, and honour, and justice, and - to every thing that can be deemed sacred among men. As an - innocent man; I will not say, as your friend; I will not - say, as your benefactor; but, I repeat it, as an innocent - man, I claim the privilege of proving my innocence, and of - refuting any scandalous lie which may have been invented - against me. Mr Davenport, to whom I have sent a copy of - your letter, and who will read this before he delivers it, - I am confident, will second my demand, and will tell you, - that nothing possibly can be more equitable. Happily I - have preserved the letter you wrote me after your arrival - at Wooton; and you there express in the strongest terms, - indeed in terms too strong, your satisfaction in my poor - endeavours to serve you: the little epistolary intercourse - which afterwards passed between us, has been all employed - on my side to the most friendly purposes. Tell me, what has - since given you offence. Tell me of what I am accused. Tell - me the man who accuses me. Even after you have fulfilled - all these conditions, to my satisfaction, and to that of Mr - Davenport, you will have great difficulty to justify the - employing such outrageous terms towards a man, with whom - you have been so intimately connected, and whom, on many - accounts, you ought to have treated with some regard and - decency. - - Mr Davenport knows the whole transaction about your - pension, because I thought it necessary that the person who - had undertaken your settlement, should be fully acquainted - with your circumstances; lest he should be tempted to - perform towards you concealed acts of generosity, which, if - they accidentally came to your knowledge, might give you - some grounds of offence. I am, Sir, - - D. H. - - -Mr Davenport's authority procured me, in three weeks, the following -enormous letter; which however has this advantage, that it confirms all -the material circumstances of the foregoing narrative. I have subjoined -a few notes relative to some facts which Mr Rousseau hath not truly -represented, and leave my readers to judge which of us deserves the -greatest confidence. - - - - MR ROUSSEAU TO MR HUME. - - - _Wooton_, _July_ 10, 1766. - - SIR, - - I am indisposed, and little in a situation to write; but - you require an explanation, and it must be given you: it - was your own fault you had it not long since; but you did - not desire it, and I was therefore silent: at present you - do, and I have sent it. It will be a long one, for which I - am very sorry; but I have much to say, and would put an end - to the subject at once. - - As I live retired from the world, I am ignorant of what - passes in it. I have no party, no associates, no intrigues; - I am told nothing, and I know only what I feel. But as care - hath been taken to make me severely feel; that I well know. - The first concern of those who engage in bad designs is to - secure themselves from legal proofs of detection: it would - not be very advisable to seek a remedy against them at law. - The innate conviction of the heart admits of another kind - of proof, which influences the sentiments of honest men. - You well know the basis of mine. - - You ask me, with great confidence, to name your accuser. - That accuser, Sir, is the only man in the world whose - testimony I should admit against you; it is yourself. I - shall give myself up, without fear or reserve, to the - natural frankness of my disposition; being an enemy to - every kind of artifice, I shall speak with the same - freedom as if you were an indifferent person, on whom I - placed all that confidence which I no longer have in you. - I will give you a history of the emotions of my heart, - and of what produced them; while speaking of Mr Hume in - the third person, I shall make yourself the judge of what - I ought to think of him. Notwithstanding the length of - my letter, I shall pursue no other order than that of my - ideas, beginning with the premises, and ending with the - demonstration. - - I quitted Switzerland, wearied out by the barbarous - treatment I had undergone; but which affected only my - personal security, while my honour was safe. I was going, - as my heart directed me, to join my Lord Marshal; when I - received at Strasburg, a most affectionate invitation from - Mr Hume, to go over with him to England, where he promised - me the most agreeable reception, and more tranquillity - than I have met with. I hesitated some time between my old - friend and my new one; in this I was wrong. I preferred - the latter, and in this was still more so. But the desire - of visiting in person a celebrated nation, of which I had - heard both so much good and so much ill, prevailed. Assured - I could not lose George Keith, I was flattered with the - acquisition of David Hume. His great merit, extraordinary - abilities, and established probity of character, made me - desirous of annexing his friendship to that with which - I was honoured by his illustrious countrymen. Besides, - I gloried not a little in setting an example to men of - letters, in a sincere union between two men so different in - their principles. - - Before I had received an invitation from the King of - Prussia, and my Lord Marshal, undetermined about the place - of my retreat, I had desired, and obtained by the interest - of my friends, a passport from the Court of France. I made - use of this, and went to Paris to join Mr Hume. He saw, - and perhaps saw too much of, the favourable reception I - met with from a great Prince, and I will venture to say, - of the public. I yielded, as it was my duty, though with - reluctance, to that eclat; concluding how far it must - excite the envy of my enemies. At the same time, I saw - with pleasure, the regard which the public entertained for - Mr Hume, sensibly increasing throughout Paris, on account - of the good work he had undertaken with respect to me. - Doubtless he was affected too; but I know not if it was in - the same manner as I was. - - We set out with one of my friends, who came to England - almost entirely on my account. When we were landed at - Dover, transported with the thoughts of having set foot in - this land of liberty, under the conduct of so celebrated a - person, I threw my arms round his neck, and pressed him to - my heart, without speaking a syllable; bathing his cheeks, - as I kissed them, with tears sufficiently expressive. This - was not the only, nor the most remarkable instance I have - given him of the effusions of a heart full of sensibility. - I know not what he does with the recollection of them, when - that happens; but I have a notion they must be sometimes - troublesome to him. - - At our arrival in London, we were mightily caressed and - entertained: all ranks of people eagerly pressing to - give me marks of their benevolence and esteem. Mr Hume - presented me politely to every body; and it was natural - for me to ascribe to him, as I did, the best part of my - good reception. My heart was full of him, I spoke in his - praise to every one, I wrote to the same purpose to all - my friends; my attachment to him gathering every day new - strength, while his appeared the most affectionate to me, - of which he frequently gave me instances that touched me - extremely. That of causing my portrait to be painted, - however, was not of the number. This seemed to me to carry - with it too much the affectation of popularity, and had an - air of ostentation which by no means pleased me. All this, - however, might have been easily excusable, had Mr Hume - been a man apt to throw away his money, or had a gallery - of pictures with the portraits of his friends. After all, - I freely confess, that, on this head, I may be in the - wrong.[5] - - But what appears to me an act of friendship and generosity - the most undoubted and estimable, in a word, the most - worthy of Mr Hume, was the care he took to solicit for me, - of his own accord, a pension from the King, to which most - assuredly I had no right to aspire. As I was a witness - to the zeal he exerted in that affair, I was greatly - affected with it. Nothing could flatter me more than a - piece of service of that nature; not merely for the sake - of interest; for, too much attached, perhaps, to what I - actually possess, I am not capable of desiring what I have - not, and, as I am able to subsist on my labour, and the - assistance of my friends, I covet nothing more. But the - honour of receiving testimonies of the goodness, I will not - say of so great a monarch, but of so good a father, so good - a husband, so good a master, so good a friend, and, above - all, so worthy a man, was sensibly affecting: and when I - considered farther, that the minister who had obtained - for me this favour, was a living instance of that probity - which of all others is the most important to mankind, and - at the same time hardly ever met with in the only character - wherein it can be useful, I could not check the emotions of - my pride, at having for my benefactors three men, who of - all the world I could most desire to have my friends. Thus, - so far from refusing the pension offered me, I only made - one condition necessary for my acceptance; this was the - consent of a person, whom I could not, without neglecting - my duty, fail to consult. - - Being honoured with the civilities of all the world, I - endeavoured to make a proper return. In the mean time, - my bad state of health, and being accustomed to live in - the country, made my residence in town very disagreeable. - Immediately country houses presented themselves in plenty; - I had my choice of all the counties of England. Mr Hume - took the trouble to receive these proposals, and to - represent them to me; accompanying me to two or three in - the neighbouring counties. I hesitated a good while in my - choice, and he increased the difficulty of determination. - At length I fixed on this place, and immediately Mr Hume - settled the affair; all difficulties vanished, and I - departed; arriving presently at this solitary, convenient, - and agreeable habitation, where the owner of the house - provides every thing, and nothing is wanting. I became - tranquil, independent; and this seemed to be the wished-for - moment when all my misfortunes should have an end. On the - contrary, it was now they began; misfortunes more cruel - than any I had yet experienced. - - Hitherto I have spoken in the fulness of my heart, and to - do justice, with the greatest pleasure, to the good offices - of Mr Hume. Would to Heaven that what remains for me to say - were of the same nature! It would never give me pain to - speak what would redound to his honour; nor is it proper to - set a value on benefits till one is accused of ingratitude, - which is the case at present. I will venture to make one - observation, therefore, which renders it necessary. In - estimating the services of Mr Hume, by the time and the - pains they took him up, they were of an infinite value, - and that still more from the good will displayed in their - performance; but for the actual service they were of to - me, it was much more in appearance than reality. I did - not come over to beg my bread in England; I brought the - means of subsistence with me. I came merely to seek an - asylum in a country which is open to every stranger without - distinction. I was, besides, not so totally unknown as - that, if I had arrived alone, I should have wanted either - assistance or service. If some persons have sought my - acquaintance for the sake of Mr Hume, others have sought - it for my own. Thus, when Mr Davenport, for example, was - so kind as to offer my present retreat, it was not for the - sake of Mr Hume, whom he did not know, and whom he saw only - in order to desire him to make me his obliging proposal; - so that, when Mr Hume endeavours to alienate from me this - worthy man, he takes that from me which he did not give - me.[6] All the good that hath been done me, would have been - done me nearly the same without him, and perhaps better; - but the evil would not have been done me at all; for why - should I have enemies in England? Why are those enemies all - the friends of Mr Hume? Who could have excited their enmity - against me? It certainly was not I, who knew nothing of - them, nor ever saw them in my life. I should not have had a - single enemy had I come to England alone.[7] - - I have hitherto dwelt upon public and notorious facts, - which, from their own nature, and my acknowledgment, have - made the greatest eclat. Those which are to follow are - particular and secret, at least in their cause; and all - possible measures have been taken to keep the knowledge of - them from the public; but as they are well known to the - person interested, they will not have the less influence - toward his own conviction. - - A very short time after our arrival in London, I observed - an absurd change in the minds of the people regarding - me, which soon became very apparent. Before I arrived in - England, there was not a nation in Europe in which I - had a greater reputation, I will venture to say, or was - held in greater estimation. The public papers were full - of encomiums on me, and a general outcry prevailed on my - persecutors.[8] This was the case at my arrival, which - was published in the newspapers with triumph; England - prided itself in affording me refuge, and justly gloried - on that occasion in its laws and government; when all of a - sudden, without the least assignable cause, the tone was - changed, and that so speedily and totally, that, of all - the caprices of the public, never was known any thing more - surprising. The signal was given in a certain _Magazine_, - equally full of follies and falsehoods, in which the - author, being well informed, or pretending to be so, gives - me out for the son of a musician. From this time[9] I was - constantly spoken of in print in a very equivocal or - slighting manner.[10] Every thing that had been published - concerning my misfortunes was misrepresented, altered, or - placed in a wrong light, and always as much as possible to - my disadvantage. So far was any body from speaking of the - reception I met with at Paris, and which had made but too - much noise, it was not generally supposed that I durst have - appeared in that city, even one of Mr Hume's friends being - very much surprised when I told him I came through it. - - Accustomed as I had been too much to the inconstancy of - the public, to be affected by this instance of it, I could - not help being astonished, however, at a change, so very - sudden and general, that not one of those who had so much - praised me in my absence, appeared, now I was present, to - think even of my existence. I thought it something very - odd that, immediately after the return of Mr Hume, who had - so much credit in London, with so much influence over the - booksellers and men of letters, and such great connections - with them, his presence should produce an effect so - contrary to what might have been expected; that among so - many writers of every kind, not one of his friends should - show himself to be mine; while it was easy to be seen, - that those who spoke of him were not his enemies, since, - in noticing his public character, they reported that I had - come through France under his protection, and by favour of - a passport which he had obtained of the court; nay, they - almost went so far as to insinuate, that I came over in - his retinue, and at his expense. All this was of little - signification, and was only singular; but what was much - more so, was, that his friends changed their tone with me - as much as the public. I shall always take a pleasure in - saying that they were still equally solicitous to serve - me, and that they exerted themselves greatly in my favour; - but so far were they from showing me the same respect, - particularly the gentleman at whose house we alighted on - our arrival, that he accompanied all his actions with - discourse so rude, and sometimes so insulting, that one - would have thought he had taken an occasion to oblige - me, merely to have a right to express his contempt.[11] - His brother, who was at first very polite and obliging, - altered his behaviour with so little reserve, that he - would hardly deign to speak a single word to me, even in - their own house, in return to a civil salutation, or to - pay any of those civilities which are usually paid in like - circumstances to strangers. Nothing new had happened, - however, except the arrival of J. J. Rousseau and David - Hume: and certainly the cause of these alterations did - not come from me, unless, indeed, too great a portion - of simplicity, discretion, and modesty, be the cause of - offence in England. As to Mr Hume, he was so far from - assuming such a disgusting tone, that he gave into the - other extreme. I have always looked upon flatterers with - an eye of suspicion: and he was so full of all kinds[12] - of flattery, that he even obliged me, when I could bear - it no longer,[13] to tell him my sentiments on that head. - His behaviour was such as to render few words necessary, - yet I could have wished he had substituted, in the room of - such gross encomiums, sometimes the language of a friend; - but I never found any thing in his, which savoured of true - friendship, not even in his manner of speaking of me to - others in my presence. One would have thought that, in - endeavouring to procure me patrons, he strove to deprive - me of their good will; that he sought rather to have me - assisted than loved; and I have been sometimes surprised at - the rude turn he hath given to my behaviour before people - who might not unreasonably have taken offence at it. I - shall give an example of what I mean. Mr Pennick of the - Museum, a friend of my Lord Marshal's, and minister of a - parish where I was solicited to reside, came to see me. Mr - Hume made my excuses, while I myself was present, for not - having paid him a visit. Doctor Matty, said he, invited us - on Thursday to the Museum, where Mr Rousseau should have - seen you; but he chose rather to go with Mrs Garrick to - the play: we could not do both the same day.[14] You will - confess, Sir, this was a strange method of recommending me - to Mr Pennick. - - I know not what Mr Hume might say in private of me to his - acquaintance, but nothing was more extraordinary than - their behaviour to me, even by his own confession, and - even often through his own means. Although my purse was - not empty, and I needed not that of any other person, - which he very well knew, yet any one would have thought - I was come over to subsist on the charity of the public, - and that nothing more was to be done than to give me alms - in such a manner as to save me a little confusion.[15] I - must own, this constant and insolent piece of affectation - was one of those things which made me averse to reside in - London. This certainly was not the footing on which any - man should have been introduced in England, had there been - a design of procuring him ever so little respect. This - display of charity, however, may admit of a more favourable - interpretation, and I consent it should. To proceed. - - At Paris was published a fictitious letter from the King - of Prussia, addressed to me, and replete with the most - cruel malignity. I learned with surprise that it was one - Mr Walpole, a a friend of Mr Hume's who was the editor; I - asked him if it were true; in answer to which question, - he only asked me, of whom I had the information. A moment - before he had given me a card for this same Mr Walpole, - written to engage him to bring over such papers as related - to me from Paris, and which I wanted to have by a safe hand. - - I was informed that the son of that quack[16] Tronchin, - my most mortal enemy, was not only the friend of Mr Hume, - and under his protection, but that they both lodged in the - same house together; and when Mr Hume found that I knew - it, he imparted it in confidence; assuring me at the same - time that the son was by no means like the father. I lodged - a few nights myself, together with my governante, in the - same house; and by the air and manner with which we were - received by the landladies, who are his friends, I judged - in what manner either Mr Hume, or that man, who, as he - said, was by no means like his father, must have spoken to - them both of her and me.[17] - - All these facts put together, added to a certain appearance - of things on the whole, insensibly gave me an uneasiness - which I rejected with horror. In the mean time, I found - the letters I wrote did not come to hand; those I received - had often been opened; and all went through the hands of - Mr Hume.[18] If at any time any one escaped him, he could - not conceal his eagerness to see it. One evening, in - particular, I remember a very remarkable circumstance of - this kind that greatly struck me.[19] - - As we were sitting one evening, after supper, silent by - the fire-side, I caught his eyes intently fixed on mine, - as indeed happened very often; and that in a manner of - which it is very difficult to give an idea. At that time - he gave me a stedfast, piercing look, mixed with a sneer, - which greatly disturbed me. To get rid of the embarrassment - I lay under, I endeavoured to look full at him in my - turn; but, in fixing my eyes against his, I felt the most - inexpressible terror, and was obliged soon to turn them - away. The speech and physiognomy of the good David is that - of an honest man; but where, great God! did this good man - borrow those eyes he fixes so sternly and unaccountably on - those of his friends? - - The impression of this look remained with me, and gave me - much uneasiness. My trouble increased even to a degree of - fainting; and if I had not been relieved by an effusion - of tears, I had been suffocated. Presently after this I - was seized with the most violent remorse; I even despised - myself; till at length, in a transport which I still - remember with delight, I sprang on his neck, embraced him - eagerly; while almost choked with sobbing, and bathed in - tears, I cried out, in broken accents, _No, no, David - Hume cannot be treacherous. If he be not the best of men, - he must be the basest of mankind_. David Hume politely - returned my embraces, and, gently, tapping me on the back, - repeated several times, in a good-natured and easy tone, - _Why, what, my dear Sir! Nay, my dear Sir! Oh, my dear - Sir!_ He said nothing more. I felt my heart yearn within - me. We went to bed; and I set out the next day for the - country. - - Arrived at this agreeable asylum, to which I have travelled - so far in search of repose, I ought to find it in a - retired, convenient, and pleasant habitation; the master - of which, a man of understanding and worth, spares for - nothing to render it agreeable to me. But what repose can - be tasted in life, when the heart is agitated? Afflicted - with the most cruel uncertainty, and ignorant what to think - of a man whom I ought to love and esteem, I endeavoured to - get rid of that fatal doubt, in placing confidence in my - benefactor. For, wherefore, from what unaccountable caprice - should he display so much apparent zeal for my happiness, - and at the same time entertain secret designs against my - honour. Among the several observations that disturbed me, - each fact was in itself of no great moment; it was their - concurrence that was surprising; yet I thought, perhaps, - that Mr Hume, informed of other facts, of which I was - ignorant, could have given me a satisfactory solution of - them, had we come to an explanation. The only thing that - was inexplicable, was, that he refused to come to such - an explanation; which both his honour and his friendship - rendered equally necessary. I saw very well there was - something in the affair which I did not comprehend, and - which I earnestly wished to know. Before I came to an - absolute determination, therefore, with regard to him, - I was desirous of making another effort, and to try to - recover him, if he had permitted himself to be seduced by - my enemies, or, in short, to prevail on him to explain - himself one way or other. Accordingly I wrote him a letter, - which he ought to have found very natural,[20] if he were - guilty; but very extraordinary, if he were innocent. - For what could be more extraordinary than a letter full - of gratitude for his services, and at the same time, of - distrust of his sentiments; and in which, placing in a - manner his actions on one side, and his sentiments on the - other, instead of speaking of the proofs of friendship - he had given me, I desired him to love me, for the good - he had done me![21] I did not take the precaution to - preserve a copy of this letter; but as he hath done it, - let him produce it: and whoever shall read it, and see - therein a man labouring under a secret trouble, which he is - desirous of expressing, and is afraid to do it, will, I am - persuaded, be curious to know what kind of éclaircissement - it produced, especially after the preceding scene. None. - Absolutely none at all. Mr Hume contented himself, in his - answer, with only speaking of the obliging offices Mr - Davenport proposed to do for me. As for the rest, he said - not a word of the principal subject of my letter, nor of - the situation of my heart, of whose distress he could not - be ignorant. I was more struck with this silence, than I - had been with his phlegm during our last conversation. In - this I was wrong; this silence was very natural after the - other, and was no more than I ought to have expected. For - when one hath ventured to declare to a man's face, _I am - tempted to believe you a traitor_, and he hath not the - curiosity to ask you _for what_,[22] it may be depended - on he will never have any such curiosity as long as he - lives; and it is easy to judge of him from these slight - indications. - - After the receipt of his letter, which was long delayed, I - determined at length to write to him no more. Soon after, - every thing served to confirm me in the resolution to - break off all farther correspondence with him. Curious to - the last degree concerning the minutest circumstance of - my affairs, he was not content to learn them of me, in - our frequent conversations; but, as I learned, never let - slip an opportunity of being alone with my governante,[23] - to interrogate her even importunately concerning my - occupations, my resources, my friends, acquaintances, their - names, situations, place of abode, and all this after - setting out with telling her he was well acquainted with - the whole of my connections; nay, with the most jesuitical - address, he would ask the same questions of us separately. - One ought undoubtedly to interest one's self in the affairs - of a friend; but one ought to be satisfied with what he - thinks proper to let us know of them, particularly when - people are so frank and ingenuous as I am. Indeed all this - petty inquisitiveness is very little becoming a philosopher. - - About the same time I received two other letters which had - been opened. The one from Mr Boswell, the seal of which - was so loose and disfigured, that Mr Davenport, when he - received it, remarked the same to Mr Hume's servant. The - other was from Mr d'Ivernois, in Mr Hume's packet, and - which had been sealed up again by means of a hot iron, - which, awkwardly applied, had burnt the paper round the - impression. On this I wrote to Mr Davenport to desire him - to take charge of all the letters which might be sent for - me, and to trust none of them in any body's hands, under - any pretext whatever. I know not whether Mr Davenport, who - certainly was far from thinking that precaution was to be - observed with regard to Mr Hume, showed him my letter or - not; but this I know, that the latter had all the reason - in the world to think he had forfeited my confidence, and - that he proceeded nevertheless in his usual manner, without - troubling himself about the recovery of it. - - But what was to become of me, when I saw, in the public - papers, the pretended letter of the King of Prussia which - I had never before seen, that fictitious letter, printed - in French and English, given for genuine, even with the - signature of the King, and in which I knew the pen of Mr - d'Alembert as certainly as if I had seen him write it?[24] - - In a moment a ray of light discovered to me the secret - cause of that touching and sudden change, which I had - observed in the public respecting me; and I saw the plot - which was put in execution at London, had been laid in - Paris. - - Mr d'Alembert, another intimate friend of Mr Hume's, had - been long since my secret enemy, and lay in watch for - opportunities to injure me without exposing himself. He - was the only person, among the men of letters, of my old - acquaintance, who did not come to see me,[25] or send their - civilities during my last passage through Paris. I knew his - secret disposition, but I gave myself very little trouble - about it, contenting myself with advising my friends of it - occasionally. I remember that being asked about him one day - by Mr Hume, who afterwards asked my governante the same - question, I told him that Mr d'Alembert was a cunning, - artful man. He contradicted me with a warmth that surprised - me; not then knowing they stood so well with each other, - and that it was his own cause he defended. - - The perusal of the letter above mentioned alarmed me a - good deal, when, perceiving that I had been brought over - to England in consequence of a project which began to be - put in execution, but of the end of which I was ignorant, - I felt the danger without knowing what to guard against, - or on whom to rely. I then recollected four terrifying - words Mr Hume had made use of, and of which I shall speak - hereafter. What could be thought of a paper in which my - misfortunes were imputed to me as a crime, which tended, in - the midst of my distress, to deprive me of all compassion, - and, to render its effects still more cruel, pretended - to have been written by a Prince who had afforded me - protection? What could I divine would be the consequence - of such a beginning? The people in England read the public - papers, and are in no wise prepossessed in favour of - foreigners. Even a coat, cut in a different fashion from - their own, is sufficient to excite a prejudice against - them. What then had not a poor stranger to expect in his - rural walks, the only pleasures of his life, when the good - people in the neighbourhood were once thoroughly persuaded - he was fond of being persecuted and pelted? Doubtless - they would be ready enough to contribute to his favourite - amusement. But my concern, my profound and cruel concern, - the bitterest indeed I ever felt, did not arise from the - danger to which I was personally exposed. I have braved - too many others to be much moved with that. The treachery - of a false friend,[26] to which I had fallen a prey, was - the circumstance that filled my too susceptible heart with - deadly sorrow. In the impetuosity of its first emotions, of - which I never yet was master, and of which my enemies have - artfully taken the advantage, I wrote several letters full - of disorder, in which I did not disguise either my anxiety - or indignation. - - I have, Sir, so many things to mention, that I forget half - of them by the way. For instance, a certain narrative - in form of a letter, concerning my manner of living at - Montmorency, was given by the booksellers to Mr Hume, who - showed it me. I agreed to its being printed, and Mr Hume - undertook the care of its edition; but it never appeared. - Again, I had brought over with me a copy of the letters - of Mr du Peyron, containing a relation of the treatment I - had met with at Neufchâtel. I gave them into the hands of - the same bookseller to have them translated and reprinted. - Mr Hume charged himself with the care of them; but they - never appeared.[27] The supposititious letter of the King - of Prussia, and its translation, had no sooner made their - appearance, than I immediately apprehended why the other - pieces had been suppressed,[28] and I wrote as much to - the booksellers.[29] I wrote several other letters also, - which probably were handed about London; till at length - I employed the credit of a man of quality and merit, to - insert a declaration of the imposture in the public papers. - In this declaration, I concealed no part of my extreme - concern, nor did I in the least disguise the cause. - - Hitherto Mr Hume seems to have walked in darkness. You will - soon see him appear in open day, and act without disguise. - Nothing more is necessary, in our behaviour towards cunning - people, than to act ingenuously; sooner or later they will - infallibly betray themselves. - - When this pretended letter from the Ring of Prussia was - first published in London, Mr Hume, who certainly knew that - it was fictitious, as I had told him so, yet said nothing - of the matter, did not write to me, but was totally silent; - and did not even think of making any declaration of the - truth, in favour of his absent friend.[30] It answered his - purpose better to let the report take its course, as he did. - - Mr Hume having been my conductor into England, he was of - course in a manner my patron and protector. If it were but - natural in him to undertake my defence, it was no less - so that, when I had a public protestation to make, I - should have addressed myself to him. Having already ceased - writing to him,[31] however, I had no mind to renew our - correspondence. I addressed myself therefore to another - person. The first slap on the face I gave my patron. He - felt nothing of it. - - In saying the letter was fabricated at Paris, it was of - very little consequence to me whether it was understood - particularly of Mr d'Alembert, or of Mr Walpole, whose - name he borrowed on the occasion. But in adding that, what - afflicted and tore my heart was, the impostor had got his - accomplices in England; I expressed myself very clearly - to their friend, who was in London, and was desirous of - passing for mine. For certainly he was the only person in - England, whose hatred could afflict and rend my heart. This - was the second slap of the face I gave my patron. He did - not feel, however, yet. - - On the contrary, he maliciously pretended that my - affliction arose solely from the publication of the - above letter, in order to make me pass for a man who was - excessively affected by satire. Whether I am vain or not, - certain it is I was mortally afflicted; he knew it, and - yet wrote me not a word. This affectionate friend, who had - so much at heart the filling of my purse, gave himself no - trouble to think my heart was bleeding with sorrow. - - Another piece appeared soon after, in the same papers, - by the author of the former, and still if possible more - cruel, in which the writer could not disguise his rage - at the reception I met with at Paris.[32] This however - did not affect me; it told me nothing new. Mere libels - may take their course without giving me any emotion; - and the inconstant public may amuse themselves as long - as they please with the subject. It is not an affair of - conspirators, who, bent on the destruction of my honest - fame, are determined by some means or other to effect it. - It was necessary to change the battery. - - The affair of the pension was not determined. It was - not difficult, however, for Mr Hume to obtain, from the - humanity of the minister, and the generosity of the King, - the favour of its determination. He was required to inform - me of it, which he did. This, I must confess, was one of - the critical moments of my life. How much did it cost me - to do my duty! My preceding engagements, the necessity - of showing a due respect for the goodness of the King, - and for that of his minister, together with the desire of - displaying how far I was sensible of both; add to these the - advantage of being made a little more easy in circumstances - in the decline of life, surrounded as I was by enemies - and evils; in fine, the embarrassment I was under to find - a decent excuse for not accepting a benefit already half - accepted; all these together made the necessity of that - refusal very difficult and cruel: for necessary it was, or - I should have been one of the meanest and basest of mankind - to have voluntarily laid myself under an obligation to a - man who had betrayed me. - - I did my duty, though not without reluctance. I wrote - immediately to General Conway, and in the most civil and - respectful manner possible, without giving an absolute - refusal, excusing myself from accepting the pension for the - present. - - Now, Mr Hume had been the only negociator of this affair, - nay the only person who had spoke of it. Yet I not only - did not give him any answer, though it was he who wrote to - me on the subject, but did not even so much as mention him - in my letter to General Conway. This was the third slap of - the face I gave my patron, which if he does not feel, it is - certainly his own fault, he can feel nothing. - - My letter was not clear, nor could it be so to General - Conway, who did not know the motives of my refusal; but - it was very plain to Mr Hume, who knew them but too well. - He pretended nevertheless to be deceived as well with - regard to the cause of my discontent, as to that of my - declining the pension; and, in a letter he wrote me on the - occasion, gave me to understand that the King's goodness - might be continued towards me, if I should reconsider the - affair of the pension. In a word, he seemed determined, - at all events, to remain still my patron, in spite of my - teeth. You will imagine, Sir, he did not expect my answer; - and he had none. Much about this time, for I do not know - exactly the date, nor is such precision necessary, appeared - a letter, from Mr de Voltaire to me, with an English - translation, which still improved on the original. The - noble object of this ingenious performance, was to draw - on me the hatred and contempt of the people, among whom - I was come to reside. I made not the least doubt that my - dear patron was one of the instruments of its publication; - particularly when I saw that the writer, in endeavouring - to alienate from me those who might render my life - agreeable, had omitted the name of him who brought me over. - He doubtless knew that it was superfluous, and that with - regard to him, nothing more was necessary to be said. The - omission of his name, so impoliticly forgot in this letter, - recalled to my mind what Tacitus says of the picture of - Brutus, omitted in a funeral solemnity, viz. that every - body took notice of it, particularly because it was not - there. - - Mr Hume was not mentioned; but he lives and converses - with people that are mentioned. It is well known his - friends are all my enemies; there are abroad such people - as Tronchin, d'Alembert, and Voltaire;[33] but it is much - worse in London; for here I have no enemies but what are - his friends. For why, indeed, should I have any other? - Why should I have even them?[34] What have I done to Lord - Littleton,[35] whom I don't even know? What have I done to - Mr Walpole, whom I know full as little? What do they know - of me, except that I am unhappy, and a friend to their - friend Hume? What can he have said to them, for it is only - through him they know any thing of me? I can very well - imagine, that, considering the part he has to play, he does - not unmask himself to every body; for then he would be - disguised to nobody. I can very well imagine that he does - not speak of me to General Conway and the Duke of Richmond - as he does in his private conversations with Mr Walpole, - and his secret correspondence with Mr d'Alembert. But let - any one discover the clue that hath been unravelled since - my arrival in London, and it will easily be seen whether Mr - Hume does not hold the principal thread. - - At length the moment arrived in which it was thought proper - to strike the great blow, the effect of which was prepared - for by a fresh satirical piece put in the papers.[36] Had - there remained in me the least doubt, it would have been - impossible to have harboured it after perusing this piece, - as it contained facts unknown to any body but Mr Hume; - exaggerated, it is true, in order to render them odious to - the public. - - It is said in this paper that my door was opened to the - rich, and shut to the poor. Pray, who knows when my door - was open or shut, except Mr Hume, with whom I lived, and by - whom every body was introduced that I saw? I will except - one great personage, whom I gladly received without knowing - him, and whom I should still have more gladly received if - I had known him. It was Mr Hume who told me his name when - he was gone; on which information, I was really chagrined, - that, as he deigned to mount up two pair of stairs, he was - not received in the first floor. As to the poor, I have - nothing to say about the matter. I was constantly desirous - of seeing less company; but as I was unwilling to displease - any one, I suffered myself to be directed in this affair - altogether by Mr Hume, and endeavoured to receive every - body he introduced as well as I could, without distinction, - whether rich or poor. It is said in the same piece that I - received my relations very coldly, _not to say any thing - worse_. This general charge relates to my having once - received, with some indifference, the only relation I have, - out of Geneva, and that in the presence of Mr Hume.[37] It - must necessarily be either Mr Hume or this relation who - furnished that piece of intelligence. Now, my cousin, whom - I have always known for a friendly relation and a worthy - man, is incapable of furnishing materials for public - satires against me. Add to this, that his situation in life - confining him to the conversation of persons in trade, he - has no connection with men of letters or paragraph writers, - and still less with satirists and libellers; so that the - article could not come from him. At the worst, can I help - imagining that Mr Hume must have endeavoured to take - advantage of what he said, and construed it in favour of - his own purpose? It is not improper to add, that, after my - rupture with Mr Hume, I wrote an account of it to my cousin. - - In fine, it is said in the same paper that I am apt to - change my friends. No great subtlety is necessary to - comprehend what this reflection is preparative to. - - But let us distinguish facts. I have preserved some very - valuable and solid friends for twenty-five to thirty years. - I have others whose friendship is of a later date, but no - less valuable, and which, if I live, I may preserve still - longer. I have not found, indeed, the same security in - general among those friendships I have made with men of - letters. I have for this reason sometimes changed them, and - shall always change them when they appear suspicious; for I - am determined never to have friends by way of ceremony; I - have them only with a view to show them my affection. - - If ever I was fully and clearly convinced of any thing, I - am so convinced that Mr Hume furnished the materials for - the above paper. - - But what is still more, I have not only that absolute - conviction, but it is very clear to me that Mr Hume - intended I should: For how can it be supposed that a man of - his subtlety should be so imprudent as to expose himself - thus, if he had not intended it? What was his design in - it? Nothing is more clear than this. It was to raise my - resentment to the highest pitch, that he might strike the - blow he was preparing to give me with greater eclat. He - knew he had nothing more to do than put me in a passion, - and I should be guilty of a number of absurdities. We are - now arrived at the critical moment which is to show whether - he reasoned well or ill. - - It is necessary to have all the presence of mind, all - the phlegm and resolution of Mr Hume, to be able to - take the part he hath taken, after all that has passed - between us. In the embarrassment I was under in writing - to General Conway, I could make use only of obscure - expressions, to which Mr Hume, in quality of my friend, - gave what interpretation he pleased. Supposing, therefore, - for he knew very well to the contrary, that it was the - circumstance of secrecy which gave me uneasiness, he - obtained the promise of the General to endeavour to remove - it; but before any thing was done, it was previously - necessary to know whether I would accept of the pension - without that condition, in order not to expose his Majesty - to a second refusal. - - This was the decisive moment, the end and object of all - his labours. An answer was required: he would have it. To - prevent effectually indeed my neglect of it, he sent to Mr - Davenport a duplicate of his letter to me; and, not content - with this precaution, wrote me word, in another billet, - that he could not possibly stay any longer in London to - serve me. I was giddy with amazement on reading this note. - Never in my life did I meet with any thing so unaccountable. - - At length he obtained from me the so much desired answer, - and began presently to triumph. In writing to Mr Davenport, - he treated me as a monster of brutality and ingratitude. - But he wanted to do still more. He thinks his measures - well taken; no proof can be made to appear against him. He - demands an explanation: he shall have it, and here it is. - - That last stroke was a masterpiece. He himself proves every - thing, and that beyond reply. - - I will suppose, though by way of impossibility, that my - complaints against Mr Hume never reached his ears; that he - knew nothing of them; but was as perfectly ignorant as if - he had held no cabal with those who are acquainted with - them, but had resided all the while in China.[38] Yet the - behaviour passing directly between us; the last striking - words which I said to him in London; the letter which - followed replete with fears and anxiety; my persevering - silence still more expressive than words; my public - and bitter complaints with regard to the letter of Mr - d'Alembert; my letter to the Secretary of State, who did - not write to me, in answer to that which Mr Hume wrote to - me himself, and in which I did not mention him; and in fine - my refusal, without deigning to address myself to him, to - acquiesce in an affair which he had managed in my favour, - with my own privity, and without any opposition on my part; - all this must have spoken in a very forcible manner, I will - not say to any person of the least sensibility, but to - every man of common sense. - - Strange that, after I had ceased to correspond with him for - three months, when I had made no answer to any one of his - letters, however important the subject of it, surrounded - with both public and private marks of that affliction - which his infidelity gave me; a man of so enlightened an - understanding, of so penetrating a genius by nature, and - so dull by design, should see nothing, hear nothing, feel - nothing, be moved at nothing; but, without one word of - complaint, justification, or explanation, continue to give - me the most pressing marks of his good will to serve me, - in spite of myself? He wrote to me affectionately, that he - could not stay any longer in London to do me service, as if - we had agreed that he should stay there for that purpose! - This blindness, this insensibility, this perseverance, are - not in nature; they must be accounted for, therefore, from - other motives. Let us set this behaviour in a still clearer - light; for this is the decisive point. - - Mr Hume must necessarily have acted in this affair, either - as one of the first or last of mankind. There is no medium. - It remains to determine which of the two it hath been. - - Could Mr Hume, after so many instances of disdain on my - part, have still the astonishing generosity as to persevere - sincerely to serve me? He knew it was impossible for me to - accept his good offices, so long as I entertained for him - such sentiments as I had conceived. He had himself avoided - an explanation. So that to serve me without justifying - himself, would have been to render his services useless; - this therefore was no generosity. If he supposed that in - such circumstances I should have accepted his services, he - must have supposed me to have been an infamous scoundrel. - It was then in behalf of a man whom he supposed to be a - scoundrel, that he so warmly solicited a pension from his - Majesty. Can any thing be supposed more extravagant? - - But let it be supposed that Mr Hume, constantly pursuing - his plan, should only have said to himself, This is the - moment for its execution; for, by pressing Rousseau to - accept the pension, he will be reduced either to accept or - refuse it. If he accepts it, with the proofs I have in hand - against him, I shall be able completely to disgrace him: - if he refuses, after having accepted it, he will have no - pretext, but must give a reason for such refusal. This is - what I expect; if he accuses me, he is ruined. - - If, I say, Mr Hume reasoned with himself in this manner, - he did what was consistent with his plan, and in that - case very natural; indeed this is the only way in which - his conduct in this affair can be explained, for upon - any other supposition it is inexplicable: if this be not - demonstrable, nothing ever was so. The critical situation - to which he had now reduced me, re-recalled strongly to my - mind the four words I mentioned above; and which I heard - him say and repeat, at a time when I did not comprehend - their full force. It was the first night after our - departure from Paris. We slept in the same chamber, when, - during the night, I heard him several times cry out with - great vehemence, in the French language, _Je tiens J. J. - Rousseau._ 'I have you, Rousseau.' I know not whether he - was awake or asleep.[39] - - The expression was remarkable, coming from a man who is too - well acquainted with the French language, to be mistaken - with regard to the force or choice of words. I took these - words, however, and I could not then take them otherwise - than in a favourable sense: notwithstanding the tone of - voice in which they were spoken, was still less favourable - than the expression. It is indeed impossible for me to - give any idea of it; but it corresponds exactly with those - terrible looks I have before mentioned. At every repetition - of them I was seized with a shuddering, a kind of horror I - could not resist, though a moment's recollection restored - me, and made me smile at my terror. The next day all this - was so perfectly obliterated, that I did not even think of - it during my stay in London, and its neighbourhood. It was - not till my arrival in this place, that so many things have - contributed to recall these words to my mind; and indeed - recall them every moment. - - These words, the tone of which dwells on my heart, as if - I had but just heard them; those long and fatal looks so - frequently cast on me; the patting me on the back, with the - repetition of _O, my dear Sir_, in answer to my suspicions - of his being a traitor: all this affects me to such a - degree, after what preceded, that this recollection, had I - no other, would be sufficient to prevent any reconciliation - or return of confidence between us; not a night indeed - passes over my head, but I think I hear, _Rousseau, I have - you_, ring in my ears as if he had just pronounced them. - - Yes, Mr Hume, I know you _have me_; but that only by - mere externals: you have me in the public opinion and - judgment of mankind. You have my reputation, and perhaps my - security, to do with as you will. The general prepossession - is in your favour; it will be very easy for you to make me - pass for the monster you have begun to represent me; and - I already see the barbarous exultation of my implacable - enemies. The public will no longer spare me. Without any - farther examination, every body is on the side of those who - have conferred favours; because each is desirous to attract - the same good offices, by displaying a sensibility of the - obligation. I foresee readily the consequences of all this, - particularly in the country to which you have conducted me; - and where, being without friends, and an utter stranger - to every body, I lie almost entirely at your mercy. The - sensible part of mankind, however, will comprehend that I - must be so far from seeking this affair, that nothing more - disagreeable or terrible could possibly have happened to me - in my present situation. They will perceive that nothing - but my invincible aversion to all kind of falsehood, and - the possibility of my professing a regard for a person who - had forfeited it, could have prevented my dissimulation, - at a time when it was on so many accounts my interest. But - the sensible part of mankind are few, nor do they make the - greatest noise in the world. - - Yes, Mr Hume, you _have me_ by all the ties of this life; - but you have no power over my probity or my fortitude, - which, being independent either of you or of mankind, I - will preserve in spite of you. Think not to frighten me - with the fortune that awaits me. I know the opinions of - mankind; I am accustomed to their injustice, and have - learned to care little about it. If you have taken your - resolution, as I have reason to believe you have, be - assured mine is taken also. I am feeble indeed in body, but - never possessed greater strength of mind. - - Mankind may say and do what they will, it is of little - consequence to me. What is of consequence, however, is, - that I should end as I have begun; that I should continue - to preserve my ingenuousness and integrity to the end, - whatever may happen; and that I should have no cause to - reproach myself either with meanness in adversity, or - insolence in prosperity. Whatever disgrace attends, or - misfortune threatens me, I am ready to meet them. Though I - am to be pitied, I am much less so than you, and all the - revenge I shall take on you is, to leave you the tormenting - consciousness of being obliged, in spite of yourself, - to have a respect for the unfortunate person you have - oppressed. - - In closing this letter, I am surprised at my having been - able to write it. If it were possible to die with grief, - every line was sufficient to kill me with sorrow. Every - circumstance of the affair is equally incomprehensible. - Such conduct as yours hath been, is not in nature: it is - contradictory to itself, and yet it is demonstrable to me - that it has been such as I conceive. On each side of me - there is a bottomless abyss! and I am lost in one or the - other. - - If you are guilty, I am the most unfortunate of mankind; - if you are innocent, I am the most culpable.[40] You even - make me desire to be that contemptible object. Yes, the - situation to which you see me reduced, prostrate at your - feet, crying out for mercy, and doing every thing to obtain - it; publishing aloud my own unworthiness, and paying the - most explicit homage to your virtues, would be a state of - joy and cordial effusion, after the grievous state of - restraint and mortification into which you have plunged me. - I have but a word more to say. If you are guilty, write - to me no more; it would be superfluous, for certainly - you could not deceive me. If you are innocent, justify - yourself. I know my duty; I love, and shall always love - it, however difficult and severe. There is no state of - abjection that a heart, not formed for it, may not recover - from. Once again, I say, if you are innocent, deign to - justify yourself; if you are not, adieu for ever. - - J. J. R. - - - -[5] The fact was this. My friend, Mr Ramsay, a painter of eminence, -and a man of merit, proposed to draw Mr Rousseau's picture; and when -he had begun it, told me he intended to make me a present of it. Thus -the design of having Mr Rousseau's picture drawn did not come from -me, nor did it cost me any thing. Mr Rousseau, therefore, is equally -contemptible in paying me a compliment for this pretended gallantry, -in his letter of the 29th March, and in converting it into ridicule -here.--Mr HUME. - -[6] Mr Rousseau forms a wrong judgment of me, and ought to know me -better. I have written to Mr Davenport, even since our rupture, to -engage him to continue his kindness to his unhappy guest.--Mr HUME. - -[7] How strange are the effects of a disordered imagination! Mr -Rousseau tells us he is ignorant of what passes in the world, and yet -talks of the enemies he has in England. How does he know this? Where -did he see them? He hath received nothing but marks of beneficence and -hospitality. Mr Walpole is the only person who hath thrown out a little -piece of raillery against him; but is not therefore his enemy. If Mr -Rousseau could have seen things exactly as they are, he would have seen -that he had no other friend in England but me, and no other enemy but -himself.--Mr HUME. - -[8] That a general outcry should prevail against Mr Rousseau's -persecutors in England, is no wonder. Such an outcry would have -prevailed from sentiments of humanity, had he been a person of much -less note; so that this is no proof of his being esteemed. And as to -the encomiums on him inserted in the public newspapers, the value of -such kind of puffs is well known in England. I have already observed, -that the authors of more respectable works were at no loss what to -think of Mr Rousseau, but had formed a proper judgment of him long -before his arrival in England. The genius which displayed itself in his -writings did by no means blind the eyes of the more sensible part of -mankind to the absurdity and inconsistency of his opinions and conduct. -In exclaiming against Mr Rousseau's fanatical persecutors, they did -not think him the more possessed of the true spirit of martyrdom. The -general opinion indeed was, that he had too much philosophy to be very -devout, and had too much devotion to have much philosophy.--_English -Translator_. - -[9] Mr Rousseau knows very little of the public judgment in England, -if he thinks it is to be influenced by any story told in a certain -Magazine. But, as I have before said, it was not from this time that Mr -Rousseau was slightingly spoke of, but long before, and that in a more -consequential manner. Perhaps, indeed, Mr Rousseau ought in justice -to impute great part of those civilities he met with on his arrival, -rather to vanity and curiosity than to respect and esteem.--_English -Translator_. - -[10] So then I find I am to answer for every article of every Magazine -and newspaper printed in England. I assure Mr Rousseau I would rather -answer for every robbery committed on the highway; and I am entirely as -innocent of the one as the other.--Mr HUME. - -[11] This relates to my friend Mr John Stewart, who entertained Mr -Rousseau at his house, and did him all the good offices in his power. -Mr Rousseau, in complaining of this gentleman's behaviour, forgets that -he wrote Mr Stewart a letter from Wooton, full of acknowledgments, and -just expressions of gratitude. What Mr Rousseau adds, regarding the -brother of Mr Stewart, is neither civil nor true--Mr HUME. - -[12] I shall mention only one, that made me smile; this was, his -attention to have, every time I came to see him, a volume of _Eloisa_ -upon his table; as if I did not know enough of Mr Hume's taste for -reading, as to be well assured, that of all books in the world, Eloisa -must be one of the most tiresome to him.--Mr ROUSSEAU. - -[13] The reader may judge from the two first letters of Mr Rousseau, -which I published with that view, on which side the flatteries -commenced. As for the rest, I loved and esteemed Mr Rousseau, and -took a pleasure in giving him to understand so. I might perhaps be -too lavish in my praises; but I can assure the reader he never once -complained of it.--Mr HUME. - -[14] I don't recollect a single circumstance of this history; but what -makes me give very little credit to it, is, that I remember very well -we had settled two different days for the purposes mentioned, that is, -one to go to the Museum, and another to the play.--Mr HUME. - -[15] I conceive Mr Rousseau hints here at two or three dinners, that -were sent him from the house of Mr Stewart, when he chose to dine at -his own lodgings; this was not done, however, to save him the expense -of a meal, but because there was no convenient tavern or chop-house in -the neighbourhood. I beg the reader's pardon for descending to such -trivial particulars.--Mr HUME. - -[16] We have not been authorized to suppress this affronting term; but -it is too gross and groundless to do any injury to the celebrated and -respectable physician to whose name it is annexed.--_French Editors_. - -[17] Thus am I accused of treachery, because I am a friend of Mr -Walpole, who hath thrown out a little raillery on Mr Rousseau, and -because the son of a man whom Mr Rousseau does not like lodges -by accident in the same house; because my landladies, who do not -understand a syllable of French, received Mr Rousseau coldly. As to the -rest, all that I said to Mr Rousseau about the young Tronchin was, that -he had not the same prejudices against him as his father.--Mr HUME. - -[18] The story of Mr Rousseau's letters is as follows. He had often -been complaining to me, and with reason, that he was ruined by postage -at Neufchâtel, which commonly cost him about 25 or 26 louis d'ors a -year, and all for letters which were of no significance, being wrote, -some of them by people who took that opportunity of abusing him, and -most of them by persons unknown to him. He was therefore resolved, he -said, in England to receive no letters which came by the post; and -the same resolution he reiterates in his letter to me dated the 22d -of March. When he went to Chiswick, near London, the postman brought -his letters to me. I carried him out a cargo of them. He exclaimed, -desired me to return the letters, and recover the price of postage. I -told him, that, in that case, the clerks of the Post Office were entire -masters of his letters. He said he was indifferent: they might do with -them what they pleased. I added, that he would by that means be cut -off from all correspondence with all his friends. He replied, that he -would give a particular direction to such as he desired to correspond -with. But till his instructions for that purpose could arrive, what -could I do more friendly than to save, at my own expense, his letters -from the curiosity and indiscretion of the clerks of the Post Office? -I am indeed ashamed to find myself obliged to discover such petty -circumstances.---Mr HUME. - -[19] It is necessary to explain this circumstance. I had been writing -on Mr Hume's table, during his absence, an answer to a letter I had -just received. He came in, very anxious to know what I had been -writing, and hardly able to contain himself from desiring to read it. -I closed my letter, however, without showing it him; when, as I was -putting it into my pocket, he asked me for it eagerly, saying he would -send it away on the morrow, being post-day. The letter lay on the -table. Lord Newnham came in. Mr Hume went out of the room for a moment, -on which I took the letter up again, saying I should find time to send -it the next day. Lord Newnham offered to get it inclosed in the French -ambassador's packet, which I accepted. Mr Hume re-entered the moment -his Lordship had inclosed it, and was pulling out his seal. Mr Hume -officiously offered his own seal, and that with so much earnestness, -that it could not well be refused. The bell was rung, and Lord Newnham -gave the letter to Mr Hume's servant, to give it to his own, who waited -below with the chariot, in order to have it sent to the ambassador. -Mr Hume's servant was hardly got out of the room, but I said to -myself, I'll lay a wager the master follows. He did not fail to do as -I expected. Not knowing how to leave Lord Newnham alone, I staid some -time before I followed Mr Hume. I said nothing; but he must perceive -that I was uneasy. Thus, although I have received no answer to my -letter, I doubt not of its going to hand; but I confess, I cannot help -suspecting it was read first.--Mr ROUSSEAU. - -[20] It appears from what he wrote to me afterwards, that he was -very well satisfied with this letter, and that he thought of it very -well.--Mr ROUSSEAU. - -[21] My answer to this is contained in Mr Rousseau's own letter of the -22d of March; wherein he expresses himself with the utmost cordiality, -without any reserve, and without the least appearance of suspicion.--Mr -HUME. - -[22] All this hangs upon the fable he had so artfully worked up, as I -before observed.--Mr HUME. - -[23] I had only one such opportunity with his governante, which was -on their arrival in London. I must own it never entered into my -head to talk to her upon any other subject than the concerns of Mr -Rousseau.--Mr HUME. - -[24] See Mr d'Alembert's declaration on this head, annexed to this -narrative. - -[25] Mr Rousseau declares himself to have been fatigued with the visits -he received; ought he therefore to complain that Mr d'Alembert, whom he -did not like, did not importune him with his?--Mr HUME. - -[26] This _false friend_ is, undoubtedly, myself. But what is the -treachery? What harm have I done, or could I do to Mr Rousseau? On -the supposition of my entering into a project to ruin him, how could -I think to bring it about by the services I did him? If Mr Rousseau -should gain credit, I must be thought still more weak than wicked.--Mr -HUME. - -[27] The booksellers have lately informed me that the edition is -finished, and will shortly be published. This may be; but it is too -late, and what is still worse, it is too opportune for the purpose -intended to be served.--Mr ROUSSEAU. - -[28] It is about four months since Mr Becket, the bookseller, told Mr -Rousseau that the publication of these pieces was delayed on account -of the indisposition of the translator. As for any thing else, I never -promised to take any charge at all of the edition, as Mr Becket can -testify.--Mr HUME. - -[29] As to Mr Rousseau's suspicions of the cause of the _suppression_, -as he calls it, of the Narrative and Letters above mentioned, the -translator thinks it incumbent on him to affirm, that they were -entirely groundless. It is true, as Mr Becket told Mr Hume, that the -translator of the letters was indisposed about that time. But the -principal cause of the delay was, that he was of his own mere motion, -no less indisposed to those pieces making their appearance in English -at all;(*) and this not out of ill will to Mr Rousseau, or good will to -Mr Hume, neither of which he ever saw, or spoke to, in his life; but -really out of regard to the character and reputation of a man, whose -genius he admired, and whose works he had translated: well knowing -the publication of such squabbles could do Mr Rousseau no good in -the opinion of the more judicious and sensible part of mankind. With -regard to the translation of the narrative of his manner of living -at Montmorency, I never saw it till it was actually printed, when Mr -Becket put it into my hands, and I frankly told him that I thought it -a very unseasonable, puerile affair, and could by no means serve to -advance Mr Rousseau's estimation in the eyes of the public. It was -certainly of great importance to the good people of England, to know -how Mr Rousseau amused himself seven or eight years ago at Montmorency, -that he cooked his own broth, and did not leave it to the management -of his nurse, for fear she should have a better dinner than himself! -Yet this is one of the most remarkable circumstances contained in -that narrative, except indeed that we are told, Mr Rousseau is a -most passionate admirer of virtue, and that his eyes always sparkle -at the bare mention of that word.--O Virtue! how greatly is thy name -prostituted! And how fair, from the teeth outward, are thy nominal -votaries!--_English Translator_. - -(*) For, so far were the booksellers from intending to _suppress_ these -pieces, that they actually reprinted the French edition of Peyrou's -Letters, and published it in London. - -[30] No body could possibly be mistaken with regard to the letter's -being fictitious; besides it was well known that Mr Walpole was the -author of it--Mr HUME. - -[31] Mr Rousseau forgets himself here. It was but a week before that -he wrote me a very friendly letter. See his letter of the 29th of -March.--Mr HUME. - -[32] I know nothing of this pretended libel.--Mr HUME. - -[33] I have never been so happy as to meet with Mr de Voltaire; he only -did me the honour to write me a letter about three years ago. As to Mr -Tronchin, I never saw him in my life, nor ever had any correspondence -with him. Of Mr d'Alembert's friendship, indeed, I am proud to make a -boast.--Mr HUME. - -[34] Why indeed? except that sensible people in England are averse to -affectation and quackery. Those who see and despise these most in Mr -Rousseau, are not, however, his _enemies_; perhaps, if he could be -brought to think so, they are his best and truest friends.--_English -Translator_. - -[35] Mr Rousseau, seeing the letter addressed to him in the name of -Voltaire advertised in the public papers, wrote to Mr Davenport, -who was then in London, to desire he would bring it him. I told Mr -Davenport that the printed copy was very faulty, but that I would -ask of Lord Littleton a manuscript copy, which was correct. This is -sufficient to make Mr Rousseau conclude that Lord Littleton is his -mortal enemy, and my intimate friend; and that we are in a conspiracy -against him. He ought rather to have concluded, that the printed copy -could not come from me,--Mr HUME. - -The piece above mentioned was shown to the _Translator_ before its -publication, and many absurd liberties taken with the original pointed -out and censured. At which time there did not appear, from the parties -concerned in it, that Mr Hume could have the least hand in, or could -have known any thing of the edition.--_English Translator_. - -[36] I have never seen this piece, neither before nor after its -publication; nor has it come to the knowledge of any body to whom I -have spoken of it--Mr HUME. - -The _translator_, who has been attentive to every thing that has come -out from, or about Mr Rousseau, knows also nothing of this piece. Why -did not Mr Rousseau mention particularly in what paper, and when it -appeared?--_English Translator_. - -[37] I was not present when Mr Rousseau received his cousin. I only -just saw them afterwards together for about a minute on the terrace in -Buckingham Street.--Mr HUME. - -[38] How was it possible for me to guess at such chimerical -suspicions? Mr Davenport, the only person of my acquaintance who then -saw Mr Rousseau, assures me that he was perfectly ignorant of them -himself.--Mr HUME. - -[39] I cannot answer for every thing I may say in my sleep, and much -less am I conscious whether or not I dream in French. But pray, as Mr -Rousseau did not know whether I was asleep or awake when I pronounced -those terrible words, with such a terrible voice, how is he certain -that he himself was well awake when he heard them?--Mr HUME. - -[40] And does it depend on an _if_, after all Mr R's positive -conviction, and absolute demonstrations?--_English Translator_. - - -I hesitated some time whether I should make any reply to this strange -memorial. At length I determined to write Mr Rousseau the following -letter. - - - MR HUME TO MR ROUSSEAU. - - - _Lisle-street, Leicester-fields, July_ 22_d_, 1766. - - SIR, - - I shall only answer one article of your long letter: it - is that which regards the conversation between us the - evening before your departure. Mr Davenport had imagined a - good natured artifice, to make you believe that a retour - chaise had offered for Wooton; and I believe he made an - advertisement be put in the papers, in order the better to - deceive you. His purpose was only to save you some expenses - in the journey, which I thought a laudable project; though - I had no hand either in contriving or conducting it. You - entertained, how ever, suspicions of his design, while we - were sitting alone by my fire-side; and you reproached me - with concurring in it. I endeavoured to pacify you, and to - divert the discourse; but to no purpose. You sat sullen, - and was either silent, or made me very peevish answers. At - last you rose up, and took a turn or two about the room; - when all of a sudden, and to my great surprise, you clapped - yourself on my knee, threw your arms about my neck, kissed - me with seeming ardour, and bedewed my face with tears. - You exclaimed, 'My dear friend, can you ever pardon this - folly! After all the pains you have taken to serve me, - after the numberless instances of friendship you have given - me, here I reward you with this ill humour and sullenness. - But your forgiveness of me will be a new instance of your - friendship; and I hope you will find at bottom, that my - heart is not unworthy of it.' - - I was very much affected, I own; and I believe, there - passed a very tender scene between us. You added, by - way of compliment, that though I had many better titles - to recommend me to posterity, yet perhaps my uncommon - attachment and friendship to a poor unhappy persecuted - man, would not altogether be overlooked. - - This incident, Sir, was somewhat remarkable; and it is - impossible that either you or I could so soon have forgot - it. But you have had the assurance to tell me the story - twice in a manner so different, or rather so opposite, that - when I persist, as I do, in this account, it necessarily - follows, that either you or I am a liar. You imagine, - perhaps, that because the incident passed privately without - a witness, the question will lie between the credibility - of your assertion and of mine. But you shall not have this - advantage or disadvantage, whichever you are pleased to - term it. I shall produce against you other proofs, which - will put the matter beyond controversy. - - First, You are not aware, that I have a letter under your - hand, which is totally irreconcilable with your account, - and confirms mine.[41] - - Secondly, I told the story the next day, or the day after, - to Mr Davenport, with a friendly view of preventing any - such good natured artifices for the future. He surely - remembers it. - - Thirdly, As I thought the story much to your honour, I - told it to several of my friends here. I even wrote it to - Mde. de Boufflers at Paris. I believe no one will imagine, - that I was preparing beforehand an apology, in case of a - rupture with you; which, of all human events, I should then - have thought the most incredible, especially as we were - separated almost for ever, and I still continued to render - you the most essential services. - - Fourthly, The story, as I tell it, is consistent and - rational: there is not common sense in your account. What! - because sometimes, when absent in thought, I have a fixed - look or stare, you suspect me to be a traitor, and you - have the assurance to tell me of such black and ridiculous - suspicions! Are not most studious men (and many of them - more than I) subject to such reveries or fits of absence, - without being exposed to such suspicions? You do not even - pretend that, before you left London, you had any other - solid grounds of suspicion against me. - - I shall enter into no detail with regard to your letter: - the other articles of it are as much without foundation as - you yourself know this to be. I shall only add, in general, - that I enjoyed about a month ago an uncommon pleasure, when - I reflected, that through many difficulties, and by most - assiduous care and pains, I had, beyond my most sanguine - expectations, provided for your repose, honour and fortune. - But I soon felt a very sensible uneasiness when I found - that you had wantonly and voluntarily thrown away all these - advantages, and was become the declared enemy of your - repose, fortune, and honour: I cannot be surprised after - this that you are my enemy. Adieu, and for ever. I am, Sir, - yours, - - D. H. - -[41] That of the 22d of March, which is entirely cordial; and proves -that Mr Rousseau had never, till that moment, entertained, or at least -discovered the smallest suspicion against me. There is also in the same -letter, a peevish passage about the hire of a chaise.--Mr HUME. - - -To all these papers, I need only subjoin the following letter of Mr -Walpole to me, which proves how ignorant and innocent I am of the whole -matter of the King of Prussia's letter. - - - - - MR WALPOLE TO MR HUME. - - - _Arlington Street, July_ 26_th_, 1766. - - I cannot be precise as to the time of my writing the King - of Prussia's letter, but I do assure you, with the utmost - truth, that it was several days before you left Paris, - and before Rousseau's arrival there, of which I can give - you a strong proof; for I not only suppressed the letter - while you staid there, out of delicacy to you, but it was - the reason why, out of delicacy to myself, I did not go to - see him, as you often proposed to me; thinking it wrong to - go and make a cordial visit to a man, with a letter in my - pocket to laugh at him. You are at full liberty, dear Sir, - to make use of what I say in your justification, either - to Rousseau or any body else. I should be very sorry to - have you blamed on my account: I have a hearty contempt of - Rousseau, and am perfectly indifferent what any body thinks - of the matter. If there is any fault, which I am far from - thinking, let it lie on me. No parts can hinder my laughing - at their possessor, if he is a mountebank. If he has a bad - and most ungrateful heart, as Rousseau has shown in your - case, into the bargain, he will have my scorn likewise, as - he will of all good and sensible men. You may trust your - sentence to such, who are as respectable judges as any that - have pored over ten thousand more volumes. - - Yours most sincerely, - - H. W. - - -Thus I have given a narrative, as concise as possible, of this -extraordinary affair, which I am told has very much attracted the -attention of the public, and which contains more unexpected incidents -than any other in which I was ever engaged. The persons to whom I have -shown the original papers which authenticate the whole, have differed -very much in their opinion, as well of the use I ought to make of them -as of Mr Rousseau's present sentiments and state of mind. Some of them -have maintained that he is altogether insincere in his quarrel with -me, and his opinion of my guilt, and that the whole proceeds from that -excessive pride which forms the basis of his character, and which -leads him both to seek the eclat of refusing the King of England's -bounty, and to shake off the intolerable burthen of an obligation to -me, by every sacrifice of honour, truth, and friendship, as well as of -interest. They found their sentiments on the absurdity of that first -supposition on which he grounds his anger, viz. that Mr Walpole's -letter, which he knew had been every where dispersed both in Paris -and London, was given to the press by me; and as this supposition is -contrary to common sense on the one hand, and not supported even by the -pretence of the slightest probability on the other, they conclude, that -it never had any weight even with the person himself who lays hold of -it. They confirm their sentiments by the number of fictions and lies -which he employs to justify his anger; fictions with regard to points -in which it is impossible for him to be mistaken. They also remark his -real cheerfulness and gaiety, amidst the deep melancholy with which -he pretended to be oppressed; not to mention the absurd reasoning -which runs through the whole, and on which it is impossible for any -man to rest his conviction. And though a very important interest is -here abandoned, yet money is not universally the chief object with -mankind: vanity weighs farther with some men, particularly with this -philosopher; and the very ostentation of refusing a pension from the -King of England--an ostentation which, with regard to other Princes, -he has often sought--might be of itself a sufficient motive for his -present conduct. - -There are others of my friends who regard this whole affair in a more -compassionate light, and consider Mr Rousseau as an object rather -of pity than of anger. They suppose the same domineering pride and -ingratitude to be the basis of his character; but they are also willing -to believe that his brain has received a sensible shock, and that his -judgment, set afloat, is carried to every side, as it is pushed by the -current of his humours and of his passions. The absurdity of his belief -is no proof of its insincerity. He imagines himself the sole important -being in the universe: he fancies all mankind to be in a combination -against him: his greatest benefactor, as hurting him most, is the chief -object of his animosity: and though he supports all his whimsies by -lies and fictions, this is so frequent a case with wicked men, who are -in that middle state between sober reason and total frenzy, that it -needs give no surprise to any body. - -I own that I am much inclined to this latter opinion; though, at -the same time, I question whether, in any period of his life, Mr -Rousseau was ever more in his senses than he is at present. The former -brilliancy of his genius, and his great talents for writing, are no -proof of the contrary. It is an old remark, that great wits are near -allied to madness; and even in those frantic letters which he has wrote -to me, there are evidently strong traces of his wonted genius and -eloquence. He has frequently told me that he was composing his memoirs, -in which justice should be done to his own character, to that of his -friends, and to that of his enemies; and as Mr Davenport informs me, -that, since his retreat into the country, he has been much employed in -writing, I have reason to conclude that he is at present finishing that -undertaking. Nothing could be more unexpected to me than my passing -so suddenly from the class of his friend to that of his enemies; but -this transition being made, I must expect to be treated accordingly; -and I own that this reflection gave me some anxiety.[42] A work of -this nature, both from the celebrity of the person, and the strokes -of eloquence interspersed, would certainly attract the attention of -the world; and it might be published either after my death, or after -that of the author. In the former case, there would be nobody who -could tell the story, or justify my memory. In the latter, my apology, -wrote in opposition to a dead person, would lose a great deal of its -authenticity. For this reason, I have at present collected the whole -story into one Narrative, that I may show it to my friends, and at any -time have it in my power to make whatever use of it they and I should -think proper. I am, and always have been, such a lover of peace, that -nothing but necessity, or very forcible reasons, could have obliged me -to give it to the public. - -_'Perdidi beneficium. Numquid quĉ consecravimus perdidisse nos dicimus? -Inter consecrata beneficium est; etiam si male respondit, bene -collatum. Non est ille qualem speravimus; simus nos quales fuimus, ei -dissimiles.'_ - - SENECA DE BENEFICIIS, LIB. VII. CAP. 29. - - -[42] In his letter of the 22d of March, he flatters me indirectly with -the figure I am to make in his Memoirs. In that of the 23d of June, he -threatens me. These are proofs how much he is in earnest. - - - - -DECLARATION OF MR D'ALEMBERT, RELATING TO MR WALPOLE'S LETTER. - - -(_Addressed to the French Editors_.) - -It is with the greatest surprise I learn, from Mr Hume, that Mr -Rousseau accuses me of being the author of the ironical letter -addressed to him, in the public papers, under the name of the King of -Prussia. Every body knows, both at Paris and London, that such letter -was written by Mr Walpole; nor does he disown it. He acknowledges only -that he was a little assisted, in regard to the style, by a person he -does not name, and whom perhaps he ought to name. As to my part, on -whom the public suspicions have fallen in this affair, I am not at -all acquainted with Mr Walpole. I don't even believe I ever spoke to -him; having only happened to meet once occasionally on a visit. I have -not only had not the least to do, either directly or indirectly, with -the letter in question, but could mention above a hundred persons, -among the friends as well as enemies of Mr Rousseau, who have heard me -greatly disapprove of it; because, as I said, we ought not to ridicule -the unfortunate, especially when they do us no harm. Besides, my -respect for the King of Prussia, and the acknowledgments I owe him, -might, I should have thought, have persuaded Mr Rousseau that I should -not have taken such a liberty with the name of that Prince, though in -pleasantry. - -To this I shall add, that I never was an enemy to Mr Rousseau, either -open or secret, as he pretends; and I defy him to produce the least -proof of my having endeavoured to injure him in any shape whatever. I -can prove to the contrary, by the most respectable witnesses, that I -have always endeavoured to oblige him, whenever it lay in my power. - -As to my pretended _secret correspondence_ with Mr Hume, it is very -certain that we did not begin to write to each other till about five -or six months after his departure, on occasion of the quarrel arisen -between him and Mr Rousseau, and into which the latter thought proper -unnecessarily to introduce me. - -I thought this declaration necessary for my own sake, as well as for -the sake of truth, and in regard to the situation of Mr Rousseau. I -sincerely lament his having so little confidence in the probity of -mankind, and particularly in that of Mr Hume. - -D'ALEMBERT. - - - - -SCOTTICISMS. - - -_Will_, in the first person, as _I will walk_, _we will walk_, -expresses the intention or resolution of the person, along with the -future event: In the second and third person, as, _you will_, _he -will_, _they will_, it expresses the future action or event, without -comprehending or excluding the volition. - -_Shall_, in the first person, whether singular or plural, expresses -the future action or event, without excluding or comprehending the -intention or resolution: But in the _second_ or _third_ person, it -marks a necessity, and commonly a necessity proceeding from the person -who speaks; as, _he shall walk_, _you shall repent it_. - -These variations seem to have proceeded from a politeness in the -_English_, who, in speaking to others, or of others, made use of the -term _will_, which implies volition, even where the event may be the -subject of necessity and constraint. And in speaking of themselves, -made use of the term _shall_, which implies constraint, even though the -event may be the object of choice. - -_Wou'd_ and _shou'd_ are conjunctive moods, subject to the same rule; -only, we may observe, that in a sentence, where there is a condition -exprest, and a consequence of that condition, the former always -requires _shou'd_, and the latter _wou'd_, in the second and third -persons; as, _if he shou'd fall, he wou'd break his leg_, &c. - -_These_ is the plural of _this_; _those of that_. The former, -therefore, expresses what is near: the latter, what is more remote. As, -in these lines of the Duke of Buckingham, - - "Philosophers and poets vainly strove, - In every age, the lumpish mass to move. - But THOSE were pedants if compared with THESE, - Who knew not only to instruct, but please." - -Where a relative is to follow, and the subject has not been mentioned -immediately before, _those_ is always required. _Those observations -which he made_. _Those kingdoms which Alexander conquered_. - -In the verbs, which end in _t_, or _te_, we frequently omit _ed_ in -the preterperfect and in the participle; as, _he operate_, _it was -cultivate_. _Milton_ says, _in thought more elevate_; but he is the -only author who uses that expression. - -_Notice_ shou'd not be used as a verb. The proper phrase is _take -notice_. Yet I find Lord Shaftesbury uses _notic'd_, the participle: -And _unnotic'd_ is very common. - -_Hinder to do_, is _Scotch_. The _English_ phrase is, _hinder from -doing_. Yet _Milton_ says, _Hindered not Satan to pervert the mind_. -Book IX. - - - - SCOTCH. ENGLISH. - - Conform to Conformable to - Friends and acquaintances Friends and Acquitance - Maltreat Abuse - Advert to Attend to - Proven, improven, approven Prov'd, improv'd, approv'd - Pled Pleaded - Incarcerate Imprison - Tear to pieces Tear in pieces - Drunk, run Drank, ran - Fresh weather Open weather - Tender Sickly - In the long run At long run - Notwithstanding of that Notwithstanding that - Contented himself to do Contented himself with doing - 'Tis a question if 'Tis a question whether - Discretion Civility - With child to a man With child by a man - Out of hand Presently - Simply impossible Absolutely impossible - A park An enclosure - In time coming In time to come - Nothing else No other thing - Mind it Remember it - Denuded Divested - Severals Several - Some better Something better - Anent With regard to - Allenarly Solely - Alongst. Yet the _English_ - say both amid, amidst, among, Along - and amongst - Evenly Even - As I shall answer I protest or declare - Cause him do it. Yet 'tis - good _English_ to say, make Cause him to do it - him do it - Marry upon Marry to - Learn Teach - There, where Thither, whither - Effectuate. This word in _English_ Effect - means to effect with - pains and difficulty. - A wright. Yet 'tis good _English_ A Carpenter - to say, a wheelwright - Defunct Deceast - Evite Avoid - Part with child Miscarry - Notour Notorious - To want it To be without a thing, even - though it be not desirable - To be difficulted To be puzzled - Rebuted Discouraged by repulses - For ordinary Usually - Think shame Asham'd - In favours of In favour of - Dubiety Doubtfulness - Prejudge Hurt - Compete Enter into competition - Heritable Hereditary - To remeed To remedy - Bankier Banker - Adduce a proof Produce a proof - Superplus Surplus - Forfaulture Forfeiture - In no event In no case - Common soldiers Private men - Big with a man Great with a man - Bygone Past - Debitor Debtor - Exeemed Exempted - Yesternight Last night - Big coat Great coat - A chimney A grate - Annualrent Interest - Tenible argument Good argument - Amissing Missing - To condescend upon To specify - To discharge To forbid - To extinguish an obligation To cancel an obligation - To depone To depose - A compliment A present - To inquire at a man To inquire of a man - To be angry at a man To be angry with a man - To send an errand To send off an errand - To furnish goods to him To furnish him with goods - To open up To open, or lay open - _Thucydide, Herodot, Sueton,_ _Thucydides, Herodotus, Suetonius_ - Butter and bread Bread and Butter - Pepper and vinegar Vinegar and pepper - Paper, pen and ink Pen, ink and paper - Readily Probably - On a sudden Of a sudden - As ever I saw As I ever saw - For my share For my part - Misgive Fail - Rather chuse to buy as sell Rather chuse to buy than sell - Deduce Deduct - Look't over the window Look't out at the window - A pretty enough girl A pretty girl enough - 'Tis a week since he left this 'Tis a week since he left this - place - Come in to the fire Come near the fire - To take off a new coat To make up a new suit - Alwise Always - Cut out his hair Cut off his hair - Cry him Call him - To crave To dun, to ask payment - To get a stomach To get an appetite - Vacance Vacation - - - - -A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE. - - -BEING AN ATTEMPT TO INTRODUCE THE - -EXPERIMENTAL METHOD OF - -REASONING INTO - -MORAL SUBJECTS. - -RARA TEMPORUM FELICITAS, UBI SENTIRE, QUĈ VELIS; - -ET QUĈ SENTIAS, DICERE LICET. - -TACITUS. - - - - -BOOK I. - -OF THE UNDERSTANDING. - - - - -_ADVERTISEMENT._ - -_My design in the present Work is sufficiently explained in the -Introduction. The reader must only observe, that all the subjects I -have there planned out to myself are not treated in these two volumes. -The subjects of the Understanding and Passions make a complete chain -of reasoning by themselves; and I was willing to take advantage of -this natural division, in order to try the taste of the Public. If I -have the good fortune to meet with success, I shall proceed to the -examination of Morals, Politics, and Criticism, which will complete -this Treatise of Human Nature. The approbation of the Public I consider -as the greatest reward of my labours; but am determined to regard its -judgment, whatever it be, as my best instruction._ - - - - -INTRODUCTION. - - -Nothing is more usual and more natural for those, who pretend to -discover any thing new to the world in philosophy and the sciences, -than to insinuate the praises of their own systems, by decrying all -those which have been advanced before them. And indeed were they -content with lamenting that ignorance, which we still lie under in the -most important questions that can come before the tribunal of human -reason, there are few, who have an acquaintance with the sciences, that -would not readily agree with them. 'Tis easy for one of judgment and -learning, to perceive the weak foundation even of those systems, which -have obtained the greatest credit, and have carried their pretensions -highest to accurate and profound reasoning. Principles taken upon -trust, consequences lamely deduced from them, want of coherence in the -parts, and of evidence in the whole, these are every where to be met -with in the systems of the most eminent philosophers, and seem to have -drawn disgrace upon philosophy itself. - -Nor is there required such profound knowledge to discover the present -imperfect condition of the sciences, but even the rabble without doors -may judge from the noise and clamour which they hear, that all goes -not well within. There is nothing which is not the subject of debate, -and in which men of learning are not of contrary opinions. The most -trivial question escapes not our controversy, and in the most momentous -we are not able to give any certain decision. Disputes are multiplied, -as if every thing was uncertain. Amidst all this bustle, 'tis not -reason which carries the prize, but eloquence; and no man needs ever -despair of gaining proselytes to the most extravagant hypothesis, who -has art enough to represent it in any favourable colours. The victory -is not gained by the men at arms, who manage the pike and the sword, -but by the trumpeters, drummers, and musicians of the army. - -From hence, in my opinion, arises that common prejudice against -metaphysical reasonings of all kinds, even amongst those who profess -themselves scholars, and have a just value for every other part of -literature. By metaphysical reasonings, they do not understand those -on any particular branch of science, but every kind of argument which -is any way abstruse, and requires some attention to be comprehended. -We have so often lost our labour in such researches, that we commonly -reject them without hesitation, and resolve, if we must for ever be -a prey to errors and delusions, that they shall at least be natural -and entertaining. And, indeed, nothing but the most determined -scepticism, along with a great degree of indolence, can justify this -aversion to metaphysics. For, if truth be at all within the reach -of human capacity, 'tis certain it must lie very deep and abstruse; -and to hope we shall arrive at it without pains, while the greatest -geniuses have failed with the utmost pains, must certainly be esteemed -sufficiently vain and presumptuous. I pretend to no such advantage -in the philosophy I am going to unfold, and would esteem it a strong -presumption against it, were it so very easy and obvious. - -'Tis evident, that all the sciences have a relation, greater or less, -to human nature; and that, however wide any of them may seem to run -from it, they still return back by one passage or another; Even -_Mathematics_, _Natural Philosophy_, and _Natural Religion_, are in -some measure dependant on the science of MAN; since they lie under the -cognizance of men, and are judged of by their powers and faculties. -'Tis impossible to tell what changes and improvements we; might make in -these sciences were we thoroughly acquainted with the extent and force -of human understanding, and could explain the nature of the ideas we -employ, and of the operations we perform in our reasonings. And these -improvements are the more to be hoped for in natural religion, as it -is not content with instructing us in the nature of superior powers, -but carries its views farther, to their disposition towards us, and our -duties towards them; and consequently, we ourselves are not only the -beings that reason, but also one of the objects concerning which we -reason. - -If, therefore, the sciences of mathematics, natural philosophy, and -natural religion, have such a dependence on the knowledge of man, what -may be expected in the other sciences, whose connexion with human -nature is more close and intimate? The sole end of logic is to explain -the principles and operations of our reasoning faculty, and the nature -of our ideas; morals and criticism regard our tastes and sentiments; -and politics consider men as united in society, and dependent on each -other. In these four sciences of _Logic_, _Morals_, _Criticism_, and -_Politics_, is comprehended almost every thing which it can any way -import us to be acquainted with, or which can tend either to the -improvement or ornament of the human mind. - -Here then is the only expedient, from which we can hope for success in -our philosophical researches, to leave the tedious lingering method, -which we have hitherto followed, and, instead of taking now and then a -castle or village on the frontier, to march up directly to the capital -or centre of these sciences, to human nature itself; which being once -masters of, we may every where else hope for an easy victory. From this -station we may extend our conquests over all those sciences, which more -intimately concern human life, and may afterwards proceed at leisure, -to discover more fully those which are the objects of pure curiosity. -There is no question of importance, whose decision is not comprised -in the science of man; and there is none, which can be decided with -any certainty, before we become acquainted with that science. In -pretending, therefore, to explain the principles of human nature, we in -effect propose a complete system of the sciences, built on a foundation -almost entirely new, and the only one upon which they can stand with -any security. - -And, as the science of man is the only solid foundation for the other -sciences, so, the only solid foundation we can give to this science -itself must be laid on experience and observation. 'Tis no astonishing -reflection to consider, that the application of experimental philosophy -to moral subjects should come after that to natural, at the distance -of above a whole century; since we find in fact, that there was about -the same interval betwixt the origins of these sciences; and that, -reckoning from Thales to Socrates, the space of time is nearly equal to -that betwixt my Lord Bacon and some late philosophers[1] in England, -who have begun to put the science of man on a new footing, and have -engaged the attention, and excited the curiosity of the public. So true -it is, that however other nations may rival us in poetry, and excel us -in some other agreeable arts, the improvements in reason and philosophy -can only be owing to a land of toleration and of liberty. - -Nor ought we to think, that this latter improvement in the science -of man will do less honour to our native country than the former in -natural philosophy, but ought rather to esteem it a greater glory, -upon account of the greater importance of that science, as well as -the necessity it lay under of such a reformation. For to me it seems -evident, that the essence of the mind being equally unknown to us with -that of external bodies, it must be equally impossible to form any -notion of its powers and qualities otherwise than from careful and -exact experiments, and the observation of those particular effects, -which result from its different circumstances and situations. And -though we must endeavour to render all our principles as universal as -possible, by tracing up our experiments to the utmost, and explaining -all effects from the simplest and fewest causes, 'tis still certain -we cannot go beyond experience; and any hypothesis, that pretends to -discover the ultimate original qualities of human nature, ought at -first to be rejected as presumptuous and chimerical. - -I do not think a philosopher, who would apply himself so earnestly to -the explaining the ultimate principles of the soul, would show himself -a great master in that very science of human nature, which he pretends -to explain, or very knowing in what is naturally satisfactory to the -mind of man. For nothing is more certain, than that despair has almost -the same effect upon us with enjoyment, and that we are no sooner -acquainted with the impossibility of satisfying any desire, than the -desire itself vanishes. When we see, that we have arrived at the utmost -extent of human reason, we sit down contented; though we be perfectly -satisfied in the main of our ignorance, and perceive that we can give -no reason for our most general and most refined principles, beside our -experience of their reality; which is the reason of the mere vulgar, -and what it required no study at first to have discovered for the most -particular and most extraordinary phenomenon. And as this impossibility -of making any farther progress is enough to satisfy the reader, so -the writer may derive a more delicate satisfaction from the free -confession of his ignorance, and from his prudence in avoiding that -error, into which so many have fallen, of imposing their conjectures -and hypotheses on the world for the most certain principles. When this -mutual contentment and satisfaction can be obtained betwixt the master -and scholar, I know not what more we can require of our philosophy. - -But if this impossibility of explaining ultimate principles should be -esteemed a defect in the science of man, I will venture to affirm, -that it is a defect common to it with all the sciences, and all the -arts, in which we can employ ourselves, whether they be such as are -cultivated in the schools of the philosophers, or practised in the -shops of the meanest artisans. None of them can go beyond experience, -or establish any principles which are not founded on that authority. -Moral philosophy has, indeed, this peculiar disadvantage, which is -not found in natural, that in collecting its experiments, it cannot -make them purposely, with premeditation, and after such a manner as to -satisfy itself concerning every particular difficulty which may arise. -When I am at a loss to know the effects of one body upon another in -any situation, I need only put them in that situation, and observe -what results from it. But should I endeavour to clear up after the -same manner any doubt in moral philosophy, by placing myself in the -same case with that which I consider, 'tis evident this reflection and -premeditation would so disturb the operation of my natural principles, -as must render it impossible to form any just conclusion from the -phenomenon. We must, therefore, glean up our experiments in this -science from a cautious observation of human life, and take them as -they appear in the common course of the world, by men's behaviour in -company, in affairs, and in their pleasures. Where experiments of this -kind are judiciously collected and compared, we may hope to establish -on them a science which will not be inferior in certainty, and will be -much superior in utility, to any other of human comprehension. - - -[1] Mr Locke, my Lord Shaftsbury, Dr Mandeville, Mr Hutchinson, Dr -Butler, &c. - - - - -BOOK I. - -OF THE UNDERSTANDING. - - - - -PART I. - -OF IDEAS, THEIR ORIGIN, COMPOSITION, CONNEXION, - -AND ABSTRACTION. - - - - -SECTION I. - -OF THE ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS. - - -All the perceptions of the human mind resolve themselves into two -distinct kinds, which I shall call _impressions_ and _ideas_. The -difference betwixt these consists in the degrees of force and -liveliness, with which they strike upon the mind, and make their way -into our thought or consciousness. Those perceptions which enter with -most force and violence, we may name _impressions_; and, under this -name, I comprehend all our sensations, passions, and emotions, as they -make their first appearance in the soul. By _ideas_, I mean the faint -images of these in thinking and reasoning; such as, for instance, are -all the perceptions excited by the present discourse, excepting only -those which arise from the sight and touch, and excepting the immediate -pleasure or uneasiness it may occasion. I believe it will not be very -necessary to employ many Words, in explaining this distinction. Every -one of himself will readily perceive the difference betwixt feeling -and thinking. The common degrees of these are easily distinguished; -though it is not impossible but, in particular instances, they may very -nearly approach to each other. Thus, in sleep, in a fever, in madness, -or in any very violent emotions of soul, our ideas may approach to -our impressions: as, on the other hand, it sometimes happens, that -our impressions are so faint and low, that we cannot distinguish them -from our ideas. But, notwithstanding this near resemblance in a few -instances, they are in general so very different, that no one can make -a scruple to rank them under distinct heads, and assign to each a -peculiar name to mark the difference.[1] - -There is another division of our perceptions, which it will be -convenient to observe, and which extends itself both to our impressions -and ideas. This division is into _simple_ and _complex_. Simple -perceptions, or impressions and ideas, are such as admit of no -distinction nor separation. The complex are the contrary to these, and -may be distinguished into parts. Though a particular colour, taste and -smell, are qualities all united together in this apple, 'tis easy to -perceive they are not the same, but are at least distinguishable from -each other. - -Having, by these divisions, given an order and arrangement to our -objects, we may now apply ourselves to consider, with the more -accuracy, their qualities and relations. The first circumstance that -strikes my eye, is the great resemblance betwixt our impressions and -ideas in every other particular, except their degree of force and -vivacity. The one seem to be, in a manner, the reflection of the other; -so that all the perceptions of the mind are double, and appear both as -impressions and ideas. When I shut my eyes, and think of my chamber, -the ideas I form are exact representations of the impressions I felt; -nor is there any circumstance of the one, which is not to be found in -the other. In running over my other perceptions, I find still the same -resemblance and representation. Ideas and impressions appear always to -correspond to each other. This circumstance seems to me remarkable, and -engages my attention for a moment. - -Upon a more accurate survey I find I have been carried away too far -by the first appearance, and that I must make use of the distinction -of perceptions into _simple_ and _complex_, to limit this general -decision, _that all our ideas and impressions are resembling_. I -observe that many of our complex ideas never had impressions that -corresponded to them, and that many of our complex impressions never -are exactly copied in ideas. I can imagine to myself such a city as the -New Jerusalem, whose pavement is gold, and walls are rubies, though I -never saw any such. I have seen Paris; but shall I affirm I can form -such an idea of that city, as will perfectly represent all its streets -and houses in their real and just proportions? - -I perceive, therefore, that though there is, in general, a great -resemblance betwixt our _complex_ impressions and ideas, yet the rule -is not universally true, that they are exact copies of each other. We -may next consider, how the case stands with our _simple_ perceptions. -After the most accurate examination of which I am capable, I venture to -affirm, that the rule here holds without any exception, and that every -simple idea has a simple impression, which resembles it, and every -simple impression a correspondent idea. That idea of red, which we form -in the dark, and that impression, which strikes our eyes in sunshine, -differ only in degree, not in nature. That the case is the same with -all our simple impressions and ideas, 'tis impossible to prove by a -particular enumeration of them. Every one may satisfy himself in this -point by running over as many as he pleases. But if any one should deny -this universal resemblance, I know no way of convincing him, but by -desiring him to show a simple impression that has not a correspondent -idea, or a simple idea that has not a correspondent impression. If he -does not answer this challenge, as 'tis certain he cannot, we may, from -his silence and our own observation, establish our conclusion. - -Thus we find, that all simple ideas and impressions resemble each -other; and, as the complex are formed from them, we may affirm -in general, that these two species of perception are exactly -correspondent. Having discovered this relation, which requires -no farther examination, I am curious to find some other of their -qualities. Let us consider, how they stand with regard to their -existence, and which of the impressions and ideas are causes, and which -effects. - -The full examination of this question is the subject of the present -treatise; and, therefore, we shall here content ourselves with -establishing one general proposition, _That all our simple ideas in -their first appearance, are derived from simple impressions, which are -correspondent to them, and which they exactly represent_. - -In seeking for phenomena to prove this proposition, I find only those -of two kinds; but, in each kind the phenomena are obvious, numerous, -and conclusive. I first make myself certain, by a new review, of what -I have already asserted, that every simple impression is attended -with a correspondent idea, and every simple idea with a correspondent -impression. From this constant conjunction of resembling perceptions -I immediately conclude, that there is a great connexion betwixt -our correspondent impressions and ideas, and that the existence of -the one has a considerable influence upon that of the other. Such -a constant conjunction, in such an infinite number of instances, -can never arise from chance; but clearly proves a dependence of the -impressions on the ideas, or of the ideas on the impressions. That I -may know on which side this dependence lies, I consider the order of -their _first appearance_; and find, by constant experience, that the -simple impressions always take the precedence of their correspondent -ideas, but never appear in the contrary order. To give a child an -idea of scarlet or orange, of sweet or bitter, I present the objects, -or, in other words, convey to him these impressions; but proceed not -so absurdly, as to endeavour to produce the impressions by exciting -the ideas. Our ideas, upon their appearance, produce not their -correspondent impressions, nor do we perceive any colour, or feel any -sensation merely upon thinking of them. On the other hand we find, that -any impression, either of the mind or body, is constantly followed -by an idea, which resembles it, and is only different in the degrees -of force and liveliness. The constant conjunction of our resembling -perceptions, is a convincing proof, that the one are the causes of -the other; and this priority of the impressions is an equal proof, -that our impressions are the causes of our ideas, not our ideas of our -impressions. - -To confirm this, I consider another plain and convincing phenomenon; -which is, that wherever, by any accident, the faculties which give -rise to any impressions are obstructed in their operations, as when -one is born blind or deaf, not only the impressions are lost, but also -their correspondent ideas; so that there never appear in the mind the -least traces of either of them. Nor is this only true, where the organs -of sensation are entirely destroyed, but likewise where they have never -been put in action to produce a particular impression. We cannot form -to ourselves a just idea of the taste of a pine-apple, without having -actually tasted it. - -There is, however, one contradictory phenomenon, which may prove, -that 'tis not absolutely impossible for ideas to go before their -correspondent impressions. I believe it will readily be allowed, -that the several distinct ideas of colours, which enter by the eyes, -or those of sounds, which are conveyed by the hearing, 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, that each of them produces a -distinct idea, independent of the rest. For if this should be denied, -'tis 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 well -acquainted with colours of all kinds, excepting 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; 'tis 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, betwixt the contiguous colours, than in any other. Now I -ask, whether 'tis 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 derived from -the correspondent impressions; though the instance is so particular -and singular, that 'tis scarce worth our observing, and does not merit -that, for it alone, we should alter our general maxim. - -But, besides this exception, it may not be amiss to remark, on this -head, that the principle of the priority of impressions to ideas, must -be understood with another limitation, viz. that as our ideas are -images of our impressions, so we can form secondary ideas, which are -images of the primary, as appears from this very reasoning concerning -them. This is not, properly speaking, an exception to the rule so -much as an explanation of it. Ideas produce the images of themselves -in new ideas; but as the first ideas are supposed to be derived from -impressions, it still remains true, that all our simple ideas proceed, -either mediately or immediately, from their correspondent impressions. - -This, then, is the first principle I establish in the science of human -nature; nor ought we to despise it because of the simplicity of its -appearance. For 'tis remarkable, that the present question concerning -the precedency of our impressions or ideas, is the same with what has -made so much noise in other terms, when it has been disputed whether -there be any _innate ideas_, or whether all ideas be derived from -sensation and reflection. We may observe, that in order to prove -the ideas of extension and colour not to be innate, philosophers do -nothing but show, that they are conveyed by our senses. To prove the -ideas of passion and desire not to be innate, they observe, that we -have a preceding experience of these emotions in ourselves. Now, if -we carefully examine these arguments, we shall find that they prove -nothing but that ideas are preceded by other more lively perceptions, -from which they are derived, and which they represent. I hope this -clear stating of the question will remove all disputes concerning it, -and will render this principle of more use in our reasonings, than it -seems hitherto to have been. - - -[1] I here make use of these terms, _impression_ and _idea_, in a sense -different from what is usual, and I hope this liberty will be allowed -me. Perhaps I rather restore the word idea to its original sense, -from which Mr Locke had perverted it, in making it stand for all our -perceptions. By the term of impression, I would not be understood to -express the manner in which our lively perceptions are produced in the -soul, but merely the perceptions themselves; for which there is no -particular name, either in the English or any other language that I -know of. - - - - -SECTION II. - -DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT. - - -Since it appears, that our simple impressions are prior to their -correspondent ideas, and that the exceptions are very rare, method -seems to require we should examine our impressions before we consider -our ideas. Impressions may be divided into two kinds, those of -_sensation_, and those of _reflection_. The first kind arises in the -soul originally, from unknown causes. The second is derived, in a -great measure, from our ideas, and that in the following order. An -impression first strikes upon the senses, and makes us perceive heat -or cold, thirst or hunger, pleasure or pain, of some kind or other. Of -this impression there is a copy taken by the mind, which remains after -the impression ceases; and this we call an idea. This idea of pleasure -or pain, when it returns upon the soul, produces the new impressions -of desire and aversion, hope and fear, which may properly be called -impressions of reflection, because derived from it. These again are -copied by the memory and imagination, and become ideas; which, perhaps, -in their turn, give rise to other impressions and ideas: so that the -impressions of reflection are only antecedent to their correspondent -ideas, but posterior to those of sensation, and derived from them. The -examination of our sensations belongs more to anatomists and natural -philosophers than to moral; and, therefore, shall not at present be -entered upon. And, as the impressions of reflection, viz. passions, -desires, and emotions, which principally deserve our attention, arise -mostly from ideas, 'twill be necessary to reverse that method, which -at first sight seems most natural; and, in order to explain the nature -and principles of the human mind, give a particular account of ideas, -before we proceed to impressions. For this reason, I have here chosen -to begin with ideas. - - - - -SECTION III. - -OF THE IDEAS OF THE MEMORY AND IMAGINATION. - - -We find, by experience, that when any impression has been present with -the mind, it again makes its appearance there as an idea; and this it -may do after two different ways: either when, in its new appearance, -it retains a considerable degree of its first vivacity, and is somewhat -intermediate betwixt an impression and an idea; or when it entirely -loses that vivacity, and is a perfect idea. The faculty by which we -repeat our impressions in the first manner, is called the _memory_, and -the other the _imagination_. 'Tis evident, at first sight, that the -ideas of the memory are much more lively and strong than those of the -imagination, and that the former faculty paints its objects in more -distinct colours, than any which are employed by the latter. When we -remember any past event, the idea of it flows in upon the mind in a -forcible manner; whereas, in the imagination, the perception is faint -and languid, and cannot, without difficulty, be preserved by the mind -steady and uniform for any considerable time. Here, then, is a sensible -difference betwixt one species of ideas and another. But of this more -fully hereafter.[2] - -There is another difference betwixt these two kinds of ideas, which is -no less evident, namely, that though neither the ideas of the memory -nor imagination, neither the lively nor faint ideas, can make their -appearance in the mind, unless their correspondent impressions have -gone before to prepare the way for them, yet the imagination is not -restrained to the same order and form with the original impressions; -while the memory is in a manner tied down in that respect, without any -power of variation. - -'Tis evident, that the memory preserves the original form, in which -its objects were presented, and that wherever we depart from it in -recollecting any thing, it proceeds from some defect or imperfection -in that faculty. An historian may, perhaps, for the more convenient -carrying on of his narration, relate an event before another to which -it was in fact posterior; but then, he takes notice of this disorder, -if he be exact; and, by that means, replaces the idea in its due -position. 'Tis the same case in our recollection of those places and -persons, with which we were formerly acquainted. The chief exercise of -the memory is not to preserve the simple ideas, but their order and -position. In short, this principle is supported by such a number of -common and vulgar phenomena, that we may spare ourselves the trouble of -insisting on it any farther. - -The same evidence follows us in our second principle, _of the liberty -of the imagination to transpose and change its ideas_. The fables we -meet with in poems and romances put this entirely out of question. -Nature there is totally confounded, and nothing mentioned but winged -horses, fiery dragons, and monstrous giants. Nor will this liberty of -the fancy appear strange, when we consider, that all our ideas are -copied from our impressions, and that there are not any two impressions -which are perfectly inseparable. Not to mention, that this is an -evident consequence of the division of ideas into simple and complex. -Wherever the imagination perceives a difference among ideas, it can -easily produce a separation. - - -[2] Part III. Sect. 5. - - - - -SECTION IV. - -OF THE CONNEXION OR ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. - - -As all simple ideas may be separated by the imagination, and may -be united again in what form it pleases, nothing would be more -unaccountable than the operations of that faculty, were it not guided -by some universal principles, which render it, in some measure, uniform -with itself in all times and places. Were ideas entirely loose and -unconnected, chance alone would join them; and 'tis impossible the same -simple ideas should fall regularly into complex ones (as they commonly -do), without some bond of union among them, some associating quality, -by which one idea naturally introduces another. This uniting principle -among ideas is not to be considered as an inseparable connexion; for -that has been already excluded from the imagination: nor yet are we to -conclude, that without it the mind cannot join two ideas; for nothing -is more free than that faculty: but we are only to regard it as a -gentle force, which commonly prevails, and is the cause why, among -other things, languages so nearly correspond to each other; Nature, -in a manner, pointing out to every one those simple ideas, which are -most proper to be united into a complex one. The qualities, from which -this association arises, and by which the mind is, after this manner, -conveyed from one idea to another, are three, viz. _resemblance, -contiguity_ in time or place, and _cause_ and _effect_. - -I believe it will not be very necessary to prove, that these qualities -produce an association among ideas, and, upon the appearance of one -idea, naturally introduce another. 'Tis plain, that, in the course -of our thinking, and in the constant revolution of our ideas, our -imagination runs easily from one idea to any other that _resembles_ -it, and that this quality alone is to the fancy a sufficient bond and -association. 'Tis likewise evident, that as the senses, in changing -their objects, are necessitated to change them regularly, and take them -as they lie _contiguous_ to each other, the imagination must, by long -custom, acquire the same method of thinking, and run along the parts -of space and time in conceiving its objects. As to the connexion that -is made by the relation of _cause and effect_, we shall have occasion -afterwards to examine it to the bottom, and therefore shall not at -present insist upon it. 'Tis sufficient to observe, that there is no -relation, which produces a stronger connexion in the fancy, and makes -one idea more readily recal another, than the relation of cause and -effect betwixt their objects. - -That we may understand the full extent of these relations, we must -consider, that two objects are connected together in the imagination, -not only when the one is immediately resembling, contiguous to, or the -cause of the other, but also when there is interposed betwixt them a -third object, which bears to both of them any of these relations. This -may be carried on to a great length; though, at the same time we may -observe, that each remove considerably weakens the relation. Cousins -in the fourth degree are connected by _causation_, if I may be allowed -to use that term; but not so closely as brothers, much less as child -and parent. In general, we may observe, that all the relations of -blood depend upon cause and effect, and are esteemed near or remote, -according to the number of connecting causes interposed betwixt the -persons. - -Of the three relations above mentioned this of causation is the most -extensive. Two objects may be considered as placed in this relation, -as well when one is the cause of any of the actions or motions of -the other, as when the former is the cause of the existence of the -latter. For as that action or motion is nothing but the object -itself, considered in a certain light, and as the object continues -the same in all its different situations, 'tis easy to imagine how -such an influence of objects upon one another may connect them in the -imagination. - -We may carry this farther, and remark, not only that two objects are -connected by the relation of cause and effect, when the one produces -a motion or any action in the other, but also when it has a power of -producing it. And this we may observe to be the source of all the -relations of interest and duty, by which men influence each other in -society, and are placed in the ties of government and subordination. -A master is such a one as, by his situation, arising either from -force or agreement, has a power of directing in certain particulars -the actions of another, whom we call servant. A judge is one, who, in -all disputed cases, can fix by his opinion the possession or property -of any thing betwixt any members of the society. When a person is -possessed of any power, there is no more required to convert it into -action, but the exertion of the will; and _that_ in every case is -considered as possible, and in many as probable; especially in the case -of authority, where the obedience of the subject is a pleasure and -advantage to the superior. - -These are, therefore, the principles of union or cohesion among -our simple ideas, and in the imagination supply the place of that -inseparable connexion, by which they are united in our memory. Here -is a kind of _attraction_, which in the mental world will be found to -have as extraordinary effects as in the natural, and to show itself in -as many and as various forms. Its effects are every where conspicuous; -but, as to its causes, they are mostly unknown, and must be resolved -into _original_ qualities of human nature, which I pretend not to -explain. Nothing is more requisite for a true philosopher, than to -restrain the intemperate desire of searching into causes; and, having -established any doctrine upon a sufficient number of experiments, rest -contented with that, when he sees a farther examination would lead him -into obscure and uncertain speculations. In that case his inquiry would -be much better employed in examining the effects than the causes of his -principle. - -Amongst the effects of this union or association of ideas, there are -none more remarkable than those complex ideas, which are the common -subjects of our thoughts and reasoning, and generally arise from some -principle of union among our simple ideas. These complex ideas may be -divided into _relations, modes,_ and _substances_. We shall briefly -examine each of these in order, and shall subjoin some considerations -concerning our _general_ and _particular_ ideas, before we leave the -present subject, which may be considered as the elements of this -philosophy. - - - - -SECTION V. - -OF RELATIONS. - - -The word _relation_ is commonly used in two senses considerably -different from each other. Either for that quality, by which two ideas -are connected together in the imagination, and the one naturally -introduces the other, after the manner above explained; or for that -particular circumstance, in which, even upon the arbitrary union of -two ideas in the fancy, we may think proper to compare them. In common -language, the former is always the sense in which we use the word -relation; and 'tis only in philosophy that we extend it to mean any -particular subject of comparison, without a connecting principle. Thus, -distance will be allowed by philosophers to be a true relation, because -we acquire an idea of it by the comparing of objects: but in a common -way we say, _that nothing can be more distant than such or such things -from each other, nothing can have less relation_; as if distance and -relation were incompatible. - -It may, perhaps, be esteemed an endless task to enumerate all those -qualities, which make objects admit of comparison, and by which the -ideas of _philosophical_ relation are produced. But if we diligently -consider them we shall find, that without difficulty they may be -comprised under seven general heads, which may be considered as the -sources of all philosophical relation. - -1. The first is _resemblance_: and this is a relation, without which -no philosophical relation can exist, since no objects will admit of -comparison, but what have some degree of resemblance. But though -resemblance be necessary to all philosophical relation, it does not -follow that it always produces a connexion or association of ideas. -When a quality becomes very general, and is common to a great many -individuals, it leads not the mind directly to any one of them; but, -by presenting at once too great a choice, does thereby prevent the -imagination from fixing on any single object. - -2. _Identity_ may be esteemed a second species of relation. This -relation I here consider as applied in its strictest sense to constant -and unchangeable objects; without examining the nature and foundation -of personal identity, which shall find its place afterwards. Of all -relations the most universal is that of identity, being common to every -being, whose existence has any duration. - -3. After identity the most universal and comprehensive relations are -those of _space_ and _time_, which are the sources of an infinite -number of comparisons, such as _distant, contiguous, above, below, -before, after, &c_. - -4. All those objects, which admit of _quantity_ or _number_, may be -compared in that particular, which is another very fertile source of -relation. - -5. When any two objects possess the same _quality_ in common, the -_degrees_ in which they possess it form a fifth species of relation. -Thus, of two objects which are both heavy, the one may be either of -greater or less weight than the other. Two colours, that are of the -same kind, may yet be of different shades, and in that respect admit of -comparison. - -6. The relation of _contrariety_ may at first sight be regarded as -an exception to the rule, _that no relation of any kind can subsist -without some degree of resemblance_. But let us consider, that no -two ideas are in themselves contrary, except those of existence and -non-existence, which are plainly resembling, as implying both of them -an idea of the object; though the latter excludes the object from all -times and places, in which it is supposed not to exist. - -7. All other objects, such as fire and water, heat and cold, are only -found to be contrary from experience, and from the contrariety of their -_causes_ or _effects_; which relation of cause and effect is a seventh -philosophical relation, as well as a natural one. The resemblance -implied in this relation shall be explained afterwards. - -It might naturally be expected that I should join _difference_ to the -other relations; but that I consider rather as a negation of relation -than as any thing real or positive. Difference is of two kinds, as -opposed either to identity or resemblance. The first is called a -difference of _number_; the other of _kind_. - - - - -SECTION VI. - -OF MODES AND SUBSTANCES. - - -I would fain ask those philosophers, who found so much of their -reasonings on the distinction of substance and accident, and imagine we -have clear ideas of each, whether the idea of _substance_ be derived -from the impressions of sensation or reflection? If it be conveyed -to us by our senses, I ask, which of them, and after what manner? If -it be perceived by the eyes, it must be a colour; if by the ears, a -sound; if by the palate, a taste; and so of the other senses. But I -believe none will assert, that substance is either a colour, or sound, -or a taste. The idea of substance must therefore be derived from an -impression of reflection, if it really exist. But the impressions of -reflection resolve themselves into our passions and emotions; none -of which can possibly represent a substance. We have, therefore, no -idea of substance, distinct from that of a collection of particular -qualities, nor have we any other meaning when we either talk or reason -concerning it. - -The idea of a substance as well as that of a mode, is nothing but -a collection of simple ideas, that are united by the imagination, -and have a particular name assigned them, by which we are able to -recal, either to ourselves or others, that collection. But the -difference betwixt these ideas consists in this, that the particular -qualities, which form a substance, are commonly referred to an unknown -_something_, in which they are supposed to inhere; or granting this -fiction should not take place, are at least supposed to be closely and -inseparably connected by the relations of contiguity and causation. -The effect of this is, that whatever new simple quality we discover to -have the same connexion with the rest, we immediately comprehend it -among them, even though it did not enter into the first conception of -the substance. Thus our idea of gold may at first be a yellow colour, -weight, malleableness, fusibility; but upon the discovery of its -dissolubility in _aqua regia_, we join that to the other qualities, and -suppose it to belong to the substance as much as if its idea had from -the beginning made a part of the compound one. The principle of union -being regarded as the chief part of the complex idea, gives entrance to -whatever quality afterwards occurs, and is equally comprehended by it, -as are the others, which first presented themselves. - -That this cannot take place in modes, is evident from considering their -nature. The simple ideas of which modes are formed, either represent -qualities, which are not united by contiguity and causation, but are -dispersed in different subjects; or if they be all united together, -the uniting principle is not regarded as the foundation of the complex -idea. The idea of a dance is an instance of the first kind of modes; -that of beauty of the second. The reason is obvious, why such complex -ideas cannot receive any new idea, without changing the name, which -distinguishes the mode. - - - - -SECTION VII. - -OF ABSTRACT IDEAS. - - -A very material question has been started concerning _abstract_ or -_general_ ideas, _whether they be general or particular in the mind's -conception of them_. A great philosopher[3] has disputed the received -opinion in this particular, and has asserted, that all general ideas -are nothing but particular ones annexed to a certain term, which gives -them a more extensive signification, and makes them recal upon occasion -other individuals, which are similar to them. As I look upon this to be -one of the greatest and most valuable discoveries that has been made -of late years in the republic of letters, I shall here endeavour to -confirm it by some arguments, which I hope will put it beyond all doubt -and controversy. - -'Tis evident, that, in forming most of our general ideas, if not all -of them, we abstract from every particular degree of quantity and -quality, and that an object ceases not to be of any particular species -on account of every small alteration in its extension, duration, and -other properties. It may therefore be thought, that here is a plain -dilemma, that decides concerning the nature of those abstract ideas, -which have afforded so much speculation to philosophers. The abstract -idea of a man represents men of all sizes and all qualities, which 'tis -concluded it cannot do, but either by representing at once all possible -sizes and all possible qualities, or by representing no particular -one at all. Now, it having been esteemed absurd to defend the former -proposition, as implying an infinite capacity in the mind, it has been -commonly inferred in favour of the latter; and our abstract ideas have -been supposed to represent no particular degree either of quantity -or quality. But that this inference is erroneous, I shall endeavour -to make appear, _first_, by proving, that 'tis utterly impossible to -conceive any quantity or quality, without forming a precise notion of -its degrees; and, _secondly_, by showing, that though the capacity -of the mind be not infinite, yet we can at once form a notion of all -possible degrees of quantity and quality, in such a manner at least, -as, however imperfect, may serve all the purposes of reflection and -conversation. - -To begin with the first proposition, _that the mind cannot form any -notion of quantity or quality without forming a precise notion of -degrees of each_, we may prove this by the three following arguments. -First, we have observed, that whatever objects are different are -distinguishable, and that whatever objects are distinguishable are -separable by the thought and imagination. And we may here add, that -these propositions are equally true in the _inverse_, and that whatever -objects are separable are also distinguishable, and that whatever -objects are distinguishable are also different. For how is it possible -we can separate what is not distinguishable, or distinguish what is -not different? In order therefore to know whether abstraction implies -a separation, we need only consider it in this view, and examine, -whether all the circumstances, which we abstract from in our general -ideas, be such as are distinguishable and different from those, which -we retain as essential parts of them. But 'tis evident at first sight, -that the precise length of a line is not different nor distinguishable -from the line itself; nor the precise degree of any quality from the -quality. These ideas, therefore, admit no more of separation than they -do of distinction and difference. They are, consequently, conjoined -with each other in the conception; and the general idea of a line, -notwithstanding all our abstractions and refinements, has, in its -appearance in the mind, a precise degree of quantity and quality; -however it may be made to represent others which have different degrees -of both. - -Secondly, 'tis confessed, that no object can appear to the senses; or -in other words, that no impression can become present to the mind, -without being determined in its degrees both of quantity and quality. -The confusion, in which impressions are sometimes involved, proceeds -only from their faintness and unsteadiness, not from any capacity in -the mind to receive any impression, which in its real existence has -no particular degree nor proportion. That is a contradiction in terms; -and even implies the flattest of all contradictions, viz. that 'tis -possible for the same thing both to be and not to be. - -Now, since all ideas are derived from impressions, and are nothing but -copies and representations of them, whatever is true of the one must be -acknowledged concerning the other. Impressions and ideas differ only in -their strength and vivacity. The foregoing conclusion is not founded on -any particular degree of vivacity. It cannot, therefore, be affected by -any variation in that particular. An idea is a weaker impression; and, -as a strong impression must necessarily have a determinate quantity and -quality, the case must be the same with its copy or representative. - -Thirdly, 'tis a principle generally received in philosophy, that every -thing in nature is individual, and that 'tis utterly absurd to suppose -a triangle really existent, which has no precise proportion of sides -and angles. If this, therefore, be absurd in _fact and reality_, it -must also be absurd _in idea_; since nothing of which we can form a -clear and distinct idea is absurd and impossible. But to form the -idea of an object, and to form an idea simply, is the same thing; the -reference of the idea to an object being an extraneous denomination, of -which in itself it bears no mark or character. Now, as 'tis impossible -to form an idea of an object that is possessed of quantity and quality, -and yet is possessed of no precise degree of either, it follows, that -there is an equal impossibility of forming an idea, that is not limited -and confined in both these particulars. Abstract ideas are, therefore, -in themselves individual, however they may become general in their -representation. The image in the mind is only that of a particular -object, though the application of it in our reasoning be the same as if -it were universal. - -This application of ideas, beyond their nature, proceeds from our -collecting all their possible degrees of quantity and quality in -such an imperfect manner as may serve the purposes of life, which is -the second proposition I proposed to explain. When we have found a -resemblance[4] among several objects, that often occur to us, we apply -the same name to all of them, whatever differences we may observe -in the degrees of their quantity and quality, and whatever other -differences may appear among them. After we have acquired a custom of -this kind, the hearing of that name revives the idea of one of these -objects, and makes the imagination conceive it with all its particular -circumstances and proportions. But as the same word is supposed to have -been frequently applied to other individuals, that are different in -many respects from that idea, which is immediately present to the mind; -the word not being able to revive the idea of all these individuals, -only touches the soul, if I may be allowed so to speak, and revives -that custom, which we have acquired by surveying them. They are not -really and in fact present to the mind, but only in power; nor do we -draw them all out distinctly in the imagination, but keep ourselves in -a readiness to survey any of them, as we may be prompted by a present -design or necessity. The word raises up an individual idea, along -with a certain custom, and that custom produces any other individual -one, for which we may have occasion. But as the production of all the -ideas, to which the name may be applied, is in most cases impossible, -we abridge that work by a more partial consideration, and find but few -inconveniences to arise in our reasoning from that abridgment. - -For this is one of the most extraordinary circumstances in the present -affair, that after the mind has produced an individual idea, upon -which we reason, the attendant custom, revived by the general or -abstract term, readily suggests any other individual, if by chance we -form any reasoning that agrees not with it. Thus, should we mention -the word triangle, and form the idea of a particular equilateral -one to correspond to it, and should we afterwards assert, _that -the three angles of a triangle are equal to each other_, the other -individuals of a scalenum and isosceles, which we overlooked at first, -immediately crowd in upon us, and make us perceive the falsehood of -this proposition, though it be true with relation to that idea which -we had formed. If the mind suggests not always these ideas upon -occasion, it proceeds from some imperfection in its faculties; and -such a one as is often the source of false reasoning and sophistry. -But this is principally the case with those ideas which are abstruse -and compounded. On other occasions the custom is more entire, and 'tis -seldom we run into such errors. - -Nay so entire is the custom, that the very same idea may be annexed to -several different words, and may be employed in different reasonings, -without any danger of mistake. Thus the idea of an equilateral triangle -of an inch perpendicular may serve us in talking of a figure, of a -rectilineal figure, of a regular figure, of a triangle, and of an -equilateral triangle. All these terms, therefore, are in this case -attended with the same idea; but as they are wont to be applied in a -greater or lesser compass, they excite their particular habits, and -thereby keep the mind in a readiness to observe, that no conclusion be -formed contrary to any ideas, which are usually comprised under them. - -Before those habits have become entirely perfect, perhaps the mind may -not be content with forming the idea of only one individual, but may -run over several, in order to make itself comprehend its own meaning, -and the compass of that collection, which it intends to express by the -general term. That we may fix the meaning of the word, figure, we may -revolve in our mind the ideas of circles, squares, parallelograms, -triangles of different sizes and proportions, and may not rest on one -image or idea. However this may be, 'tis certain _that_ we form the -idea of individuals whenever we use any general term; _that_ we seldom -or never can exhaust these individuals; and _that_ those which remain, -are only represented by means of that habit by which we recal them, -whenever any present occasion requires it. This then is the nature of -our abstract ideas and general terms; and 'tis after this manner we -account for the foregoing paradox, _that some ideas are particular -in their nature, but general in their representation_. A particular -idea becomes general by being annexed to a general term; that is, to a -term which, from a customary conjunction, has a relation to many other -particular ideas, and readily recals them in the imagination. - -The only difficulty that can remain on this subject, must be with -regard to that custom, which so readily recals every particular idea -for which we may have occasion, and is excited by any word or sound -to which we commonly annex it. The most proper method, in my opinion, -of giving a satisfactory explication of this act of the mind, is -by producing other instances which are analogous to it, and other -principles which facilitate its operation. To explain the ultimate -causes of our mental actions is impossible. 'Tis sufficient if we can -give any satisfactory account of them from experience and analogy. - -First, then, I observe, that when we mention any great number, such as -a thousand, the mind has generally no adequate idea of it, but only a -power of producing such an idea, by its adequate idea of the decimals -under which the number is comprehended. This imperfection, however, -in our ideas, is never felt in our reasonings, which seems to be an -instance parallel to the present one of universal ideas. - -Secondly, we have several instances of habits which may be revived by -one single word; as when a person who has, by rote, any periods of -a discourse, or any number of verses, will be put in remembrance of -the whole, which he is at a loss to recollect, by that single word or -expression with which they begin. - -Thirdly, I believe every one who examines the situation of his mind -in reasoning, will agree with me, that we do not annex distinct and -complete ideas to every term we make use of, and that in talking -of _government, church, negociation, conquest_, we seldom spread -out in our minds all the simple ideas of which these complex ones -are composed. 'Tis however observable, that notwithstanding this -imperfection, we may avoid talking nonsense on these subjects, and may -perceive any repugnance among the ideas as well as if we had a full -comprehension of them. Thus, if instead of saying, _that in war the -weaker have always recourse to negociation_, we should say, _that they -have always recourse to conquest_, the custom which we have acquired of -attributing certain relations to ideas, still follows the words, and -makes us immediately perceive the absurdity of that proposition; in the -same manner as one particular idea may serve us in reasoning concerning -other ideas, however different from it in several circumstances. - -Fourthly, as the individuals are collected together, and placed under -a general term with a view to that resemblance which they bear to each -other, this relation must facilitate their entrance in the imagination, -and make them be suggested more readily upon occasion. And, indeed, if -we consider the common progress of the thought, either in reflection -or conversation, we shall find great reason to be satisfied in this -particular. Nothing is more admirable than the readiness with which the -imagination suggests its ideas, and presents them at the very instant -in which they become necessary or useful. The fancy runs from one end -of the universe to the other, in collecting those ideas which belong to -any subject. One would think the whole intellectual world of ideas was -at once subjected to our view, and that we did nothing but pick out -such as were most proper for our purpose. There may not, however, be -any present, beside those very ideas, that are thus collected by a kind -of magical faculty in the soul, which, though it be always most perfect -in the greatest geniuses, and is properly what we call a genius, is -however inexplicable by the utmost efforts of human understanding. - -Perhaps these four reflections may help to remove all difficulties to -the hypothesis I have proposed concerning abstract ideas, so contrary -to that which has hitherto prevailed in philosophy. But to tell the -truth, I place my chief confidence in what I have already proved -concerning the impossibility of general ideas, according to the common -method of explaining them. We must certainly seek some new system on -this head, and there plainly is none beside what I have proposed. If -ideas be particular in their nature, and at the same time finite in -their number, 'tis only by custom they can become general in their -representation, and contain an infinite number of other ideas under -them. - -Before I leave this subject, I shall employ the same principles to -explain that _distinction of reason_, which is so much talked of, and -is so little understood in the schools. Of this kind is the distinction -betwixt figure and the body figured; motion and the body moved. The -difficulty of explaining this distinction arises from the principle -above explained, _that all ideas which are different are separable_. -For it follows from thence, that if the figure be different from -the body, their ideas must be separable as well as distinguishable; -if they be not different, their ideas can neither be separable nor -distinguishable. What then is meant by a distinction of reason, since -it implies neither a difference nor separation? - -To remove this difficulty, we must have recourse to the foregoing -explication of abstract ideas. 'Tis certain that the mind would never -have dreamed of distinguishing a figure from the body figured, as being -in reality neither distinguishable, nor different, nor separable, did -it not observe, that even in this simplicity there might be contained -many different resemblances and relations. Thus, when a globe of white -marble is presented, we receive only the impression of a white colour -disposed in a certain form, nor are we able to separate and distinguish -the colour from the form. But observing afterwards a globe of black -marble and a cube of white, and comparing them with our former object, -we find two separate resemblances, in what formerly seemed, and really -is, perfectly inseparable. After a little more practice of this kind, -we begin to distinguish the figure from the colour by a _distinction -of reason_; that is, we consider the figure and colour together, since -they are, in effect, the same and undistinguishable; but still view -them in different aspects, according to the resemblances of which they -are susceptible. When we would consider only the figure of the globe of -white marble, we form in reality an idea both of the figure and colour, -but tacitly carry our eye to its resemblance with the globe of black -marble: and in the same manner, when we would consider its colour only, -we turn our view to its resemblance with the cube of white marble. By -this means we accompany our ideas with a kind of reflection, of which -custom renders us, in a great measure, insensible. A person who desires -us to consider the figure of a globe of white marble without thinking -on its colour, desires an impossibility; but his meaning is, that we -should consider the colour and figure together, but still keep in our -eye the resemblance to the globe of black marble, or that to any other -globe of whatever colour or substance. - - -[3] Dr Berkeley. - -[4] 'Tis evident, that even different simple ideas may have a -similarity or resemblance to each other; nor is it necessary, that the -point or circumstance of resemblance should be distinct or separable -from that in which they differ. _Blue_ and _green_ are different simple -ideas, but are more resembling than _blue_ and _scarlet_; though -their perfect simplicity excludes all possibility of separation or -distinction. 'Tis the same case with particular sounds, and tastes, -and smells. These admit of infinite resemblances upon the general -appearance and comparison, without having any common circumstance -the same. And of this we may be certain, even from the very abstract -terms _simple idea_. They comprehend all simple ideas under them. -These resemble each other in their simplicity. And yet from their very -nature, which excludes all composition, this circumstance, in which -they resemble, is not distinguishable or separable from the rest. -'Tis the same case with all the degrees in any quality. They are all -resembling, and yet the quality, in any individual, is not distinct -from the degree. - - - - -PART II. - -OF THE IDEAS OF SPACE AND TIME. - - - - -SECTION I. - -OF THE INFINITE DIVISIBILITY OF OUR IDEAS OF SPACE AND TIME. - - -Whatever has the air of a paradox, and is contrary to the first and -most unprejudiced notions of mankind, is often greedily embraced by -philosophers, as showing the superiority of their science, which could -discover opinions so remote from vulgar conception. On the other hand, -any thing proposed to us, which causes surprise and admiration, gives -such a satisfaction to the mind, that it indulges itself in those -agreeable emotions, and will never be persuaded that its pleasure is -entirely without foundation. From these dispositions in philosophers -and their disciples, arises that mutual complaisance betwixt them; -while the former furnish such plenty of strange and unaccountable -opinions, and the latter so readily believe them. Of this mutual -complaisance I cannot give a more evident instance than in the doctrine -of infinite divisibility, with the examination of which I shall begin -this subject of the ideas of space and time. - -'Tis universally allowed, that the capacity of the mind is limited, and -can never attain a full and adequate conception of infinity: and though -it were not allowed, 'twould be sufficiently evident from the plainest -observation and experience. 'Tis also obvious, that whatever is capable -of being divided _in infinitum_, must consist of an infinite number -of parts, and that 'tis impossible to set any bounds to the number -of parts without setting bounds at the same time to the division. It -requires scarce any induction to conclude from hence, that the _idea_, -which we form of any finite quality, is not infinitely divisible, but -that by proper distinctions and separations we may run up this idea -to inferior ones, which will be perfectly simple and indivisible. In -rejecting the infinite capacity of the mind, we suppose it may arrive -at an end in the division of its ideas; nor are there any possible -means of evading the evidence of this conclusion. - -'Tis therefore certain, that the imagination reaches a _minimum_, -and may raise up to itself an idea, of which it cannot conceive -any subdivision, and which cannot be diminished without a total -annihilation. When you tell me of the thousandth and ten thousandth -part of a grain of sand, I have a distinct idea of these numbers and -of their different proportions; but the images which I form in my mind -to represent the things themselves, are nothing different from each -other, nor inferior to that image, by which I represent the grain of -sand itself, which is supposed so vastly to exceed them. What consists -of parts is distinguishable into them, and what is distinguishable is -separable. But, whatever we may imagine of the thing, the idea of a -grain of sand is not distinguishable nor separable into twenty, much -less into a thousand, ten thousand, or an infinite number of different -ideas. - -'Tis the same case with the impressions of the senses as with the ideas -of the imagination. Put a spot of ink upon paper, fix your eye upon -that spot, and retire to such a distance that at last you lose sight -of it; 'tis plain, that the moment before it vanished, the image, or -impression, was perfectly indivisible. 'Tis not for want of rays of -light striking on our eyes, that the minute parts of distant bodies -convey not any sensible impression; but because they are removed -beyond that distance, at which their impressions were reduced to a -_minimum_, and were incapable of any farther diminution. A microscope -or telescope, which renders them visible, produces not any new rays of -light, but only spreads those which always flowed from them; and, by -that means, both gives parts to impressions, which to the naked eye -appear simple and uncompounded, and advances to a _minimum_ what was -formerly imperceptible. - -We may hence discover the error of the common opinion, that the -capacity of the mind is limited on both sides, and that 'tis impossible -for the imagination to form an adequate idea of what goes beyond a -certain degree of minuteness as well as of greatness. Nothing can be -more minute than some ideas which we form in the fancy, and images -which appear to the senses; since there are ideas and images perfectly -simple and indivisible. The only defect of our senses is, that they -give us disproportioned images of things, and represent as minute and -uncompounded what is really great and composed of a vast number of -parts. This mistake we are not sensible of; but, taking the impressions -of those minute objects, which appear to the senses to be equal, -or nearly equal to the objects, and finding, by reason, that there -are other objects vastly more minute, we too hastily conclude, that -these are inferior to any idea of our imagination or impression of -our senses. This, however, is certain, that we can form ideas, which -shall be no greater than the smallest atom of the animal spirits of -an insect a thousand times less than a mite: and we ought rather to -conclude, that the difficulty lies in enlarging our conceptions so much -as to form a just notion of a mite, or even of an insect a thousand -times less than a mite. For, in order to form a just notion of these -animals, we must have a distinct idea representing every part of them; -which, according to the system of infinite divisibility, is utterly -impossible, and according to that of indivisible parts or atoms, is -extremely difficult, by reason of the vast number and multiplicity of -these parts. - - - - -SECTION II. - -OF THE INFINITE DIVISIBILITY OF SPACE AND TIME. - - -Wherever ideas are adequate representations of objects, the relations, -contradictions, and agreements of the ideas are all applicable to the -objects; and this we may, in general, observe to be the foundation of -all human knowledge. But our ideas are adequate representations of -the most minute parts of extension; and, through whatever divisions -and subdivisions we may suppose these parts to be arrived at, they -can never become inferior to some ideas which we form. The plain -consequence is, that whatever _appears_ impossible and contradictory -upon the comparison of these ideas, must be _really_ impossible and -contradictory, without any farther excuse or evasion. - -Every thing capable of being infinitely divided contains an infinite -number of parts; otherwise the division would be stopped short by -the indivisible parts, which we should immediately arrive at. If -therefore any finite extension be infinitely divisible, it can be no -contradiction to suppose, that a finite extension contains an infinite -number of parts: and _vice versa_, if it be a contradiction to suppose, -that a finite extension contains an infinite number of parts, no finite -extension can be infinitely divisible. But that this latter supposition -is absurd, I easily convince myself by the consideration of my clear -ideas. I first take the least idea I can form of a part of extension, -and being certain that there is nothing more minute than this idea, I -conclude, that whatever I discover by its means, must be a real quality -of extension. I then repeat this idea once, twice, thrice, &c. and find -the compound idea of extension, arising from its repetition, always -to augment, and become double, triple, quadruple, &c. till at last it -swells up to a considerable bulk, greater or smaller, in proportion as -I repeat more or less the same idea. When I stop in the addition of -parts, the idea of extension ceases to augment; and were I to carry -on the addition _in infinitum_, I clearly perceive, that the idea of -extension must also become infinite. Upon the whole, I conclude, that -the idea of an infinite number of parts is individually the same idea -with that of an infinite extension; that no finite extension is capable -of containing an infinite number of parts; and, consequently, that no -finite extension is infinitely divisible.[1] - -I may subjoin another argument proposed by a noted author,[2] which -seems to me very strong and beautiful. 'Tis evident, that existence -in itself belongs only to unity, and is never applicable to number, -but on account of the unites of which the number is composed. Twenty -men may be said to exist; but 'tis only because one, two, three, four, -&c. are existent; and if you deny the existence of the latter, that of -the former falls of course. 'Tis therefore utterly absurd to suppose -any number to exist, and yet deny the existence of unites; and as -extension is always a number, according to the common sentiment of -metaphysicians, and never resolves itself into any unite or indivisible -quantity, it follows that extension can never at all exist. 'Tis in -vain to reply, that any determinate quantity of extension is an unite; -but such a one as admits of an infinite number of fractions, and is -inexhaustible in its subdivisions. For by the same rule, these twenty -men _may be considered as an unite_. The whole globe of the earth, nay, -the whole universe _may be considered as an unite_. That term of unity -is merely a fictitious denomination, which the mind may apply to any -quantity of objects it collects together; nor can such an unity any -more exist alone than number can, as being in reality a true number. -But the unity, which can exist alone, and whose existence is necessary -to that of all number, is of another kind, and must be perfectly -indivisible, and incapable of being resolved into any lesser unity. - -All this reasoning takes place with regard to time; along with an -additional argument, which it may be proper to take notice of. 'Tis -a property inseparable from time, and which in a manner constitutes -its essence, that each of its parts succeeds another, and that none -of them, however contiguous, can ever be co-existent. For the same -reason that the year 1737 cannot concur with the present year 1738, -every moment must be distinct from, and posterior or antecedent to -another. 'Tis certain then, that time, as it exists, must be composed -of indivisible moments. For if in time we could never arrive at an -end of division, and if each moment, as it succeeds another, were not -perfectly single and indivisible, there would be an infinite number of -co-existent moments, or parts of time; which I believe will be allowed -to be an arrant contradiction. - -The infinite divisibility of space implies that of time, as is evident -from the nature of motion. If the latter, therefore, be impossible, the -former must be equally so. - -I doubt not but it will readily be allowed by the most obstinate -defender of the doctrine of infinite divisibility, that these arguments -are difficulties, and that 'tis impossible to give any answer to -them which will be perfectly clear and satisfactory. But here we may -observe, that nothing can be more absurd than this custom of calling a -_difficulty_ what pretends to be a _demonstration_, and endeavouring by -that means to elude its force and evidence. 'Tis not in demonstrations, -as in probabilities, that difficulties can take place, and one argument -counterbalance another, and diminish its authority. A demonstration, -if just, admits of no opposite difficulty; and if not just, 'tis -a mere sophism, and consequently can never be a difficulty. 'Tis -either irresistible, or has no manner of force. To talk therefore of -objections and replies, and balancing of arguments in such a question -as this, is to confess, either that human reason is nothing but a -play of words, or that the person himself, who talks so, has not a -capacity equal to such subjects. Demonstrations may be difficult to be -comprehended, because of the abstractedness of the subject; but can -never have any such difficulties as will weaken their authority, when -once they are comprehended. - -'Tis true, mathematicians are wont to say, that there are here -equally strong arguments on the other side of the question, and that -the doctrine of indivisible points is also liable to unanswerable -objections. Before I examine these arguments and objections in detail, -I will here take them in a body, and endeavour, by a short and decisive -reason, to prove, at once, that 'tis utterly impossible they can have -any just foundation. - -'Tis an established maxim in metaphysics, _That whatever the mind -clearly conceives includes the idea of possible existence_, or, in -other words, _that nothing we imagine is absolutely impossible_. We -can form the idea of a golden mountain, and from thence conclude, that -such a mountain may actually exist. We can form no idea of a mountain -without a valley, and therefore regard it as impossible. - -Now 'tis certain we have an idea of extension; for otherwise, why -do we talk and reason concerning it? 'Tis likewise certain, that -this idea, as conceived by the imagination, though divisible into -parts or inferior ideas, is not infinitely divisible, nor consists -of an infinite number of parts: for that exceeds the comprehension -of our limited capacities. Here then is an idea of extension, which -consists of parts or inferior ideas, that are perfectly indivisible: -consequently this idea implies no contradiction: consequently 'tis -possible for extension really to exist conformable to it: and -consequently, all the arguments employed against the possibility of -mathematical points are mere scholastic quibbles, and unworthy of our -attention. - -These consequences we may carry one step farther, and conclude that all -the pretended demonstrations for the infinite divisibility of extension -are equally sophistical; since 'tis certain these demonstrations cannot -be just without proving the impossibility of mathematical points; which -'tis an evident absurdity to pretend to. - - -[1] It has been objected to me, that infinite divisibility supposes -only an infinite number of _proportional_ not of _aliquot_ parts, and -that an infinite number of proportional parts does not form an infinite -extension. But this distinction is entirely frivolous. Whether these -parts be called _aliquot_ or _proportional_, they cannot be inferior -to those minute parts we conceive; and therefore, cannot form a less -extension by their conjunction. - -[2] Mons. Malezieu. - - - - -SECTION III. - -OF THE OTHER QUALITIES OF OUR IDEAS OF SPACE AND TIME. - - -No discovery could have been made more happily for deciding all -controversies concerning ideas, than that above mentioned, that -impressions always take the precedency of them, and that every idea, -with which the imagination is furnished, first makes its appearance in -a correspondent impression. These latter perceptions are all so clear -and evident, that they admit of no controversy; though many of our -ideas are so obscure, that 'tis almost impossible even for the mind, -which forms them, to tell exactly their nature and composition. Let us -apply this principle, in order to discover farther the nature of our -ideas of space and time. - -Upon opening my eyes and turning them to the surrounding objects, -I perceive many visible bodies; and upon shutting them again, and -considering the distance betwixt these bodies, I acquire the idea -of extension. As every idea is derived from some impression which -is exactly similar to it, the impressions similar to this idea of -extension, must either be some sensations derived from the sight, or -some internal impressions arising from these sensations. - -Our internal impressions are our passions, emotions, desires, and -aversions; none of which, I believe, will ever be asserted to be -the model from which the idea of space is derived. There remains, -therefore, nothing but the senses which can convey to us this original -impression. Now, what impression do our senses here convey to us? This -is the principal question, and decides without appeal concerning the -nature of the idea. - -The table before me is alone sufficient by its view to give me the -idea of extension. This idea, then, is borrowed from, and represents -some impression which this moment appears to the senses. But my senses -convey to me only the impressions of coloured points, disposed in a -certain manner. If the eye is sensible of any thing farther, I desire -it may be pointed out to me. But, if it be impossible to shew any thing -farther, we may conclude with certainty, that the idea of extension is -nothing but a copy of these coloured points, and of the manner of their -appearance. - -Suppose that, in the extended object, or composition of coloured -points, from which we first received the idea of extension, the points -were of a purple colour; it follows, that in every repetition of that -idea we would not only place the points in the same order with respect -to each other, but also bestow on them that precise colour with which -alone we are acquainted. But afterwards, having experience of the other -colours of violet, green, red, white, black, and of all the different -compositions of these, and finding a resemblance in the disposition of -coloured points, of which they are composed, we omit the peculiarities -of colour, as far as possible, and found an abstract idea merely on -that disposition of points, or manner of appearance, in which they -agree. Nay, even when the resemblance is carried beyond the objects -of one sense, and the impressions of touch are found to be similar -to those of sight in the disposition of their parts; this does not -hinder the abstract idea from representing both, upon account of their -resemblance. All abstract ideas are really nothing but particular ones, -considered in a certain light; but being annexed to general terms, they -are able to represent a vast variety, and to comprehend objects, which, -as they are alike in some particulars, are in others vastly wide of -each other. - -The idea of time, being derived from the succession of our perceptions -of every kind, ideas as well as impressions, and impressions of -reflection as well as of sensation, will afford us an instance of an -abstract idea, which comprehends a still greater variety than that -of space, and yet is represented in the fancy by some particular -individual idea of a determined quantity and quality. - -As 'tis from the disposition of visible and tangible objects we receive -the idea of space, so, from the succession of ideas and impressions we -form the idea of time; nor is it possible for time alone ever to make -its appearance, or be taken notice of by the mind. A man in a sound -sleep, or strongly occupied with one thought, is insensible of time; -and according as his perceptions succeed each other with greater or -less rapidity, the same duration appears longer or shorter to his -imagination. It has been remarked by a great philosopher,[3] that our -perceptions have certain bounds in this particular, which are fixed by -the original nature and constitution of the mind, and beyond which no -influence of external objects on the senses is ever able to hasten or -retard our thought. If you wheel about a burning coal with rapidity, -it will present to the senses an image of a circle of fire; nor will -there seem to be any interval of time betwixt its revolutions; merely -because 'tis impossible for our perceptions to succeed each other, -with the same rapidity that motion may be communicated to external -objects. Wherever we have no successive perceptions, we have no notion -of time, even though there be a real succession in the objects. From -these phenomena, as well as from many others, we may conclude, that -time cannot make its appearance to the mind, either alone or attended -with a steady unchangeable object, but is always discovered by some -_perceivable_ succession of changeable objects. - -To confirm this we may add the following argument, which to me seems -perfectly decisive and convincing. 'Tis evident, that time or duration -consists of different parts: for otherwise, we could not conceive a -longer or shorter duration. 'Tis also evident, that these parts are -not co-existent: for that quality of the coexistence of parts belongs -to extension, and is what distinguishes it from duration. Now as time -is composed of parts that are not co-existent, an unchangeable object, -since it produces none but co-existent impressions, produces none that -can give us the idea of time; and, consequently, that idea must be -derived from a succession of changeable objects, and time in its first -appearance can never be severed from such a succession. - -Having therefore found, that time in its first appearance to the mind -is always conjoined with a succession of changeable objects, and that -otherwise it can never fall under our notice, we must now examine, -whether it can be _conceived_ without our conceiving any succession -of objects, and whether it can alone form a distinct idea in the -imagination. - -In order to know whether any objects, which are joined in impression, -be separable in idea, we need only consider if they be different from -each other; in which case, 'tis plain they may be conceived apart. -Every thing that is different is distinguishable, and every thing -that is distinguishable may be separated, according to the maxims -above explained. If, on the contrary, they be not different, they are -not distinguishable; and if they be not distinguishable, they cannot -be separated. But this is precisely the case with respect to time, -compared with our successive perceptions. The idea of time is not -derived from a particular impression mixed up with others, and plainly -distinguishable from them, but arises altogether from the manner in -which impressions appear to the mind, without making one of the number. -Five notes played on a flute give us the impression and idea of time, -though time be not a sixth impression which presents itself to the -hearing or any other of the senses. Nor is it a sixth impression which -the mind by reflection finds in itself. These five sounds making their -appearance in this particular manner, excite no emotion in the mind, -nor produce an affection of any kind, which being observed by it can -give rise to a new idea. For _that_ is necessary to produce a new idea -of reflection; nor can the mind, by revolving over a thousand times -all its ideas of sensation, ever extract from them any new original -idea, unless nature has so framed its faculties, that it feels some -new original impression arise from such a contemplation. But here it -only takes notice of the our the _manner_ in which the different sounds -make their appearance, and that it may afterwards consider without -considering these particular sounds, but may conjoin it with any other -objects. The ideas of some objects it certainly must have, nor is it -possible for it without these ideas ever to arrive at any conception of -time; which, since it appears not as any primary distinct impression, -can plainly be nothing but different ideas, or impressions, or objects -disposed in a certain manner, that is, succeeding each other. - -I know there are some who pretend that the idea of duration is -applicable in a proper sense to objects which are perfectly -unchangeable; and this I take to be the common opinion of philosophers -as well as of the vulgar. But to be convinced of its falsehood, we need -but reflect on the foregoing conclusion, that the idea of duration is -always derived from a succession of changeable objects, and can never -be conveyed to the mind by any thing stedfast and unchangeable. For -it inevitably follows from thence, that since the idea of duration -cannot be derived from such an object, it can never in any propriety or -exactness be applied to it, nor can any thing unchangeable be ever said -to have duration. Ideas always represent the objects or impressions, -from which they are derived, and can never, without a fiction, -represent or be applied to any other. By what fiction we apply the idea -of time, even to what is unchangeable, and suppose, as is common that -duration is a measure of rest as well as of motion, we shall consider -afterwards.[4] - -There is another very decisive argument, which establishes the present -doctrine concerning our ideas of space and time, and is founded only on -that simple principle, _that our ideas of them are compounded of parts, -which are indivisible_. This argument may be worth the examining. - -Every idea that is distinguishable being also separable, let us -take one of those simple indivisible ideas, of which the compound -one of _extension_ is formed, and separating it from all others, -and considering it apart, let us form a judgment of its nature and -qualities. - -'Tis plain it is not the idea of extension: for the idea of extension -consists of parts; and this idea, according to the supposition, is -perfectly simple and indivisible. Is it therefore nothing? That is -absolutely impossible. For as the compound idea of extension, which -is real, is composed of such ideas, were these so many nonentities -there would be a real existence composed of nonentities, which is -absurd. Here, therefore, I must ask, _What is our idea of a simple and -indivisible point_? No wonder if my answer appear somewhat new, since -the question itself has scarce ever yet been thought of. We are wont -to dispute concerning the nature of mathematical points, but seldom -concerning the nature of their ideas. - -The idea of space is conveyed to the mind by two senses, the -sight and touch; nor does any thing ever appear extended, that is -not either visible or tangible. That compound impression, which -represents extension, consists of several lesser impressions, that -are indivisible to the eye or feeling, and may be called impressions -of atoms or corpuscles endowed with colour and solidity. But this -is not all. 'Tis not only requisite that these atoms should be -coloured or tangible, in order to discover themselves to our senses, -'tis also necessary we should preserve the idea of their colour or -tangibility, in order to comprehend them by our imagination. There is -nothing but the idea of their colour or tangibility which can render -them conceivable by the mind. Upon the removal of the ideas of these -sensible qualities they are utterly annihilated to the thought or -imagination. - -Now, such as the parts are, such is the whole. If a point be not -considered as coloured or tangible, it can convey to us no idea; and -consequently the idea of extension, which is composed of the ideas of -these points, can never possibly exist: but if the idea of extension -really can exist, as we are conscious it does, its parts must also -exist; and in order to that, must be considered as coloured or -tangible. We have therefore no idea of space or extension, but when we -regard it as an object either of our sight or feeling. - -The same reasoning will prove, that the indivisible moments of time -must be filled with some real object or existence, whose succession -forms the duration, and makes it be conceivable by the mind. - - -[3] Mr Locke. - -[4] Sect. 5. - - - - -SECTION IV. - -OBJECTIONS ANSWERED. - - -Our system concerning space and time consists of two parts, which -are intimately connected together. The first depends on this chain -of reasoning. The capacity of the mind is not infinite, consequently -no idea of extension or duration consists of an infinite number of -parts or inferior ideas, but of a finite number, and these simple -and indivisible: 'tis therefore possible for space and time to exist -conformable to this idea: and if it be possible, 'tis certain they -actually do exist conformable to it, since their infinite divisibility -is utterly impossible and contradictory. - -The other part of our system is a consequence of this. The parts, into -which the ideas of space and time resolve themselves, become at last -indivisible; and these indivisible parts, being nothing in themselves, -are inconceivable when not filled with something real and existent. The -ideas of space and time are therefore no separate or distinct ideas, -but merely those of the manner or order in which objects exist; or, in -other words, 'tis impossible to conceive either a vacuum and extension -without matter, or a time when there was no succession or change in -any real existence. The intimate connexion betwixt these parts of our -system is the reason why we shall examine together the objections which -have been urged against both of them, beginning with those against the -finite divisibility of extension. - -I. The first of these objections which I shall take notice of, is more -proper to prove this connexion and dependence of the one part upon the -other than to destroy either of them. It has often been maintained in -the schools, that extension must be divisible, _in infinitum_, because -the system of mathematical points is absurd; and that system is absurd, -because a mathematical point is a nonentity, and consequently can -never, by its conjunction with others, form a real existence. This -would be perfectly decisive, were there no medium betwixt the infinite -divisibility of matter, and the nonentity of mathematical points. But -there is evidently a medium, viz. the bestowing a colour or solidity on -these points; and the absurdity of both the extremes is a demonstration -of the truth and reality of this medium. The system of _physical_ -points, which is another medium, is too absurd to need a refutation. A -real extension, such as a physical point is supposed to be, can never -exist without parts different from each other; and wherever objects are -different, they are distinguishable and separable by the imagination. - -II. The second objection is derived from the necessity there would -be of _penetration_, if extension consisted of mathematical points. -A simple and indivisible atom that touches another must necessarily -penetrate it; for 'tis impossible it can touch it by its external -parts, from the very supposition of its perfect simplicity, which -excludes all parts. It must therefore touch it intimately, and in its -whole essence, _secundum se, tota, et totaliter_; which is the very -definition of penetration. But penetration is impossible: mathematical -points are of consequence equally impossible. - -I answer this objection by substituting a juster idea of penetration. -Suppose two bodies, containing no void within their circumference, to -approach each other, and to unite in such a manner that the body, which -results from their union, is no more extended than either of them; 'tis -this we must mean when we talk of penetration. But 'tis evident this -penetration is nothing but the annihilation of one of these bodies, and -the preservation of the other, without our being able to distinguish -particularly which is preserved and which annihilated. Before the -approach we have the idea of two bodies; after it we have the idea -only of one. 'Tis impossible for the mind to preserve any notion of -difference betwixt two bodies of the same nature existing in the same -place at the same time. - -Taking then penetration in this sense, for the annihilation of one body -upon its approach to another, I ask any one if he sees a necessity that -a coloured or tangible point should be annihilated upon the approach -of another coloured or tangible point? On the contrary, does he not -evidently perceive, that, from the union of these points, there results -an object which is compounded and divisible, and may be distinguished -into two parts, of which each preserves its existence, distinct and -separate, notwithstanding its contiguity to the other? Let him aid his -fancy by conceiving these points to be of different colours, the better -to prevent their coalition and confusion. A blue and a red point may -surely lie contiguous without any penetration or annihilation. For if -they cannot, what possibly can become of them? Whether shall the red or -the blue be annihilated? Or if these colours unite into one, what new -colour will they produce by their union? - -What chiefly gives rise to these objections, and at the same time -renders it so difficult to give a satisfactory answer to them, is -the natural infirmity and unsteadiness both of our imagination and -senses when employed on such minute objects. Put a spot of ink upon -paper, and retire to such a distance that the spot becomes altogether -invisible, you will find, that, upon your return and nearer approach, -the spot first becomes visible by short intervals, and afterwards -becomes always visible; and afterwards acquires only a new force in -its colouring, without augmenting its bulk; and afterwards, when it -has increased to such a degree as to be really extended, 'tis still -difficult for the imagination to break it into its component parts, -because of the uneasiness it finds in the conception of such a minute -object as a single point. This infirmity affects most of our reasonings -on the present subject, and makes it almost impossible to answer in an -intelligible manner, and in proper expressions, many questions which -may arise concerning it. - -III. There have been many objections drawn from the _mathematics_ -against the indivisibility of the parts of extension, though at first -sight that science seems rather favourable to the present doctrine; and -if it be contrary in its _demonstrations_,'tis perfectly conformable -in its _definitions_. My present business then must be, to defend the -definitions and refute the demonstrations. - -A surface is _defined_ to be length and breadth without depth; a line -to be length without breadth or depth; a point to be what has neither -length, breadth, nor depth. 'Tis evident that all this is perfectly -unintelligible upon any other supposition than that of the composition -of extension by indivisible points or atoms. How else could any thing -exist without length, without breadth, or without depth? - -Two different answers, I find, have been made to this argument, -neither of which is, in my opinion, satisfactory. The first is, that -the objects of geometry, those surfaces, lines, and points, whose -proportions and positions it examines, are mere ideas in the mind; -and not only never did, but never can exist in nature. They never -did exist; for no one will pretend to draw a line or make a surface -entirely conformable to the definition: they never can exist; for we -may produce demonstrations from these very ideas to prove that they are -impossible. - -But can any thing be imagined more absurd and contradictory than this -reasoning? Whatever can be conceived by a clear and distinct idea, -necessarily implies the possibility of existence; and he who pretends -to prove the impossibility of its existence by any argument derived -from the clear idea, in reality asserts that we have no clear idea -of it, because we have a clear idea. 'Tis in vain to search for a -contradiction in any thing that is distinctly conceived by the mind. -Did it imply any contradiction, 'tis impossible it could ever be -conceived. - -There is therefore no medium betwixt allowing at least the possibility -of indivisible points, and denying their idea; and 'tis on this latter -principle that the second answer to the foregoing argument is founded. -It has been pretended,[5] that though it be impossible to conceive a -length without any breadth, yet by an abstraction without a separation -we can consider the one without regarding the other; in the same manner -as we may think of the length of the way betwixt two towns and overlook -its breadth. The length is inseparable from the breadth both in nature -and in our minds; but this excludes not a partial consideration, and a -_distinction of reason_, after the manner above explained. - -In refuting this answer I shall not insist on the argument, which I -have already sufficiently explained, that if it be impossible for -the mind to arrive at a _minimum_ in its ideas, its capacity must be -infinite in order to comprehend the infinite number of parts, of which -its idea of any extension would be composed. I shall here endeavour to -find some new absurdities in this reasoning. - -A surface terminates a solid; a line terminates a surface; a point -terminates a line; but I assert, that if the _ideas_ of a point, line, -or surface, were not indivisible, 'tis impossible we should ever -conceive these terminations. For let these ideas be supposed infinitely -divisible, and then let the fancy endeavour to fix itself on the idea -of the last surface, line, or point, it immediately finds this idea -to break into parts; and upon its seizing the last of these parts it -loses its hold by a new division, and so on _in infinitum_, without -any possibility of its arriving at a concluding idea. The number of -fractions bring it no nearer the last division than the first idea -it formed. Every particle eludes the grasp by a new fraction, like -quicksilver, when we endeavour to seize it. But as in fact there must -be something which terminates the idea of every finite quantity, and as -this terminating idea cannot itself consist of parts or inferior ideas, -otherwise it would be the last of its parts, which finished the idea, -and so on; this is a clear proof, that the ideas of surfaces, lines, -and points, admit not of any division; those of surfaces in depth, of -lines in breadth and depth, and of points in any dimension. - -The _schoolmen_ were so sensible of the force of this argument, that -some of them maintained that nature has mixed among those particles of -matter, which are divisible _in infinitum_, a number of mathematical -points in order to give a termination to bodies; and others eluded -the force of this reasoning by a heap of unintelligible cavils and -distinctions. Both these adversaries equally yield the victory. A man -who hides himself confesses as evidently the superiority of his enemy, -as another, who fairly delivers his arms. - -Thus it appears, that the definitions of mathematics destroy the -pretended demonstrations; and that if we have the idea of indivisible -points, lines, and surfaces, conformable to the definition, their -existence is certainly possible; but if we have no such idea, 'tis -impossible we can ever conceive the termination of any figure, without -which conception there can be no geometrical demonstration. - -But I go farther, and maintain, that none of these demonstrations -can have sufficient weight to establish such a principle as this of -infinite divisibility; and that because with regard to such minute -objects, they are not properly demonstrations, being built on ideas -which are not exact, and maxims which are not precisely true. When -geometry decides any thing concerning the proportions of quantity, we -ought not to look for the utmost _precision_ and exactness. None of -its proofs extend so far: it takes the dimensions and proportions of -figures justly; but roughly, and with some liberty. Its errors are -never considerable, nor would it err at all, did it not aspire to such -an absolute perfection. - -I first ask mathematicians what they mean when they say one line or -surface is _equal_ to, or _greater_, or _less_ than another? Let any -of them give an answer, to whatever sect he belongs, and whether he -maintains the composition of extension by indivisible points, or by -quantities divisible _in infinitum_. This question will embarrass both -of them. - -There are few or no mathematicians who defend the hypothesis of -indivisible points, and yet these have the readiest and justest answer -to the present question. They need only reply, that lines or surfaces -are equal, when the numbers of points in each are equal; and that as -the proportion of the numbers varies, the proportion of the lines and -surfaces is also varied. But though this answer be _just_ as well as -obvious, yet I may affirm, that this standard of equality is entirely -_useless_, and that it never is from such a comparison we determine -objects to be equal or unequal with respect to each other. For as the -points which enter into the composition of any line or surface, whether -perceived by the sight or touch, are so minute and so confounded with -each other that 'tis utterly impossible for the mind to compute their -number, such a computation will never afford us a standard, by which we -may judge of proportions. No one will ever be able to determine by an -exact enumeration, that an inch has fewer points than a foot, or a foot -fewer than an ell, or any greater measure; for which reason, we seldom -or never consider this as the standard of equality or inequality. - -As to those who imagine that extension is divisible _in infinitum_, -'tis impossible they can make use of this answer, or fix the equality -of any line or surface by a numeration of its component parts. For -since, according to their hypothesis, the least as well as greatest -figures contain an infinite number of parts, and since infinite -numbers, properly speaking, can neither be equal _nor_ unequal with -respect to each other, the equality or inequality of any portions -of space can never depend on any proportion in the number of their -parts. 'Tis true, it may be said, that the inequality of an ell and a -yard consists in the different numbers of the feet of which they are -composed, and that of a foot and a yard in the number of inches. But -as that quantity we call an inch in the one is supposed equal to what -we call an inch in the other, and as 'tis impossible for the mind to -find this equality by proceeding _in infinitum_ with these references -to inferior quantities, 'tis evident that at last we must fix some -standard of equality different from an enumeration of the parts. - -There are some who pretend,[6] that equality is best defined by -_congruity_, and that any two figures are equal, when upon the placing -of one upon the other, all their parts correspond to and touch each -other. In order to judge of this definition let us consider, that since -equality is a relation, it is not, strictly speaking, a property in the -figures themselves, but arises merely from the comparison which the -mind makes betwixt them. If it consists therefore in this imaginary -application and mutual contact of parts, we must at least have a -distinct notion of these parts, and must conceive their contact. Now -'tis plain, that in this conception, we would run up these parts to the -greatest minuteness which can possibly be conceived, since the contact -of large parts would never render the figures equal. But the minutest -parts we can conceive are mathematical points, and consequently this -standard of equality is the same with that derived from the equality of -the number of points, which we have already determined to be a just -but an useless standard. We must therefore look to some other quarter -for a solution of the present difficulty. - -There are many philosophers, who refuse to assign any standard of -_equality_, but assert, that 'tis sufficient to present two objects, -that are equal, in order to give us a just notion of this proportion. -All definitions, say they, are fruitless without the perception of such -objects; and where we perceive such objects we no longer stand in need -of any definition. To this reasoning I entirely agree; and assert, that -the only useful notion of equality, or inequality, is derived from the -whole united appearance and the comparison of particular objects. - -'Tis evident that the eye, or rather the mind, is often able at one -view to determine the proportions of bodies, and pronounce them equal -to, or greater or less than each other, without examining or comparing -the number of their minute parts. Such judgments are not only common, -but in many cases certain and infallible. When the measure of a yard -and that of a foot are presented, the mind can no more question, -that the first is longer than the second, than it can doubt of those -principles which are the most clear and self-evident. - -There are therefore three proportions, which the mind distinguishes -in the general appearance of its objects, and calls by the names of -_greater, less_, and _equal_. But though its decisions concerning -these proportions be sometimes infallible, they are not always so; -nor are our judgments of this kind more exempt from doubt and error -than those on any other subject. We frequently correct our first -opinion by a review and reflection; and pronounce those objects to -be equal, which at first we esteemed unequal; and regard an object -as less, though before it appeared greater than another. Nor is this -the only correction which these judgments of our senses undergo; but -we often discover our error by a juxta-position of the objects; or, -where that is impracticable, by the use of some common and invariable -measure, which, being successively applied to each, informs us of their -different proportions. And even this correction is susceptible of a new -correction, and of different degrees of exactness, according to the -nature of the instrument by which we measure the bodies, and the care -which we employ in the comparison. - -When therefore the mind is accustomed to these judgments and their -corrections, and finds that the same proportion which makes two figures -have in the eye that appearance, which we call _equality_, makes them -also correspond to each other, and to any common measure with which -they are compared, we form a mixed notion of equality derived both from -the looser and stricter methods of comparison. But we are not content -with this. For as sound reason convinces us that there are bodies -_vastly_ more minute than those which appear to the senses; and as a -false reason would persuade us, that there are bodies _infinitely_ more -minute, we clearly perceive that we are not possessed of any instrument -or art of measuring which can secure us from all error and uncertainty. -We are sensible that the addition or removal of one of these minute -parts is not discernible either in the appearance or measuring; and as -we imagine that two figures, which were equal before, cannot be equal -after this removal or addition, we therefore suppose some imaginary -standard of equality, by which the appearances and measuring are -exactly corrected, and the figures reduced entirely to that proportion. -This standard is plainly imaginary. For as the very idea of equality -is that of such a particular appearance, corrected by juxta-position -or a common measure, the notion of any correction beyond what we -have instruments and art to make, is a mere fiction of the mind, and -useless as well as incomprehensible. But though this standard be only -imaginary, the fiction however is very natural; nor is any thing more -usual, than for the mind to proceed after this manner with any action, -even after the reason has ceased, which first determined it to begin. -This appears very conspicuously with regard to time; where, though -'tis evident we have no exact method of determining the proportions of -parts, not even so exact as in extension, yet the various corrections -of our measures, and their different degrees of exactness, have given -us an obscure and implicit notion of a perfect and entire equality. The -case is the same in many other subjects. A musician, finding his ear -become every day more delicate, and correcting himself by reflection -and attention, proceeds with the same act of the mind even when the -subject fails him, and entertains a notion of a complete _tierce_ or -_octave_, without being able to tell whence he derives his standard. A -painter forms the same fiction with regard to colours; a mechanic with -regard to motion. To the one _light_ and _shade_, to the other _swift_ -and _slow_, are imagined to be capable of an exact comparison and -equality beyond the judgments of the senses. - -We may apply the same reasoning to _curve_ and _right_ lines. Nothing -is more apparent to the senses than the distinction betwixt a curve -and a right line; nor are there any ideas we more easily form than -the ideas of these objects. But however easily we may form these -ideas, 'tis impossible to produce any definition of them, which will -fix the precise boundaries betwixt them. When we draw lines upon -paper or any continued surface, there is a certain order by which -the lines run along from one point to another, that they may produce -the entire impression of a curve or right line; but this order is -perfectly unknown, and nothing is observed but the united appearance. -Thus, even upon the system of indivisible points, we can only form a -distant notion of some unknown standard to these objects. Upon that of -infinite divisibility we cannot go even this length, but are reduced -merely to the general appearance, as the rule by which we determine -lines to be either curve or right ones. But though we can give no -perfect definition of these lines, nor produce any very exact method -of distinguishing the one from the other, yet this hinders us not from -correcting the first appearance by a more accurate consideration, and -by a comparison with some rule, of whose rectitude, from repeated -trials, we have a greater assurance. And 'tis from these corrections, -and by carrying on the same action of the mind, even when its reason -fails us, that we form the loose idea of a perfect standard to these -figures, without being able to explain or comprehend it. - -'Tis true, mathematicians pretend they give an exact definition of -a right line when they say, _it is the shortest way betwixt two -points_. But in the first place I observe, that this is more properly -the discovery of one of the properties of a right line, than a just -definition of it. For I ask any one, if, upon mention of a right line, -he thinks not immediately on such a particular appearance, and if 'tis -not by accident only that he considers this property? A right line can -be comprehended alone; but this definition is unintelligible without a -comparison with other lines, which we conceive to be more extended. In -common life 'tis established as a maxim, that the straightest way is -always the shortest; which would be as absurd as to say, the shortest -way is always the shortest, if our idea of a right line was not -different from that of the shortest way betwixt two points. - -Secondly, I repeat, what I have already established, that we have no -precise idea of equality and inequality, shorter and longer, more than -of a right line or a curve; and consequently that the one can never -afford us a perfect standard for the other. An exact idea can never be -built on such as are loose and undeterminate. - -The idea of a _plain surface_ is as little susceptible of a precise -standard as that of a right line; nor have we any other means of -distinguishing such a surface, than its general appearance. 'Tis in -vain that mathematicians represent a plain surface as produced by the -flowing of a right line. 'Twill immediately be objected, that our idea -of a surface is as independent of this method of forming a surface, as -our idea of an ellipse is of that of a cone; that the idea of a right -line is no more precise than that of a plain surface; that a right line -may flow irregularly, and by that means form a figure quite different -from a plane; and that therefore we must suppose it to flow along two -right lines, parallel to each other, and on the same plane; which is a -description that explains a thing by itself, and returns in a circle. - -It appears then, that the ideas which are most essential to geometry, -viz. those of equality and inequality, of a right line and a plain -surface, are far from being exact and determinate, according to our -common method of conceiving them. Not only we are incapable of telling -if the case be in any degree doubtful, when such particular figures are -equal; when such a line is a right one, and such a surface a plain one; -but we can form no idea of that proportion, or of these figures, which -is firm and invariable. Our appeal is still to the weak and fallible -judgment, which we make from the appearance of the objects, and correct -by a compass, or common measure; and if we join the supposition of -any farther correction, 'tis of such a one as is either useless or -imaginary. In vain should we have recourse to the common topic, and -employ the supposition of a Deity, whose omnipotence may enable him to -form a perfect geometrical figure, and describe a right line without -any curve or inflection. As the ultimate standard of these figures is -derived from nothing but the senses and imagination, 'tis absurd to -talk of any perfection beyond what these faculties can judge of; since -the true perfection of any thing consists in its conformity to its -standard. - -Now, since these ideas are so loose and uncertain, I would fain ask -any mathematician, what infallible assurance he has, not only of -the more intricate and obscure propositions of his science, but of -the most vulgar and obvious principles? How can he prove to me, for -instance, that two right lines cannot have one common segment? Or -that 'tis impossible to draw more than one right line betwixt any two -points? Should he tell me, that these opinions are obviously absurd, -and repugnant to our clear ideas; I would answer, that I do not -deny, where two right lines incline upon each other with a sensible -angle, but 'tis absurd to imagine them to have a common segment. But -supposing these two lines to approach at the rate of an inch in twenty -leagues, I perceive no absurdity in asserting, that upon their contact -they become one. For, I beseech you, by what rule or standard do you -judge, when you assert that the line, in which I have supposed them to -concur, cannot make the same right line with those two, that form so -small an angle betwixt them? You must surely have some idea of a right -line, to which this line does not agree. Do you therefore mean, that -it takes not the points in the same order and by the same rule, as is -peculiar and essential to a right line? If so, I must inform you, that -besides that, in judging after this manner, you allow that extension -is composed of indivisible points (which, perhaps, is more than you -intend), besides this, I say, I must inform you, that neither is this -the standard from which we form the idea of a right line; nor, if it -were, is there any such firmness in our senses or imagination, as to -determine when such an order is violated or preserved. The original -standard of a right line is in reality nothing but a certain general -appearance; and 'tis evident right lines may be made to concur with -each other, and yet correspond to this standard, though corrected by -all the means either practicable or imaginable. - -To whatever side mathematicians turn, this dilemma still meets them. -If they judge of equality, or any other proportion, by the accurate -and exact standard, viz. the enumeration of the minute indivisible -parts, they both employ a standard, which is useless in practice, -and actually establish the indivisibility of extension, which they -endeavour to explode. Or if they employ, as is usual, the inaccurate -standard, derived from a comparison of objects, upon their general -appearance, corrected by measuring and juxtaposition; their first -principles, though certain and infallible, are too coarse to afford -any such subtile inferences as they commonly draw from them. The first -principles are founded on the imagination and senses; the conclusion -therefore can never go beyond, much less contradict, these faculties. - -This may open our eyes a little, and let us see, that no geometrical -demonstration for the infinite divisibility of extension can have so -much force as what we naturally attribute to every argument, which -is supported by such magnificent pretensions. At the same time we -may learn the reason, why geometry fails of evidence in this single -point, while all its other reasonings command our fullest assent and -approbation. And indeed it seems more requisite to give the reason -of this exception, than to show that we really must make such an -exception, and regard all the mathematical arguments for infinite -divisibility as utterly sophistical. For 'tis evident, that as no idea -of quantity is infinitely divisible, there cannot be imagined a more -glaring absurdity, than to endeavour to prove, that quantity itself -admits of such a division; and to prove this by means of ideas, which -are directly opposite in that particular. And as this absurdity is -very glaring in itself, so there is no argument founded on it, which -is not attended with a new absurdity, and involves not an evident -contradiction. - -I might give as instances those arguments for infinite divisibility, -which are derived from the _point of contact_. I know there is no -mathematician, who will not refuse to be judged by the diagrams he -describes upon paper, these being loose draughts, as he will tell us, -and serving only to convey with greater facility certain ideas, which -are the true foundation of all our reasoning. This I am satisfied with, -and am willing to rest the controversy merely upon these ideas. I -desire therefore our mathematician to form, as accurately as possible, -the ideas of a circle and a right line; and I then ask, if upon the -conception of their contact he can conceive them as touching in a -mathematical point, or if he must necessarily imagine them to concur -for some space. Whichever side he chooses, he runs himself into equal -difficulties. If he affirms, that in tracing these figures in his -imagination, he can imagine them to touch only in a point, he allows -the possibility of that idea, and consequently of the thing. If he -says, that in his conception of the contact of those lines he must -make them concur, he thereby acknowledges the fallacy of geometrical -demonstrations, when carried beyond a certain degree of minuteness; -since, 'tis certain he has such demonstrations against the concurrence -of a circle and a right line; that is, in other words, he can prove an -idea, viz. that of concurrence, to be _incompatible_ with two other -ideas, viz. those of a circle and right line; though at the same time -he acknowledges these ideas to be _inseparable_. - - -[5] L'Art de penser. - -[6] See Dr Barrow's Mathematical Lectures. - - - - -SECTION V. - -THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED. - - -If the second part of my system be true, _that the idea of space -or extension is nothing but the idea of visible or tangible points -distributed in a certain order_, it follows, that we can form no idea -of a vacuum, or space, where there is nothing visible or tangible. This -gives rise to three objections, which I shall examine together, because -the answer I shall give to one is a consequence of that which I shall -make use of for the others. - -First, it may be said, that men have disputed for many ages concerning -a vacuum and a plenum, without being able to bring the affair to a -final decision: and philosophers, even at this day, think themselves -at liberty to take party on either side, as their fancy leads them. -But whatever foundation there may be for a controversy concerning -the things themselves, it may be pretended that the very dispute is -decisive concerning the idea, and that 'tis impossible men could so -long reason about a vacuum, and either refute or defend it, without -having a notion of what they refuted or defended. - -Secondly, if this argument should be contested, the reality, or at -least possibility, of the _idea_ of a vacuum, may be proved by the -following reasoning. Every idea is possible which is a necessary and -infallible consequence of such as are possible. Now, though we allow -the world to be at present a plenum, we may easily conceive it to be -deprived of motion; and this idea will certainly be allowed possible. -It must also be allowed possible, to conceive the annihilation of -any part of matter by the omnipotence of the Deity, while the other -parts remain at rest. For as every idea that is distinguishable is -separable by the imagination, and as every idea that is separable -by the imagination may be conceived to be separately existent, 'tis -evident, that the existence of one particle of matter no more implies -the existence of another, than a square figure in one body implies -a square figure in every one. This being granted, I now demand what -results from the concurrence of these two possible ideas of _rest_ -and _annihilation_, and what must we conceive to follow upon the -annihilation of all the air and subtile matter in the chamber, -supposing the walls to remain the same, without any motion or -alteration? There are some metaphysicians who answer, that since matter -and extension are the same, the annihilation of the one necessarily -implies that of the other; and there being now no distance betwixt the -walls of the chamber, they touch each other; in the same manner as my -hand touches the paper which is immediately before me. But though this -answer be very common, I defy these metaphysicians to conceive the -matter according to their hypothesis, or imagine the floor and roof, -with all the opposite sides of the chamber, to touch each other, while -they continue in rest, and preserve the same position. For how can -the two walls, that run from south to north, touch each other, while -they touch the opposite ends of two walls that run from east to west? -And how can the floor and roof ever meet, while they are separated by -the four walls that lie in a contrary position? If you change their -position, you suppose a motion. If you conceive any thing betwixt them, -you suppose a new creation. But keeping strictly to the two ideas of -_rest_ and _annihilation_, 'tis evident, that the idea which results -from them is not that of a contact of parts, but something else, which -is concluded to be the idea of a vacuum. - -The third objection carries the matter still farther, and not only -asserts, that the idea of a vacuum is real and possible, but also -necessary and unavoidable. This assertion is founded on the motion we -observe in bodies, which, 'tis maintained, would be impossible and -inconceivable without a vacuum, into which one body must move in order -to make way for another. I shall not enlarge upon this objection, -because it principally belongs to natural philosophy, which lies -without our present sphere. - -In order to answer these objections, we must take the matter pretty -deep, and consider the nature and origin of several ideas, lest we -dispute without understanding perfectly the subject of the controversy. -'Tis evident the idea of darkness is no positive idea, but merely the -negation of light, or, more properly speaking, of coloured and visible -objects. A man who enjoys his sight, receives no other perception from -turning his eyes on every side, when entirely deprived of light, than -what is common to him with one born blind; and 'tis certain such a one -has no idea either of light or darkness. The consequence of this is, -that 'tis not from the mere removal of visible objects we receive the -impression of extension without matter; and that the idea of utter -darkness can never be the same with that of vacuum. - -Suppose again a man to be supported in the air, and to be softly -conveyed along by some invisible power; 'tis evident he is sensible -of nothing, and never receives the idea of extension, nor indeed any -idea, from this invariable motion. Even supposing he moves his limbs to -and fro, this cannot convey to him that idea. He feels in that case a -certain sensation or impression, the parts of which are successive to -each other, and may give him the idea of time, but certainly are not -disposed in such a manner as is necessary to convey the idea of space -or extension. - -Since, then, it appears that darkness and motion, with the utter -removal of every thing visible and tangible, can never give us the idea -of extension without matter, or of a vacuum; the next question is, -whether they can convey this idea, when mixed with something visible -and tangible? - -'Tis commonly allowed by philosophers, that all bodies which discover -themselves to the eye, appear as if painted on a plain surface, -and that their different degrees of remoteness from ourselves are -discovered more by reason than by the senses. When I hold up my hand -before me, and spread my fingers, they are separated as perfectly by -the blue colour of the firmament, as they could be by any visible -object which I could place betwixt them. In order, therefore, to know -whether the sight can convey the impression and idea of a vacuum, we -must suppose, that amidst an entire darkness, there are luminous bodies -presented to us, whose light discovers only these bodies themselves, -without giving us any impression of the surrounding objects. - -We must form a parallel supposition concerning the objects of our -feeling. 'Tis not proper to suppose a perfect removal of all tangible -objects: we must allow something to be perceived by the feeling; and -after an interval and motion of the hand or other organ of sensation, -another object of the touch to be met with; and upon leaving that, -another; and so on, as often as we please. The question is, whether -these intervals do not afford us the idea of extension without body. - -To begin with the first case; 'tis evident, that when only two luminous -bodies appear to the eye, we can perceive whether they be conjoined or -separate; whether they be separated by a great or small distance; and -if this distance varies, we can perceive its increase or diminution, -with the motion of the bodies. But as the distance is not in this case -any thing coloured or visible, it may be thought that there is here -a vacuum or pure extension, not only intelligible to the mind, but -obvious to the very senses. - -This is our natural and most familiar way of thinking, but which we -shall learn to correct by a little reflection. We may observe, that -when two bodies present themselves, where there was formerly an entire -darkness, the only change that is discoverable is in the appearance of -these two objects, and that all the rest continues to be as before, a -perfect negation of light, and of every coloured or visible object. -This is not only true of what may be said to be remote from these -bodies, but also of the very distance which is interposed betwixt them; -_that_ being nothing but darkness, or the negation of light; without -parts, without composition, invariable and indivisible. Now, since -this distance causes no perception different from what a blind man -receives from his eyes, or what is conveyed to us in the darkest night, -it must partake of the same properties; and as blindness and darkness -afford us no ideas of extension, 'tis impossible that the dark and -undistinguishable distance betwixt two bodies can ever produce that -idea. - -The sole difference betwixt an absolute darkness and the appearance -of two or more visible luminous objects consists, as I said, in the -objects themselves, and in the manner they affect our senses. The -angles, which the rays of light flowing from them form with each other; -the motion that is required in the eye, in its passage from one to -the other; and the different parts of the organs which are affected -by them; these produce the only perceptions from which we can judge -of the distance. But as these perceptions are each of them simple and -indivisible, they can never give us the idea of extension. - -We may illustrate this by considering the sense of feeling, and the -imaginary distance or interval interposed betwixt tangible or solid -objects. I suppose two cases, viz. that of a man supported in the air, -and moving his limbs to and fro, without meeting any thing tangible; -and that of a man, who, feeling something tangible, leaves it, and, -after a motion of which he is sensible, perceives another tangible -object; and I then ask, wherein consists the difference betwixt these -two cases? No one will make any scruple to affirm, that it consists -merely in the perceiving those objects, and that the sensation, -which arises from the motion, is in both cases the same; and as that -sensation is not capable of conveying to us an idea of extension, when -unaccompanied with some other perception, it can no more give us that -idea, when mixed with the impressions of tangible objects, since that -mixture produces no alteration upon it. - -But though motion and darkness, either alone or attended with tangible -and visible objects, convey no idea of a vacuum or extension without -matter, yet they are the causes why we falsely imagine we can form -such an idea. For there is a close relation betwixt that motion and -darkness, and a real extension, or composition of visible and tangible -objects. - -First, we may observe, that two visible objects, appearing in the midst -of utter darkness, affect the senses in the same manner, and form the -same angle by the rays which flow from them, and meet in the eye, as if -the distance betwixt them were filled with visible objects, that give -us a true idea of extension. The sensation of motion is likewise the -same, when there is nothing tangible interposed betwixt two bodies, as -when we feel a compounded body, whose different parts are placed beyond -each other. - -Secondly, we find by experience, that two bodies, which are so placed -as to affect the senses in the same manner with two others, that have -a certain extent of visible objects interposed betwixt them, are -capable of receiving the same extent, without any sensible impulse or -penetration, and without any change on that angle, under which they -appear to the senses. In like manner, where there is one object, which -we cannot feel after another without an interval, and the perceiving -of that sensation we call motion in our hand or organ of sensation; -experience shews us, that 'tis possible the same object may be felt -with the same sensation of motion, along with the interposed impression -of solid and tangible objects, attending the sensation. That is, in -other words, an invisible and intangible distance may be converted into -a visible and tangible one, without any change on the distant objects. - -Thirdly, we may observe, as another relation betwixt these two -kinds of distance, that they have nearly the same effects on every -natural phenomenon. For as all qualities, such as heat, cold, light, -attraction, &c. diminish in proportion to the distance; there is but -little difference observed, whether this distance be marked out by -compounded and sensible objects, or be known only by the manner in -which the distant objects affect the senses. - -Here then are three relations betwixt that distance, which conveys -the idea of extension, and that other, which is not filled with any -coloured or solid object. The distant objects affect the senses in the -same manner, whether separated by the one distance or the other; the -second species of distance is found capable of receiving the first; and -they both equally diminish the force of every quality. - -These relations betwixt the two kinds of distance, will afford us an -easy reason why the one has so often been taken for the other, and -why we imagine we have an idea of extension without the idea of any -object either of the sight or feeling. For we may establish it as a -general maxim in this science of human nature, that wherever there is -a close relation betwixt two ideas, the mind is very apt to mistake -them, and in all its discourses and reasonings to use the one for the -other. This phenomenon occurs on so many occasions, and is of such -consequence, that I cannot forbear stopping a moment to examine its -causes. I shall only premise, that we must distinguish exactly betwixt -the phenomenon itself, and the causes which I shall assign for it; and -must not imagine, from any uncertainty in the latter, that the former -is also uncertain. The phenomenon may be real, though my explication be -chimerical. The falsehood of the one is no consequence of that of the -other; though at the same time we may observe, that 'tis very natural -for us to draw such a consequence; which is an evident instance of that -very principle, which I endeavour to explain. - -When I received the relations of _resemblance, contiguity_, and -_causation_, as principles of union among ideas, without examining -into their causes, 'twas more in prosecution of my first maxim, that -we must in the end rest contented with experience, than for want of -something specious and plausible, which I might have displayed on that -subject. 'Twould have been easy to have made an imaginary dissection -of the brain, and have shown, why, upon our conception of any idea, -the animal spirits run into all the contiguous traces, and rouze up -the other ideas that are related to it. But though I have neglected -any advantage, which I might have drawn from this topic in explaining -the relations of ideas, I am afraid I must here have recourse to it, -in order to account for the mistakes that arise from these relations. -I shall therefore observe, that as the mind is endowed with a power of -exciting any idea it pleases; whenever it despatches the spirits into -that region of the brain, in which the idea is placed; these spirits -always excite the idea, when they run precisely into the proper traces, -and rummage that cell, which belongs to the idea. But as their motion -is seldom direct, and naturally turns a little to the one side or the -other; for this reason the animal spirits, falling into the contiguous -traces, present other related ideas, in lieu of that which the mind -desired at first to survey. This change we are not always sensible of; -but continuing still the same train of thought, make use of the related -idea, which is presented to us, and employ it in our reasoning, as -if it were the same with what we demanded. This is the cause of many -mistakes and sophisms in philosophy; as will naturally be imagined, -and as it would be easy to show, if there was occasion. - -Of the three relations above-mentioned that of resemblance is the -most fertile source of error; and indeed there are few mistakes in -reasoning, which do not borrow largely from that origin. Resembling -ideas are not only related together, but the actions of the mind, -which we employ in considering them, are so little different, that we -are not able to distinguish them. This last circumstance is of great -consequence; and we may in general observe, that wherever the actions -of the mind in forming any two ideas are the same or resembling, we -are very apt to confound these ideas, and take the one for the other. -Of this we shall see many instances in the progress of this treatise. -But though resemblance be the relation, which most readily produces a -mistake in ideas, yet the others of causation and contiguity may also -concur in the same influence. We might produce the figures of poets -and orators, as sufficient proofs of this, were it as usual as it -is reasonable, in metaphysical subjects, to draw our arguments from -that quarter. But lest metaphysicians should esteem this below their -dignity, I shall borrow a proof from an observation, which may be made -on most of their own discourses, viz. that 'tis usual for men to use -words for ideas, and to talk instead of thinking in their reasonings. -We use words for ideas, because they are commonly so closely connected, -that the mind easily mistakes them. And this likewise is the reason, -why we substitute the idea of a distance, which is not considered -either as visible or tangible, in the room of extension, which is -nothing but a composition of visible or tangible points disposed in a -certain order. In causing this mistake there concur both the relations -of _causation_ and _resemblance_. As the first species of distance is -found to be convertible into the second, 'tis in this respect a kind of -cause; and the similarity of their manner of affecting the senses, and -diminishing every quality, forms the relation of resemblance. - -After this chain of reasoning and explication of my principles, I am -now prepared to answer all the objections that have been offered, -whether derived from _metaphysics_ or _mechanics_. The frequent -disputes concerning a vacuum, or extension without matter, prove not -the reality of the idea, upon which the dispute turns; there being -nothing more common, than to see men deceive themselves in this -particular; especially when, by means of any close relation, there is -another idea presented, which may be the occasion of their mistake. - -We may make almost the same answer to the second objection, derived -from the conjunction of the ideas of rest and annihilation. When every -thing is annihilated in the chamber, and the walls continue immovable, -the chamber must be conceived much in the same manner as at present, -when the air that fills it is not an object of the senses. This -annihilation leaves to the _eye_ that fictitious distance, which is -discovered by the different parts of the organ that are affected, and -by the degrees of light and shade; and to the _feeling_, that which -consists in a sensation of motion in the hand, or other member of the -body. In vain should we search any farther. On whichever side we turn -this subject, we shall find that these are the only impressions such an -object can produce after the supposed annihilation; and it has already -been remarked, that impressions can give rise to no ideas, but to such -as resemble them. - -Since a body interposed betwixt two others may be supposed to be -annihilated, without producing any change upon such as lie on each -hand of it, 'tis easily conceived, how it may be created anew, and -yet produce as little alteration. Now the motion of a body has much -the same effect as its creation. The distant bodies are no more -affected in the one case, than in the other. This suffices to satisfy -the imagination, and proves there is no repugnance in such a motion. -Afterwards experience comes in play to persuade us that two bodies, -situated in the manner above described, have really such a capacity -of receiving body betwixt them, and that there is no obstacle to the -conversion of the invisible and intangible distance into one that is -visible and tangible. However natural that conversion may seem, we -cannot be sure it is practicable, before we have had experience of it. - -Thus I seem to have answered the three objections above mentioned; -though at the same time I am sensible, that few will be satisfied -with these answers, but will immediately propose new objections and -difficulties. 'Twill probably be said, that my reasoning makes nothing -to the matter in hand, and that I explain only the manner in which -objects affect the senses, without endeavouring to account for their -real nature and operations. Though there be nothing visible or tangible -interposed betwixt two bodies, yet we find _by experience_, that the -bodies may be placed in the same manner, with regard to the eye, and -require the same motion of the hand in passing from one to the other, -as if divided by something visible and tangible. This invisible and -intangible distance is also found _by experience_ to contain a capacity -of receiving body, or of becoming visible and tangible. Here is the -whole of my system; and in no part of it have I endeavoured to explain -the cause, which separates bodies after this manner, and gives them -a capacity of receiving others betwixt them, without any impulse or -penetration. - -I answer this objection, by pleading guilty, and by confessing that -my intention never was to penetrate into the nature of bodies, or -explain the secret causes of their operations. For, besides that this -belongs not to my present purpose, I am afraid, that such an enterprise -is beyond the reach of human understanding, and that we can never -pretend to know body otherwise than by those external properties, -which discover themselves to the senses. As to those who attempt any -thing farther, I cannot approve of their ambition, till I see, in -some one instance at least, that they have met with success. But at -present I content myself with knowing perfectly the manner in which -objects affect my senses, and their connexions with each other, as far -as experience informs me of them. This suffices for the conduct of -life; and this also suffices for my philosophy, which pretends only to -explain the nature and causes of our perceptions, or impressions and -ideas.[7] - -I shall conclude this subject of extension with a paradox, which will -easily be explained from the foregoing reasoning. This paradox is, that -if you are pleased to give to the invisible and intangible distance, -or in other words, to the capacity of becoming a visible and tangible -distance, the name of a vacuum, extension and matter are the same, -and yet there is a vacuum. If you will not give it that name, motion -is possible in a plenum, without any impulse _in infinitum_, without -returning in a circle, and without penetration. But however we may -express ourselves, we must always confess, that we have no idea of any -real extension without filling it with sensible objects, and conceiving -its parts as visible or tangible. - -As to the doctrine, that time is nothing but the manner in which some -real objects exist; we may observe, that 'tis liable to the same -objections as the similar doctrine with regard to extension. If it -be a sufficient proof, that we have the idea of a vacuum, because we -dispute and reason concerning it; we must for the same reason have -the idea of time without any changeable existence; since there is no -subject of dispute more frequent and common. But that we really have -no such idea, is certain. For whence should it be derived? Does it -arise from an impression of sensation or of reflection? Point it out -distinctly to us, that we may know its nature and qualities. But if -you cannot point out _any such impression_, you may be certain you are -mistaken, when you imagine you have _any such idea_. - -But though it be impossible to show the impression, from which the idea -of time without a changeable existence is derived, yet we can easily -point out those appearances, which make us fancy we have that idea. For -we may observe, that there is a continual succession of perceptions in -our mind; so that the idea of time being for ever present with us, when -we consider a stedfast object at five o'clock, and regard the same at -six, we are apt to apply to it that idea in the same manner as if every -moment were distinguished by a different position, or an alteration -of the object. The first and second appearances of the object, being -compared with the succession of our perceptions, seem equally removed -as if the object had really changed. To which we may add, what -experience shows us, that the object was susceptible of such a number -of changes betwixt these appearances; as also that the unchangeable -or rather fictitious duration has the same effect upon every quality, -by increasing or diminishing it, as that succession which is obvious -to the senses. From these three relations we are apt to confound our -ideas, and imagine we can form the idea of a time and duration, -without any change or succession. - - -[7] As long as we confine our speculations to _the appearances_ of -objects to our senses, without entering into disquisitions concerning -their real nature and operations, we are safe from all difficulties, -and can never be embarrassed by any question. Thus, if it be asked, if -the invisible and intangible distance, interposed betwixt two objects, -be something or nothing: 'tis easy to answer, that it is _something_, -viz. a property of the objects, which affect the _senses_ after such -a particular manner. If it be asked, whether two objects, having such -a distance betwixt them, touch or not: it may be answered, that this -depends upon the definition of the word _touch_. If objects be said to -touch, when there is nothing _sensible_ interposed betwixt them, these -objects touch: If objects be said to touch, when their _images_ strike -contiguous parts of the eye, and when the hand _feels_ both objects -successively, without any interposed motion, these objects do not -touch. The appearances of objects to our senses are all consistent; and -no difficulties can ever arise, but from the obscurity of the terms we -make use of. - -If we carry our inquiry beyond the appearances of objects to the -senses, I am afraid, that most of our conclusions will be full of -scepticism and uncertainty. Thus, if it be asked, whether or not the -invisible and intangible distance be always full of _body_, or of -something that by an improvement of our organs might become visible or -tangible, I must acknowledge, that I find no very decisive arguments -on either side: though I am inclined to the contrary opinion, as -being more suitable to vulgar and popular notions. If _the Newtonian_ -philosophy be rightly understood, it will be found to mean no more. -A vacuum is asserted; that is, bodies are said to be placed after -such a manner as to receive bodies betwixt them, without impulsion or -penetration. The real nature of this position of bodies is unknown. -We are only acquainted with its effects on the senses, and its power -of receiving body. Nothing is more suitable to that philosophy, than -a modest scepticism to a certain degree, and a fair confession of -ignorance in subjects that exceed all human capacity. - - - -SECTION VI. - -OF THE IDEA OF EXISTENCE, AND OF EXTERNAL EXISTENCE. - - -It may not be amiss, before we leave this subject, to explain the -ideas of _existence_ and of _external existence_; which have their -difficulties, as well as the ideas of space and time. By this means -we shall be the better prepared for the examination of knowledge and -probability, when we understand perfectly all those particular ideas, -which may enter into our reasoning. - -There is no impression nor idea of any kind, of which we have any -consciousness or memory, that is not conceived as existent; and 'tis -evident that, from this consciousness, the most perfect idea and -assurance of _being_ is derived. From hence we may form a dilemma, the -most clear and conclusive that can be imagined, viz. that since we -never remember any idea or impression without attributing existence -to it, the idea of existence must either be derived from a distinct -impression, conjoined with every perception or object of our thought, -or must be the very same with the idea of the perception or object. - -As this dilemma is an evident consequence of the principle, that every -idea arises from a similar impression, so our decision betwixt the -propositions of the dilemma is no more doubtful. So far from there -being any distinct impression attending every impression and every -idea, that I do not think there are any two distinct impressions which -are inseparably conjoined. Though certain sensations may at one time -be united, we quickly find they admit of a separation, and may be -presented apart. And thus, though every impression and idea we remember -be considered as existent, the idea of existence is not derived from -any particular impression. - -The idea of existence, then, is the very same with the idea of what we -conceive to be existent. To reflect on any thing simply, and to reflect -on it as existent, are nothing different from each other. That idea, -when conjoined with the idea of any object, makes no addition to it. -Whatever we conceive, we conceive to be existent. Any idea we please -to form is the idea of a being; and the idea of a being is any idea we -please to form. - -Whoever opposes this, must necessarily point out that distinct -impression, from which the idea of entity is derived, and must prove, -that this impression is inseparable from every perception we believe to -be existent. This we may without hesitation conclude to be impossible. - -Our foregoing reasoning[8] concerning the _distinction_ of ideas -without any real _difference_ will not here serve us in any stead. That -kind of distinction is founded on the different resemblances, which the -same simple idea may have to several different ideas. But no object can -be presented resembling some object with respect to its existence, and -different from others in the same particular; since every object that -is presented, must necessarily be existent. - -A like reasoning will account for the idea of _external existence_. -We may observe, that 'tis universally allowed by philosophers, and is -besides pretty obvious of itself, that nothing is ever really present -with the mind but its perceptions or impressions and ideas, and that -external objects become known to us only by those perceptions they -occasion. To hate, to love, to think, to feel, to see; all this is -nothing but to perceive. - -Now, since nothing is ever present to the mind but perceptions, and -since all ideas are derived from something antecedently present to -the mind; it follows, that 'tis impossible for us so much as to -conceive or form an idea of any thing specifically different from -ideas and impressions. Let us fix our attention out of ourselves as -much as possible; let us chase our imagination to the heavens, or to -the utmost limits of the universe; we never really advance a step -beyond ourselves, nor can conceive any kind of existence, but those -perceptions, which have appeared in that narrow compass. This is the -universe of the imagination, nor have we any idea but what is there -produced. - -The farthest we can go towards a conception of external objects, when -supposed _specifically_ different from our perceptions, is to form a -relative idea of them, without pretending to comprehend the related -objects. Generally speaking, we do not suppose them specifically -different; but only attribute to them different relations, connexions, -and durations. But of this more fully hereafter.[9] - - -[8] Part I. Sect. 7. - -[9] Part VI. Sect. 2. - - - - -PART III. - -OF KNOWLEDGE AND PROBABILITY. - - - - -SECTION I. - -OF KNOWLEDGE. - - -There are seven different kinds of philosophical relation,[1] viz. -_resemblance, identity, relations of time and place, proportion -in quantity or number, degrees in any quality, contrariety, and -causation_. These relations may be divided into two classes; into -such as depend entirely on the ideas, which we compare together, and -such as may be changed without any change in the ideas. 'Tis from -the idea of a triangle, that we discover the relation of equality, -which its three angles bear to two right ones; and this relation is -invariable, as long as our idea remains the same. On the contrary, the -relations of _contiguity_ and _distance_ betwixt two objects may be -changed merely by an alteration of their place, without any change on -the objects themselves or on their ideas; and the place depends on a -hundred different accidents, which cannot be foreseen by the mind. -'Tis the same case with _identity_ and _causation_. Two objects, though -perfectly resembling each other, and even appearing in the same place -at different times, may be numerically different: and as the power, by -which one object produces another, is never discoverable merely from -their idea, 'tis evident _cause_ and _effect_ are relations, of which -we receive information from experience, and not from any abstract -reasoning or reflection. There is no single phenomenon, even the most -simple, which can be accounted for from the qualities of the objects, -as they appear to us; or which we could foresee without the help of our -memory and experience. - -It appears therefore that of these seven philosophical relations, there -remain only four, which depending solely upon ideas, can be the objects -of knowledge and certainty. These four are _resemblance, contrariety, -degrees in quality, and proportions in quantity or number_. Three -of these relations are discoverable at first sight, and fall more -properly under the province of intuition than demonstration. When any -objects _resemble_ each other, the resemblance will at first strike -the eye, or rather the mind; and seldom requires a second examination. -The case is the same with _contrariety_, and with the _degrees_ of -any _quality_. No one can once doubt but existence and non-existence -destroy each other, and are perfectly incompatible and contrary. And -though it be impossible to judge exactly of the degrees of any quality, -such as colour, taste, heat, cold, when the difference betwixt them is -very small; yet 'tis easy to decide, that any of them is superior or -inferior to another, when their difference is considerable. And this -decision we always pronounce at first sight, without any inquiry or -reasoning. - -We might proceed, after the same manner, in fixing the _proportions_ -of _quantity_ or _number_, and might at one view observe a superiority -or inferiority betwixt any numbers, or figures; especially where the -difference is very great and remarkable. As to equality or any exact -proportion, we can only guess at it from a single consideration; except -in very short numbers, or very limited portions of extension; which are -comprehended in an instant, and where we perceive an impossibility of -falling into any considerable error. In all other cases we must settle -the proportions with some liberty, or proceed in a more _artificial_ -manner. - -I have already observed, that geometry, or the _art_ by which we fix -the proportions of figures; though it much excels both in universality -and exactness, the loose judgments of the senses and imagination; yet -never attains a perfect precision and exactness. Its first principles -are still drawn from the general appearance of the objects; and that -appearance can never afford us any security, when we examine the -prodigious minuteness of which nature is susceptible. Our ideas seem -to give a perfect assurance, that no two right lines can have a common -segment; but if we consider these ideas, we shall find, that they -always suppose a sensible inclination of the two lines, and that where -the angle they form is extremely small, we have no standard of a right -line so precise as to assure us of the truth of this proposition. 'Tis -the same case with most of the primary decisions of the mathematics. - -There remain therefore algebra and arithmetic as the only sciences, in -which we can carry on a chain of reasoning to any degree of intricacy, -and yet preserve a perfect exactness and certainty. We are possessed -of a precise standard, by which we can judge of the equality and -proportion of numbers; and according as they correspond or not to that -standard, we determine their relations, without any possibility of -error. When two numbers are so combined, as that the one has always an -unite answering to every unite of the other, we pronounce them equal; -and 'tis for want of such a standard of equality in extension, that -geometry can scarce be esteemed a perfect and infallible science. - -But here it may not be amiss to obviate a difficulty, which may -arise from my asserting, that though geometry falls short of that -perfect precision and certainty, which are peculiar to arithmetic -and algebra, yet it excels the imperfect judgments of our senses and -imagination. The reason why I impute any defect to geometry, is, -because its original and fundamental principles are derived merely from -appearances; and it may perhaps be imagined, that this defect must -always attend it, and keep it from ever reaching a greater exactness in -the comparison of objects or ideas, than what our eye or imagination -alone is able to attain. I own that this defect so far attends it, as -to keep it from ever aspiring to a full certainty: but since these -fundamental principles depend on the easiest and least deceitful -appearances, they bestow on their consequences a degree of exactness, -of which these consequences are singly incapable. 'Tis impossible for -the eye to determine the angles of a chiliagon to be equal to 1996 -right angles, or make any conjecture, that approaches this proportion; -but when it determines, that right lines cannot concur; that we cannot -draw more than one right line between two given points; its mistakes -can never be of any consequence. And this is the nature and use of -geometry, to run us up to such appearances, as, by reason of their -simplicity, cannot lead us into any considerable error. - -I shall here take occasion to propose a second observation concerning -our demonstrative reasonings, which is suggested by the same subject -of the mathematics. 'Tis usual with mathematicians to pretend, that -those ideas, which are their objects, are of so refined and spiritual a -nature, that they fall not under the conception of the fancy, but must -be comprehended by a pure and intellectual view, of which the superior -faculties of the soul are alone capable. The same notion runs through -most parts of philosophy, and is principally made use of to explain -our abstract ideas, and to show how we can form an idea of a triangle, -for instance, which shall neither be an isosceles nor scalenum, nor be -confined to any particular length and proportion of sides. 'Tis easy -to see why philosophers are so fond of this notion of some spiritual -and refined perceptions; since by that means they cover many of their -absurdities, and may refuse to submit to the decisions of clear ideas, -by appealing to such as are obscure and uncertain. But to destroy this -artifice, we need but reflect on that principle so oft insisted on, -_that all our ideas are copied from out impressions_. For from thence -we may immediately conclude, that since all impressions are clear and -precise, the ideas, which are copied from them, must be of the same -nature, and can never, but from our fault, contain any thing so dark -and intricate. An idea is by its very nature weaker and fainter than -an impression; but being in every other respect the same, cannot imply -any very great mystery. If its weakness render it obscure, 'tis our -business to remedy that defect, as much as possible, by keeping the -idea steady and precise; and till we have done so, 'tis in vain to -pretend to reasoning and philosophy. - - -[1] Part I. Sect. 5. - - - - -SECTION II. - -OF PROBABILITY, AND OF THE IDEA OF CAUSE AND EFFECT. - - -This is all I think necessary to observe concerning those four -relations, which are the foundation of science; but as to the other -three, which depend not upon the idea, and may be absent or present -even while _that_ remains the same, 'twill be proper to explain them -more particularly. These three relations are _identity, the situations -in time and place, and causation_. - -All kinds of reasoning consist in nothing but a _comparison_, and a -discovery of those relations, either constant or inconstant, which two -or more objects bear to each other. This comparison we may make, either -when both the objects are present to the senses, or when neither of -them is present, or when only one. When both the objects are present to -the senses along with the relation, we call _this_ perception rather -than reasoning; nor is there in this case any exercise of the thought, -or any action, properly speaking, but a mere passive admission of -the impressions through the organs of sensation. According to this -way of thinking, we ought not to receive as reasoning any of the -observations we may make concerning _identity_, and the _relations_ -of _time_ and _place_; since in none of them the mind can go beyond -what is immediately present to the senses, either to discover the real -existence or the relations of objects. 'Tis only _causation_, which -produces such a connexion, as to give us assurance from the existence -or action of one object, that 'twas followed or preceded by any other -existence or action; nor can the other two relations ever be made use -of in reasoning, except so far as they either affect or are affected -by it. There is nothing in any objects to persuade us, that they are -either always _remote_ or always _contiguous_; and when from experience -and observation we discover, that their relation in this particular -is invariable, we always conclude there is some secret _cause_ which -separates or unites them. The same reasoning extends to _identity_. We -readily suppose an object may continue individually the same, though -several times absent from and present to the senses; and ascribe to -it an identity, notwithstanding the interruption of the perception, -whenever we conclude, that if we had kept our eye or hand constantly -upon it, it would have conveyed an invariable and uninterrupted -perception. But this conclusion beyond the impressions of our senses -can be founded only on the connexion of _cause and effect_; nor can -we otherwise have any security that the object is not changed upon -us, however much the new object may resemble that which was formerly -present to the senses. Whenever we discover such a perfect resemblance, -we consider whether it be common in that species of objects; whether -possibly or probably any cause could operate in producing the change -and resemblance; and according as we determine concerning these causes -and effects, we form our judgment concerning the identity of the object. - -Here then it appears, that of those three relations, which depend not -upon the mere ideas, the only one that can be traced beyond our senses, -and informs us of existences and objects, which we do not see or feel, -is _causation_. This relation therefore we shall endeavour to explain -fully before we leave the subject of the Of the understanding. - -To begin regularly, we must consider the idea of _causation_, and see -from what origin it is derived. 'Tis impossible to reason justly, -without understanding perfectly the idea concerning which we reason; -and 'tis impossible perfectly to understand any idea, without tracing -it up to its origin, and examining that primary impression, from which -it arises. The examination of the impression bestows a clearness on the -idea; and the examination of the idea bestows a like clearness on all -our reasoning. - -Let us therefore cast our eye on any two objects, which we call -cause and effect, and turn them on all sides, in order to find that -impression, which produces an idea of such prodigious consequence. -At first sight I perceive, that I must not search for it in any of -the particular _qualities_ of the objects; since, whichever of these -qualities I pitch on, I find some object that is not possessed of it, -and yet falls under the denomination of cause or effect. And indeed -there is nothing existent, either externally or internally, which is -not to be considered either as a cause or an effect; though 'tis plain -there is no one quality which universally belongs to all beings, and -gives them a title to that denomination. - -The idea then of causation must be derived from some _relation_ among -objects; and that relation we must now endeavour to discover. I find -in the first place, that whatever objects are considered as causes or -effects, are _contiguous_; and that nothing can operate in a time or -place, which is ever so little removed from those of its existence. -Though distant objects may sometimes seem productive of each other, -they are commonly found upon examination to be linked by a chain of -causes, which are contiguous among themselves, and to the distant -objects; and when in any particular instance we cannot discover this -connexion, we still presume it to exist. We may therefore consider the -relation of _contiguity_ as essential to that of causation; at least -may suppose it such, according to the general opinion, till we can find -a more proper occasion[2] to clear up this matter, by examining what -objects are or are not susceptible of juxtaposition and conjunction. - -The second relation I shall observe as essential to causes and effects, -is not so universally acknowledged, but is liable to some controversy. -'Tis that of _priority_ of time in the cause before the effect. Some -pretend that 'tis not absolutely necessary a cause should precede its -effect; but that any object or action, in the very first moment of its -existence, may exert its productive quality, and give rise to another -object or action, perfectly cotemporary with itself. But beside that -experience in most instances seems to contradict this opinion, we may -establish the relation of priority by a kind of inference or reasoning. -'Tis an established maxim both in natural and moral philosophy, that -an object, which exists for any time in its full perfection without -producing another, is not its sole cause; but is assisted by some other -principle which pushes it from its state of inactivity, and makes it -exert that energy, of which it was secretly possessed. Now if any cause -may be perfectly cotemporary with its effect, 'tis certain, according -to this maxim, that they must all of them be so; since any one of -them, which retards its operation for a single moment, exerts not -itself at that very individual time, in which it might have operated; -and therefore is no proper cause. The consequence of this would be -no less than the destruction of that succession of causes, which we -observe in the world; and indeed the utter annihilation of time. For -if one cause were cotemporary with its effect, and this effect with -_its_ effect, and so on, 'tis plain there would be no such thing as -succession, and all objects must be co-existent. - -If this argument appear satisfactory, 'tis well. If not, I beg the -reader to allow me the same liberty, which I have used in the preceding -case, of supposing it such. For he shall find, that the affair is of no -great importance. - -Having thus discovered or supposed the two relations of _contiguity_ -and _succession_ to be essential to causes and effects, I find I am -stopped short, and can proceed no farther in considering any single -instance of cause and effect. Motion in one body is regarded upon -impulse as the cause of motion in another. When we consider these -objects with the utmost attention, we find only that the one body -approaches the other; and that the motion of it precedes that of -the other, but without any sensible interval. 'Tis in vain to rack -ourselves with _farther_ thought and reflection upon this subject. We -can go no _farther_ in considering this particular instance. - -Should any one leave this instance, and pretend to define a cause, by -saying it is something productive of another, 'tis evident he would -say nothing. For what does he mean by _production_? Can he give any -definition of it, that will not be the same with that of causation? - -If he can, I desire it maybe produced. If he cannot, he here runs in a -circle, and gives a synonymous term instead of a definition. - -Shall we then rest contented with these two relations of contiguity and -succession, as affording a complete idea of causation? By no means. An -object may be contiguous and prior to another, without being considered -as its cause. There is a _necessary connexion_ to be taken into -consideration; and that relation is of much greater importance, than -any of the other two above mentioned. - -Here again I turn the object on all sides, in order to discover the -nature of this necessary connexion, and find the impression, or -impressions, from which its idea may be derived. When I cast my eye -on the _known qualities_ of objects, I immediately discover that the -relation of cause and effect depends not in the least on _them_. When -I consider their _relations_, I can find none but those of contiguity -and succession; which I have already regarded as imperfect and -unsatisfactory. Shall the despair of success make me assert, that I -am here possessed of an idea, which is not preceded by any similar -impression? This would be too strong a proof of levity and inconstancy; -since the contrary principle has been already so firmly established, -as to admit of no farther doubt; at least, till we have more fully -examined the present difficulty. - -We must therefore proceed like those who, being in search of any thing -that lies concealed from them, and not finding it in the place they -expected, beat about all the neighbouring fields, without any certain -view or design, in hopes their good fortune will at last guide them to -what they search for. 'Tis necessary for us to leave the direct survey -of this question concerning the nature of that _necessary connexion_, -which enters into our idea of cause and effect; and endeavour to find -some other questions, the examination of which will perhaps afford -a hint, that may serve to clear up the present difficulty. Of these -questions there occur two, which I shall proceed to examine, viz. - -First, for what reason we pronounce it _necessary_, that every thing -whose existence has a beginning, should also have a cause? - -Secondly, why we conclude, that such particular causes must -_necessarily_ have such particular effects; and what is the nature of -that _inference_ we draw from the one to the other, and of the _belief_ -we repose in it? - -I shall only observe before I proceed any farther, that though the -ideas of cause and effect be derived from the impressions of reflection -as well as from those of sensation, yet for brevity's sake, I commonly -mention only the latter as the origin of these ideas; though I desire -that, whatever I say of them, may also extend to the former. Passions -are connected with their objects and with one another; no less than -external bodies are connected together. The same relation then of cause -and effect, which belongs to one, must be common to all of them. - - -[2] Part IV. Sect 5. - - - - -SECTION III. - -WHY A CAUSE IS ALWAYS NECESSARY. - - -To begin with the first question concerning the necessity of a cause: -'Tis a general maxim in philosophy, that _whatever begins to exist, -must have a cause of existence_. This is commonly taken for granted in -all reasonings, without any proof given or demanded. 'Tis supposed to -be founded on intuition, and to be one of those maxims which, though -they may be denied with the lips, 'tis impossible for men in their -hearts really to doubt of. But if we examine this maxim by the idea of -knowledge above explained, we shall discover in it no mark of any such -intuitive certainty; but on the contrary shall find, that 'tis of a -nature quite foreign to that species of conviction. - -All certainty arises from the comparison of ideas, and from the -discovery of such relations as are unalterable, so long as the ideas -continue the same. These relations are _resemblance, proportions in -quantity and number, degrees of any quality, and contrariety_; none -of which are implied in this proposition, _Whatever has a beginning -has also a cause of existence_. That proposition therefore is not -intuitively certain. At least any one, who would assert it to be -intuitively certain, must deny these to be the only infallible -relations, and must find some other relation of that kind to be implied -in it; which it will then be time enough to examine. - -But here is an argument, which proves at once, that the foregoing -proposition is neither intuitively nor demonstrably certain. We can -never demonstrate the necessity of a cause to every new existence, or -new modification of existence, without showing at the same time the -impossibility there is, that any thing can ever begin to exist without -some productive principle; and where the latter proposition cannot be -proved, we must despair of ever being able to prove the former. Now -that the latter proposition is utterly incapable of a demonstrative -proof, we may satisfy ourselves by considering, that as all distinct -ideas are separable from each other, and as the ideas of cause and -effect are evidently distinct, 'twill be easy for us to conceive -any object to be non-existent this moment, and existent the next, -without conjoining to it the distinct idea of a cause or productive -principle. The separation therefore of the idea of a cause from that of -a beginning of existence, is plainly possible for the imagination; and -consequently the actual separation of these objects is so far possible, -that it implies no contradiction nor absurdity; and is therefore -incapable of being refuted by any reasoning from mere ideas, without -which 'tis impossible to demonstrate the necessity of a cause. - -Accordingly, we shall find upon examination, that every demonstration, -which has been produced for the necessity of a cause, is fallacious -and sophistical. All the points of time and place, say some -philosophers,[3] in which we can suppose any object to begin to -exist, are in themselves equal; and unless there be some cause, which -is peculiar to one time and to one place, and which by that means -determines and fixes the existence, it must remain in eternal suspense; -and the object can never begin to be, for want of something to fix -its beginning. But I ask, is there any more difficulty in supposing -the time and place to be fixed without a cause, than to suppose the -existence to be determined in that manner! The first question that -occurs on this subject is always, _whether_ the object shall exist -or not: the next, _when_ and _where_ it shall begin to exist. If the -removal of a cause be intuitively absurd in the one case, it must be so -in the other: and if that absurdity be not clear without a proof in the -one case, it will equally require one in the other. The absurdity then -of the one supposition can never be a proof of that of the other; since -they are both upon the same footing, and must stand or fall by the same -reasoning. - -The second argument,[4] which I find used on this head, labours under -an equal difficulty. Every thing, 'tis said, must have a cause; for if -any thing wanted a cause, _it_ would produce _itself_, that is, exist -before it existed, which is impossible. But this reasoning is plainly -unconclusive; because it supposes that, in our denial of a cause, we -still grant what we expressly deny, viz. that there must be a cause; -which therefore is taken to be the object itself; and _that_, no doubt, -is an evident contradiction. But to say that any thing is produced, or, -to express myself more properly, comes into existence, without a cause, -is not to affirm that 'tis itself its own cause; but, on the contrary, -in excluding all external causes, excludes _a fortiori_ the thing -itself which is created. An object that exists absolutely without any -cause, certainly is not its own cause; and when you assert, that the -one follows from the other, you suppose the very point in question, -and take it for granted, that 'tis utterly impossible any thing can -ever begin to exist without a cause, but that, upon the exclusion of -one productive principle, we must still have recourse to another. - -'Tis exactly the same case with the third argument,[5] which has -been employed to demonstrate the necessity of a cause. Whatever is -produced without any cause, is produced by _nothing_; or, in other -words, has nothing for its cause. But nothing can never be a cause, no -more than it can be something, or equal to two right angles. By the -same intuition, that we perceive nothing not to be equal to two right -angles, or not to be something, we perceive, that it can never be a -cause; and consequently must perceive, that every object has a real -cause of its existence. - -I believe it will not be necessary to employ many words in showing the -weakness of this argument, after what I have said of the foregoing. -They are all of them founded on the same fallacy, and are derived from -the same turn of thought. 'Tis sufficient only to observe, that when -we exclude all causes we really do exclude them, and neither suppose -nothing nor the object itself to be the causes of the existence; -and consequently can draw no argument from the absurdity of these -suppositions to prove the absurdity of that exclusion. If every thing -must have a cause, it follows, that, upon the exclusion of other -causes, we must accept of the object itself or of nothing as causes. -But 'tis the very point in question, whether every thing must have a -cause or not; and therefore, according to all just reasoning, it ought -never to be taken for granted. - -They are still more frivolous who say, that every effect must have a -cause, because 'tis implied in the very idea of effect. Every effect -necessarily presupposes a cause; effect being a relative term, of which -cause is a correlative. But this does not prove that every being must -be preceded by a cause; no more than it follows, because every husband -must have a wife, that therefore every man must be married. The true -state of the question is, whether every object which begins to exist, -must owe its existence to a cause; and this I assert neither to be -intuitively nor demonstratively certain, and hope to have proved it -sufficiently by the foregoing arguments. - -Since it is not from knowledge or any scientific reasoning, that we -derive the opinion of the necessity of a cause to every new production, -that opinion must necessarily arise from observation and experience. -The next question, then, should naturally be, _how experience gives -rise to such a principle_? But as I find it will be more convenient -to sink this question in the following, _why we conclude, that such -particular causes must necessarily have such particular effects, and -why we form an inference from one to another_? we shall make that the -subject of our future inquiry. 'Twill, perhaps, be found in the end, -that the same answer will serve for both questions. - - - -[3] Mr Hobbes. - -[4] Dr Clarke and others. - -[5] Mr Locke. - - - - -SECTION IV. - -OF THE COMPONENT PARTS OF OUR REASONINGS CONCERNING CAUSE AND EFFECT. - - -Though the mind in its reasonings from causes or effects, carries its -view beyond those objects which it sees or remembers, it must never -lose sight of them entirely, nor reason merely upon its own ideas, -without some mixture of impressions, or at least of ideas of the -memory, which are equivalent to impressions. When we infer effects from -causes, we must establish the existence of these causes; which we have -only two ways of doing, either by an immediate perception of our memory -or senses, or by an inference from other causes; which causes again we -must ascertain in the same manner, either by a present impression or -by an inference from _their_ causes, and so on, till we arrive at some -object, which we see or remember. 'Tis impossible for us to carry on -our inferences _in infinitum_; and the only thing that can stop them, -is an impression of the memory or senses, beyond which there is no room -for doubt or inquiry. - -To give an instance of this, we may choose any point of history, and -consider for what reason we either believe or reject it. Thus, we -believe that Cĉsar was killed in the senate-house on the _ides_ of -_March_, and that because this fact is established on the unanimous -testimony of historians, who agree to assign this precise time and -place to that event. Here are certain characters and letters present -either to our memory or senses; which characters we likewise remember -to have been used as the signs of certain ideas: and these ideas -were either in the minds of such as were immediately present at that -action, and received the ideas directly from its existence; or they -were derived from the testimony of others, and that again from another -testimony, by a visible gradation, till we arrive at those who were -eye-witnesses and spectators of the event. 'Tis obvious all this chain -of argument or connexion of causes and effects, is at first founded -on those characters or letters, which are seen or remembered, and -that without the authority either of the memory or senses, our whole -reasoning would be chimerical and without foundation. Every link of -the chain would in that case hang upon another; but there would not be -any thing fixed to one end of it, capable of sustaining the whole; and -consequently there would be no belief nor evidence. And this actually -is the case with all _hypothetical_ arguments, or reasonings upon a -supposition; there being in them neither any present impression, nor -belief of a real existence. - -I need not observe, that 'tis no just objection to the present -doctrine, that we can reason upon our past conclusions or principles, -without having recourse to those impressions, from which they first -arose. For even supposing these impressions should be entirely effaced -from the memory, the conviction they produced may still remain; and -'tis equally true, that all reasonings concerning causes and effects -are originally derived from some impression; in the same manner, as -the assurance of a demonstration proceeds always from a comparison of -ideas, though it may continue after the comparison is forgot. - - - - -SECTION V. - -OF THE IMPRESSIONS OF THE SENSES AND MEMORY. - - -In this kind of reasoning, then, from causation, we employ materials, -which are of a mixed and heterogeneous nature, and which, however -connected, are yet essentially different from each other. All our -arguments concerning causes and effects consist both of an impression -of the memory or senses, and of the idea of that existence, which -produces the object of the impression, or is produced by it. Here, -therefore, we have three things to explain, viz. _first_, the original -impression. _Secondly_, the transition to the idea of the connected -cause or effect. _Thirdly_, the nature and qualities of that idea. - -As to those _impressions_, which arise from the _senses_, their -ultimate cause is, in my opinion, perfectly inexplicable by human -reason, and 'twill always be impossible to decide with certainty, -whether they arise immediately from the object, or are produced by -the creative power of the mind, or are derived from the Author of our -being. Nor is such a question any way material to our present purpose. -We may draw inferences from the coherence of our perceptions, whether -they be true or false; whether they represent nature justly, or be mere -illusions of the senses. - -When we search for the characteristic, which distinguishes the _memory_ -from the imagination, we must immediately perceive, that it cannot -lie in the simple ideas it presents to us; since both these faculties -borrow their simple ideas from the impressions, and can never go -beyond these original perceptions. These faculties are as little -distinguished from each other by the arrangement of their complex -ideas. For, though it be a peculiar property of the memory to preserve -the original order and position of its ideas, while the imagination -transposes and changes them as it pleases; yet this difference is not -sufficient to distinguish them in their operation, or make us know the -one from the other; it being impossible to recal the past impressions, -in order to compare them with our present ideas, and see whether their -arrangement be exactly similar. Since therefore the memory is known, -neither by the order of its _complex_ ideas, nor the nature of its -_simple_ ones; it follows, that the difference betwixt it and the -imagination lies in its superior force and vivacity. A man may indulge -his fancy in feigning any past scene of adventures; nor would there be -any possibility of distinguishing this from a remembrance of a like -kind, were not the ideas of the imagination fainter and more obscure. - -It frequently happens, that when two men have been engaged in any -scene of action, the one shall remember it much better than the other, -and shall have all the difficulty in the world to make his companion -recollect it. He runs over several circumstances in vain; mentions -the time, the place, the company, what was said, what was done on all -sides; till at last he hits on some lucky circumstance, that revives -the whole, and gives his friend a perfect memory of every thing. Here -the person that forgets, receives at first all the ideas from the -discourse of the other, with the same circumstances of time and place; -though he considers them as mere fictions of the imagination. But as -soon as the circumstance is mentioned that touches the memory, the -very same ideas now appear in a new light, and have, in a manner, -a different feeling from what they had before. Without any other -alteration, beside that of the feeling, they become immediately ideas -of the memory, and are assented to. - -Since therefore the imagination can represent all the same objects -that the memory can offer to us, and since those faculties are only -distinguished by the different _feeling_ of the ideas they present, it -may be proper to consider what is the nature of that feeling. And here -I believe every one will readily agree with me, that the ideas of the -memory are more _strong_ and _lively_ than those of the fancy. - -A painter, who intended to represent a passion or emotion of any kind, -would endeavour to get a sight of a person actuated by a like emotion, -in order to enliven his ideas, and give them a force and vivacity -superior to what is found in those, which are mere fictions of the -imagination. The more recent this memory is, the clearer is the idea; -and when, after a long interval, he would return to the contemplation -of his object, he always finds its idea to be much decayed, if not, -wholly obliterated. We are frequently in doubt concerning the ideas -of the memory, as they become very weak and feeble; and are at a loss -to determine whether any image proceeds from the fancy or the memory, -when it is not drawn in such lively colours as distinguish that latter -faculty. I think I remember such an event, says one; but am not sure. A -long tract of time has almost worn it out of my memory, and leaves me -uncertain whether or not it be the pure offspring of my fancy. - -And as an idea of the memory, by losing its force and vivacity, -may degenerate to such a degree, as to be taken for an idea of the -imagination; so, on the other Of hand, an idea of the imagination may -acquire such a and force and vivacity, as to pass for an idea of the -memory, and counterfeit its effects on the belief and judgment. This -is noted in the case of liars; who by the frequent repetition of their -lies, come at last to believe and remember them, as realities; custom -and habit having, in this case, as in many others, the same influence -on the mind as nature, and infixing the idea with equal force and -vigour. - -Thus it appears, that the _belief_ or _assent_, which always attends -the memory and senses, is nothing but the vivacity of those perceptions -they present; and that this alone distinguishes them from the -imagination. To believe is in this case to feel an immediate impression -of the senses, or a repetition of that impression in the memory. 'Tis -merely the force and liveliness of the perception, which constitutes -the first act of the judgment, and lays the foundation of that -reasoning, which we build upon it, when we trace the relation of cause -and effect. - - - - -SECTION VI. - -OF THE INFERENCE FROM THE IMPRESSION TO THE IDEA. - - -'Tis easy to observe, that in tracing this relation, the inference we -draw from cause to effect, is not derived merely from a survey of these -particular objects, and from such a penetration into their essences as -may discover the dependence of the one upon the other. There is no -object which implies the existence of any other, if we consider these -objects in themselves, and never look beyond the ideas which we form -of them. Such an inference would amount to knowledge, and would imply -the absolute contradiction and impossibility of conceiving any thing -different. But as all distinct ideas are separable, 'tis evident there -can be no impossibility of that kind. When we pass from a present -impression to the idea of any object, we might possibly have separated -the idea from the impression, and have substituted any other idea in -its room. - -'Tis therefore by _experience_ only that we can infer the existence -of one object from that of another. The nature of experience is this. -We remember to have had frequent instances of the existence of one -species of objects; and also remember, that the individuals of another -species of objects have always attended them, and have existed in a -regular order of contiguity and succession with regard to them. Thus -we remember to have seen that species of object we call _fame_, and to -have felt that species of sensation we call _heat_. We likewise call -to mind their constant conjunction in all past instances. Without any -farther ceremony, we call the one _cause_, and the other _effect_, and -infer the existence of the one from that of the other. In all those -instances from which we learn the conjunction of particular causes and -effects, both the causes and effects have been perceived by the senses, -and are remembered: but in all cases, wherein we reason concerning -them, there is only one perceived or remembered, and the other is -supplied in conformity to our past experience. - -Thus, in advancing, we have insensibly discovered a new relation -betwixt cause and effect when we least expected it, and were entirely -employed upon another subject. This relation is their _constant -conjunction_. Contiguity and succession are not sufficient to make us -pronounce any two objects to be cause and effect, unless we perceive -that these two relations are preserved in several instances. We may -now see the advantage of quitting the direct survey of this relation, -in order to discover the nature of that _necessary connexion_ which -makes so essential a part of it. There are hopes, that by this means -we may at last arrive at our proposed end; though, to tell the truth, -this new-discovered relation of a constant conjunction seems to -advance us but very little in our way. For it implies no more than -this, that like objects have always been placed in like relations of -contiguity and succession; and it seems evident, at least at first -sight, that by this means we can never discover any new idea, and can -only multiply, but not enlarge, the objects of our mind. It may be -thought, that what we learn not from one object, we can never learn -from a hundred, which are all of the same kind, and are perfectly -resembling in every circumstance. As our senses show us in one instance -two bodies, or motions, or qualities in certain relations of succession -and contiguity, so our memory presents us only with a multitude of -instances wherein we always find like bodies, motions, or qualities, -in like relations. From the mere repetition of any past impression, -even to infinity, there never will arise any new original idea, such -as that of a necessary connexion; and the number of impressions has in -this case no more effect than if we confined ourselves to one only. But -though this reasoning seems just and obvious, yet, as it would be folly -to despair too soon, we shall continue the thread of our discourse; -and having found, that after the discovery of the constant conjunction -of any objects, we always draw an inference from one object to -another, we shall now examine the nature of that inference, and of the -transition from the impression to the idea. Perhaps 'twill appear in -the end, that the necessary connexion depends on the inference, instead -of the inference's depending on the necessary connexion. - -Since it appears, that the transition from an impression present to -the memory or senses to the idea of an object, which we call cause or -effect, is founded on past _experience_, and on our remembrance of -their _constant conjunction_, the next question is, whether experience -produces the idea by means of the understanding or imagination; whether -we are determined by reason to make the transition, or by a certain -association and relation of perceptions. If reason determined us, it -would proceed upon that principle, _that instances, of which we have -had no experience, must resemble those of which we have had experience, -and that the course of nature continues always uniformly the same._ -In order, therefore, to clear up this matter, let us consider all the -arguments upon which such a proposition may be supposed to be founded; -and as these must be derived either from _knowledge_ or _probability_, -let us cast our eye on each of these degrees of evidence, and see -whether they afford any just conclusion of this nature. - -Our foregoing method of reasoning will easily convince us, that there -can be no _demonstrative_ arguments to prove, _that those instances -of which we have had no experience resemble those of which we have -had experience_. We can at least conceive a change in the course of -nature; which sufficiently proves that such a change is not absolutely -impossible. To form a clear idea of any thing is an undeniable argument -for its possibility, and is alone a refutation of any pretended -demonstration against it. - -Probability, as it discovers not the relations of ideas, considered -as such, but only those of objects, must in some respects be founded -on the impressions of our memory and senses, and in some respects on -our ideas. Were there no mixture of any impression in our probable -reasonings, the conclusion would be entirely chimerical: and were there -no mixture of ideas, the action of the mind, in observing the relation, -would, properly speaking, be sensation, not reasoning. 'Tis therefore -necessary, that in all probable reasonings there be something present -to the mind, either seen or remembered; and that from this we infer -something connected with it, which is not seen nor remembered. - -The only connexion or relation of objects, which can lead us beyond -the immediate impressions of our memory and senses, is that of cause -and effect; and that because 'tis the only one, on which we can found -a just inference from one object to another. The idea of cause and -effect is derived from _experience_, which informs us, that such -particular objects, in all past instances, have been constantly -conjoined with each other: and as an object similar to one of these -is supposed to be immediately present in its impression, we thence -presume on the existence of one similar to its usual attendant. -According to this account of things, which is, I think, in every -point unquestionable, probability is founded on the presumption of a -resemblance betwixt those objects of which we have had experience, and -those of which we have had none; and therefore 'tis impossible this -presumption can arise from probability. The same principle cannot be -both the cause and effect of another; and this is, perhaps, the only -proposition concerning that relation, which is either intuitively or -demonstratively certain. - -Should any one think to elude this argument; and without determining -whether our reasoning on this subject be derived from demonstration or -probability, pretend that all conclusions from causes and effects are -built on solid reasoning: I can only desire that this reasoning may be -produced, in order to be exposed to our examination. It may perhaps -be said, that after experience of the constant conjunction of certain -objects, we reason in the following manner. Such an object is always -found to produce another. 'Tis impossible it could have this effect, if -it was not endowed with a power of production. The power necessarily -implies the effect; and therefore there is a just foundation for -drawing a conclusion from the existence of one object to that of its -usual attendant. The past production implies a power: the power implies -a new production: and the new production is what we infer from the -power and the past production. - -'Twere easy for me to show the weakness of this reasoning, were I -willing to make use of those observations I have already made, that -the idea of _production_ is the same with that of _causation_, and -that no existence certainly and demonstratively implies a power in -any other object; or were it proper to anticipate what I shall have -occasion to remark afterwards concerning the idea we form of _power_ -and _efficacy_. But as such a method of proceeding may seem either to -weaken my system, by resting one part of it on another, or to breed a -confusion in my reasoning, I shall endeavour to maintain my present -assertion without any such assistance. - -It shall therefore be allowed for at moment, that the production of one -object by another in any one instance implies a power; and that this -power is connected with its effect. But it having been already proved, -that the power lies not in the sensible qualities of the cause; and -there being nothing but the sensible qualities present to us; I ask, -why in other instances you presume that the same power still exists, -merely upon the appearance of these qualities? Your appeal to past -experience decides nothing in the present case; and at the utmost -can only prove, that that very object, which produced any other, was -at that very instant endowed with such a power; but can never prove, -that the same power must continue in the same object or collection of -sensible qualities; much less, that a like power is always conjoined -with like sensible qualities. Should it be said, that we have -experience, that the same power continues united with the same object, -and that like objects are endowed with like powers, I would renew my -question, _why from this experience we form any conclusion beyond those -past instances, of which we have had experience_? If you answer this -question in the same manner as the preceding, your answer gives still -occasion to a new question of the same kind, even _in infinitum_; which -clearly proves, that the foregoing reasoning had no just foundation. - -Thus, not only our reason fails us in the discovery of the _ultimate -connexion_ of causes and effects, but even after experience has -informed us of their _constant conjunction_, 'tis impossible for -us to satisfy ourselves by our reason, why we should extend that -experience beyond those particular instances which have fallen under -our observation. We suppose, but are never able to prove, that there -must be a resemblance betwixt those objects, of which we have had -experience, and those which lie beyond the reach of our discovery. - -We have already taken notice of certain relations, which make us pass -from one object to another, even though there be no reason to determine -us to that transition; and this we may establish for a general rule, -that wherever the mind constantly and uniformly makes a transition -without any reason, it is influenced by these relations. Now, this is -exactly the present case. Reason can never show us the connexion of one -object with another, though aided by experience, and the observation -of their constant conjunction in all past instances. When the mind -therefore passes from the idea or impression of one object to the idea -or belief of another, it is not determined by reason, but by certain -principles, which associate together the ideas of these objects, and -unite them in the imagination. Had ideas no more union in the fancy, -than objects seem to have to the understanding, we could never draw any -inference from causes to effects, nor repose belief in any matter of -fact. The inference therefore depends solely on the union of ideas. - -The principles of union among ideas, I have reduced to three general -ones, and have asserted, that the idea or impression of any object -naturally introduces the idea of any other object, that is resembling, -contiguous to, or connected with it. These principles I allow to be -neither the _infallible_ nor the _sole_ causes of an union among ideas. -They are not the infallible causes. For one may fix his attention -during some time on any one object without looking farther. They are -not the sole causes. For the thought has evidently a very irregular -motion in running along its objects, and may leap from the heavens -to the earth, from one end of the creation to the other, without any -certain method or order. But though I allow this weakness in these -three relations, and this irregularity in the imagination; yet I -assert, that the only _general_ principles which associate ideas, are -resemblance, contiguity, and causation. - -There is indeed a principle of union among ideas, which at first sight -may be esteemed different from any of these, but will be found at the -bottom to depend on the same origin. When every individual of any -species of objects is found by experience to be constantly united with -an individual of another species, the appearance of any new individual -of either species naturally conveys the thought to its usual attendant. -Thus, because such a particular idea is commonly annexed to such a -particular word, nothing is required but the hearing of that word to -produce the correspondent idea; and 'twill scarce be possible for the -mind, by its utmost efforts, to prevent that transition. In this case -it is not absolutely necessary, that upon hearing such a particular -sound, we should reflect on any past experience, and consider what idea -has been usually connected with the sound. The imagination of itself -supplies the place of this reflection, and is so accustomed to pass -from the word to the idea, that it interposes not a moment's delay -betwixt the hearing of the one, and the conception of the other. - -But though I acknowledge this to be a true principle of association -among ideas, I assert it to be the very same with that betwixt the -ideas of cause and effect, and to be an essential part in all our -reasonings from that relation. We have no other notion of cause and -effect, but that of certain objects, which have been _always conjoined_ -together, and which in all past instances have been found inseparable. -We cannot penetrate into the reason of the conjunction. We only observe -the thing itself, and always find that, from the constant conjunction, -the objects acquire an union in the imagination. When the impression -of one becomes present to us, we immediately form an idea of its usual -attendant; and consequently we may establish this as one part of the -definition of an opinion or belief, that 'tis _an idea related to or -associated with a present impression_. - -Thus, though causation be a _philosophical_ relation, as implying -contiguity, succession, and constant conjunction, yet 'tis only so far -as it is a _natural_ relation, and produces an union among our ideas, -that we are able to reason upon it, or draw any inference from it. - - - - -SECTION VII. - -OF THE NATURE OF THE IDEA OR BELIEF. - - -The idea of an object is an essential part of the belief of it, but not -the whole. We conceive many things which we do not believe. In order -then to discover more fully the nature of belief, or the qualities of -those ideas we assent to, let us weigh the following considerations. - -'Tis evident, that all reasonings from causes or effects terminate -in conclusions concerning matter of fact; that is, concerning the -existence of objects or of their qualities. 'Tis also evident, that the -idea of existence is nothing different from the idea of any object, and -that when after the simple conception of any thing we would conceive -it as existent, we in reality make no addition to or alteration on -our first idea. Thus, when we affirm that God is existent, we simply -form the idea of such a Being as he is represented to us: nor is -the existence, which we attribute to him, conceived by a particular -idea, which we join to the idea of his other qualities, and can again -separate and distinguish from them. But I go farther; and, not content -with asserting, that the conception of the existence of any object -is no addition to the simple conception of it, I likewise maintain, -that the belief of the existence joins no new ideas to those, which -compose the idea of the object. When I think of God, when I think of -him as existent, and when I believe him to be existent, my idea of him -neither increases nor diminishes. But as 'tis certain there is a great -difference betwixt the simple conception of the existence of an object, -and the belief of it, and as this difference lies not in the parts or -composition of the idea which we conceive; it follows, that it must lie -in the _manner_ in which we conceive it. - -Suppose a person present with me, who advances propositions, to which -I do not assent, _that Cĉsar died in his bed, that silver is more -fusible than lead, or mercury heavier than gold_; 'tis evident that, -notwithstanding my incredulity, I clearly understand his meaning, and -form all the same ideas which he forms. My imagination is endowed with -the same powers as his; nor is it possible for him to conceive any -idea, which I cannot conceive; or conjoin any, which I cannot conjoin. -I therefore ask, wherein consists the difference betwixt believing -and disbelieving any proposition? The answer is easy with regard to -propositions, that are proved by intuition or demonstration. In that -case, the person who assents not only conceives the ideas according -to the proposition, but is necessarily determined to conceive them in -that particular manner, either immediately, or by the interposition of -other ideas. Whatever is absurd is unintelligible; nor is it possible -for the imagination to conceive any thing contrary to a demonstration. -But as, in reasonings from causation, and concerning matters of fact, -this absolute necessity cannot take place, and the imagination is free -to conceive both sides of the question, I still ask, _wherein consists -the difference betwixt incredulity and belief_? since in both cases the -conception of the idea is equally possible and requisite. - -'Twill not be a satisfactory answer to say, that & person, who does not -assent to a proposition you advance; after having conceived the object -in the same manner with you, immediately conceives it in a different -manner, and has different ideas of it. This answer is unsatisfactory; -not because it contains any falsehood, but because it discovers not -all the truth. 'Tis confessed that, in all cases wherein we dissent -from any person, we conceive both sides of the question; but as we can -believe only one, it evidently follows, that the belief must make some -difference betwixt that conception to which we assent, and that from -which we dissent. We may mingle, and unite, and separate, and confound, -and vary our ideas in a hundred different ways; but 'till there appears -some principle, which fixes one of these different situations, we have -in reality no opinion: and this principle, as it plainly makes no -addition to our precedent ideas, can only change the _manner_ of our -conceiving them. - -All the perceptions of the mind are of two kinds, viz. impressions and -ideas, which differ from each other only in their different degrees of -force and vivacity. - -Our ideas are copied from our impressions, and represent them in all -their parts. When you would any way vary the idea of a particular -object, you can only increase or diminish its force and vivacity. If -you make any other change on it, it represents a different object or -impression. The case is the same as in colours. A particular shade of -any colour may acquire a new degree of liveliness or brightness without -any other variation. But when you produce any other variation, 'tis no -longer the same shade or colour; so that as belief does nothing but -vary the manner in which we conceive any object, it can only bestow on -our ideas an additional force and vivacity. An opinion therefore or -belief may be most accurately defined, _a lively idea related to or -associated with a present impression_.[6] - -Here are the heads of those arguments, which lead us to this -conclusion. When we infer the existence of an object from that of -others, some object must always be present either to the memory or -senses, in order to be the foundation of our reasoning; since the mind -cannot run up with its inferences _in infinitum_. Reason can never -satisfy us that the existence of any one object does ever imply that of -another; so that when we pass from the impression of one to the idea or -belief of another, we are not determined by reason, but by custom, or -a principle of association. But belief is somewhat more than a simple -idea. 'Tis a particular manner of forming an idea: and as the same idea -can only be varied by a variation of its degrees of force and vivacity; -it follows upon the whole, that belief is a lively idea produced -by a relation to a present impression, according to the foregoing -definition. - -This operation of the mind, which forms the belief of any matter of -fact, seems hitherto to have been one of the greatest mysteries of -philosophy; though no one has so much as suspected, that there was -any difficulty in explaining it. For my part, I must own, that I find -a considerable difficulty in the case; and that even when I think I -understand the subject perfectly, I am at a loss for terms to express -my meaning. I conclude, by an induction which seems to me very evident, -that an opinion or belief is nothing but an idea, that is different -from a fiction, not in the nature, or the order of its parts, but in -the _manner_ of its being conceived. But when I would explain this -_manner_, I scarce find any word that fully answers the case, but am -obliged to have recourse to every one's feeling, in order to give him -a perfect notion of this operation of the mind. An idea assented to -_feels_ different from a fictitious idea, that the fancy alone presents -to us: and this different feeling I endeavour to explain by calling -it a superior _force_, or _vivacity_, or _solidity_, or _steadiness_. -This variety of terms, which may seem so unphilosophical, is intended -only to express that act of the mind, which renders realities 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, 'tis 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 -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 that faculty can ever of -itself reach belief; 'tis evident, that belief consists not in the -nature and order of our ideas, but in the manner of their conception, -and in their feeling to the mind. I confess, that 'tis impossible to -explain perfectly this feeling or manner of conception. We may make use -of words that express something near it. But its true and proper name -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 -it is something _felt_ by the mind, which distinguishes the ideas of -the judgment from the fictions of the imagination. It gives them more -force and influence; makes them appear of greater importance; infixes -them in the mind; and renders them the governing principles of all our -actions. - -This definition will also be found to be entirely conformable to every -one's feeling and experience. Nothing is more evident, than that those -ideas, to which we assent, are more strong, firm, and vivid, than the -loose reveries of a castle-builder. If one person sits down to read a -book as a romance, and another as a true history, they plainly receive -the same ideas, and in the same order; nor does the incredulity of the -one, and the belief of the other, hinder them from putting the very -same sense upon their author. His words produce the same ideas in both; -though his testimony has not the same influence on them. The latter has -a more lively conception of all the incidents. He enters deeper into -the concerns of the persons: represents to himself their actions, and -characters, and friendships, and enmities: he even goes so far as to -form a notion of their features, and air, and person. While the former, -who gives no credit to the testimony of the author, has a more faint -and languid conception of all these particulars, and, except on account -of the style and ingenuity of the composition, can receive little -entertainment from it. - - -[6] We may here take occasion to observe a very remarkable error, -which, being frequently inculcated in the schools, has become a kind of -established maxim, and is universally received by all logicians. This -error consists in the vulgar division of the acts of the understanding -into _conception, judgment_ and _reasoning_, and in the definitions -we give of them. Conception is defined to be the simple survey of one -or more ideas: judgment to be the separating or uniting of different -ideas: reasoning to be the separating or uniting of different ideas -by the interposition of others, which show the relation they bear to -each other. But these distinctions and definitions are faulty in very -considerable articles. For, _first_,'tis far from being true, that, -in every judgment which we form, we unite two different ideas; since -in that proposition, _God is_, or indeed any other, which regards -existence, the idea of existence is no distinct idea, which we unite -with that of the object, and which is capable of forming a compound -idea by the union. _Secondly_, as we can thus form a proposition, which -contains only one idea, so we may exert our reason without employing -more than two ideas, and without having recourse to a third to serve as -a medium betwixt them. We infer a cause immediately from its effect; -and this inference is not only a true species of reasoning, but the -strongest of all others, and more convincing than when we interpose -another idea to connect the two extremes. What we may in general affirm -concerning these three acts of the understanding is, that taking them -in a proper light, they all resolve themselves into the first, and -are nothing but particular ways of conceiving our objects. Whether -we consider a single object, or several; whether we dwell on these -objects, or run from them to others; and in whatever form or order we -survey them, the act of the mind exceeds not a simple conception; and -the only remarkable difference, which occurs on this occasion, is, when -we join belief to the conception, and are persuaded of the truth of -what we conceive. This act of the mind has never yet been explained by -any philosopher; and therefore I am at liberty to propose my hypothesis -concerning it; which is, that 'tis only a strong and steady conception -of any idea, and such as approaches in some measure to an immediate -impression. - - - - -SECTION VIII. - -OF THE CAUSES OF BELIEF. - - -Having thus explained the nature of belief, and shown that it consists -in a lively idea related to a present impression; let us now proceed -to examine from what principles it is derived, and what bestows the -vivacity on the idea. - -I would willingly establish it as a general maxim in the science of -human nature, _that when any impression becomes present to us, it -not only transports the mind to such ideas as are related to it, but -likewise communicates to them a share of its force and vivacity_. -All the operations of the mind depend, in a great measure, on its -disposition when it performs them; and according as the spirits are -more or less elevated, and the attention more or less fixed, the action -will always have more or less vigour and vivacity. When, therefore, -any object is presented which elevates and enlivens the thought, every -action, to which the mind applies itself, will be more strong and -vivid, as long as that disposition continues. Now, 'tis evident the -continuance of the disposition depends entirely on the objects about -which the mind is employed; and that any new object naturally gives a -new direction to the spirits, and changes the disposition; as on the -contrary, when the mind fixes constantly on the same object, or passes -easily and insensibly along related objects, the disposition has a -much longer duration. Hence it happens, that when the mind is once -enlivened by a present impression, it proceeds to form a more lively -idea of the related objects, by a natural transition of the disposition -from the one to the other. The change of the objects is so easy, that -the mind is scarce sensible of it, but applies itself to the conception -of the related idea with all the force and vivacity it acquired from -the present impression. - -If, in considering the nature of relation, and that facility of -transition which is essential to it, we can satisfy ourselves -concerning the reality of this phenomenon, 'tis well: but I must -confess I place my chief confidence in experience to prove so material -a principle. 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, or 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 'tis set before us; but when 'tis 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 experiments of the same nature. The devotees of that strange -superstition usually plead in excuse of the mummeries with which they -are up-braided, 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 away, 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 'tis 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 idea 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_.'Tis 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 that imitates an immediate impression. The thinking on any -object readily transports the mind to what is contiguous; but 'tis -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 and 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 betwixt them; that -transition alone is not able to give a superior vivacity to any of the -ideas, for want of some immediate impression.[7] - -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 relicks of saints and holy men, for the same reason that -they seek after types and 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, 'tis evident one of the best -relicks a devotee could procure would be the handy-work of a saint; -and if his clothes and furniture are ever to be considered in this -light, 'tis 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, from which we learn the reality of his -existence. This phenomenon clearly proves, that a present impression -with a relation of causation may enliven any idea, and consequently -produce belief or assent, according to the precedent definition of it. - -But why need we seek for other arguments to prove, that a present -impression with a relation or transition of the fancy may enliven any -idea, when this very instance of our reasonings from cause and effect -will alone suffice to that purpose? 'Tis certain we must have an idea -of every matter of fact which we believe. 'Tis certain that this idea -arises only from a relation to a present impression. 'Tis certain that -the belief superadds nothing to the idea, but only changes our manner -of conceiving it, and renders it more strong and lively. The present -conclusion concerning the influence of relation is the immediate -consequence of all these steps; and every step appears to me sure and -infallible. There enters nothing into this operation of the mind but -a present impression, a lively idea, and a relation or association in -the fancy betwixt the impression and idea; so that there can be no -suspicion of mistake. - -In order to put this whole affair in a fuller light, let us consider -it as a question in natural philosophy, which we must determine by -experience and observation. I suppose there is an object presented, -from which I draw a certain conclusion, and form to myself ideas, which -I am said to believe or assent to. Here 'tis evident, that however that -object, which is present to my senses, and that other, whose existence -I infer by reasoning, may be thought to influence each other by their -particular powers or qualities; yet as the phenomenon of belief, which -we at present examine, is merely internal, these powers and qualities -being entirely unknown, can have no hand in producing it. 'Tis the -present impression which is to be considered as the true and real cause -of the idea, and of the belief which attends it. We must therefore -endeavour to discover, by experiments, the particular qualities by -which 'tis enabled to produce so extraordinary an effect. - -First then I observe, that the present impression has not this effect -by its own proper power and efficacy, and, when considered alone -as a single perception, limited to the present moment. I find that -an impression, from which, on its first appearance, I can draw no -conclusion, may afterwards become the foundation of belief, when I have -had experience of its usual consequences. We must in every case have -observed the same impression in past instances, and have found it to -be constantly conjoined with some other impression. This is confirmed -by such a multitude of experiments, that it admits not of the smallest -doubt. - -From a second observation I conclude, that the belief which attends the -present impression, and is produced by a number of past impressions and -conjunctions; that this belief, I say, arises immediately, without any -new operation of the reason or imagination. Of this I can be certain, -because I never am conscious of any such operation, and find nothing -in the subject on which it can be founded. Now, as we call every -thing _custom_ which proceeds from a past repetition, without any new -reasoning or conclusion, we may establish it as a certain truth, that -all the belief, which follows upon any present impression, is derived -solely from that origin. When we are accustomed to see two impressions -conjoined together, the appearance or idea of the one immediately -carries us to the idea of the other. - -Being fully satisfied on this head, I make a third set of experiments, -in order to know whether any thing be requisite, beside the customary -transition, towards the production of this phenomenon of belief. I -therefore change the first impression into an idea; and observe, that -though the customary transition to the correlative idea still remains, -yet there is in reality no belief nor persuasion. A present impression, -then, is absolutely requisite to this whole operation; and when after -this I compare an impression with an idea, and find that their only -difference consists in their different degrees of force and vivacity, -I conclude upon the whole, that belief is a more vivid and intense -conception of an idea, proceeding from its relation to a present -impression. - -Thus, all probable reasoning is nothing but a species of sensation. -'Tis not solely in poetry and music we must follow our taste and -sentiment, but likewise in philosophy. When I am convinced of any -principle, 'tis only an idea which strikes more strongly upon me. When -I give the preference to one set of arguments above another, I do -nothing but decide from my feeling concerning the superiority of their -influence. Objects have no discoverable connexion together; nor is it -from any other principle but custom operating upon the imagination, -that we can draw any inference from the appearance of one to the -existence of another. - -'Twill here be worth our observation, that the past experience, on -which all our judgments concerning cause and effect depend, may operate -on our mind in such an insensible manner as never to be taken notice -of, and may even in some measure be unknown to us. A person, who stops -short in his journey upon meeting a river in his way, foresees the -consequences of his proceeding forward; and his knowledge of these -consequences is conveyed to him by past experience, which informs him -of such certain conjunctions of causes and effects. But can we think, -that on this occasion he reflects on any past experience, and calls -to remembrance instances that he has seen or heard of, in order to -discover the effects of water on animal bodies? No, surely; this is not -the method, in which he proceeds in his reasoning. The idea of sinking -is so closely connected with that of water, and the idea of suffocating -with that of sinking, that the mind makes the transition without the -assistance of the memory. The custom operates before we have time for -reflection. The objects seem so inseparable, that we interpose not -a moment's delay in passing from the one or the other. But as this -transition proceeds from experience, and not from any primary connexion -betwixt the ideas, we must necessarily acknowledge, that experience may -produce a belief and a judgment of causes and effects by a separate -operation, and without being once thought of. This removes all pretext, -if there yet remains any, for asserting that the mind is convinced -by reasoning of that principle, _that instances of which we have no -experience, must necessarily resemble those of which we have_. For we -here find, that the understanding or imagination can draw inferences -from past experience, without reflecting on it; much more without -forming any principle concerning it, or reasoning upon that principle. - -In general we may observe, that in all the most established and uniform -conjunctions of causes and effects, such as those of gravity, impulse, -solidity, &c. the mind never carries its view expressly to consider -any past experience: though in other associations of objects, which -are more rare and unusual, it may assist the custom and transition -of ideas by this reflection. Nay we find in some cases, that the -reflection produces the belief without the custom; or, more properly -speaking, that the reflection produces the custom in an _oblique_ and -_artificial_ manner. I explain myself. 'Tis certain, that not only in -philosophy, but even in common life, we may attain the knowledge of a -particular cause merely by one experiment, provided it be made with -judgment, and after a careful removal of all foreign and superfluous -circumstances. Now, as after one experiment of this kind, the mind, -upon the appearance either of the cause or the effect, can draw an -inference concerning the existence of its correlative, and as a habit -can never be acquired merely by one instance, it may be thought that -belief cannot in this case be esteemed the effect of custom. But this -difficulty will vanish, if we consider, that, though we are here -supposed to have had only one experiment of a particular effect, -yet we have many millions to convince us of this principle, _that -like objects, placed in like circumstances, will always produce like -effects_; and as this principle has established itself by a sufficient -custom, it bestows an evidence and firmness on any opinion to which it -can be applied. The connexion of the ideas is not habitual after one -experiment; but this connexion is comprehended under another principle -that is habitual; which brings us back to our hypothesis. In all cases -we transfer our experience to instances of which we have no experience, -either _expressly_ or _tacitly_, either _directly_ or _indirectly_. - -I must not conclude this subject without observing, that 'tis very -difficult to talk of the operations of the mind with perfect propriety -and exactness; because common language has seldom made any very nice -distinctions among them, but has generally called by the same term -all such as nearly resemble each other. And as this is a source -almost inevitable of obscurity and confusion in the author, so it may -frequently give rise to doubts and objections in the reader, which -otherwise he would never have dreamed of. Thus, my general position, -that an opinion or belief is _nothing but a strong and lively idea -derived from a present impression related to it_, may be liable to the -following objection, by reason of a little ambiguity in those words -_strong_ and _lively_. It may be said, that not only an impression -may give rise to reasoning, but that an idea may also have the same -influence; especially upon my principle, _that all our ideas are -derived from correspondent impressions_. For, suppose I form at present -an idea, of which I have forgot the correspondent impression, I am able -to conclude, from this idea, that such an impression did once exist; -and as this conclusion is attended with belief, it may be asked, from -whence are the qualities of force and vivacity derived which constitute -this belief? And to this I answer very readily, _from the present -idea_. For as this idea is not here considered as the representation -of any absent object, but as a real perception in the mind, of which -we are intimately conscious, it must be able to bestow, on whatever -is related to it, the same quality, call it _firmness, or solidity, -or force, or vivacity_, with which the mind reflects upon it, and is -assured of its present existence. The idea here supplies the place of -an impression, and is entirely the same, so far as regards our present -purpose. - -Upon the same principles we need not be surprised to hear of the -remembrance of an idea; that is, of the idea of an idea, and of -its force and vivacity superior to the loose conceptions of the -imagination. In thinking of our past thoughts we not only delineate out -the objects of which we were thinking, but also conceive the action of -the mind in the meditation, that certain _je-ne-scai-quoi_, of which -'tis impossible to give any definition or description, but which every -one sufficiently understands. When the memory offers an idea of this, -and represents it as past, 'tis easily conceived how that idea may have -more vigour and firmness than when we think of a past thought of which -we have no remembrance. - -After this, any one will understand how we may form the idea of an -impression and of an idea, and how we may believe the existence of an -impression and of an idea. - - -[7] Naturane nobis, inquit, datum dicam, an errore quodam, ut, cum -ea loca videamus, in quibus memoria dignos viros acceperimus multum -esse versatos, magis moveamur, quam siquando eorum ipsorum aut facta -audiamus, aut scriptum aliquod legamus? velut ego nunc moveor. Venit -enim mihi Platonis in mentem: quem accipimus prinum hîc disputare -solitum: cujus etiam illi hortuli propinqui non memoriam solûm -mihi afferunt, sed ipsum videntur in conspectu meo hic ponere. Hîc -Speusippus, hic Xenocrates, hic ejus auditor Polemo; cujus ipsa illa -sessio fuit, quam videamus. Equidem etiam curiam nostram, hostiliam -dico, non hanc novam, quĉ mihi minor esse videtur postquam est major, -solebam intuens Scipionem, Catonem, Lĉlium, nostrum vero in primis avum -cogitare. Tanta vis admonitionis inest in locis; ut non sine causa ex -his memoriĉ ducta sit diciplina.--_Cicero de Finibus, lib. 5._ - - - - -SECTION IX. - -OF THE EFFECTS OF OTHER RELATIONS AND OTHER HABITS. - - -However convincing the foregoing arguments may appear, we must not -rest contented with them, but must turn the subject on every side, in -order to find some new points of view, from which we may illustrate -and confirm such extraordinary and such fundamental principles. A -scrupulous hesitation to receive any new hypothesis is so laudable a -disposition in philosophers, and so necessary to the examination of -truth, that it deserves to be complied with, and requires that every -argument be produced which may tend to their satisfaction, and every -objection removed which may stop them in their reasoning. - -I have often observed, that, beside cause and effect, the two relations -of resemblance and contiguity are to be considered as associating -principles of thought, and as capable of conveying the imagination from -one idea to another. I have also observed, that when of two objects, -connected together by any of these relations, one is immediately -present to the memory or senses, not only the mind is conveyed to -its co-relative by means of the associating principle, but likewise -conceives it with an additional force and vigour, by the united -operation of that principle, and of the present impression. All this -I have observed, in order to confirm, by analogy, my explication of -our judgments concerning cause and effect. But this very argument may -perhaps be turned against me, and, instead of a confirmation of my -hypothesis, may become an objection to it. For it may be said, that -if all the parts of that hypothesis be true, viz. _that_ these three -species of relation are derived from the same principles; _that_ their -effects, in enforcing and enlivening our ideas, are the same; and -_that_ belief is nothing but a more forcible and vivid conception of an -idea; it should follow, that that action of the mind may not only be -derived from the relation of cause and effect, but also from those of -contiguity and resemblance. But as we find by experience that belief -arises only from causation, and that we can draw no inference from one -object to another, except they be connected by this relation, we may -conclude, that there is some error in that reasoning which leads us -into such difficulties. - -This is the objection: let us now consider its solution. 'Tis evident, -that whatever is present to the memory, striking upon the mind with -a vivacity which resembles an immediate impression, must become of -considerable moment in all the operations of the mind, and must easily -distinguish itself above the mere fictions of the imagination. Of -these impressions or ideas of the memory we form a kind of system, -comprehending whatever we remember to have been present, either to our -internal perception or senses; and every particular of that system, -joined to the present impressions, we are pleased to call a _reality_. -But the mind stops not here. For finding, that with this system of -perceptions there is another connected by custom, or, if you will, -by the relation of cause or effect, it proceeds to the consideration -of their ideas; and as it feels that 'tis in a manner necessarily -determined to view these particular ideas, and that the custom or -relation, by which it is determined, admits not of the least change, -it forms them into a new system, which it likewise dignifies with the -title of _realities_. The first of these systems is the object of the -memory and senses; the second of the judgment. - -'Tis this latter principle which peoples the world, and brings us -acquainted with such existences as, by their removal in time and -place, lie beyond the reach of the senses and memory. By means of it -I paint the universe in my imagination, and fix my attention on any -part of it I please. I form an idea of Rome, which I neither see nor -remember, but which is connected with such impressions as I remember -to have received from the conversation and books of travellers and -historians. This idea of Rome I place in a certain situation on the -idea of an object which I call the globe. I join to it the conception -of a particular government, and religion and manners. I look backward -and consider its first foundation, its several revolutions, successes -and misfortunes. All this, and every thing else which I believe, are -nothing but ideas, though, by their force and settled order, arising -from custom and the relation of cause and effect, they distinguish -themselves from the other ideas, which are merely the offspring of the -imagination. - -As to the influence of contiguity and resemblance, we may observe, that -if the contiguous and resembling object be comprehended in this system -of realities, there is no doubt but these two relations will assist -that of cause and effect, and infix the related idea with more force -in the imagination. This I shall enlarge upon presently. Meanwhile I -shall carry my observation a step farther, and assert, that even where -the related object is but feigned, the relation will serve to enliven -the idea, and increase its influence. A poet, no doubt, will be the -better able to form a strong description of the Elysian fields, that he -prompts his imagination by the view of a beautiful meadow or garden; -as at another time he may, by his fancy, place himself in the midst of -these fabulous regions, that by the feigned contiguity he may enliven -his imagination. - -But though I cannot altogether exclude the relations of resemblance and -contiguity from operating on the fancy in this manner, 'tis observable -that, when single, their influence is very feeble and uncertain. As -the relation of cause and effect is requisite to persuade us of any -real existence, so is this persuasion requisite to give force to these -other relations. For where upon the appearance of an impression we not -only feign another object, but likewise arbitrarily, and of our mere -good-will and pleasure give it a particular relation to the impression, -this can have but a small effect upon the mind; nor is there any -reason, why, upon the return of the same impression, we should be -determined to place the same object in the same relation to it. There -is no manner of necessity for the mind to feign any resembling and -contiguous objects; and if it feigns such, there is as little necessity -for it always to confine itself to the same, without any difference or -variation. And indeed such a fiction is founded on so little reason, -that nothing but pure _caprice_ can determine the mind to form it; and -that principle being fluctuating and uncertain, 'tis impossible it can -ever operate with any considerable degree of force and constancy. The -mind foresees and anticipates the change; and even from the very first -instant feels the looseness of its actions, and the weak hold it has -of its objects. And as this imperfection is very sensible in every -single instance, it still increases by experience and observation, when -we compare the several instances we may remember, and form a _general -rule_ against the reposing any assurance in those momentary glimpses of -light, which arise in the imagination from a feigned resemblance and -contiguity. - -The relation of cause and effect has all the opposite advantages. The -objects it presents are fixed and unalterable. The impressions of the -memory never change in any considerable degree; and each impression -draws along with it a precise idea, which takes its place in the -imagination, as something solid and real, certain and invariable. The -thought is always determined to pass from the impression to the idea, -and from that particular impression to that particular idea, without -any choice or hesitation. - -But not content with removing this objection, I shall endeavour to -extract from it a proof of the present doctrine. Contiguity and -resemblance have an effect much inferior to causation; but still -have some effect, and augment the conviction of any opinion, and the -vivacity of any conception. If this can be proved in several new -instances, beside what we have already observed, 'twill be allowed -no inconsiderable argument, that belief is nothing but a lively idea -related to a present impression. - -To begin with contiguity; it has been remarked among the Mahometans -as well as Christians, that those _pilgrims_, who have seen Mecca or -the Holy Land are ever after more faithful and zealous believers, than -those who have not had that advantage. A man, whose memory presents -him with a lively image of the Red Sea, and the Desert, and Jerusalem, -and Galilee, can never doubt of any miraculous events, which are -related either by Moses or the Evangelists. The lively idea of the -places passes by an easy transition to the facts, which are supposed -to have been related to them by contiguity, and increases the belief -by increasing the vivacity of the conception. The remembrance of -these fields and rivers has the same influence on the vulgar as a new -argument, and from the same causes. - -We may form a like observation concerning _resemblance_. We have -remarked, that the conclusion which we draw from a present object to -its absent cause or effect, is never founded on any qualities which -we observe in that object, considered in itself; or, in other words, -that 'tis impossible to determine otherwise than by experience, what -will result from any phenomenon, or what has preceded it. But though -this be so evident in itself, that it seemed not to require any proof, -yet some philosophers have imagined that there is an apparent cause -for the communication of motion, and that a reasonable man might -immediately infer the motion of one body from the impulse of another, -without having recourse to any past observation. That this opinion is -false will admit of an easy proof. For if such an inference may be -drawn merely from the ideas of body, of motion, and of impulse, it must -amount to a demonstration, and must imply the absolute impossibility of -any contrary supposition. Every effect, then, beside the communication -of motion, implies a formal contradiction; and 'tis impossible not only -that it can exist, but also that it can be conceived. But we may soon -satisfy ourselves of the contrary, by forming a clear and consistent -idea of one body's moving upon another, and of its rest immediately -upon the contact; or of its returning back in the same line in which -it came; or of its annihilation, or circular or elliptical motion: -and in short, of an infinite number of other changes, which they may -suppose it to undergo. These suppositions are all consistent and -natural; and the reason why we imagine the communication of motion -to be more consistent and natural, not only than those suppositions, -but also than any other natural effect, is founded on the relation of -_resemblance_ betwixt the cause and effect, which is here united to -experience, and binds the objects in the closest and most intimate -manner to each other, so as to make us imagine them to be absolutely -inseparable. Resemblance, then, has the same or a parallel influence -with experience; and as the only immediate effect of experience is to -associate our ideas together, it follows that all belief arises from -the association of ideas, according to my hypothesis. - -'Tis universally allowed by the writers on optics, that the eye at -all times sees an equal number of physical points, and that a man on -the top of a mountain has no larger an image presented to his senses, -than when he is cooped up in the narrowest court or chamber. 'Tis only -by experience that he infers the greatness of the object from some -peculiar qualities of the image; and this inference of the judgment -he confounds with sensation, as is common on other occasions. Now -'tis evident, that the inference of the judgment is here much more -lively than what is usual in our common reasonings, and that a man -has a more vivid conception of the vast extent of the ocean from the -image he receives by the eye, when he stands on the top of the high -promontory, than merely from hearing the roaring of the waters. He -feels a more sensible pleasure from its magnificence, which is a proof -of a more lively idea; and he confounds his judgment with sensation, -which is another proof of it. But as the inference is equally certain -and immediate in both cases, this superior vivacity of our conception -in one case can proceed from nothing but this, that in drawing an -inference from the sight, beside the customary conjunction, there is -also a resemblance betwixt the image and the object we infer, which -strengthens the relation, and conveys the vivacity of the impression to -the related idea with an easier and more natural movement. - -No weakness of human nature is more universal and conspicuous than what -we commonly call _credulity_, or a too easy faith in the testimony of -others; and this weakness is also very naturally accounted for from -the influence of resemblance. When we receive any matter of fact upon -human testimony, our faith arises from the very same origin as our -inferences from causes to effects, and from effects to causes; nor -is there any thing but our _experience_ of the governing principles -of human nature, which can give us any assurance of the veracity of -men. But though experience be the true standard of this, as well as -of all other judgments, we seldom regulate ourselves entirely by it, -but have a remarkable propensity to believe whatever is reported, -even concerning apparitions, enchantments, and prodigies, however -contrary to daily experience and observation. The words or discourses -of others have an intimate connexion with certain ideas in their mind; -and these ideas have also a connexion with the facts or objects which -they represent. This latter connexion is generally much over-rated, -and commands our assent beyond what experience will justify, which can -proceed from nothing beside the resemblance betwixt the ideas and the -facts. Other effects only point out their causes in an oblique manner; -but the testimony of men does it directly, and is to be considered as -an image as well as an effect. No wonder, therefore, we are so rash in -drawing our inferences from it, and are less guided by experience in -our judgments concerning it, than in those upon any other subject. - -As resemblance, when conjoined with causation, fortifies our -reasonings, so the want of it in any very great degree is able almost -entirely to destroy them. Of this there is a remarkable instance in -the universal carelessness and stupidity of men with regard to a -future state, where they show as obstinate an incredulity, as they -do a blind credulity on other occasions. There is not indeed a more -ample matter of wonder to the studious, and of regret to the pious -man, than to observe the negligence of the bulk of mankind concerning -their approaching condition; and 'tis with reason, that many eminent -theologians have not scrupled to affirm, that though the vulgar have -no formal principles of infidelity, yet they are really infidels in -their hearts, and have nothing like what we can call a belief of -the eternal duration of their souls. For let us consider on the one -hand what divines have displayed with such eloquence concerning the -importance of eternity; and at the same time reflect, that though in -matters of rhetoric we ought to lay our account with some exaggeration, -we must in this case allow, that the strongest figures are infinitely -inferior to the subject: and after this, let us view on the other hand -the prodigious security of men in this particular: I ask, if these -people really believe what is inculcated on them, and what they pretend -to affirm; and the answer is obviously in the negative. As belief is -an act of the mind arising from custom, 'tis not strange the want of -resemblance should overthrow what custom has established, and diminish -the force of the idea, as much as that latter principle increases it. -A future state is so far removed from our comprehension, and we have -so obscure an idea of the manner in which we shall exist after the -dissolution of the body, that all the reasons we can invent, however -strong in themselves, and however much assisted by education, are never -able with slow imaginations to surmount this difficulty, or bestow a -sufficient authority and force on the idea. I rather choose to ascribe -this incredulity to the faint idea we form of our future condition, -derived from its want of resemblance to the present life, than to that -derived from its remoteness. For I observe, that men are every where -concerned about what may happen after their death, provided it regard -this world; and that there are few to whom their name, their family, -their friends, and their country are in any period of time entirely -indifferent. - -And indeed the want of resemblance in this case so entirely destroys -belief, that except those few who, upon cool reflection on the -importance of the subject, have taken care by repeated meditation -to imprint in their minds the arguments for a future state, there -scarce are any who believe the immortality of the soul with a true -and established judgment; such as is derived from the testimony of -travellers and historians. This appears very conspicuously wherever -men have occasion to compare the pleasures and pains, the rewards and -punishments of this life with those of a future; even though the case -does not concern themselves, and there is no violent passion to disturb -their judgment. The Roman Catholics are certainly the most zealous of -any sect in the Christian world; and yet you'll find few among the -more sensible part of that communion who do not blame the Gunpowder -Treason, and the massacre of St Bartholomew, as cruel and barbarous, -though projected or executed against those very people, whom without -any scruple they condemn to eternal and infinite punishments. All we -can say in excuse for this inconsistency is, that they really do not -believe what they affirm concerning a future state; nor is there any -better proof of it than the very inconsistency. - -We may add to this a remark, that in matters of religion men take a -pleasure in being terrified, and that no preachers are so popular as -those who excite the most dismal and gloomy passions. In the common -affairs of life, where we feel and are with the solidity of the -subject, nothing can be more disagreeable than fear and terror; and -'tis only in dramatic performances and in religious discourses that -they ever give pleasure. In these latter cases the imagination reposes -itself indolently on the idea; and the passion being softened by the -want of belief in the subject, has no more than the agreeable effect of -enlivening the mind and fixing the attention. - -The present hypothesis will receive additional confirmation, if we -examine the effects of other kinds of custom, as well as of other -relations. To understand this we must consider that custom, to which -I attribute all belief and reasoning, may operate upon the mind in -invigorating an idea after two several ways. For supposing that, in -all past experience, we have found two objects to have been always -conjoined together, 'tis evident, that upon the appearance of one of -these objects in an impression, we must, from custom, make an easy -transition to the idea of that object, which usually attends it; and -by means of the present impression and easy transition must conceive -that idea in a stronger and more lively manner than we do any loose -floating image of the fancy. But let us next suppose, that a mere idea -alone, without any of this curious and almost artificial preparation, -should frequently make its appearance in the mind, this idea must, -by degrees, acquire a facility and force; and both by its firm hold -and easy introduction distinguish itself from any new and unusual -idea. This is the only particular in which these two kinds of custom -agree; and if it appear that their effects on the judgment are similar -and proportionable, we may certainly conclude, that the foregoing -explication of that faculty is satisfactory. But can we doubt of this -agreement in their influence on the judgment, when we consider the -nature and effects of _education_? - -All those opinions and notions of things, to which we have been -accustomed from our infancy, take such deep root, that 'tis impossible -for us, by all the powers of reason and experience, to eradicate them; -and this habit not only approaches in its influence, but even on -many occasions prevails over that which arises from the constant and -inseparable union of causes and effects. Here we must not be contented -with saying, that the vividness of the idea produces the belief: -we must maintain that they are individually the same. The frequent -repetition of any idea infixes it in the imagination; but could never -possibly of itself produce belief, if that act of the mind was, by the -original constitution of our natures, annexed only to a reasoning and -comparison of ideas. Custom may lead us into some false comparison -of ideas. This is the utmost effect we can conceive of it; but 'tis -certain it could never supply the place of that comparison, nor produce -any act of the mind which naturally belonged to that principle. - -A person that has lost a leg or an arm by amputation endeavours for -a long time afterwards to serve himself with them. After the death -of any one, 'tis a common remark of the whole family, but especially -the servants, that they can scarce believe him to be dead, but still -imagine him to be in his chamber or in any other place, where they -were accustomed to find him. I have often heard in conversation, after -talking of a person that is any way celebrated, that one, who has no -acquaintance with him, will say, _I have never seen such a one, but -almost fancy I have, so often have I heard talk of him_. All these are -parallel instances. - -If we consider this argument from _education_ in a proper light, 'twill -appear very convincing; and the more so, that 'tis founded on one -of the most common phenomena that is any where to be met with. I am -persuaded that, upon examination, we shall find more than one half of -those opinions that prevail among mankind to be owing to education, and -that the principles which are thus implicitly embraced, overbalance -those, which are owing either to abstract reasoning or experience. -As liars, by the frequent repetition of their lies, come at last to -remember them; so the judgment, or rather the imagination, by the like -means, may have ideas so strongly imprinted on it, and conceive them -in so full a light, that they may operate upon the mind in the same -manner with those which the senses, memory, or reason present to us. -But as education is an artificial and not a natural cause, and as its -maxims are frequently contrary to reason, and even to themselves in -different times and places, it is never upon that account recognised -by philosophers; though in reality it be built almost on the same -foundation of custom and repetition as our reasonings from causes and -effects.[8] - - -[8] In general we may observe, that as our assent to all probable -reasonings is founded on the vivacity of ideas, it resembles many -of those whimsies and prejudices which are rejected under the -opprobrious character of being the offspring of the imagination. By -this expression it appears, that the word imagination, is commonly used -in two different senses; and though nothing be more contrary to true -philosophy than this inaccuracy, yet, in the following reasonings, I -have often been obliged to fall into it. When I oppose the imagination -to the memory, I mean the faculty by which we form our fainter ideas. -When I oppose it to reason, I mean the same faculty, excluding only our -demonstrative and probable reasonings. When I oppose it to neither, -'tis indifferent whether it be taken in the larger or more limited -sense, or at least the context will sufficiently explain the meaning. - - - - -SECTION X. - -OF THE INFLUENCE OF BELIEF. - - -But though education be disclaimed by philosophy, as a fallacious -ground of assent to any opinion, it prevails nevertheless in the world, -and is the cause why all systems are apt to be rejected at first as -new and unusual. This, perhaps, will be the fate of what I have here -advanced concerning _belief_; and though the proofs I have produced -appear to me perfectly conclusive, I expect not to make many proselytes -to my opinion. Men will scarce ever be persuaded, that effects of -such consequence can flow from principles which are seemingly so -inconsiderable, and that the far greatest part of our reasonings, with -all our actions and passions, can be derived from nothing but custom -and habit. To obviate this objection, I shall here anticipate a little -what would more properly fall under our consideration afterwards, when -we come to treat of the Passions and the Sense of Beauty. - -There is implanted in the human mind a perception of pain and pleasure, -as the chief spring and moving principle of all its actions. But pain -and pleasure have two ways of making their appearance in the mind; -of which the one has effects very different from the other. They may -either appear an impression to the actual feeling, or only in idea, as -at present when I mention them. 'Tis evident the influence of these -upon our actions is far from being equal. Impressions always actuate -the soul, and that in the highest degree; but 'tis not every idea which -has the same effect. Nature has proceeded with caution in this case, -and seems to have carefully avoided the inconveniences of two extremes. -Did impressions alone influence the will, we should every moment of -our lives be subject to the greatest calamities; because, though we -foresaw their approach, we should not be provided by nature with any -principle of action, which might impel us to avoid them. On the other -hand, did every idea influence our actions, our condition would not be -much mended. For such is the unsteadiness and activity of thought, that -the images of every thing, especially of goods and evils, are always -wandering in the mind; and were it moved by every idle conception of -this kind, it would never enjoy a moment's peace and tranquillity. - -Nature has therefore chosen a medium, and has neither bestowed on -every idea of good and evil the power of actuating the will, nor -yet has entirely excluded them from this influence. Though an idle -fiction has no efficacy, yet we find by experience, that the ideas -of those objects, which we believe either are or will be existent, -produce in a lesser degree the same effect with those impressions, -which are immediately present to the senses and perception. The effect -then of belief is to raise up a simple idea to an equality with our -impressions, and bestow on it a like influence on the passions. This -effect it can only have by making an idea approach an impression in -force and vivacity. For as the different degrees of force make all -the original difference betwixt an impression and an idea, they must -of consequence be the source of all the differences in the effects -of these perceptions, and their removal, in whole or in part, the -cause of every new resemblance they acquire. Wherever we can make -an idea approach the impressions in force and vivacity, it will -likewise imitate them in its influence on the mind; and _vice versa_, -where it imitates them in that influence, as in the present case, -this must proceed from its approaching them in force and vivacity. -Belief, therefore, since it causes an idea to imitate the effects of -the impressions, must make it resemble them in these qualities, and -is nothing but _a more vivid and intense conception of any idea_. -This then may both serve as an additional argument for the present -system, and may give us a notion after what manner our reasonings from -causation are able to operate on the will and passions. - -As belief is almost absolutely requisite to the exciting our passions, -so the passions, in their turn, are very favourable to belief; and -not only such facts as convey agreeable emotions, but very often such -as give pain, do upon that account become more readily the objects of -faith and opinion. A coward, whose fears are easily awakened, readily -assents to every account of danger he meets with; as a person of a -sorrowful and melancholy disposition is very credulous of every thing -that nourishes his prevailing passion. When any affecting object is -presented, it gives the alarm, and excites immediately a degree of -its proper passion; especially in persons who are naturally inclined -to that passion. This emotion passes by an easy transition to the -imagination; and, diffusing itself over our idea of the affecting -object, makes us form that idea with greater force and vivacity, -and consequently assent to it, according to the precedent system. -Admiration and surprise have the same effect as the other passions; -and accordingly we may observe, that among the vulgar, quacks -and projectors meet with a more easy faith upon account of their -magnificent pretensions, than if they kept themselves within the -bounds of moderation. The first astonishment, which naturally attends -their miraculous relations, spreads itself over the whole soul, and so -vivifies and enlivens the idea, that it resembles the inferences we -draw from experience. This is a mystery, with which we may be already a -little acquainted, and which we shall have further occasion to be let -into in the progress of this Treatise. - -After this account of the influence of belief on the passions, we shall -find less difficulty in explaining its effects on the imagination, -however extraordinary they may appear. 'Tis certain we cannot take -pleasure in any discourse, where our judgment gives no assent to those -images which are presented to our fancy. The conversation of those, who -have acquired a habit of lying, though in affairs of no moment, never -gives any satisfaction; and that because those ideas they present to -us, not being attended with belief, make no impression upon the mind. -Poets themselves, though liars by profession, always endeavour to give -an air of truth to their fictions; and where that is totally neglected, -their performances, however ingenious, will never be able to afford -much pleasure. In short, we may observe, that even when ideas have no -manner of influence on the will and passions, truth and reality are -still requisite, in order to make them entertaining to the imagination. - -But if we compare together all the phenomena that occur on this head, -we shall find, that truth, however necessary it may seem in all works -of genius, has no other effect than to procure an easy reception for -the ideas, and to make the mind acquiesce in them with satisfaction, -or at least without reluctance. But as this is an effect, which may -easily be supposed to flow from that solidity and force, which, -according to my system, attend those ideas that are established by -reasonings from causation; it follows, that all the influence of -belief upon the fancy may be explained from that system. Accordingly -we may observe, that wherever that influence arises from any other -principles beside truth or reality, they supply its place, and give -an equal entertainment to the imagination. Poets have formed what -they call a poetical system of things, which, though it be believed -neither by themselves nor readers, is commonly esteemed a sufficient -foundation for any fiction. We have been so much accustomed to the -names of Mars, Jupiter, Venus, that in the same manner as education -infixes any opinion, the constant repetition of these ideas makes them -enter into the mind with facility, and prevail upon the fancy, without -influencing the judgment. In like manner tragedians always borrow their -fable, or at least the names of their principal actors, from some known -passage in history; and that not in order to deceive the spectators; -for they will frankly confess, that truth is not in any circumstance -inviolably observed, but in order to procure a more easy reception into -the imagination for those extraordinary events, which they represent. -But this is a precaution which is not required of comic poets, whose -personages and incidents, being of a more familiar kind, enter easily -into the conception, and are received without any such formality, even -though at first sight they be known to be fictitious, and the pure -offspring of the fancy. - -This mixture of truth and falsehood in the fables of tragic poets not -only serves our present purpose, by showing that the imagination can -be satisfied without any absolute belief or assurance; but may in -another view be regarded as a very strong confirmation of this system. -'Tis evident, that poets make use of this artifice of borrowing the -names of their persons, and the chief events of their poems, from -history, in order to procure a more easy reception for the whole, and -cause it to make a deeper impression on the fancy and affections. The -several incidents of the piece acquire a kind of relation by being -united into one poem or representation; and if any of these incidents -be an object of belief, it bestows a force and vivacity on the others, -which are related to it. The vividness of the first conception diffuses -itself along the relations, and is conveyed, as by so many pipes or -canals, to every idea that has any communication with the primary one. -This indeed can never amount to a perfect assurance; and that because -the union among the ideas is in a manner accidental: but still it -approaches so near in its influence, as may convince us that they are -derived from the same origin. Belief must please the imagination by -means of the force and vivacity which attends it; since every idea, -which has force and vivacity, is found to be agreeable to that faculty. - -To confirm this we may observe, that the assistance is mutual betwixt -the judgment and fancy, as well as betwixt the judgment and passion; -and that belief not only gives vigour to the imagination, but that a -vigorous and strong imagination is of all talents the most proper to -procure belief and authority. 'Tis difficult for us to withhold our -assent from what is painted out to us in all the colours of eloquence; -and the vivacity produced by the fancy is in many cases greater than -that which arises from custom and experience. We are hurried away by -the lively imagination of our author or companion; and even he himself -is often a victim to his own fire and genius. - -Nor will it be amiss to remark, that as a lively imagination very often -degenerates into madness or folly, and bears it a great resemblance in -its operations; so they influence the judgment after the same manner, -and produce belief from the very same principles. When the imagination, -from any extraordinary ferment of the blood and spirits, acquires such -a vivacity as disorders all its powers and faculties, there is no means -of distinguishing betwixt truth and falsehood; but every loose fiction -or idea, having the same influence as the impressions of the memory, or -the conclusions of the judgment, is received on the same footing, and -operates with equal force on the passions. A present impression and a -customary transition are now no longer necessary to enliven our ideas. -Every chimera of the brain is as vivid and intense as any of those -inferences, which we formerly dignified with the name of conclusions -concerning matters of fact, and sometimes as the present impressions of -the senses. - -We may observe the same effect of poetry in a lesser degree; and -this is common both to poetry and madness, that the vivacity they -bestow on the ideas is not derived from the particular situations or -connexions of the objects of these ideas, but from the present temper -and disposition of the person. But how great soever the pitch may be -to which this vivacity rise, 'tis evident, that in poetry it never -has the same _feeling_ with that which arises in the mind, when we -reason, though even upon the lowest species of probability. The mind -can easily distinguish betwixt the one and the other; and whatever -emotion the poetical enthusiasm may give to the spirits, 'tis still -the mere phantom of belief or persuasion. The case is the same with the -idea as with the passion it occasions. There is no passion of the human -mind but what may arise from poetry; though, at the same time, the -_feelings_ of the passions are very different when excited by poetical -fictions, from what they are when they arise from belief and reality. -A passion which is disagreeable in real life, may afford the highest -entertainment in a tragedy or epic poem. In the latter case it lies -not with that weight upon us: it feels less firm and solid, and has no -other than the agreeable effect of exciting the spirits, and rousing -the attention. The difference in the passions is a clear proof of a -like difference in those ideas from which the passions are derived. -Where the vivacity arises from a customary conjunction with a present -impression, though the imagination may not, in appearance, be so much -moved, yet there is always something more forcible and real in its -actions than in the fervours of poetry and eloquence. The force of our -mental actions in this case, no more than in any other, is not to be -measured by the apparent agitation of the mind. A poetical description -may have a more sensible effect on the fancy than an historical -narration. It may collect more of those circumstances that form a -complete image or picture. It may seem to set the object before us in -more lively colours. But still the ideas it presents are different to -the _feeling_ from those which arise from the memory and the judgment. -There is something weak and imperfect amidst all that seeming vehemence -of thought and sentiment which attends the fictions of poetry. - -We shall afterwards have occasion to remark both the resemblances and -differences betwixt a poetical enthusiasm and a serious conviction. In -the mean time, I cannot forbear observing, that the great difference in -their feeling proceeds, in some measure, from reflection and _general -rules_. We observe, that the vigour of conception which fictions -receive from poetry and eloquence, is a circumstance merely accidental, -of which every idea is equally susceptible; and that such fictions are -connected with nothing that is real. This observation makes us only -lend ourselves, so to speak, to the fiction, but causes the idea to -feel very different from the eternal established persuasions founded on -memory and custom. They are somewhat of the same kind; but the one is -much inferior to the other, both in its causes and effects. - -A like reflection on _general rules_ keeps us from augmenting our -belief upon every increase of the force and vivacity of our ideas. -Where an opinion admits of no doubt, or opposite probability, we -attribute to it a full conviction; though the want of resemblance, or -contiguity, may render its force inferior to that of other opinions. -'Tis thus the understanding corrects the appearances of the senses, and -makes us imagine, that an object at twenty foot distance seems even to -the eye as large as one of the same dimensions at ten. - -We may observe the same effect of poetry in a lesser degree; only with -this difference, that the least reflection dissipates the illusions -of poetry, and places the objects in their proper light. 'Tis however -certain, that in the warmth of a poetical enthusiasm, a poet has a -counterfeit belief, and even a kind of vision of his objects; and -if there be any shadow of argument to support this belief nothing -contributes more to his full conviction than a blaze of poetical -figures and images, which have their effect upon the poet himself, as -well as upon his readers. - - - - -SECTION XI. - -OF THE PROBABILITY OF CHANCES. - - -But in order to bestow on this system its full force and evidence, we -must carry our eye from it a moment to consider its consequences, and -explain, from the same principles, some other species of reasoning -which are derived from the same origin. - -Those philosophers who have divided human reason into _knowledge and -probability_, and have defined the first to be _that evidence which -arises from the comparison of ideas_, are obliged to comprehend all our -arguments from causes or effects under the general term of probability. -But though every one be free to use his terms in what sense he pleases; -and accordingly, in the precedent part of this discourse, I have -followed this method of expression; 'tis however certain, that in -common discourse we readily affirm, that many arguments from causation -exceed probability, and may be received as a superior kind of evidence. -One would appear ridiculous who would say, that 'tis only probable the -sun will rise to-morrow, or that all men must die; though 'tis plain we -have no further assurance of these facts than what experience affords -us. For this reason t'would perhaps be more convenient, in order at -once to preserve the common signification of words, and mark the -several degrees of evidence, to distinguish human reason into three -kinds, viz. _that from knowledge, from proofs, and from probabilities_. -By knowledge, I mean the assurance arising from the comparison of -ideas. By proofs, those arguments which are derived from the relation -of cause and effect, and which are entirely free from doubt and -uncertainty. By probability, that evidence which is still attended with -uncertainty. 'Tis this last species of reasoning I proceed to examine. - -Probability or reasoning from conjecture may be divided into two kinds, -viz. that which is founded on _chance_, and that which arises from -_causes_. We shall consider each of these in order. - -The idea of cause and effect is derived from experience, which, -presenting us with certain objects constantly conjoined with each -other, produces such a habit of surveying them in that relation, that -we cannot, without a sensible violence, survey them in any other. On -the other hand, as chance is nothing real in itself, and, properly -speaking, is merely the negation of a cause, its influence on the mind -is contrary to that of causation; and 'tis essential to it to leave the -imagination perfectly indifferent, either to consider the existence or -non-existence of that object which is regarded as contingent. A cause -traces the way to our thought, and in a manner forces us to survey such -certain objects in such certain relations. Chance can only destroy -this determination of the thought, and leave the mind in its native -situation of indifference; in which, upon the absence of a cause, 'tis -instantly reinstated. - -Since, therefore, an entire indifference is essential to chance, no -one chance can possibly be superior to another, otherwise than as it -is composed of a superior number of equal chances. For if we affirm -that one chance can, after any other manner, be superior to another, -we must at the same time affirm, that there is something which gives -it the superiority, and determines the event rather to that side than -the other; that is, in other words, we must allow of a cause, and -destroy the supposition of chance, which we had before established. A -perfect and total indifference is essential to chance, and one total -indifference can never in itself be either superior or inferior to -another. This truth is not peculiar to my system, but is acknowledged -by every one that forms calculations concerning chances. - -And here 'tis remarkable, that though chance and causation be directly -contrary, yet 'tis impossible for us to conceive this combination of -chances, which is requisite to render one hazard superior to another, -without supposing a mixture of causes among the chances, and a -conjunction of necessity in some particulars, with a total indifference -in others. Where nothing limits the chances, every notion that the -most extravagant fancy can form is upon a footing of equality; nor can -there be any circumstance to give one the advantage above another. -Thus, unless we allow that there are some causes to make the dice fall, -and preserve their form in their fall, and lie upon some one of their -sides, we can form no calculation concerning the laws of hazard. But -supposing these causes to operate, and supposing likewise all the rest -to be indifferent and to be determined by chance, 'tis easy to arrive -at a notion of a superior combination of chances. A dye that has four -sides marked with a certain number of spots, and only two with another, -affords us an obvious and easy instance of this superiority. The mind -is here limited by the causes to such a precise number and quality of -the events; and, at the same time, is undetermined in its choice of any -particular event. - -Proceeding, then, in that reasoning, wherein we have advanced three -steps; _that_ chance is merely the negation of a cause, and produces a -total indifference in the mind; _that_ one negation of a cause and one -total indifference can never be superior or inferior to another; and -_that_ there must always be a mixture of causes among the chances, in -order to be the foundation of any reasoning. We are next to consider -what effect a superior combination of chances can have upon the mind, -and after what manner it influences our judgment and opinion. Here -we may repeat all the same arguments we employed in examining that -belief which arises from causes; and may prove, after the same manner, -that a superior number of chances produces our assent neither by -_demonstration_ nor _probability_. 'Tis indeed evident, that we can -never, by the comparison of mere ideas, make any discovery which can -be of consequence in this affair, and that 'tis impossible to prove -with certainty that any event must fall on that side were there is a -superior number of chances. To suppose in this case any certainty, were -to overthrow what we have established concerning the opposition of -chances, and their perfect equality and indifference. - -Should it be said, that though in an opposition of chances, 'tis -impossible to determine with _certainty_ on which side the event will -fall, yet we can pronounce with certainty, that 'tis more likely and -probable 'twill be on that side where there is a superior number of -chances, than where there is an inferior: should this be said, I -would ask, what is here meant by _likelihood and probability_? The -likelihood and probability of chances is a superior number of equal -chances; and consequently, when we say 'tis likely the event will fall -on the side which is superior, rather than on the inferior, we do no -more than affirm, that where there is a superior number of chances -there is actually a superior, and where there is an inferior there is -an inferior, which are identical propositions, and of no consequence. -The question is, by what means a superior number of equal chances -operates upon the mind, and produces belief or assent, since it appears -that 'tis neither by arguments derived from demonstration, nor from -probability. - -In order to clear up this difficulty, we shall suppose a person to take -a dye, formed after such a manner as that four of its sides are marked -with one figure, or one number of spots, and two with another; and to -put this dye into the box with an intention of throwing it: 'tis plain, -he must conclude the one figure to be more probable than the other, -and give the preference to that which is inscribed on the greatest -number of sides. He in a manner believes that this will lie uppermost; -though still with hesitation and doubt, in proportion to the number of -chances which are contrary: and according as these contrary chances -diminish, and the superiority increases on the other side, his belief -acquires new degrees of stability and assurance. This belief arises -from an operation of the mind upon the simple and limited object before -us; and therefore its nature will be the more easily discovered and -explained. We have nothing but one single dye to contemplate, in order -to comprehend one of the most curious operations of the understanding. - -This dye formed as above, contains three circumstances worthy of our -attention. First, certain causes, such as gravity, solidity, a cubical -figure, &c. which determine it to fall, to preserve its form in its -fall, and to turn up one of its sides. Secondly, a certain number -of sides, which are supposed indifferent. Thirdly, a certain figure -inscribed on each side. These three particulars, form the whole nature -of the dye, so far as relates to our present purpose; and consequently -are the only circumstances regarded by the mind in its forming a -judgment concerning the result of such a throw. Let us therefore -consider gradually and carefully what must be the influence of these -circumstances on the thought and imagination. - -First, we have already observed, that the mind is determined by custom -to pass from any cause to its effect, and that upon the appearance -of the one, 'tis almost impossible for it not to form an idea of the -other. Their constant conjunction in past instances has produced such -a habit in the mind, that it always conjoins them in its thought, and -infers the existence of the one from that of its usual attendant. When -it considers the dye as no longer supported by the box, it cannot -without violence regard it as suspended in the air; but naturally -places it on the table, and views it as turning up one of its sides. -This is the effect of the intermingled causes, which are requisite to -our forming any calculation concerning chances. - -Secondly, 'tis supposed, that though the dye be necessarily determined -to fall, and turn up one of its sides, yet there is nothing to fix the -particular side, but that this is determined entirely by chance. The -very nature and essence of chance is a negation of causes, and the -leaving the mind in a perfect indifference among those events which -are supposed contingent. When, therefore, the thought is determined -by the causes to consider the dye as falling and turning up one of -its sides, the chances present all these sides as equal, and make us -consider every one of them, one after another, as alike probable and -possible. The imagination passes from the cause, viz. the throwing of -the dye, to the effect, viz. the turning up one of the six sides; and -feels a kind of impossibility both of stopping short in the way, and of -forming any other idea. But as all these six sides are incompatible, -and the dye cannot turn up above one at once, this principle directs us -not to consider all of them at once as lying uppermost, which we look -upon as impossible: neither does it direct us with its entire force to -any particular side; for in that case this side would be considered -as certain and inevitable; but it directs us to the whole six sides -after such a manner as to divide its force equally among them. We -conclude in general, that some one of them must result from the throw: -we run all of them over in our minds: the determination of the thought -is common to all; but no more of its force falls to the share of any -one, than what is suitable to its proportion with the rest. 'Tis after -this manner the original impulse, and consequently the vivacity of -thought arising from the causes, is divided and split in pieces by the -intermingled chances. - -We have already seen the influence of the two first qualities of the -dye, viz. the _causes_, and the _number_, and _indifference_ of the -sides, and have learned how they give an impulse to the thought, and -divide that impulse into as many parts as there are units in the number -of sides. We must now consider the effects of the third particular, -viz. the _figures_ inscribed on each side. 'Tis evident, that where -several sides have the same figure inscribed on them, they must concur -in their influence on the mind, and must unite upon one image or idea -of a figure all those divided impulses, that were dispersed over the -several sides, upon which that figure is inscribed. Were the question -only what side will be turned up, these are all perfectly equal, and no -one could ever have any advantage above another. But as the question -is concerning the figure, and as the same figure is presented by more -than one side, 'tis evident that the impulses belonging to all these -sides must re-unite in that one figure, and become stronger and more -forcible by the union. Four sides are supposed in the present case -to have the same figure inscribed on them, and two to have another -figure. The impulses of the former are therefore superior to those of -the latter. But as the events are contrary, and 'tis impossible both -these figures can be turned up; the impulses likewise become contrary, -and the inferior destroys the superior, as far as its strength goes. -The vivacity of the idea is always proportionable to the degrees of the -impulse or tendency to the transition; and belief is the same with the -vivacity of the idea, according to the precedent doctrine. - - - - -SECTION XII. - -OF THE PROBABILITY OF CAUSES. - - -What I have said concerning the probability of chances, can serve to -no other purpose than to assist us in explaining the probability of -causes; since 'tis commonly allowed by philosophers, that what the -vulgar call chance is nothing but a secret and concealed cause. That -species of probability, therefore, is what we must chiefly examine. - -The probabilities of causes are of several kinds; but are all derived -from the same origin, viz. _the association of ideas to a present -impression_. As the habit which produces the association, arises from -the frequent conjunction of objects, it must arrive at its perfection -by degrees, and must acquire new force from each instance that falls -under our observation. The first instance has little or no force: -the second makes some addition to it: the third becomes still more -sensible; and 'tis by these slow steps that our judgment arrives at -a full assurance. But before it attains this pitch of perfection, it -passes through several inferior degrees, and in all of them is only to -be esteemed a presumption or probability. The gradation therefore from -probabilities to proofs is in many cases insensible; and the difference -betwixt these kinds of evidence is more easily perceived in the remote -degrees, than in the near and contiguous. - -'Tis worthy of remark on this occasion, that though the species of -probability here explained be the first in order, and naturally takes -place before any entire proof can exist, yet no one, who is arrived -at the age of maturity, can any longer be acquainted with it. 'Tis -true, nothing is more common than for people of the most advanced -knowledge to have attained only an imperfect experience of many -particular events; which naturally produces only an imperfect habit -and transition: but then we must consider, that the mind, having -formed another observation concerning the connexion of causes and -effects, gives new force to its reasoning from that observation; and -by means of it can build an argument on one single experiment, when -duly prepared and examined. What we have found once to follow from any -object, we conclude will for ever follow from it; and if this maxim be -not always built upon as certain, 'tis not for want of a sufficient -number of experiments, but because we frequently meet with instances -to the contrary; which leads us to the second species of probability, -where there is a _contrariety_ in our experience and observation. - -'Twould be very happy for men in the conduct of their lives and -actions, were the same objects always conjoined together, and we -had nothing to fear but the mistakes of our own judgment, without -having any reason to apprehend the uncertainty of nature. But as 'tis -frequently found, that one observation is contrary to another, and that -causes and effects follow not in the same order, of which we have had -experience, we are obliged to vary our reasoning on account of this -uncertainty, and take into consideration the contrariety of events. The -first question that occurs on this head, is concerning the nature and -causes of the contrariety. - -The vulgar, who take things according to their first appearance, -attribute the uncertainty of events to such an uncertainty in the -causes, as makes them often fail of their usual influence, though -they meet with no obstacle nor 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 'tis 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 -hinderance and opposition. A peasant can give no better reason for -the stopping of any clock or watch than to say, that commonly it -does not go right: but an artisan easily perceives, that the same -force in the spring or pendulum has always the same influence on the -wheels; but fails of its usual effect, 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 betwixt all causes and effects is equally necessary, and that -its seeming uncertainty in some instances proceeds from the secret -opposition of contrary causes. - -But however philosophers and the vulgar may differ in their explication -of the contrariety of events, their inferences from it are always of -the same kind, and founded on the same principles. A contrariety of -events in the past may give us a kind of hesitating belief for the -future, after two several ways. First, by producing an imperfect habit -and transition from the present impression to the related idea. When -the conjunction of any two objects is frequent, without being entirely -constant, the mind is determined to pass from one object to the other; -but not with so entire a habit, as when the union is uninterrupted, and -all the instances we have ever met with are uniform and of a piece. -We find from common experience, in our actions as well as reasonings, -that a constant perseverance in any course of life produces a strong -inclination and tendency to continue for the future; though there -are habits of inferior degrees of force, proportioned to the inferior -degrees of steadiness and uniformity in our conduct. - -There is no doubt but this principle sometimes takes place, and -produces those inferences we draw from contrary phenomena; though I -am persuaded that, upon examination, we shall not find it to be the -principle that most commonly influences the mind in this species of -reasoning. When we follow only the habitual determination of the mind, -we make the transition without any reflection, and interpose not a -moment's delay betwixt the view of one object, and the belief of that -which is often found to attend it. As the custom depends not upon any -deliberation, it operates immediately, without allowing any time for -reflection. But this method of proceeding we have but few instances of -in our probable reasonings; and even fewer than in those, which are -derived from the uninterrupted conjunction of objects. In the former -species of reasoning we commonly take knowingly into consideration -the contrariety of past events; we compare the different sides of the -contrariety, and carefully weigh the experiments, which we have on each -side: whence we may conclude, that our reasonings of this kind arise -not _directly_ from the habit, but in an _oblique_ manner; which we -must now endeavour to explain. - -'Tis evident, that when an object is attended with contrary effects, -we judge of them only by our past experience, and always consider -those as possible, which we have observed to follow from it. And as -past experience regulates our judgment concerning the possibility of -these effects, so it does that concerning their probability; and that -effect, which has been the most common, we always esteem the most -likely. Here then are two things to be considered, viz. the _reasons_ -which determine us to make the past a standard for the future, and the -_manner_ how we extract a single judgment from a contrariety of past -events. - -First we may observe, that the supposition, _that the future resembles -the past_, is not founded on arguments of any kind, but is derived -entirely from habit, by which we are determined to expect for the -future the same train of objects to which we have been accustomed. This -habit or determination to transfer the past to the future is full and -perfect; and consequently the first impulse of the imagination in this -species of reasoning is endowed with the same qualities. - -But, _secondly_, when in considering past experiments we find them -of a contrary nature, this determination, though full and perfect in -itself, presents us with no steady object, but offers us a number of -disagreeing images in a certain order and proportion. The first impulse -therefore is here broke into pieces, and diffuses itself over all -those images, of which each partakes an equal share of that force and -vivacity that is derived from the impulse. Any of these past events -may again happen; and we judge, that when they do happen, they will be -mixed in the same proportion as in the past. - -If our intention, therefore, be to consider the proportions of contrary -events in a great number of instances, the images presented by our past -experience must remain in their _first form_, and preserve their first -proportions. Suppose, for instance, I have found, by long observation, -that of twenty ships which go to sea, only nineteen return. Suppose I -see at present twenty ships that leave the port: I transfer my past -experience to the future, and represent to myself nineteen of these -ships as returning in safety, and one as perishing. Concerning this -there can be no difficulty. But as we frequently run over those several -ideas of past events, in order to form a judgment concerning one -single event, which appears uncertain; this consideration must change -the _first form_ of our ideas, and draw together the divided images -presented by experience; since 'tis to _it_ we refer the determination -of that particular event, upon which we reason. Many of these images -are supposed to concur, and a superior number to concur on one side. -These agreeing images unite together, and render the idea more strong -and lively, not only than a mere fiction of the imagination, but also -than any idea, which is supported by a lesser number of experiments. -Each new experiment is as a new stroke of the pencil, which bestows -an additional vivacity on the colours, without either multiplying or -enlarging the figure. This operation of the mind has been so fully -explained in treating of the probability of chance, that I need not -here endeavour to render it more intelligible. Every past experiment -may be considered as a kind of chance; it being uncertain to us, -whether the object will exist conformable to one experiment or another: -and for this reason every thing that has been said on the one subject -is applicable to both. - -Thus, upon the whole, contrary experiments produce an imperfect belief, -either by weakening the habit, or by dividing and afterwards joining -in different parts, that _perfect_ habit, which makes us conclude -in general, that instances, of which we have no experience, must -necessarily resemble those of which we have. - -To justify still farther this account of the second species of -probability, where we reason with knowledge and reflection from -a contrariety of past experiments, I shall propose the following -considerations, without fearing to give offence by that air of -subtilty, which attends them. Just reasoning ought still, perhaps, -to retain its force, however subtile; in the same manner as matter -preserves its solidity in the air, and fire, and animal spirits, as -well as in the grosser and more sensible forms. - -First, we may observe, that there is no probability so great as not -to allow of a contrary possibility; because otherwise 'twould cease -to be a probability, and would become a certainty. That probability -of causes, which is most extensive, and which we at present examine, -depends on a contrariety of experiments; and 'tis evident an experiment -in the past proves at least a possibility for the future. - -Secondly, the component parts of this possibility and probability are -of the same nature, and differ in number only, but not in kind. It has -been observed, that all single chances are entirely equal, and that -the only circumstance, which can give any event that is contingent a -superiority over another, is a superior number of chances. In like -manner, as the uncertainty of causes is discovered by experience, which -presents us with a view of contrary events, 'tis plain that, when we -transfer the past to the future, the known to the unknown, every past -experiment has the same weight, and that 'tis only a superior number -of them, which can throw the balance on any side. The possibility, -therefore, which enters into every reasoning of this kind, is composed -of parts, which are of the same nature both among themselves, and with -those that compose the opposite probability. - -Thirdly, we may establish it as a certain maxim, that in all moral -as well as natural phenomena, wherever any cause consists of a -number of parts, and the effect increases or diminishes, according -to the variation of that number, the effect, properly speaking, is -a compounded one, and arises from the union of the several effects, -that proceed from each part of the cause. Thus, because the gravity -of a body increases or diminishes by the increase or diminution of -its parts, we conclude that each part contains this quality, and -contributes to the gravity of the whole. The absence or presence of a -part of the cause is attended with that of a proportionable part of the -effect. This connexion or constant conjunction sufficiently proves the -one part to be the cause of the other. As the belief, which we have of -any event, increases or diminishes according to the number of chances -or past experiments, 'tis to be considered as a compounded effect, -of which each part arises from a proportionable number of chances or -experiments. - -Let us now join these three observations, and see what conclusion -we can draw from them. To every probability there is an opposite -possibility. This possibility is composed of parts that are entirely of -the same nature with those of the probability; and consequently have -the same influence on the mind and understanding. The belief which -attends the probability, is a compounded effect, and is formed by the -concurrence of the several effects, which proceed from each part of the -probability. Since, therefore, each part of the probability contributes -to the production of the belief, each part of the possibility must have -the same influence on the opposite side; the nature of these parts -being entirely the same. The contrary belief attending the possibility, -implies a view of a certain object, as well as the probability does -an opposite view. In this particular, both these degrees of belief are -alike. The only manner then, in which the superior number of similar -component parts in the one can exert its influence, and prevail above -the inferior in the other, is by producing a stronger and more lively -view of its object. Each part presents a particular view; and all these -views uniting together produce one general view, which is fuller and -more distinct by the greater number of causes or principles from which -it is derived. - -The component parts of the probability and possibility being alike in -their nature, must produce like effects; and the likeness of their -effects consists in this, that each of them presents a view of a -particular object. But though these parts be alike in their nature, -they are very different in their quantity and number; and this -difference must appear in the effect as well as the similarity. Now, as -the view they present is in both cases full and entire, and comprehends -the object in all its parts, 'tis impossible that, in this particular, -there can be any difference; nor is there any thing but a superior -vivacity in the probability, arising from the concurrence of a superior -number of views, which can distinguish these effects. - -Here is almost the same argument in a different light. All our -reasonings concerning the probability of causes are founded on the -transferring of past to future. The transferring of any past experiment -to the future is sufficient to give us a view of the object; whether -that experiment be single or combined with others of the same kind; -whether it be entire, or opposed by others of a contrary kind. Suppose -then it acquires both these qualities of combination and opposition, -it loses not, upon that account, its former power of presenting a view -of the object, but only concurs with and opposes other experiments that -have a like influence. A question, therefore, may arise concerning the -manner both of the concurrence and opposition. As to the _concurrence_ -there is only the choice left betwixt these two hypotheses. _First_, -that the view of the object, occasioned by the transference of each -past experiment, preserves itself entire, and only multiplies the -number of views. Or, _secondly_, that it runs into the other similar -and correspondent views, and gives them a superior degree of force and -vivacity. But that the first hypothesis is erroneous, is evident from -experience, which informs us, that the belief attending any reasoning -consists in one conclusion, not in a multitude of similar ones, which -would only distract the mind, and, in many cases, would be too numerous -to be comprehended distinctly by any finite capacity. It remains, -therefore, as the only reasonable opinion, that these similar views run -into each other and unite their forces; so as to produce a stronger and -clearer view than what arises from any one alone. This is the manner in -which past experiments concur when they are transferred to any future -event. As to the manner of their _opposition_,'tis evident that, as the -contrary views are incompatible with each other, and 'tis impossible -the object can at once exist conformable to both of them, their -influence becomes mutually destructive, and the mind is determined to -the superior only with that force which remains after subtracting the -inferior. - -I am sensible how abstruse all this reasoning must appear to the -generality of readers, who, not being accustomed to such profound -reflections on the intellectual faculties of the mind, will be apt -to reject as chimerical whatever strikes not in with the common -received notions, and with the easiest and most obvious principles of -philosophy. And, no doubt, there are some pains required to enter into -these arguments; though perhaps very little are necessary to perceive -the imperfection of every vulgar hypothesis on this subject, and the -little light, which philosophy can yet afford us in such sublime and -such curious speculations. Let men be once fully persuaded of these -two principles, _that there is nothing in any object, considered in -itself, which can afford us a reason for drawing a conclusion beyond -it_; and, _that even after the observation of the frequent or constant -conjunction of objects, we have no reason to draw any inference -concerning any object beyond those of which we have had experience_; -I say, let men be once fully convinced of these two principles, and -this will throw them so loose from all common systems, that they -will make no difficulty of receiving any, which may appear the most -extraordinary. These principles we have found to be sufficiently -convincing, even with regard to our most certain reasonings from -causation: but I shall venture to affirm, that with regard to these -conjectural or probable reasonings they still acquire a new degree of -evidence. - -_First_,'tis obvious that, in reasonings of this kind, 'tis not the -object presented to us, which, considered in itself, affords us any -reason to draw a conclusion concerning any other object or event. For -as this latter object is supposed uncertain, and as the uncertainty is -derived from a concealed contrariety of causes in the former, were any -of the causes placed in the known qualities of that object, they would -no longer be concealed, nor would our conclusion be uncertain. - -But, _secondly_,'tis equally obvious in this species of reasoning, that -if the transference of the past to the future were founded merely on -a conclusion of the understanding, it could never occasion any belief -or assurance. When we transfer contrary experiments to the future, -we can only repeat these contrary experiments with their particular -proportions; which could not produce assurance in any single event upon -which we reason, unless the fancy melted together all those images -that concur, and extracted from them one single idea or image, which -is intense and lively in proportion to the number of experiments from -which it is derived, and their superiority above their antagonists. -Our past experience presents no determinate object; and as our belief, -however faint, fixes itself on a determinate object, 'tis evident that -the belief arises not merely from the transference of past to future, -but from some operation of the _fancy_ conjoined with it. This may lead -us to conceive the manner in which that faculty enters into all our -reasonings. - -I shall conclude this subject with two reflections which may deserve -our attention. The _first_ may be explained after this manner: When -the mind forms a reasoning concerning any matter of fact, which is -only probable, it casts its eye backward upon past experience, and, -transferring it to the future, is presented with so many contrary -views of its object, of which those that are of the same kind uniting -together and running into one act of the mind, serve to fortify and -enliven it. But suppose that this multitude of views or glimpses of an -object proceeds not from experience, but from a voluntary act of the -imagination; this effect does not follow, or, at least, follows not in -the same degree. For though custom and education produce belief by -such a repetition as is not derived from experience, yet this requires -a long tract of time, along with a very frequent and _undesigned_ -repetition. In general we may pronounce, that a person, who would -_voluntarily_ repeat any idea in his mind, though supported by one -past experience, would be no more inclined to believe the existence of -its object, than if he had contented himself with one survey of it. -Beside the effect of design, each act of the mind, being separate and -independent, has a separate influence, and joins not its force with -that of its fellows. Not being united by any common object producing -them, they have no relation to each other; and consequently make no -transition or union of forces. This phenomenon we shall understand -better afterwards. - -My _second_ reflection is founded on those large probabilities which -the mind can judge of, and the minute differences it can observe -betwixt them. When the chances or experiments on one side amount to ten -thousand, and on the other to ten thousand and one, the judgment gives -the preference to the latter upon account of that superiority; though -'tis plainly impossible for the mind to run over every particular view, -and distinguish the superior vivacity of the image arising from the -superior number, where the difference is so inconsiderable. We have a -parallel instance in the affections. 'Tis evident, according to the -principles above mentioned, that when an object produces any passion in -us, which varies according to the different quantity of the object; I -say, 'tis evident, that the passion, properly speaking, is not a simple -emotion, but a compounded one, of a great number of weaker passions, -derived from a view of each part of the object; for otherwise 'twere -impossible the passion should increase by the increase of these parts. -Thus, a man who desires a thousand pounds has, in reality, a thousand -or more desires which, uniting together, seem to make only one passion; -though the composition evidently betrays itself upon every alteration -of the object, by the preference he gives to the larger number, if -superior only by an unit. Yet nothing can be more certain, than that -so small a difference would not be discernible in the passions, nor -could render them distinguishable from each other. The difference, -therefore, of our conduct in preferring the greater number depends not -upon our passions, but upon custom and _general rules_. We have found -in a multitude of instances that the augmenting the numbers of any sum -augments the passion, where the numbers are precise and the difference -sensible. The mind can perceive, from its immediate feeling, that three -guineas produce a greater passion than two; and _this_ it transfers -to larger numbers, because of the resemblance; and by a general rule -assigns to a thousand guineas a stronger passion than to nine hundred -and ninety-nine. These general rules we shall explain presently. - -But beside these two species of probability, which are derived -from an _imperfect_ experience and from _contrary_ causes, there -is a third arising from _analogy_, which differs from them in some -material circumstances. According to the hypothesis above explained, -all kinds of reasoning from causes or effects are founded on two -particulars, viz. the constant conjunction of any two objects in all -past experience, and the resemblance of a present object to any one -of them. The effect of these two particulars is, that the present -object invigorates and enlivens the imagination; and the resemblance, -along with the constant union, conveys this force and vivacity to -the related idea; which we are therefore said to believe or assent -to. If you weaken either the union or resemblance, you weaken the -principle of transition, and of consequence that belief which arises -from it. The vivacity of the first impression cannot be fully conveyed -to the related idea, either where the conjunction of their objects -is not constant, or where the present impression does not perfectly -resemble any of those whose union we are accustomed to observe. In -those probabilities of chance and causes above explained, 'tis the -constancy of the union which is diminished; and in the probability -derived from analogy, 'tis the resemblance only which is affected. -Without some degree of resemblance, as well as union, 'tis impossible -there can be any reasoning. But as this resemblance admits of many -different degrees, the reasoning becomes proportionably more or less -firm and certain. An experiment loses of its force, when transferred to -instances which are not exactly resembling; though 'tis evident it may -still retain as much as may be the foundation of probability, as long -as there is any resemblance remaining. - - - - -SECTION XIII. - -OF UNPHILOSOPHICAL PROBABILITY. - - -All these kinds of probability are received by philosophers, and -allowed to be reasonable foundations of belief and opinion. But there -are others that are derived from the same principles, though they -have not had the good fortune to obtain the same sanction. The _first_ -probability of this kind may be accounted for thus. The diminution of -the union and of the resemblance, as above explained, diminishes the -facility of the transition, and by that means weakens the evidence; -and we may farther observe, that the same diminution of the evidence -will follow from a diminution of the impression, and from the shading -of those colours under which it appears to the memory or senses. The -argument which we found on any matter of fact we remember is more -or less convincing, according as the fact is recent or remote; and -though the difference in these degrees of evidence be not received by -philosophy as solid and legitimate; because in that case an argument -must have a different force to-day from what it shall have a month -hence; yet, notwithstanding the opposition of philosophy, 'tis certain -this circumstance has a considerable influence on the understanding, -and secretly changes the authority of the same argument, according to -the different times in which it is proposed to us. A greater force and -vivacity in the impression naturally conveys a greater to the related -idea; and 'tis on the degrees of force and vivacity that the belief -depends, according to the foregoing system. - -There is a _second_ difference which we may frequently observe in our -degrees of belief and assurance, and which never fails to take place, -though disclaimed by philosophers. An experiment that is recent and -fresh in the memory, affects us more than one that is in some measure -obliterated; and has a superior influence on the judgment as well as -on the passions. A lively impression produces more assurance than a -faint one, because it has more original force to communicate to the -related idea, which thereby acquires a greater force and vivacity. A -recent observation has a like effect; because the custom and transition -is there more entire, and preserves better the original force in the -communication. Thus a drunkard, who has seen his companion die of a -debauch, is struck with that instance for some time, and dreads a like -accident for himself; but as the memory of it decays away by degrees, -his former security returns, and the danger seems less certain and real. - -I add, as a _third_ instance of this kind, that though our reasonings -from proofs and from probabilities be considerably different from each -other, yet the former species of reasoning often degenerates insensibly -into the latter, by nothing but the multitude of connected arguments. -'Tis certain, that when an inference is drawn immediately from an -object, without any intermediate cause or effect, the conviction -is much stronger, and the persuasion more lively, than when the -imagination is carried through a long chain of connected arguments, -however infallible the connexion of each link may be esteemed. 'Tis -from the original impression that the vivacity of all the ideas is -derived, by means of the customary transition of the imagination; and -'tis evident this vivacity must gradually decay in proportion to the -distance, and must lose somewhat in each transition. Sometimes this -distance has a greater influence than even contrary experiments would -have; and a man may receive a more lively conviction from a probable -reasoning which is close and immediate, than from a long chain of -consequences, though just and conclusive in each part. Nay, 'tis seldom -such reasonings produce any conviction; and one must have a very -strong and firm imagination to preserve the evidence to the end, where -it passes through so many stages. - -But here it may not be amiss to remark a very curious phenomenon which -the present subject suggests to us. 'Tis evident there is no point of -ancient history, of which we can have any assurance, but by passing -through many millions of causes and effects, and through a chain of -arguments of almost an immeasurable length. Before the knowledge of the -fact could come to the first historian, it must be conveyed through -many mouths; and after it is committed to writing, each new copy is a -new object, of which the connexion with the foregoing is known only by -experience and observation. Perhaps therefore it may be concluded, from -the precedent reasoning, that the evidence of all ancient history must -now be lost, or at least will be lost in time, as the chain of causes -increases, and runs on to a greater length. But as it seems contrary -to common sense to think, that if the republic of letters and the art -of printing continue on the same footing as at present, our posterity, -even after a thousand ages, can ever doubt if there has been such a man -as Julius Cĉsar; this may be considered as an objection to the present -system. If belief consisted only in a certain vivacity, conveyed from -an original impression, it would decay by the length of the transition, -and must at last be utterly extinguished. And, _vice versa_, if belief, -on some occasions, be not capable of such an extinction, it must be -something different from that vivacity. - -Before I answer this objection I shall observe, that from this topic -there has been borrowed a very celebrated argument against the -_Christian Religion_; but with this difference, that the connexion -betwixt each link of the chain in human testimony has been there -supposed not to go beyond probability, and to be liable to a degree of -doubt and uncertainty. And indeed it must be confessed, that in this -manner of considering the subject (which, however, is not a true one), -there is no history or tradition but what must in the end lose all -its force and evidence. Every new probability diminishes the original -conviction; and, however great that conviction may be supposed, 'tis -impossible it can subsist under such reiterated diminutions. This is -true in general, though we shall find afterwards,[9] that there is one -very memorable exception, which is of vast consequence in the present -subject of the understanding. - -Meanwhile, to give a solution of the preceding objection upon the -supposition that historical evidence amounts at first to an entire -proof, let us consider, that, though the links are innumerable that -connect any original fact with the present impression, which is the -foundation of belief, yet they are all of the same kind, and depend -on the fidelity of printers and copyists. One edition passes into -another, and that into a third, and so on, till we come to that volume -we peruse at present. There is no variation in the steps. After we know -one, we know all of them; and after we have made one, we can have no -scruple as to the rest. This circumstance alone preserves the evidence -of history, and will perpetuate the memory of the present age to the -latest posterity. If all the long chain of causes and effects, which -connect any past event with any volume of history, were composed of -parts different from each other, and which 'twere necessary for the -mind distinctly to conceive, 'tis impossible we should preserve to the -end any belief or evidence. But as most of these proofs are perfectly -resembling, the mind runs easily along them, jumps from one part to -another with facility, and forms but a confused and general notion of -each link. By this means, a long chain of argument has as little effect -in diminishing the original vivacity, as a much shorter would have if -composed of parts which were different from each other, and of which -each required a distinct consideration. - -A fourth unphilosophical species of probability is that derived from -_general rules_, which we rashly form to ourselves, and which are the -source of what we properly call _prejudice_. An Irishman cannot have -wit, and a Frenchman cannot have solidity; for which reason, though the -conversation of the former in any instance be visibly very agreeable, -and of the latter very judicious, we have entertained such a prejudice -against them, that they must be dunces or fops in spite of sense and -reason. Human nature is very subject to errors of this kind, and -perhaps this nation as much as any other. - -Should it be demanded why men form general rules, and allow them to -influence their judgment, even contrary to present observation and -experience, I should reply, that in my opinion it proceeds from those -very principles on which all judgments concerning causes and effects -depend. Our judgments concerning cause and effect are derived from -habit and experience; and when we have been accustomed to see one -object united to another, our imagination passes from the first to the -second by a natural transition, which precedes reflection, and which -cannot be prevented by it. Now, 'tis the nature of custom not only -to operate with its full force, when objects are presented that are -exactly the same with those to which we have been accustomed, but also -to operate in an inferior degree when we discover such as are similar; -and though the habit loses somewhat of its force by every difference, -yet 'tis seldom entirely destroyed where any considerable circumstances -remain the same. A man who has contracted a custom of eating fruit by -the use of pears or peaches, will satisfy himself with melons where he -cannot find his favourite fruit; as one, who has become a drunkard by -the use of red wines, will be carried almost with the same violence to -white, if presented to him. From this principle I have accounted for -that species of probability, derived from analogy, where we transfer -our experience in past instances to objects which are resembling, -but are not exactly the same with those concerning which we have had -experience. In proportion as the resemblance decays, the probability -diminishes, but still has some force as long as there remain any traces -of the resemblance. - -This observation we may carry farther, and may remark, that though -custom be the foundation of all our judgments, yet sometimes it has an -effect on the imagination in opposition to the judgment, and produces -a contrariety in our sentiments concerning the same object. I explain -myself. In almost all kinds of causes there is a complication of -circumstances, of which some are essential, and others superfluous; -some are absolutely requisite to the production of the effect, and -others are only conjoined by accident. Now we may observe, that when -these superfluous circumstances are numerous and remarkable, and -frequently conjoined with the essential, they have such an influence -on the imagination, that even in the absence of the latter they -carry us on to the conception of the usual effect, and give to that -conception a force and vivacity which make it superior to the mere -fictions of the fancy. We may correct this propensity by a reflection -on the nature of those circumstances; but 'tis still certain, that -custom takes the start, and gives a bias to the imagination. - -To illustrate this by a familiar instance, let us consider the case of -a man, who, being hung out from a high tower in a cage of iron, cannot -forbear trembling when he surveys the precipice below him, though he -knows himself to be perfectly secure from falling, by his experience -of the solidity of the iron which supports him, and though the ideas -of fall and descent, and harm and death, be derived solely from custom -and experience. The same custom goes beyond the instances from which it -is derived, and to which it perfectly corresponds; and influences his -ideas of such objects as are in some respect resembling, but fall not -precisely under the same rule. The circumstances of depth and descent -strike so strongly upon him, that their influence cannot be destroyed -by the contrary circumstances of support and solidity, which ought to -give him a perfect security. His imagination runs away with its object, -and excites a passion proportioned to it. That passion returns back -upon the imagination, and enlivens the idea; which lively idea has a -new influence on the passion, and in its turn augments its force and -violence: and both his fancy and affections, thus mutually supporting -each other, cause the whole to have a very great influence upon him. - -But why need we seek for other instances, while the present subject -of philosophical probabilities offers us so obvious an one, in -the opposition betwixt the judgment and imagination, arising from -these effects of custom? According to my system, all reasonings are -nothing but the effects of custom, and custom has no influence, but -by enlivening the imagination, and giving us a strong conception of -any object. It may therefore be concluded, that our judgment and -imagination can never be contrary, and that custom cannot operate on -the latter faculty after such a manner, as to render it opposite to -the former. This difficulty we can remove after no other manner, than -by supposing the influence of general rules. We shall afterwards[10] -take notice of some general rules, by which we ought to regulate -our judgment concerning causes and effects; and these rules are -formed on the nature of our understanding, and on our experience -of its operations in the judgments we form concerning objects. By -them we learn to distinguish the accidental circumstances from the -efficacious causes; and when we find that an effect can be produced -without the concurrence of any particular circumstance, we conclude -that that circumstance makes not a part of the efficacious cause, -however frequently conjoined with it. But as this frequent conjunction -necessarily makes it have some effect on the imagination, in spite of -the opposite conclusion from general rules, the opposition of these -two principles produces a contrariety in our thoughts, and causes us -to ascribe the one inference to our judgment, and the other to our -imagination. The general rule is attributed to our judgment, as being -more extensive and constant; the exception to the imagination, as being -more capricious and uncertain. - -Thus, our general rules are in a manner set in opposition to each -other. When an object appears, that resembles any cause in very -considerable circumstances, the imagination naturally carries us to a -lively conception of the usual effect, though the object be different -in the most material and most efficacious circumstances from that -cause. Here is the first influence of general rules. But when we -take a review of this act of the mind, and compare it with the more -general and authentic operations of the understanding, we find it to -be of an irregular nature, and destructive of all the most established -principles of reasonings, which is the cause of our rejecting it. This -is a second influence of general rules, and implies the condemnation -of the former. Sometimes the one, sometimes the other prevails, -according to the disposition and character of the person. The vulgar -are commonly guided by the first, and wise men by the second. Meanwhile -the sceptics may here have the pleasure of observing a new and signal -contradiction in our reason, and of seeing all philosophy ready to be -subverted by a principle of human nature, and again saved by a new -direction of the very same principle. The following of general rules -is a very unphilosophical species of probability; and yet 'tis only by -following them that we can correct this, and all other unphilosophical -probabilities. - -Since we have instances where general rules operate on the imagination, -even contrary to the judgment, we need not be surprised to see their -effects increase, when conjoined with that latter faculty, and to -observe that they bestow on the ideas they present to us a force -superior to what attends any other. Every one knows there is an -indirect manner of insinuating praise or blame, which is much less -shocking than the open flattery or censure of any person. However he -may communicate his sentiments by such secret insinuations, and make -them known with equal certainty as by the open discovery of them, -'tis certain that their influence is not equally strong and powerful. -One who lashes me with concealed strokes of satire, moves not my -indignation to such a degree, as if he flatly told me I was a fool and -a coxcomb; though I equally understand his meaning, as if he did. This -difference is to be attributed to the influence of general rules. - -Whether a person openly abuses me, or slily intimates his contempt, -in neither case do I immediately perceive his sentiment or opinion; -and 'tis only by signs, that is, by its effects, I become sensible of -it. The only difference then, betwixt these two cases, consists in -this, that in the open discovery of his sentiments he makes use of -signs, which are general and universal; and in the secret intimation -employs such as are more singular and uncommon. The effect of this -circumstance is, that the imagination, in running from the present -impression to the absent idea, makes the transition with greater -facility, and consequently conceives the object with greater force, -where the connexion is common and universal, than where it is more rare -and particular. Accordingly, we may observe, that the open declaration -of our sentiments is called the taking off the mask, as the secret -intimation of our opinions is said to be the veiling of them. The -difference betwixt an idea produced by a general connexion, and that -arising from a particular one, is here compared to the difference -betwixt an impression and an idea. This difference in the imagination -has a suitable effect on the passions, and this effect is augmented by -another circumstance. A secret intimation of anger or contempt shows -that we still have some consideration for the person, and avoid the -directly abusing him. This makes a concealed satire less disagreeable, -but still this depends on the same principle. For if an idea were not -more feeble, when only intimated, it would never be esteemed a mark of -greater respect to proceed in this method than in the other. - -Sometimes scurrility is less displeasing than delicate satire, because -it revenges us in a manner for the injury at the very time it is -committed, by affording us a just reason to blame and contemn the -person who injures us. But this phenomenon likewise depends upon the -same principle. For why do we blame all gross and injurious language, -unless it be, because we esteem it contrary to good breeding and -humanity? And why is it contrary, unless it be more shocking than any -delicate satire? The rules of good breeding condemn whatever is openly -disobliging, and gives a sensible pain and confusion to those with -whom we converse. After this is once established, abusive language is -universally blamed, and gives less pain upon account of its coarseness -and incivility, which render the person despicable that employs it. It -becomes less disagreeable, merely because originally it is more so; and -'tis more disagreeable, because it affords an inference by general and -common rules that are palpable and undeniable. - -To this explication of the different influence of open and concealed -flattery or satire, I shall add the consideration of another -phenomenon, which is analogous to it. There are many particulars in -the point of honour, both of men and women, whose violations, when -open and avowed, the world never excuses, but which it is more apt to -overlook, when the appearances are saved, and the transgression is -secret and concealed. Even those who know with equal certainty that -the fault is committed, pardon it more easily, when the proofs seem -in some measure oblique and equivocal, than when they are direct and -undeniable. The same idea is presented in both cases, and, properly -speaking, is equally assented to by the judgment; and yet its influence -is different, because of the different manner in which it is presented. - -Now, if we compare these two cases, of the _open_ and _concealed_ -violations of the laws of honour, we shall find, that the difference -betwixt them consists in this, that in the first case the sign, from -which we infer the blameable action, is single, and suffices alone -to be the foundation of our reasoning and judgment; whereas in the -latter the signs are numerous, and decide little or nothing when alone -and unaccompanied with many minute circumstances, which are almost -imperceptible. But 'tis certainly true, that any reasoning is always -the more convincing, the more single and united it is to the eye, -and the less exercise it gives to the imagination to collect all its -parts, and run from them to the correlative idea, which forms the -conclusion. The labour of the thought disturbs the regular progress of -the sentiments, as we shall observe presently.[11] The idea strikes not -on us with such vivacity, and consequently has no such influence on the -passion and imagination. - -From the same principles we may account for those observations of -the Cardinal de Retz, _that there are many things in which the world -wishes to be deceived_, and _that it more easily excuses a person in -acting than in talking contrary to the decorum of his profession and -character_. A fault in words is commonly more open and distinct than -one in actions, which admit of many palliating excuses, and decide not -so clearly concerning the intention and views of the actor. - -Thus it appears, upon the whole, that every kind of opinion or -judgment which amounts not to knowledge, is derived entirely from -the force and vivacity of the perception, and that these qualities -constitute in the mind what we call the _belief_ of the existence -of any object. This force and this vivacity are most conspicuous in -the memory; and therefore our confidence in the veracity of that -faculty is the greatest imaginable, and equals in many respects the -assurance of a demonstration. The next degree of these qualities is -that derived from the relation of cause and effect; and this too is -very great, especially when the conjunction is found by experience -to be perfectly constant, and when the object, which is present to -us, exactly resembles those, of which we have had experience. But -below this degree of evidence there are many others, which have an -influence on the passions and imagination, proportioned to that degree -of force and vivacity, which they communicate to the ideas. 'Tis by -habit we make the transition from cause to effect; and 'tis from some -present impression we borrow that vivacity, which we diffuse over the -correlative idea. But when we have not observed a sufficient number -of instances to produce a strong habit; or when these instances are -contrary to each other; or when the resemblance is not exact; or the -present impression is faint and obscure; or the experience in some -measure obliterated from the memory; or the connexion dependent on a -long chain of objects; or the inference derived from general rules, -and yet not conformable to them: in all these cases the evidence -diminishes by the diminution of the force and intenseness of the idea. -This therefore is the nature of the judgment and probability. - -What principally gives authority to this system is, beside the -undoubted arguments, upon which each part is founded, the agreement of -these parts, and the necessity of one to explain another. The belief -which attends our memory is of the same nature with that which is -derived from our judgments: nor is there any difference betwixt that -judgment which is derived from a constant and uniform connexion of -causes and effects, and that which depends upon an interrupted and -uncertain. 'Tis indeed evident, that in all determinations where the -mind decides from contrary experiments, 'tis first divided within -itself, and has an inclination to either side in proportion to the -number of experiments we have seen and remember. This contest is at -last determined to the advantage of that side where we observe a -superior number of these experiments; but still with a diminution of -force in the evidence correspondent to the number of the opposite -experiments. Each possibility, of which the probability is composed, -operates separately upon the imagination; and 'tis the larger -collection of possibilities, which at last prevails, and that with -a force proportionable to its superiority. All these phenomena lead -directly to the precedent system; nor will it ever be possible upon any -other principles to give a satisfactory and consistent explication of -them. Without considering these judgments as the effects of custom on -the imagination, we shall lose ourselves in perpetual contradiction and -absurdity. - - -[9] Part IV. Sect. 1. - -[10] Sect. 15. - -[11] Part IV. Sect. 1. - - - - -SECTION XIV. - -OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNEXION. - - -Having thus explained the manner _in which we reason beyond our -immediate impressions, and conclude that such particular causes must -have such particular effects_; we must now return upon our footsteps -to examine that question[12] which first occurred to us, and which we -dropped in our way, viz. _What is our idea of necessity, when we say -that two objects are necessarily connected together_? Upon this head -I repeat, what I have often had occasion to observe, that as we have -no idea that is not derived from an impression, we must find some -impression that gives rise to this idea of necessity, if we assert -we have really such an idea. In order to this, I consider in what -objects necessity is commonly supposed to lie; and, finding that it is -always ascribed to causes and effects, I turn my eye to two objects -supposed to be placed in that relation, and examine them in all the -situations of which they are susceptible. I immediately perceive that -they are _contiguous_ in time and place, and that the object we call -cause _precedes_ the other we call effect. In no one instance can I go -any farther, nor is it possible for me to discover any third relation -betwixt these objects. I therefore enlarge my view to comprehend -several instances, where I find like objects always existing in like -relations of contiguity and succession. At first sight this seems to -serve but little to my purpose. The reflection on several instances -only repeats the same objects; and therefore can never give rise to a -new idea. But upon farther inquiry I find, that the repetition is not -in every particular the same, but produces a new impression, and by -that means the idea which I at present examine. For after a frequent -repetition I find, that upon the appearance of one of the objects, the -mind is _determined_ by custom to consider its usual attendant, and to -consider it in a stronger light upon account of its relation to the -first object. 'Tis this impression, then, or _determination_, which -affords me the idea of necessity. - -I doubt not but these consequences will at first sight be received -without difficulty, as being evident deductions from principles which -we have already established, and which we have often employed in our -reasonings. This evidence, both in the first principles and in the -deductions, may seduce us unwarily into the conclusion, and make us -imagine it contains nothing extraordinary, nor worthy of our curiosity. -But though such an inadvertence may facilitate the reception of this -reasoning, 'twill make it be the more easily forgot; for which reason -I think it proper to give warning, that I have just now examined one -of the most sublime questions in philosophy, viz. _that concerning the -power and efficacy of causes_, where all the sciences seem so much -interested. Such a warning will naturally rouse up the attention of -the reader, and make him desire a more full account of my doctrine, -as well as of the arguments on which it is founded. This request is -so reasonable, that I cannot refuse complying with it; especially as -I am hopeful that these principles, the more they are examined, will -acquire the more force and evidence. - -There is no question which, on account of its importance, as well as -difficulty, has caused more disputes both among ancient and modern -philosophers, than this concerning the efficacy of causes, or that -quality which makes them be followed by their effects. But before they -entered upon these disputes, methinks it would not have been improper -to have examined what idea we have of that efficacy, which is the -subject of the controversy. This is what I find principally wanting in -their reasonings, and what I shall here endeavour to supply. - -I begin with observing, that the terms of _efficacy, agency, power, -force, energy, necessity, connexion_, and _productive quality_, are -all nearly synonymous; and therefore 'tis an absurdity to employ any -of them in defining the rest. By this observation we reject at once -all the vulgar definitions which philosophers have given of power and -efficacy; and instead of searching for the idea in these definitions, -must look for it in the impressions from which it is originally -derived. If it be a compound idea, it must arise from compound -impressions. If simple, from simple impressions. - -I believe the most general and most popular explication of this -matter, is to say,[13] that finding from experience that there are -several new productions in matter, such as the motions and variations -of body, 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 and efficacy. But to be convinced that this explication is -more popular than philosophical, we need but reflect on two very -obvious principles. _First_, that reason alone can never give rise -to any original idea; and, _secondly_, that reason, as distinguished -from experience, can never make us conclude that a cause or productive -quality is absolutely requisite to every beginning of existence. Both -these considerations have been sufficiently explained; and therefore -shall not at present be any farther insisted on. - -I shall only infer from them, that since reason can never give rise -to the idea of efficacy, that idea must be derived from experience, -and from some particular instances of this efficacy, which make -their passage into the mind by the common channels of sensation or -reflection. Ideas always represent their objects or impressions; -and _vice versa_, there are some objects necessary to give rise to -every idea. If we pretend, therefore, to have any just idea of this -efficacy, we must produce some instance wherein the efficacy is -plainly discoverable to the mind, and its operations obvious to our -consciousness or sensation. By the refusal of this, we acknowledge, -that the idea is impossible and imaginary; since the principle of -innate ideas, which alone can save us from this dilemma, has been -already refuted, and is now almost universally rejected in the learned -world. Our present business, then, must be to find some natural -production, where the operation and efficacy of a cause can be clearly -conceived and comprehended by the mind, without any danger of obscurity -or mistake. - -In this research, we meet with very little encouragement from -that prodigious diversity which is found in the opinions of those -philosophers who have pretended to explain the secret force and -energy of causes.[14] There are some who maintain, that bodies operate -by their substantial form; others, by their accidents or qualities; -several, by their matter and form; some, by their form and accidents; -others, by certain virtues and faculties distinct from all this. -All these sentiments, again, are mixed and varied in a thousand -different ways, and form a strong presumption that none of them have -any solidity or evidence, and that the supposition of an efficacy in -any of the known qualities of matter is entirely without foundation. -This presumption must increase upon us, when we consider, that these -principles of substantial forms, and accidents, and faculties, are not -in reality any of the known properties of bodies, but are perfectly -unintelligible and inexplicable. For 'tis evident philosophers would -never have had recourse to such obscure and uncertain principles, had -they met with any satisfaction in such as are clear and intelligible; -especially in such an affair as this, which must be an object of the -simplest understanding, if not of the senses. Upon the whole, we may -conclude, that 'tis impossible, in any one instance, to show the -principle in which the force and agency of a cause is placed; and -that the most refined and most vulgar understandings are equally at -a loss in this particular. If any one think proper to refute this -assertion, he need not put himself to the trouble of inventing any long -reasonings, but may at once show us an instance of a cause, where we -discover the power or operating principle. This defiance we are obliged -frequently to make use of, as being almost the only means of proving a -negative in philosophy. - -The small success which has been met with in all the attempts to fix -this power, has at last obliged philosophers to conclude, that the -ultimate force and efficacy of nature is perfectly unknown to us, -and that 'tis in vain we search for it in all the known qualities of -matter. In this opinion they are almost unanimous; and 'tis only in -the inference they draw from it, that they discover any difference in -their sentiments. For some of them, as the Cartesians in particular, -having established it as a principle, that we are perfectly acquainted -with the essence of matter, have very naturally inferred, that it is -endowed with no efficacy, and that 'tis impossible for it of itself to -communicate motion, or produce any of those effects, which we ascribe -to it. As the essence of matter consists in extension, and as extension -implies not actual motion, but only mobility; they conclude, that the -energy, which produces the motion, cannot lie in the extension. - -This conclusion leads them into another, which they regard as perfectly -unavoidable. Matter, say they, is in itself entirely unactive, and -deprived of any power, by which it may produce, or continue, or -communicate motion: but since these effects are evident to our senses, -and since the power that produces them must be placed somewhere, it -must lie in the Deity, or that Divine Being who contains in his nature -all excellency and perfection. 'Tis the Deity, therefore, who is the -prime mover of the universe, and who not only first created matter, and -gave it its original impulse, but likewise, by a continued exertion of -omnipotence, supports its existence, and successively bestows on it -all those motions, and configurations, and qualities, with which it is -endowed. - -This opinion is certainly very curious, and well worth our attention; -but 'twill appear superfluous to examine it in this place, if we -reflect a moment on our present purpose in taking notice of it. We -have established it as a principle, that as all ideas are derived -from impressions, or some precedent _perceptions_,'tis impossible we -can have any idea of power and efficacy, unless some instances can -be produced, wherein this power _is perceived_ to exert itself. Now, -as these instances can never be discovered in body, the Cartesians, -proceeding upon their principle of innate ideas, have had recourse -to a Supreme Spirit or Deity, whom they consider as the only active -being in the universe, and as the immediate cause of every alteration -in matter. But the principle of innate ideas being allowed to be -false, it follows, that the supposition of a Deity can serve us in no -stead, in accounting for that idea of agency, which we search for in -vain in all the objects which are presented to our senses, or which -we are internally conscious of in our own minds. For if every idea -be derived from an impression, the idea of a Deity proceeds from the -same origin; and if no impression, either of sensation or reflection, -implies any force or efficacy, 'tis equally impossible to discover -or even imagine any such active principle in the Deity. Since these -philosophers, therefore, have concluded that matter cannot be endowed -with any efficacious principle, because 'tis impossible to discover -in it such a principle, the same course of reasoning should determine -them to exclude it from the Supreme Being, or, if they esteem that -opinion absurd and impious, as it really is, I shall tell them how they -may avoid it; and that is, by concluding from the very first, that -they have no adequate idea of power or efficacy in any object; since -neither in body nor spirit, neither in superior nor inferior natures, -are they able to discover one single instance of it. - -The same conclusion is unavoidable upon the hypothesis of those, who -maintain the efficacy of second causes, and attribute a derivative, but -a real power and energy to matter. For as they confess that this energy -lies not in any of the known qualities of matter, the difficulty still -remains concerning the origin of its idea. If we have really an idea -of power, we may attribute power to an unknown quality: but as 'tis -impossible that that idea can be derived from such a quality, and as -there is nothing in known qualities which can produce it, it follows -that we deceive ourselves, when we imagine we are possessed of any idea -of this kind, after the manner we commonly understand it. All ideas are -derived from, and represent impressions. We never have any impression -that contains any power or efficacy. We never, therefore, have any idea -of power. - -Some have asserted, that we feel an energy or power in our own mind; -and that, having in this manner acquired the idea of power, we transfer -that quality to matter, where we are not able immediately to discover -it. The motions of our body, and the thoughts and sentiments of our -mind (say they) obey the will; nor do we seek any farther to acquire -a just notion of force or power. But to convince us how fallacious -this reasoning is, we need only consider, that the will being here -considered as a cause, has no more a discoverable connexion with its -effects, than any material cause has with its proper effect. So far -from perceiving the connexion betwixt an act of volition and a motion -of the body, 'tis allowed that no effect is more inexplicable from -the powers and essence of thought and matter. Nor is the empire -of the will over our mind more intelligible. The effect is there -distinguishable and separable from the cause, and could be foreseen -without the experience of their constant conjunction. We have command -over our mind to a certain degree, but beyond _that_ lose all empire -over it: and 'tis evidently impossible to fix any precise bounds to -our authority, where we consult not experience. In short, the actions -of the mind are, in this respect, the same with those of matter. We -perceive only their constant conjunction; nor can we ever reason beyond -it. No internal impression has an apparent energy, more than external -objects have. Since, therefore, matter is confessed by philosophers to -operate by an unknown force, we should in vain hope to attain an idea -of force by consulting our own minds.[15] - -It has been established as a certain principle, that general or -abstract ideas are nothing but individual ones taken in a certain -light, and that, in reflecting on any object, 'tis as impossible to -exclude from our thought all particular degrees of quantity and quality -as from the real nature of things. If we be possessed, therefore, of -any idea of power in general, we must also be able to conceive some -particular species of it; and as power cannot subsist alone, but is -always regarded as an attribute of some being or existence, we must -be able to place this power in some particular being, and conceive -that being as endowed with a real force and energy, by which such a -particular effect necessarily results from its operation. We must -distinctly and particularly conceive the connexion betwixt the cause -and effect, and be able to pronounce, from a simple view of the one, -that it must be followed or preceded by the other. This is the true -manner of conceiving a particular power in a particular body: and a -general idea being impossible without an individual; where the latter -is impossible, 'tis certain the former can never exist. Now nothing -is more evident, than that the human mind cannot form such an idea of -two objects, as to conceive any connexion betwixt them, or comprehend -distinctly that power or efficacy, by which they are united. Such a -connexion would amount to a demonstration, and would imply the absolute -impossibility for the one object not to follow, or to be conceived not -to follow upon the other: which kind of connexion has already been -rejected in all cases. If any one is of a contrary opinion, and thinks -he has attained a notion of power in any particular object, I desire he -may point out to me that object. But till I meet with such a one, which -I despair of, I cannot forbear concluding, that since we can never -distinctly conceive how any particular power can possibly reside in any -particular object, we deceive ourselves in imagining we can form any -such general idea. - -Thus, upon the whole, we may infer, that when we talk of any being, -whether of a superior or inferior nature, as endowed with a power -or force, proportioned to any effect; when we speak of a necessary -connexion betwixt objects, and suppose that this connexion depends upon -an efficacy or energy, with which any of these objects are endowed; in -all the expressions, _so applied_, we have really no distinct meaning, -and make use only of common words, without any clear and determinate -ideas. But as 'tis more probable, that these expressions do here lose -their true meaning by being _wrong applied_, than that they never have -any meaning; 'twill be proper to bestow another consideration on this -subject, to see if possibly we can discover the nature and origin of -those ideas we annex to them. - -Suppose two objects to be presented to us, of which the one is the -cause and the other the effect; 'tis plain that, from the simple -consideration of one, or both these objects, we never shall perceive -the tie by which they are united, or be able certainly to pronounce, -that there is a connexion betwixt them. 'Tis not, therefore, from any -one instance, that we arrive at the idea of cause and effect, of a -necessary connexion of power, of force, of energy, and of efficacy. -Did we never see any but particular conjunctions of objects, entirely -different from each other, we should never be able to form any such -ideas. - -But, again, suppose we observe several instances in which the same -objects are always conjoined together, we immediately conceive a -connexion betwixt them, and begin to draw an inference from one -to another. This multiplicity of resembling instances, therefore, -constitutes the very essence of power or connexion, and is the source -from which the idea of it arises. In order, then, to understand the -idea of power, we must consider that multiplicity; nor do I ask more -to give a solution of that difficulty, which has so long perplexed -us. For thus I reason. The repetition of perfectly similar instances -can never _alone_ give rise to an original idea, different from what -is to be found in any particular instance, as has been observed, and -as evidently follows from our fundamental principle, _that all ideas -are copied from impressions_. Since, therefore, the idea of power is -a new original idea, not to be found in any one instance, and which -yet arises from the repetition of several instances, it follows, that -the repetition _alone_ has not that effect, but must either _discover_ -or _produce_ something new, which is the source of that idea. Did the -repetition neither discover nor produce any thing new, our ideas might -be multiplied by it, but would not be enlarged above what they are upon -the observation of one single instance. Every enlargement, therefore, -(such as the idea of power or connexion) which arises from the -multiplicity of similar instances, is copied from some effects of the -multiplicity, and will be perfectly understood by understanding these -effects. Wherever we find any thing new to be discovered or produced by -the repetition, there we must place the power, and must never look for -it in any other object. - -But 'tis evident, in the first place, that the repetition of like -objects in like relations of succession and contiguity, _discovers_ -nothing new in any one of them; since we can draw no inference from -it, nor make it a subject either of our demonstrative or probable -reasonings; as has been already proved.[16] Nay, suppose we could draw -an inference, 'twould be of no consequence in the present case; since -no kind of reasoning can give rise to a new idea, such as this of power -is; but wherever we reason, we must antecedently be possessed of clear -ideas, which may be the objects of our reasoning. The conception always -precedes the understanding; and where the one is obscure, the other is -uncertain; where the one fails, the other must fail also. - -Secondly, 'tis certain that this repetition of similar objects in -similar situations, _produces_ nothing new either in these objects, or -in any external body. For 'twill readily be allowed, that the several -instances we have of the conjunction of resembling causes and effects, -are in themselves entirely independent, and that the communication of -motion, which I see result at present from the shock of two billiard -balls, is totally distinct from that which I saw result from such an -impulse a twelvemonth ago. These impulses have no influence on each -other. They are entirely divided by time and place; and the one might -have existed and communicated motion, though the other never had been -in being. - -There is, then, nothing new either discovered or produced in any -objects by their constant conjunction, and by the uninterrupted -resemblance of their relations of succession and contiguity. But 'tis -from this resemblance, that the ideas of necessity, of power, and of -efficacy, are derived. These ideas therefore represent not any thing, -that does or can belong to the objects, which are constantly conjoined. -This is an argument, which, in every view we can examine it, will be -found perfectly unanswerable. Similar instances are still the first -source of our idea of power or necessity; at the same time that they -have no influence by their similarity either on each other, or on any -external object. We must therefore turn ourselves to some other quarter -to seek the origin of that idea. - -Though the several resembling instances, which give rise to the idea -of power, have no influence on each other, and can never produce any -new quality _in the object_, which can be the model of that idea, -yet the _observation_ of this resemblance produces a new impression -_in the mind_, which is its real model. For after we have observed -the resemblance in a sufficient number of instances, we immediately -feel a determination of the mind to pass from one object to its usual -attendant, and to conceive it in a stronger light upon account of that -relation. This determination is the only effect of the resemblance; -and therefore must be the same with power or efficacy, whose idea is -derived from the resemblance. The several instances of resembling -conjunctions lead us into the notion of power and necessity. These -instances are in themselves totally distinct from each other, and have -no union but in the mind, which observes them, and collects their -ideas. Necessity, then, is the effect of this observation, and as -nothing but an internal impression of the mind, or a determination to -carry our thoughts from one object to another. Without considering it -in this view, we can never arrive at the most distant notion of it, -or be able to attribute it either to external or internal objects, to -spirit or body, to causes or effects. - -The necessary connexion betwixt causes and effects is the foundation of -our inference from one to the other. The foundation of our inference is -the transition arising from the accustomed union. These are therefore -the same. - -The idea of necessity arises from some impression. There is no -impression conveyed by our senses, which can give rise to that idea. -It must, therefore, be derived from some internal impression, or -impression of reflection. There is no internal impression which has any -relation to the present business, but that propensity, which custom -produces, to pass from an object to the idea of its usual attendant. -This, therefore, is the essence of necessity. Upon the whole, necessity -is something that exists in the mind, not in objects; nor is it -possible for us ever to form the most distant idea of it, considered as -a quality in bodies. Either we have no idea of necessity, or necessity -is nothing but that determination of the thought to pass from causes -to effects, and from effects to causes, according to their experienced -union. - -Thus, as the necessity, which makes two times two equal to four, or -three angles of a triangle equal to two right ones, lies only in the -act of the understanding, by which we consider and compare these -ideas; in like manner, the necessity of power, which unites causes and -effects, lies in the determination of the mind to pass from the one to -the other. The efficacy or energy of causes is neither placed in the -causes themselves, nor in the Deity, nor in the concurrence of these -two principles; but belongs entirely to the soul, which considers the -union of two or more objects in all past instances. 'Tis here that -the real power of causes is placed, along with their connexion and -necessity. - -I am sensible, that of all the paradoxes which I have had, or shall -hereafter have occasion to advance in the course of this Treatise, -the present one is the most violent, and that 'tis merely by dint of -solid proof and reasoning I can ever hope it will have admission, and -overcome the inveterate prejudices of mankind. Before we are reconciled -to this doctrine, how often must we repeat to ourselves, _that_ the -simple view of any two objects or actions, however related, can never -give us any idea of power, or of a connexion betwixt them: _that_ this -idea arises from the repetition of their union: _that_ the repetition -neither discovers nor causes any thing in the objects, but has an -influence only on the mind, by that customary transition it produces: -_that_ this customary transition is therefore the same with the power -and necessity; which are consequently qualities of perceptions, not -of objects, and are internally felt by the soul, and not perceived -externally in bodies? There is commonly an astonishment attending every -thing extraordinary; and this astonishment changes immediately into -the highest degree of esteem or contempt, according as we approve or -disapprove of the subject. I am much afraid, that though the foregoing -reasoning appears to me the shortest and most decisive imaginable, yet, -with the generality of readers, the bias of the mind will prevail, and -give them a prejudice against the present doctrine. - -This contrary bias is easily accounted for. 'Tis a common observation, -that the mind has a great propensity to spread itself on external -objects, and to conjoin with them any internal impressions which they -occasion, and which always make their appearance at the same time that -these objects discover themselves to the senses. Thus, as certain -sounds and smells are always found to attend certain Visible objects, -we naturally imagine a conjunction, even in place, betwixt the objects -and qualities, though the qualities be of such a nature as to admit -of no such conjunction, and really exist no where. But of this more -fully hereafter.[17] Meanwhile, 'tis sufficient to observe, that the -same propensity is the reason why we suppose necessity and power to -lie in the objects we consider, not in our mind, that considers them; -notwithstanding it is not possible for us to form the most distant idea -of that quality, when it is not taken for the determination of the mind -to pass from the idea of an object to that of its usual attendant. - -But though this be the only reasonable account we can give of -necessity, the contrary notion is so riveted in the mind from the -principles above-mentioned, that I doubt not but my sentiments will -be treated by many as extravagant and ridiculous. What! the efficacy -of causes lie in the determination of the mind! As if causes did not -operate entirely independent of the mind, and would not continue their -operation, even though there was no mind existent to contemplate them, -or reason concerning them. Thought may well depend on causes for its -operation, but not causes on thought. This is to reverse the order of -nature, and make that secondary, which is really primary. To every -operation there is a power proportioned; and this power must be placed -on the body that operates. If we remove the power from one cause, we -must ascribe it to another: but to remove it from all causes, and -bestow it on a being that is no ways related to the cause or effect, -but by perceiving them, is a gross absurdity, and contrary to the most -certain principles of human reason. - -I can only reply to all these arguments, that the case is here much the -same, as if a blind man should pretend to find a great many absurdities -in the supposition, that the colour of scarlet is not the same with the -sound of a trumpet, nor light the same with solidity. If we have really -no idea of a power or efficacy in any object, or of any real connexion -betwixt causes and effects, 'twill be to little purpose to prove, -that an efficacy is necessary in all operations. We do not understand -our own meaning in talking so, but ignorantly confound ideas which -are entirely distinct from each other. I am, indeed, ready to allow, -that there may be several qualities, both in material and immaterial -objects, with which we are utterly unacquainted; and if we please to -call these _power_ or _efficacy_,'twill be of little consequence to the -world. But when, instead of meaning these unknown qualities, we make -the terms of power and efficacy signify something, of which we have a -clear idea, and which is incompatible with those objects to which we -apply it, obscurity and error begin then to take place, and we are led -astray by a false philosophy. This is the case when we transfer the -determination of the thought to external objects, and suppose any real -intelligible connexion betwixt them; that being a quality which can -only belong to the mind that considers them. - -As to what may be said, that the operations of nature are independent -of our thought and reasoning, I allow it; and accordingly have -observed, that objects bear to each other the relations of contiguity -and succession; that like objects may be observed, in several -instances, to have like relations; and that all this is independent -of, and antecedent to, the operations of the understanding. But if we -go any farther, and ascribe a power or necessary connexion to these -objects, this is what we can never observe in them, but must draw the -idea of it from what we feel internally in contemplating them. And this -I carry so far, that I am ready to convert my present reasoning into -an instance of it, by a subtility which it will not be difficult to -comprehend. - -When any object is presented to us, it immediately conveys to the mind -a lively idea of that object which is usually found to attend it; and -this determination of the mind forms the necessary connexion of these -objects. But when we change the point of view from the objects to the -perceptions, in that case the impression is to be considered as the -cause, and the lively idea as the effect; and their necessary connexion -is that new determination, which we feel to pass from the idea of the -one to that of the other. The uniting principle among our internal -perceptions is as unintelligible as that among external objects, and -is not known to us any other way than by experience. Now, the nature -and effects of experience have been already sufficiently examined and -explained. It never gives us any insight into the internal structure -or operating principle of objects, but only accustoms the mind to pass -from one to another. - -'Tis now time to collect all the different parts of this reasoning, -and, by joining them together, form an exact definition of the -relation of cause and effect, which makes the subject of the present -inquiry. This order would not have been excusable, of first examining -our inference from the relation before we had explained the relation -itself, had it been possible to proceed in a different method. But as -the nature of the relation depends so much on that of the inference, -we have been obliged to advance in this seemingly preposterous manner, -and make use of terms before we were able exactly to define them, or -fix their meaning. We shall now correct this fault by giving a precise -definition of cause and effect. - -There may two definitions be given of this relation, which are only -different by their presenting a different view of the same object, and -making us consider it either as a _philosophical_ or as a _natural_ -relation; either as a comparison of two ideas, or as an association -betwixt them. We may define a _cause_ to be "An object precedent and -contiguous to another, and where all the objects resembling the former -are placed in like relations of precedency and contiguity to those -objects that resemble the latter." If this definition be esteemed -defective, because drawn from objects foreign to the cause, we may -substitute this other definition in its place, viz. "A _cause_ is an -object precedent and contiguous to another, and so united with it that -the idea of the one determines the mind to form the idea of the other, -and the impression of the one to form a more lively idea of the other." -Should this definition also be rejected for the same reason, I know no -other remedy, than that the persons who express this delicacy should -substitute a juster definition in its place. But, for my part, I must -own my incapacity for such an undertaking. When I examine, with the -utmost accuracy, those objects which are commonly denominated causes -and effects, I find, in considering a single instance, that the one -object is precedent and contiguous to the other; and in enlarging my -view to consider several instances, I find only that like objects are -constantly placed in like relations of succession and contiguity. -Again, when I consider the influence of this constant conjunction, I -perceive that such a relation can never be an object of reasoning, -and can never operate upon the mind but by means of custom, which -determines the imagination to make a transition from the idea of one -object to that of its usual attendant, and from the impression of -one to a more lively idea of the other. However extraordinary these -sentiments may appear, I think it fruitless to trouble myself with any -farther inquiry or reasoning upon the subject, but shall repose myself -on them as on established maxims. - -'Twill only be proper, before we leave this subject, to draw some -corollaries from it, by which we may remove several prejudices and -popular errors that have very much prevailed in philosophy. First, -we may learn, from the foregoing doctrine, that all causes are of -the same kind, and that, in particular, there is no foundation for -that distinction which we sometimes make betwixt efficient causes, -and causes _sine qua non_; or betwixt efficient causes, and formal, -and material, and exemplary, and final causes. For as our idea of -efficiency is derived from the constant conjunction of two objects, -wherever this is observed, the cause is efficient; and where it is not, -there can never be a cause of any kind. For the same reason we must -reject the distinction betwixt _cause_ and _occasion_, when supposed to -signify any thing essentially different from each other. If constant -conjunction be implied in what we call occasion, 'tis a real cause; if -not, 'tis no relation at all, and cannot give rise to any argument or -reasoning. - -Secondly, the same course of reasoning will make us conclude, that -there is but one kind of _necessity_, as there is but one kind of -cause, and that the common distinction betwixt _moral_ and _physical_ -necessity is without any foundation in nature. This clearly appears -from the precedent explication of necessity. 'Tis the constant -conjunction of objects, along with the determination of the mind, which -constitutes a physical necessity: and the removal of these is the same -thing with _chance_. As objects must either be conjoined or not, and as -the mind must either be determined or not to pass from one object to -another, 'tis impossible to admit of any medium betwixt chance and an -absolute necessity. In weakening this conjunction and determination you -do not change the nature of the necessity; since even in the operation -of bodies, these have different degrees of constancy and force, without -producing a different species of that relation. - -The distinction, which we often make betwixt _power_ and the _exercise_ -of it, is equally without foundation. - -Thirdly, we may now be able fully to overcome all that repugnance, -which 'tis so natural for us to entertain against the foregoing -reasoning, by which we endeavoured to prove, that the necessity of a -cause to every beginning of existence is not founded on any arguments -either demonstrative or intuitive. Such an opinion will not appear -strange after the foregoing definitions. If we define a cause to be _an -object precedent and contiguous to another, and where all the objects -resembling the former are placed in a like relation of priority and -contiguity to those objects that resemble the latter_; we may easily -conceive that there is no absolute nor metaphysical necessity, that -every beginning of existence should be attended with such an object. -If we define a cause to be, _an object precedent and contiguous to -another, and so united with it in the imagination, that the idea of -the one determines the mind to form the idea of the other, and the -impression of the one to form a more lively idea of the other_; we -shall make still less difficulty of assenting to this opinion. Such -an influence on the mind is in itself perfectly extraordinary and -incomprehensible; nor can we be certain of its reality, but from -experience and observation. - -I shall add as a fourth corollary, that we can never have reason to -believe that any object exists, of which we cannot form an idea. -For, as all our reasonings concerning existence are derived from -causation, and as all our reasonings concerning causation are derived -from the experienced conjunction of objects, not from any reasoning or -reflection, the same experience must give us a notion of these objects, -and must remove all mystery from our conclusions. This is so evident -that 'twould scarce have merited our attention, were it not to obviate -certain objections of this kind which might arise against the following -reasonings concerning _matter_ and _substance_. I need not observe, -that a full knowledge of the object is not requisite, but only of those -qualities of it which we believe to exist. - - -[12] Sect. 2. - -[13] See Mr Locke; chapter of Power. - -[14] See Father Malebranche, Book VI. Part II. Chap. 3, and the -illustrations upon it. - -[15] The same imperfection attends our ideas of the Deity; but this can -have no effect either on religion or morals. The order of the universe -proves an omnipotent mind; that is, a mind whose will is _constantly -attended_ with the obedience of every creature and being. Nothing more -is requisite to give a foundation to all the articles of religion; nor -is it necessary we should form a distinct idea of the force and energy -of the Supreme Being. - -[16] Section 6. - -[17] Part IV. sect 5. - - - - -SECTION XV. - -RULES BY WHICH TO JUDGE OF CAUSES AND EFFECTS. - - -According to the precedent doctrine, there are no objects which, by the -mere survey, without consulting experience, we can determine to be the -causes of any other; and no objects which we can certainly determine in -the same manner not to be the causes. Any thing may produce any thing. -Creation, annihilation, motion, reason, volition; all these may arise -from one another, or from any other object we can imagine. Nor will -this appear strange if we compare two principles explained above, _that -the constant conjunction of objects determines their causation_,[18] -and _that, properly speaking, no objects are contrary to each other -but existence and non-existence_. Where objects are not contrary, -nothing hinders them from having that constant conjunction on which the -relation of cause and effect totally depends. - -Since, therefore, 'tis possible for all objects to become causes or -effects to each other, it may be proper to fix some general rules by -which we may know when they really are so. - -1. The cause and effect must be contiguous in space and time. - -2. The cause must be prior to the effect. - -3. There must be a constant union betwixt the cause and effect. 'Tis -chiefly this quality that constitutes the relation. - -4. The same cause always produces the same effect, and the same effect -never arises but from the same cause. This principle we derive from -experience, and is the source of most of our philosophical reasonings. -For when by any clear experiment we have discovered the causes or -effects of any phenomenon, we immediately extend our observation to -every phenomenon of the same kind, without waiting for that constant -repetition, from which the first idea of this relation is derived. - -5. There is another principle which hangs upon this, viz. that where -several different objects produce the same effect, it must be by means -of some quality which we discover to be common amongst them. For as -like effects imply like causes, we must always ascribe the causation to -the circumstance wherein we discover the resemblance. - -6. The following principle is founded on the same reason. The -difference in the effects of two resembling objects must proceed from -that particular in which they differ. For as like causes always -produce like effects, when in any instance we find our expectation to -be disappointed, we must conclude that this irregularity proceeds from -some difference in the causes. - -7. When any object increases or diminishes with the increase or -diminution of its cause, 'tis to be regarded as a compounded effect, -derived from the union of the several different effects which arise -from the several different parts of the cause. The absence or presence -of one part of the cause is here supposed to be always attended with -the absence or presence of a proportionable part of the effect. This -constant conjunction sufficiently proves that the one part is the cause -of the other. We must, however, beware not to draw such a conclusion -from a few experiments. A certain degree of heat gives pleasure; if you -diminish that heat, the pleasure diminishes; but it does not follow, -that if you augment it beyond a certain degree, the pleasure will -likewise augment; for we find that it degenerates into pain. - -8. The eighth and last rule I shall take notice of is, that an object, -which exists for any time in its full perfection without any effect, is -not the sole cause of that effect, but requires to be assisted by some -other principle, which may forward its influence and operation. For as -like effects necessarily follow from like causes, and in a contiguous -time and place, their separation for a moment shows that these causes -are not complete ones. - -Here is all the _logic_ I think proper to employ in my reasoning; -and perhaps even this was not very necessary, but might have been -supplied by the natural principles of our understanding. Our scholastic -headpieces and logicians show no such superiority above the mere -vulgar in their reason and ability, as to give us any inclination -to imitate them in delivering a long system of rules and precepts -to direct our judgment in philosophy. All the rules of this nature -are very easy in their invention, but extremely difficult in their -application; and even experimental philosophy, which seems the most -natural and simple of any, requires the utmost stretch of human -judgment. There is no phenomenon in nature but what is compounded -and modified by so many different circumstances, that, in order to -arrive at the decisive point, we must carefully separate whatever is -superfluous, and inquire, by new experiments, if every particular -circumstance of the first experiment was essential to it. These new -experiments are liable to a discussion of the same kind; so that the -utmost constancy is required to make us persevere in our inquiry, -and the utmost sagacity to chuse the right way among so many that -present themselves. If this be the case even in natural philosophy, -how much more in moral, where there is a much greater complication -of circumstances, and where those views and sentiments, which are -essential to any action of the mind, are so implicit and obscure, -that they often escape our strictest attention, and are not only -unaccountable in their causes, but even unknown in their existence? I -am much afraid, lest the small success I meet with in my inquiries, -will make this observation bear the air of an apology rather than of -boasting. - -If any thing can give me security in this particular, 'twill be the -enlarging the sphere of my experiments as much as possible; for which -reason, it may be proper, in this place, to examine the reasoning -faculty of brutes, as well as that of human creatures. - - -[18] Part I. Sect 5. - - - - -SECTION XVI. - -OF THE REASON OF ANIMALS. - - -Next to the ridicule of denying an evident truth, is that of taking -much pains to defend it; and no truth appears to me more evident, than -that the beasts are endowed with thought and reason as well as men. The -arguments are in this case so obvious, that they never escape the most -stupid and ignorant. - -We are conscious, that we ourselves, in adapting means to ends, are -guided by reason and design, and that 'tis not ignorantly nor casually -we perform those actions which tend to self-preservation, to the -obtaining pleasure, and avoiding pain. When, therefore, we see other -creatures, in millions of instances, perform like actions, and direct -them to like ends, all our principles of reason and probability carry -us with an invincible force to believe the existence of a like cause. -'Tis needless, in my opinion, to illustrate this argument by the -enumeration of particulars. The smallest attention will supply us with -more than are requisite. The resemblance betwixt the actions of animals -and those of men is so entire, in this respect, that the very first -action of the first animal we shall please to pitch on, will afford us -an incontestable argument for the present doctrine. - -This doctrine is as useful as it is obvious, and furnishes us with a -kind of touchstone, by which we may try every system in this species -of philosophy. 'Tis from the resemblance of the external actions of -animals to those we ourselves perform, that we judge their internal -likewise to resemble ours; and the same principle of reasoning, carried -one step farther, will make us conclude, that, since our internal -actions resemble each other, the causes, from which they are derived, -must also be resembling. When any hypothesis, therefore, is advanced to -explain a mental operation, which is common to men and beasts, we must -apply the same hypothesis to both; and as every true hypothesis will -abide this trial, so I may venture to affirm, that no false one will -ever be able to endure it. The common defect of those systems, which -philosophers have employed to account for the actions of the mind, is, -that they suppose such a subtility and refinement of thought, as not -only exceeds the capacity of mere animals, but even of children and the -common people in our own species; who are, notwithstanding, susceptible -of the same emotions and affections as persons of the most accomplished -genius and understanding. Such a subtility is a clear proof of the -falsehood, as the contrary simplicity of the truth, of any system. - -Let us, therefore, put our present system, concerning the nature of the -understanding, to this decisive trial, and see whether it will equally -account for the reasonings of beasts as for those of the human species. - -Here we must make a distinction betwixt those actions of animals, which -are of a vulgar nature, and seem to be on a level with their common -capacities, and those more extraordinary instances of sagacity, which -they sometimes discover for their own preservation, and the propagation -of their species. A dog that avoids fire and precipices, that shuns -strangers, and caresses his master, affords us an instance of the -first kind. A bird, that chuses with such care and nicety the place -and materials of her nest, and sits upon her eggs for a due time, and -in a suitable season, with all the precaution that a chemist is capable -of in the most delicate projection, furnishes us with a lively instance -of the second. - -As to the former actions, I assert they proceed from a reasoning, that -is not in itself different, nor founded on different principles, from -that which appears in human nature. 'Tis necessary, in the first place, -that there be some impression immediately present to their memory or -senses, in order to be the foundation of their judgment. From the -tone of voice the dog infers his master's anger, and foresees his own -punishment. From a certain sensation affecting his smell, he judges his -game not to be far distant from him. - -Secondly, the inference he draws from the present impression is built -on experience, and on his observation of the conjunction of objects in -past instances. As you vary this experience, he varies his reasoning. -Make a beating follow upon one sign or motion for some time, and -afterwards upon another; and he will successively draw different -conclusions, according to his most recent experience. - -Now, let any philosopher make a trial, and endeavour to explain that -act of the mind which we call _belief_, and give an account of the -principles from which it is derived, independent of the influence of -custom on the imagination, and let his hypothesis be equally applicable -to beasts as to the human species; and, after he has done this, I -promise to embrace his opinion. But, at the same time I demand as an -equitable condition, that if my system be the only one, which can -answer to all these terms, it may be received as entirely satisfactory -and convincing. And that 'tis the only one, is evident almost without -any reasoning. Beasts certainly never perceive any real connexion among -objects. 'Tis therefore by experience they infer one from another. -They can never by any arguments form a general conclusion, that those -objects of which they have had no experience, resemble those of which -they have. 'Tis therefore by means of custom alone that experience -operates upon them. All this was sufficiently evident with respect to -man. But with respect to beasts there cannot be the least suspicion of -mistake; which must be owned to be a strong confirmation, or rather an -invincible proof of my system. - -Nothing shows more the force of habit in reconciling us to any -phenomenon, than this, that men are not astonished at the operations -of their own reason, at the same time that they admire the _instinct_ -of animals, and find a difficulty in explaining it, merely because it -cannot be reduced to the very same principles. To consider the matter -aright, reason is nothing but a wonderful and unintelligible instinct -in our souls, which carries us along a certain train of ideas, and -endows them with particular qualities, according to their particular -situations and relations. This instinct, 'tis true, arises from past -observation and experience; but can any one give the ultimate reason, -why past experience and observation produces such an effect, any more -than why nature alone should produce it? Nature may certainly produce -whatever can arise from habit: nay, habit is nothing but one of the -principles of nature, and derives all its force from that origin. - - - - -PART IV. - -OF THE SCEPTICAL AND OTHER SYSTEMS OF PHILOSOPHY. - - - - -SECTION I. - -OF SCEPTICISM WITH REGARD TO REASON. - - -In all demonstrative sciences the rules are certain and infallible; -but when we apply them, our fallible and uncertain faculties are very -apt to depart from them, and fall into error. We must therefore in -every reasoning form a new judgment, as a check or control on our -first judgment or belief; and must enlarge our view to comprehend a -kind of history of all the instances, wherein our understanding has -deceived us, compared with those wherein its testimony was just and -true. Our reason must be considered as a kind of cause, of which truth -is the natural effect; but such a one as, by the irruption of other -causes, and by the inconstancy of our mental powers, may frequently be -prevented. By this means all knowledge degenerates into probability; -and this probability is greater or less, according to our experience of -the veracity or deceitfulness of our understanding, and according to -the simplicity or intricacy of the question. - -There is no algebraist nor mathematician so expert in his science, as -to place entire confidence in any truth immediately upon his discovery -of it, or regard it as any thing but a mere probability. Every time -he runs over his proofs, his confidence increases; but still more by -the approbation of his friends; and is raised to its utmost perfection -by the universal assent and applauses of the learned world. Now, 'tis -evident that this gradual increase of assurance is nothing but the -addition of new probabilities, and is derived from the constant union -of causes and effects, according to past experience and observation. - -In accounts of any length or importance, merchants seldom trust to -the infallible certainty of numbers for their security; but by the -artificial structure of the accounts, produce a probability beyond -what is derived from the skill and experience of the accountant. For -that is plainly of itself some degree of probability; though uncertain -and variable, according to the degrees of his experience and length -of the account. Now as none will maintain, that our assurance in a -long numeration exceeds probability, I may safely affirm, that there -scarce is any proposition concerning numbers, of which we can have a -fuller security. For 'tis easily possible, by gradually diminishing -the numbers, to reduce the longest series of addition to the most -simple question which can be formed, to an addition of two single -numbers; and upon this supposition we shall find it impracticable to -show the precise limits of knowledge and of probability, or discover -that particular number at which the one ends and the other begins. But -knowledge and probability are of such contrary and disagreeing natures, -that they cannot well run insensibly into each other, and that because -they will not divide, but must be either entirely present, or entirely -absent. Besides, if any single addition were certain, every one would -be so, and consequently the whole or total sum; unless the whole can be -different from all its parts. I had almost said, that this was certain; -but I reflect that it must reduce _itself_, as well as every other -reasoning, and from knowledge degenerate into probability. - -Since, therefore, all knowledge resolves itself into probability, and -becomes at last of the same nature with that evidence which we employ -in common life, we must now examine this latter species of reasoning, -and see on what foundation it stands. - -In every judgment which we can form concerning probability, as well as -concerning knowledge, we ought always to correct the first judgment, -derived from the nature of the object, by another judgment, derived -from the nature of the understanding. 'Tis certain a man of solid sense -and long experience ought to have, and usually has, a greater assurance -in his opinions, than one that is foolish and ignorant, and that our -sentiments have different degrees of authority, even with ourselves, -in proportion to the degrees of our reason and experience. In the man -of the best sense and longest experience, this authority is never -entire; since even such a one must be conscious of many errors in the -past, and must still dread the like for the future. Here then arises a -new species of probability to correct and regulate the first, and fix -its just standard and proportion. As demonstration is subject to the -control of probability, so is probability liable to a new correction by -a reflex act of the mind, wherein the nature of our understanding, and -our reasoning from the first probability, become our objects. - -Having thus found in every probability, beside the original uncertainty -inherent in the subject, a new uncertainty, derived from the -weakness of that faculty which judges, and having adjusted these two -together, we are obliged by our reason to add a new doubt, derived -from the possibility of error in the estimation we make of the truth -and fidelity of our faculties. This is a doubt which immediately -occurs to us, and of which, if we would closely pursue our reason, -we cannot avoid giving a decision. But this decision, though it -should be favourable to our preceding judgment, being founded only -on probability, must weaken still further our first evidence, and -must itself be weakened by a fourth doubt of the same kind, and so -on _in infinitum_; till at last there remain nothing of the original -probability, however great we may suppose it to have been, and however -small the diminution by every new uncertainty. No finite object can -subsist under a decrease repeated _in infinitum_; and even the vastest -quantity, which can enter into human imagination, must in this manner -be reduced to nothing. Let our first belief be never so strong, it must -infallibly perish, by passing through so many new examinations, of -which each diminishes somewhat of its force and vigour. When I reflect -on the natural fallibility of my judgment, I have less confidence in -my opinions, than when I only consider the objects concerning which I -reason; and when I proceed still farther, to turn the scrutiny against -every successive estimation I make of my faculties, all the rules of -logic require a continual diminution, and at last a total extinction of -belief and evidence. - -Should it here be asked me, whether I sincerely assent to this -argument, which I seem to take such pains to inculcate, and whether I -be really one of those sceptics, who hold that all is uncertain, and -that our judgment is not in _any_ thing possessed of _any_ measures of -truth and falsehood; I should reply, that this question is entirely -superfluous, and that neither I, nor any other person, was ever -sincerely and constantly of that opinion. Nature, by an absolute and -uncontrollable necessity, has determined us to judge as well as to -breathe and feel; nor can we any more forbear viewing certain objects -in a stronger and fuller light, upon account of their customary -connexion with a present impression, than we can hinder ourselves from -thinking, as long as we are awake, or seeing the surrounding bodies, -when we turn our eyes towards them in broad sunshine. Whoever has -taken the pains to refute the cavils of this _total_ scepticism, has -really disputed without an antagonist, and endeavoured by arguments to -establish a faculty, which nature has antecedently implanted in the -mind, and rendered unavoidable. - -My intention then in displaying so carefully the arguments of that -fantastic sect, is only to make the reader sensible of the truth of my -hypothesis, _that all our reasonings concerning causes and effects, -are derived from nothing but custom; and that belief is more properly -an act of the sensitive, than of the cogitative part of our natures_. -I have here proved, that the very same principles, which make us -form a decision upon any subject, and correct that decision by the -consideration of our genius and capacity, and of the situation of our -mind, when we examined that subject; I say, I have proved, that these -same principles, when carried farther, and applied to every new reflex -judgment, must, by continually diminishing the original evidence, at -last reduce it to nothing, and utterly subvert all belief and opinion. -If belief, therefore, were a simple act of the thought, without any -peculiar manner of conception, or the addition or a force and vivacity, -it must infallibly destroy itself, and in every case terminate in -a total suspense of judgment. But as experience will sufficiently -convince any one, who thinks it worth while to try, that though he -can find no error in the foregoing arguments, yet he still continues -to believe, and think, and reason, as usual, he may safely conclude, -that his reasoning and belief is some sensation or peculiar manner of -conception, which 'tis impossible for mere ideas and reflections to -destroy. - -But here, perhaps, it may be demanded, how it happens, even upon my -hypothesis, that these arguments above explained produce not a total -suspense of judgment, and after what manner the mind ever retains a -degree of assurance in any subject? For as these new probabilities, -which, by their repetition, perpetually diminish the original -evidence, are founded on the very same principles, whether of thought -or sensation, as the primary judgment, it may seem unavoidable, that -in either case they must equally subvert it, and by the opposition, -either of contrary thoughts or sensations, reduce the mind to a total -uncertainty. I suppose there is some question proposed to me, and -that, after revolving over the impressions of my memory and senses, -and carrying my thoughts from them to such objects as are commonly -conjoined with them, I feel a stronger and more forcible conception -on the one side than on the other. This strong conception forms my -first decision. I suppose, that afterwards I examine my judgment -itself, and observing, from experience, that 'tis sometimes just and -sometimes erroneous, I consider it as regulated by contrary principles -or causes, of which some lead to truth, and some to error; and in -balancing these contrary causes, I diminish, by a new probability, -the assurance of my first decision. This new probability is liable to -the same diminution as the foregoing, and so on, _in infinitum_. 'Tis -therefore demanded, _how it happens, that, even after all, we retain -a degree of belief, which is sufficient for our purpose, either in -philosophy or common life?_ - -I answer, that after the first and second decision, as the action of -the mind becomes forced and unnatural, and the ideas faint and obscure, -though the principles of judgment, and the balancing of opposite causes -be the same as at the very beginning, yet their influence on the -imagination, and the vigour they add to, or diminish from, the thought, -is by no means equal. Where the mind reaches not its objects with -easiness and facility, the same principles have not the same effect as -in a more natural conception of the ideas; nor does the imagination -feel a sensation, which holds any proportion with that which arises -from its common judgments and opinions. The attention is on the -stretch; the posture of the mind is uneasy; and the spirits being -diverted from their natural course, are not governed in their movements -by the same laws, at least not to the same degree, as when they flow in -their usual channel. - -If we desire similar instances, 'twill not be very difficult to find -them. The present subject of metaphysics will supply us abundantly. The -same argument, which would have been esteemed convincing in a reasoning -concerning history or politics, has little or no influence in these -abstruser subjects, even though it be perfectly comprehended; and that -because there is required a study and an effort of thought, in order -to its being comprehended: and this effort of thought disturbs the -operation of our sentiments, on which the belief depends. The case is -the same in other subjects. The straining of the imagination always -hinders the regular flowing of the passions and sentiments. A tragic -poet, that would represent his heroes as very ingenious and witty in -their misfortunes, would never touch the passions. As the emotions of -the soul prevent any subtile reasoning and reflection, so these latter -actions of the mind are equally prejudicial to the former. The mind, -as well as the body, seems to be endowed with a certain precise degree -of force and activity, which it never employs in one action, but at -the expense of all the rest. This is more evidently true, where the -actions are of quite different natures; since in that case the force -of the mind is not only diverted, but even the disposition changed, so -as to render us incapable of a sudden transition from one action to -the other, and still more of performing both at once. No wonder, then, -the conviction, which arises from a subtile reasoning, diminishes in -proportion to the efforts which the imagination makes to enter into the -reasoning, and to conceive it in all its parts. Belief, being a lively -conception, can never be entire, where it is not founded on something -natural and easy. - -This I take to be the true state of the question, and cannot approve -of that expeditious way, which some take with the sceptics, to reject -at once all their arguments without inquiry or examination. If the -sceptical reasonings be strong, say they, 'tis a proof that reason may -have some force and authority: if weak, they can never be sufficient -to invalidate all the conclusions of our understanding. This argument -is not just; because the sceptical reasonings, were it possible for -them to exist, and were they not destroyed by their subtilty, would -be successively both strong and weak, according to the successive -dispositions of the mind. Reason first appears in possession of the -throne, prescribing laws, and imposing maxims, with an absolute sway -and authority. Her enemy, therefore, is obliged to take shelter under -her protection, and by making use of rational arguments to prove the -fallaciousness and imbecility of reason, produces, in a manner, a -patent under her hand and seal. This patent has at first an authority, -proportioned to the present and immediate authority of reason, from -which it is derived. But as it is supposed to be contradictory to -reason, it gradually diminishes the force of that governing power and -its own at the same time; till at last they both vanish away into -nothing, by a regular and just diminution. The sceptical and dogmatical -reasons are of the same kind, though contrary in their operation and -tendency; so that where the latter is strong, it has an enemy of equal -force in the former to encounter; and as their forces were at first -equal, they still continue so, as long as either of them subsists; nor -does one of them lose any force in the contest, without taking as much -from its antagonist. 'Tis happy, therefore, that nature breaks the -force of all sceptical arguments in time, and keeps them from having -any considerable influence on the understanding. Were we to trust -entirely to their self-destruction, that can never take place, 'till -they have first subverted all conviction, and have totally destroyed -human reason. - - - - -SECTION II. - -OF SCEPTICISM WITH REGARD TO THE SENSES. - - -Thus the sceptic still continues to reason and believe, even though he -asserts that he cannot defend his reason by reason; and by the same -rule he must assent to the principle concerning the existence of body, -though he cannot pretend, by any arguments of philosophy, to maintain -its veracity. Nature has not left this to his choice, and has doubtless -esteemed it an affair of too great importance, to be trusted to our -uncertain reasonings and speculations. We may well ask, _What causes -induce us to believe in the existence of body_? but 'tis in vain to -ask, _Whether there be body or not_? That is a point, which we must -take for granted in all our reasonings. - -The subject, then, of our present inquiry, is concerning the _causes_ -which induce us to believe in the existence of body: and my reasonings -on this head I shall begin with a distinction, which at first sight -may seem superfluous, but which will contribute very much to the -perfect understanding of what follows. We ought to examine apart those -two questions, which are commonly confounded together, viz. Why we -attribute a _continued_ existence to objects, even when they are not -present to the senses; and why we suppose them to have an existence -_distinct_ from the mind and perception? Under this last head I -comprehend their situation as well as relations, their _external_ -position as well as the _independence_ of their existence and -operation. These two questions concerning the continued and distinct -existence of body are intimately connected together. For if the objects -of our senses continue to exist, even when they are not perceived, -their existence is of course independent of and distinct from the -perception; and _vice versa_, if their existence be independent of -the perception, and distinct from it, they must continue to exist, -even though they be not perceived. But though the decision of the one -question decides the other; yet that we may the more easily discover -the principles of human nature, from whence the decision arises, we -shall carry along with us this distinction, and shall consider, whether -it be the _senses, reason_, or the _imagination_, that produces the -opinion of a _continued_ or of a _distinct_ existence. These are the -only questions that are intelligible on the present subject. For as to -the notion of external existence, when taken for something specifically -different from our perceptions, we have already shown its absurdity.[1] - -To begin with the _senses_,'tis evident these faculties are incapable -of giving rise to the notion of the _continued_ existence of their -objects, after they no longer appear to the senses. For that is a -contradiction in terms, and supposes that the senses continue to -operate, even after they have ceased all manner of operation. These -faculties, therefore, if they have any influence in the present case, -must produce the opinion of a distinct, not of a continued existence; -and in order to that, must present their impressions either as images -and representations, or as these very distinct and external existences. - -That our senses offer not their impressions as the images of something -_distinct_, or _independent_, and _external_, is evident; because -they convey to us nothing but a single perception, and never give us -the least intimation of any thing beyond. A single perception can -never produce the idea of a double existence, but by some inference -either of the reason or imagination. When the mind looks farther than -what immediately appears to it, its conclusions can never be put to -the account of the senses; and it certainly looks farther, when from -a single perception it infers a double existence, and supposes the -relations of resemblance and causation betwixt them. - -If our senses, therefore, suggest any idea of distinct existences, -they must convey the impressions as those very existences, by a kind -of fallacy and illusion. Upon this head we may observe, that all -sensations are felt by the mind, such as they really are, and that, -when we doubt whether they present themselves as distinct objects, or -as mere impressions, the difficulty is not concerning their nature, but -concerning their relations and situation. Now, if the senses presented -our impressions as external to, and independent of ourselves, both the -objects and ourselves must be obvious to our senses, otherwise they -could not be compared by these faculties. The difficulty then, is, how -far we are _ourselves_ the objects of our senses. - -'Tis certain there is no question in philosophy more abstruse than that -concerning identity, and the nature of the uniting principle, which -constitutes a person. So far from being able by our senses merely to -determine this question, we must have recourse to the most profound -metaphysics to give a satisfactory answer to it; and in common life -'tis evident these ideas of self and person are never very fixed nor -determinate. 'Tis absurd therefore to imagine the senses can ever -distinguish betwixt ourselves and external objects. - -Add to this, that every impression, external and internal, passions, -affections, sensations, pains and pleasures, are originally on the -same footing; and that whatever other differences we may observe among -them, they appear, all of them, in their true colours, as impressions -or perceptions. And indeed, if we consider the matter aright, 'tis -scarce possible it should be otherwise; nor is it conceivable that -our senses should be more capable of deceiving us in the situation -and relations, than in the nature of our impressions. For since all -actions and sensations of the mind are known to us by consciousness, -they must necessarily appear in every particular what they are, and be -what they appear. Every thing that enters the mind, being in _reality_ -as the perception, 'tis impossible any thing should to _feeling_ appear -different. This were to suppose, that even where we are most intimately -conscious, we might be mistaken. - -But not to lose time in examining, whether 'tis possible for our -senses to deceive us, and represent our perceptions as distinct from -ourselves, that is, as _external_ to and _independent_ of us; let us -consider whether they really do so, and whether this error proceeds -from an immediate sensation, or from some other causes. - -To begin with the question concerning _external_ existence, it may -perhaps be said, that setting aside the metaphysical question of the -identity of a thinking substance, our own body evidently belongs -to us; and as several impressions appear exterior to the body, we -suppose them also exterior to ourselves. The paper, on which I write -at present, is beyond my hand. The table is beyond the paper. The -walls of the chamber beyond the table. And in casting my eye towards -the window, I perceive a great extent of fields and buildings beyond -my chamber. From all this it may be inferred, that no other faculty is -required, beside the senses, to convince us of the external existence -of body. But to prevent this inference, we need only weigh the three -following considerations. _First_, that, properly speaking, 'tis not -our body we perceive, when we regard our limbs and members, but certain -impressions, which enter by the senses; so that the ascribing a real -and corporeal existence to these impressions, or to their objects, is -an act of the mind as difficult to explain as that which we examine at -present. _Secondly_, sounds, and tastes, and smells, though commonly -regarded by the mind as continued independent qualities, appear not to -have any existence in extension, and consequently cannot appear to the -senses as situated externally to the body. The reason why we ascribe a -place to them, shall be considered afterwards.[2] _Thirdly_, even our -sight informs us not of distance or outness (so to speak) immediately -and without a certain reasoning and experience, as is acknowledged by -the most rational philosophers. - -As to the _independency_ of our perceptions on ourselves, this can -never be an object of the senses; but any opinion we form concerning -it, must be derived from experience and observation: and we shall see -afterwards, that our conclusions from experience are far from being -favourable to the doctrine of the independency of our perceptions. -Meanwhile we may observe, that when we talk of real distinct -existences, we have commonly more in our eye their independency than -external situation in place, and think an object has a sufficient -reality, when its being is uninterrupted, and independent of the -incessant revolutions, which we are conscious of in ourselves. - -Thus to resume what I have said concerning the senses; they give us -no notion of continued existence, because they cannot operate beyond -the extent, in which they really operate. They as little produce the -opinion of a distinct existence, because they neither can offer it to -the mind as represented, nor as original. To offer it as represented, -they must present both an object and an image. To make it appear as -original, they must convey a falsehood; and this falsehood must lie in -the relations and situation: in order to which, they must be able to -compare the object with ourselves; and even in that case they do not, -nor is it possible they should deceive us. We may therefore conclude -with certainty, that the opinion of a continued and of a distinct -existence never arises from the senses. - -To confirm this, we may observe, that there are three different kinds -of impressions conveyed by the senses. The first are those of the -figure, bulk, motion, and solidity of bodies. The second, those of -colours, tastes, smells, sounds, heat and cold. The third are the -pains and pleasures that arise from the application of objects to our -bodies, as by the cutting of our flesh with steel, and such like. -Both philosophers and the vulgar suppose the first of these to have -a distinct continued existence. The vulgar only regard the second as -on the same footing. Both philosophers and the vulgar, again, esteem -the third to be merely perceptions; and, consequently, interrupted and -dependent beings. - -Now, 'tis evident, that, whatever may be our philosophical opinion, -colour, sounds, heat and cold, as far as appears to the senses, -exist after the same manner with motion and solidity; and that the -difference we make betwixt them, in this respect, arises not from the -mere perception. So strong is the prejudice for the distinct continued -existence of the former qualities, that when the contrary opinion is -advanced by modern philosophers, people imagine they can almost refute -it from their feeling and experience, and that their very senses -contradict this philosophy. 'Tis also evident, that colours, sounds, -&c. are originally on the same footing with the pain that arises from -steel, and pleasure that proceeds from a fire; and that the difference -betwixt them is founded neither on perception nor reason, but on the -imagination. For as they are confessed to be, both of them, nothing -but perceptions arising from the particular configurations and motions -of the parts of body, wherein possibly can their difference consist? -Upon the whole, then, we may conclude, that, as far as the senses are -judges, all perceptions are the same in the manner of their existence. - -We may also observe, in this instance of sounds and colours, that we -can attribute a distinct continued existence to objects without ever -consulting _reason_, or weighing our opinions by any philosophical -principles. And, indeed, whatever convincing arguments philosophers may -fancy they can produce to establish the belief of objects independent -of the mind, 'tis obvious these arguments are known but to very few; -and that 'tis not by them that children, peasants, and the greatest -part of mankind, are induced to attribute objects to some impressions, -and deny them to others. Accordingly, we find, that all the conclusions -which the vulgar form on this head, are directly contrary to those -which are confirmed by philosophy. For philosophy informs us, that -every thing which appears to the mind, is nothing but a perception, -and is interrupted and dependent on the mind; whereas the vulgar -confound perceptions and objects, and attribute a distinct continued -existence to the very things they feel or see. This sentiment, then, -as it is entirely unreasonable, must proceed from some other faculty -than the understanding. To which we may add, that, as long as we take -our perceptions and objects to be the same, we can never infer the -existence of the one from that of the other, nor form any argument -from the relation of cause and effect; which is the only one that can -assure us of matter of fact. Even after we distinguish our perceptions -from our objects, 'twill appear presently that we are still incapable -of reasoning from the existence of one to that of the other: so that, -upon the whole, our reason neither does, nor is it possible it ever -should, upon any supposition, give us an assurance of the continued and -distinct existence of body. That opinion must be entirely owing to the -_imagination_: which must now be the subject of our inquiry. - -Since all impressions are internal and perishing existences, and -appear as such, the notion of their distinct and continued existence -must arise from a concurrence of some of their qualities with the -qualities of the imagination; and since this notion does not extend -to all of them, it must arise from certain qualities peculiar to some -impressions. 'Twill, therefore, be easy for us to discover these -qualities by a comparison of the impressions, to which we attribute -a distinct and continued existence, with those which we regard as -internal and perishing. - -We may observe, then, that 'tis neither upon account of the -involuntariness of certain impressions, as is commonly supposed, nor of -their superior force and violence, that we attribute to them a reality -and continued existence, which we refuse to others that are voluntary -or feeble. For 'tis evident, our pains and pleasures, our passions and -affections, which we never suppose to have any existence beyond our -perception, operate with greater violence, and are equally involuntary, -as the impressions of figure and extension, colour and sound, which we -suppose to be permanent beings. The heat of a fire, when moderate, is -supposed to exist in the fire; but the pain which it causes upon a near -approach is not taken to have any being except in the perception. - -These vulgar opinions, then, being rejected, we must search for some -other hypothesis, by which we may discover those peculiar qualities -in our impressions, which makes us attribute to them a distinct and -continued existence. - -After a little examination, we shall find, that all those objects, to -which we attribute a continued existence, have a peculiar _constancy_, -which distinguishes them from the impressions whose existence depends -upon our perception. Those mountains, and houses, and trees, which lie -at present under my eye, have always appeared to me in the same order; -and when I lose sight of them by shutting my eyes or turning my head, -I soon after find them return upon me without the least alteration. -My bed and table, my books and papers, present themselves in the same -uniform manner, and change not upon account of any interruption in my -seeing or perceiving them. This is the case with all the impressions, -whose objects are supposed to have an external existence; and is the -case with no other impressions, whether gentle or violent, voluntary or -involuntary. - -This constancy, however, is not so perfect as not to admit of very -considerable exceptions. Bodies often change their position and -qualities, and, after a little absence or interruption, may become -hardly knowable. But here 'tis observable, that even in these changes -they preserve a _coherence_, and have a regular dependence on each -other; which is the foundation of a kind of reasoning from causation, -and produces the opinion of their continued existence. When I return -to my chamber after an hour's absence, I find not my fire in the same -situation in which I left it; but then I am accustomed, in other -instances, to see a like alteration produced in a like time, whether -I am present or absent, near or remote. This coherence, therefore, in -their changes, is one of the characteristics of external objects, as -well as their constancy. - -Having found that the opinion of the continued existence of body -depends on the _coherence_ and _constancy_ of certain impressions, I -now proceed to examine after what manner these qualities give rise -to so extraordinary an opinion. To begin with the coherence; we may -observe, that though those internal impressions, which we regard as -fleeting and perishing, have also a certain coherence or regularity -in their appearances, yet 'tis of somewhat a different nature from -that which we discover in bodies. Our passions are found by experience -to have a mutual connexion with, and dependence on each other; but -on no occasion is it necessary to suppose that they have existed and -operated, when they were not perceived, in order to preserve the same -dependence and connexion, of which we have had experience. The case -is not the same with relation to external objects. Those require -a continued existence, or otherwise lose, in a great measure, the -regularity of their operation. I am here seated in my chamber, with -my face to the fire; and all the objects that strike my senses are -contained in a few yards around me. My memory, indeed, informs me of -the existence of many objects; but, then, this information extends not -beyond their past existence, nor do either my senses or memory give any -testimony to the continuance of their being. When, therefore, I am thus -seated, and revolve over these thoughts, I hear on a sudden a noise as -of a door turning upon its hinges; and a little after see a porter, who -advances towards me. This gives occasion to many new reflections and -reasonings. First, I never have observed that this noise could proceed -from any thing but the motion of a door; and therefore conclude, that -the present phenomenon is a contradiction to all past experience, -unless the door, which I remember on t'other side the chamber, be still -in being. Again, I have always found, that a human body was possessed -of a quality which I call gravity, and which hinders it from mounting -in the air, as this porter must have done to arrive at my chamber, -unless the stairs I remember be not annihilated by my absence. But this -is not all. I receive a letter, which, upon opening it, I perceive by -the handwriting and subscription to have come from a friend, who says -he is two hundred leagues distant. 'Tis evident I can never account -for this phenomenon, conformable to my experience in other instances, -without spreading out in my mind the whole sea and continent between -us, and supposing the effects and continued existence of posts and -ferries, according to my memory and observation. To consider these -phenomena of the porter and letter in a certain light, they are -contradictions to common experience, and may be regarded as objections -to those maxims which we form concerning the connexions of causes and -effects. I am accustomed to hear such a sound, and see such an object -in motion at the same time. I have not received, in this particular -instance, both these perceptions. These observations are contrary, -unless I suppose that the door still remains, and that it was opened -without my perceiving it: and this supposition, which was at first -entirely arbitrary and hypothetical, acquires a force and evidence by -its being the only one upon which I can reconcile these contradictions. -There is scarce a moment of my life, wherein there is not a similar -instance presented to me, and I have not occasion to suppose the -continued existence of objects, in order to connect their past and -present appearances, and give them such an union with each other, as I -have found, by experience, to be suitable to their particular natures -and circumstances. Here, then, I am naturally led to regard the world -as something real and durable, and as preserving its existence, even -when it is no longer present to my perception. - -But, though this conclusion, from the coherence of appearances, may -seem to be of the same nature with our reasonings concerning causes -and effects, as being derived from custom, and regulated by past -experience, we shall find, upon examination, that they are at the -bottom considerably different from each other, and that this inference -arises from the understanding and from custom, in an indirect and -oblique manner. For 'twill readily be allowed, that since nothing is -ever really present to the mind, besides its own perceptions, 'tis -not only impossible that any habit should ever be acquired otherwise -than by the regular succession of these perceptions, but also that -any habit should ever exceed that degree of regularity. Any degree, -therefore, of regularity in our perceptions, can never be a foundation -for us to infer a greater degree of regularity in some objects which -are not perceived, since this supposes a contradiction, viz. a habit -acquired by what was never present to the mind. But, 'tis evident that, -whenever we infer the continued existence of the objects of sense from -their coherence, and the frequency of their union, 'tis in order to -bestow on the objects a greater regularity than what is observed in our -mere perceptions. We remark a connexion betwixt two kinds of objects -in their past appearance to the senses, but are not able to observe -this connexion to be perfectly constant, since the turning about of our -head, or the shutting of our eyes, is able to break it. What, then, do -we suppose in this case, but that these objects still continue their -usual connexion, notwithstanding their apparent interruption, and that -the irregular appearances are joined by something of which we are -insensible? But as all reasoning concerning matters of fact arises only -from custom, and custom can only be the effect of repeated perceptions, -the extending of custom and reasoning beyond the perceptions can -never be the direct and natural effect of the constant repetition and -connexion, but must arise from the cooperation of some other principles. - -I have already observed,[3] in examining the foundation of mathematics, -that the imagination, when set into any train of thinking, is apt to -continue even when its object fails it, and, like a galley put in -motion by the oars, carries on its course without any new impulse. This -I have assigned for the reason, why, after considering several loose -standards of equality, and correcting them by each other, we proceed -to imagine so correct and exact a standard of that relation as is -not liable to the least error or variation. The same principle makes -us easily entertain this opinion of the continued existence of body. -Objects have a certain coherence even as they appear to our senses; -but this coherence is much greater and more uniform if we suppose the -objects to have a continued existence; and as the mind is once in the -train of observing an uniformity among objects, it naturally continues -till it renders the uniformity as complete as possible. The simple -supposition of their continued existence suffices for this purpose, and -gives us a notion of a much greater regularity among objects, than what -they have when we look no farther than our senses. - -But whatever force we may ascribe to this principle, I am afraid -'tis too weak to support alone so vast an edifice as is that of the -continued existence of all external bodies; and that we must join the -_constancy_ of their appearance to the _coherence_, in order to give -a satisfactory account of that opinion. As the explication of this -will lead me into a considerable compass of very profound reasoning, I -think it proper, in order to avoid confusion, to give a short sketch or -abridgment of my system, and afterwards draw out all its parts in their -full compass. This inference from the constancy of our perceptions, -like the precedent from their coherence, gives rise to the opinion -of the _continued_ existence of body, which is prior to that of its -_distinct_ existence, and produces that latter principle. - -When we have been accustomed to observe a constancy in certain -impressions, and have found that the perception of the sun or ocean, -for instance, returns upon us, after an absence or annihilation, with -like parts and in a like order as at its first appearance, we are not -apt to regard these interrupted perceptions as different (which they -really are), but on the contrary consider them as individually the -same, upon account of their resemblance. But as this interruption of -their existence is contrary to their perfect identity, and makes us -regard the first impression as annihilated, and the second as newly -created, we find ourselves somewhat at a loss, and are involved in a -kind of contradiction. In order to free ourselves from this difficulty, -we disguise, as much as possible, the interruption, or rather remove it -entirely, by supposing that these interrupted perceptions are connected -by a real existence, of which we are insensible. This supposition, or -idea of continued existence, acquires a force and vivacity from the -memory of these broken impressions, and from that propensity which -they give us to suppose them the same; and according to the precedent -reasoning, the very essence of belief consists in the force and -vivacity of the conception. - -In order to justify this system, there are four things requisite. -_First_, to explain the _principium individuations_, or principle of -identity. _Secondly_, give a reason why the resemblance of our broken -and interrupted perceptions induces us to attribute an identity to -them. _Thirdly_, account for that propensity, which this allusion -gives, to unite these broken appearances by a continued existence. -_Fourthly_, and lastly, explain that force and vivacity of conception -which arises from the propensity. - -First, as to the principle of individuation, we may observe, that -the view of any one object is not sufficient to convey the idea of -identity. For in that proposition, _an object is the same with itself_, -if the idea expressed by the word _object_ were no ways distinguished -from that meant by _itself_; we really should mean nothing, nor would -the proposition contain a predicate and a subject, which, however, are -implied in this affirmation. One single object conveys the idea of -unity, not that of identity. - -On the other hand, a multiplicity of objects can never convey this -idea, however resembling they may be supposed. The mind always -pronounces the one not to be the other, and considers them as forming -two, three, or any determinate number of objects, whose existences are -entirely distinct and independent. - -Since then both number and unity are incompatible with the relation -of identity, it must lie in something that is neither of them. But to -tell the truth, at first sight this seems utterly impossible. Betwixt -unity and number there can be no medium; no more than betwixt existence -and non-existence. After one object is supposed to exist, we must -either suppose another also to exist; in which case we have the idea -of number: or we must suppose it not to exist; in which case the first -object remains at unity. - -To remove this difficulty, let us have recourse to the idea of time -or duration. I have already observed,[4] that time, in a strict -sense, implies succession, and that, when we apply its idea to any -unchangeable object, 'tis only by a fiction of the imagination by -which the unchangeable object is supposed to participate of the -changes of the co-existent objects, and in particular of that of our -perceptions. This fiction of the imagination almost universally takes -place; and 'tis by means of it that a single object, placed before -us, and surveyed for any time without our discovering in it any -interruption or variation, is able to give us a notion of identity. -For when we consider any two points of this time, we may place them in -different lights: we may either survey them at the very same instant; -in which case they give us the idea of number, both by themselves and -by the object; which must be multiplied in order to be conceived at -once, as existent in these two different points of time: or, on the -other hand, we may trace the succession of time by a like succession -of ideas, and conceiving first one moment, along with the object -then existent, imagine afterwards a change in the time without any -_variation_ or _interruption_ in the object; in which case it gives -us the idea of unity. Here then is an idea, which is a medium betwixt -unity and number; or, more properly speaking, is either of them, -according to the view in which we take it: and this idea we call that -of identity. We cannot, in any propriety of speech, say that an object -is the same with itself, unless we mean that the object existent at -one time is the same with itself existent at another. By this means we -make a difference betwixt the idea meant by the word _object_, and that -meant by _itself_, without going the length of number, and at the same -time without restraining ourselves to a strict and absolute unity. - -Thus the principle of individuation is nothing but the _invariableness_ -and _uninterruptedness_ of any object, through a supposed variation of -time, by which the mind can trace it in the different periods of its -existence, without any break of the view, and without being obliged to -form the idea of multiplicity or number. - -I now proceed to explain the _second_ part of my system, and show why -the constancy of our perceptions makes us ascribe to them a perfect -numerical identity, though there be very long intervals betwixt their -appearance, and they have only one of the essential qualities of -identity, viz. _invariableness_. That I may avoid all ambiguity and -confusion on this head, I shall observe, that I here account for the -opinions and belief of the vulgar with regard to the existence of -body; and therefore must entirely conform myself to their manner of -thinking and of expressing themselves. Now, we have already observed, -that however philosophers may distinguish betwixt the objects and -perceptions of the senses; which they suppose co-existent and -resembling; yet this is a distinction which is not comprehended by -the generality of mankind, who, as they perceive only one being, can -never assent to the opinion of a double existence and representation. -Those very sensations which enter by the eye or ear are with them the -true objects, nor can they readily conceive that this pen or paper, -which is immediately perceived, represents another which is different -from, but resembling it. In order, therefore, to accommodate myself to -their notions, I shall at first suppose that there is only a single -existence, which I shall call indifferently _object_ or _perception_, -according as it shall seem best to suit my purpose, understanding by -both of them what any common man means by a hat, or shoe, or stone, or -any other impression conveyed to him by his senses. I shall be sure to -give warning when I return to a more philosophical way of speaking and -thinking. - -To enter therefore upon the question concerning the source of the -error and deception with regard to identity, when we attribute it -to our resembling perceptions, notwithstanding their interruption, -I must here recal an observation which I have already proved and -explained.[5] Nothing is more apt to make us mistake one idea for -another, than any relation betwixt them, which associates them together -in the imagination, and makes it pass with facility from one to the -other. Of all relations, that of resemblance is in this respect the -most efficacious; and that because it not only causes an association -of ideas, but also of dispositions, and makes us conceive the one -idea by an act or operation of the mind, similar to that by which we -conceive the other. This circumstance I have observed to be of great -moment; and we may establish it for a general rule, that whatever ideas -place the mind in the same disposition or in similar ones, are very -apt to be confounded. The mind readily passes from one to the other, -and perceives not the change without a strict attention, of which, -generally speaking, 'tis wholly incapable. - -In order to apply this general maxim, we must first examine the -disposition of the mind in viewing any object which preserves a -perfect identity, and then find some other object that is confounded -with it, by causing a similar disposition. When we fix our thought -on any object, and suppose it to continue the same for some time, -'tis evident we suppose the change to lie only in the time, and never -exert ourselves to produce any new image or idea of the object. The -faculties of the mind repose themselves in a manner, and take no -more exercise than what is necessary to continue that idea of which -we were formerly possessed, and which subsists without variation or -interruption. The passage from one moment to another is scarce felt, -and distinguishes not itself by a different perception or idea, which -may require a different direction of the spirits, in order to its -conception. - -Now, what other objects, beside identical ones, are capable of placing -the mind in the same disposition, when it considers them, and of -causing the same uninterrupted passage of the imagination from one idea -to another? This question is of the last importance. For if we can -find any such objects, we may certainly conclude, from the foregoing -principle, that they are very naturally confounded with identical -ones, and are taken for them in most of our reasonings. But though -this question be very important, 'tis not very difficult nor doubtful. -For I immediately reply, that a succession of related objects places -the mind in this disposition, and is considered with the same smooth -and uninterrupted progress of the imagination, as attends the view of -the same invariable object. The very nature and essence of relation is -to connect our ideas with each other, and upon the appearance of one, -to facilitate the transition to its correlative. The passage betwixt -related ideas, is therefore so smooth and easy, that it produces little -alteration on the mind, and seems like the continuation of the same -action; and as the continuation of the same action is an effect of the -continued view of the same object, 'tis for this reason we attribute -sameness to every succession of related objects. The thought slides -along the succession with equal facility, as if it considered only one -object; and therefore confounds the succession with the identity. - -We shall afterwards see many instances of this tendency of relation -to make us ascribe an _identity_ to _different_ objects; but shall -here confine ourselves to the present subject. We find by experience, -that there is such a _constancy_ in almost all the impressions of the -senses, that their interruption produces no alteration on them, and -hinders them not from returning the same in appearance and in situation -as at their first existence. I survey the furniture of my chamber; I -shut my eyes, and afterwards open them; and find the new perceptions -to resemble perfectly those which formerly struck my senses. This -resemblance is observed in a thousand instances, and naturally connects -together our ideas of these interrupted perceptions by the strongest -relation, and conveys the mind with an easy transition from one to -another. An easy transition or passage of the imagination, along the -ideas of these different and interrupted perceptions, is almost the -same disposition of mind with that in which we consider one constant -and uninterrupted perception. 'Tis therefore very natural for us to -mistake the one for the other.[6] - -The persons who entertain this opinion concerning the identity of -our resembling perceptions, are in general all the unthinking and -unphilosophical part of mankind, (that is, all of us at one time or -other), and, consequently, such as suppose their perceptions to be -their only objects, and never think of a double existence internal and -external, representing and represented. The very image which is present -to the senses is with us the real body; and 'tis to these interrupted -images we ascribe a perfect identity. But as the interruption of the -appearance seems contrary to the identity, and naturally leads us to -regard these resembling perceptions as different from each other, -we here find ourselves at a loss how to reconcile such opposite -opinions. The smooth passage of the imagination along the ideas of the -resembling perceptions makes us ascribe to them a perfect identity. The -interrupted manner of their appearance makes us consider them as so -many resembling, but still distinct beings, which appear after certain -intervals. The perplexity arising from this contradiction produces -a propension to unite these broken appearances by the fiction of a -continued existence, which is the _third_ part of that hypothesis I -proposed to explain. - -Nothing is more certain from experience than that any contradiction -either to the sentiments or passions gives a sensible uneasiness, -whether it proceeds from without or from within; from the opposition -of external objects, or from the combat of internal principles. On -the contrary, whatever strikes in with the natural propensities, and -either externally forwards their satisfaction, or internally concurs -with their movements, is sure to give a sensible pleasure. Now, there -being here an opposition betwixt the notion of the identity of -resembling perceptions, and the interruption of their appearance, the -mind must be uneasy in that situation, and will naturally seek relief -from the uneasiness. Since the uneasiness arises from the opposition -of two contrary principles, it must look for relief by sacrificing -the one to the other. But as the smooth passage of our thought along -our resembling perceptions makes us ascribe to them an identity, -we can never, without reluctance, yield up that opinion. We must -therefore turn to the other side, and suppose that our perceptions -are no longer interrupted, but preserve a continued as well as an -invariable existence, and are by that means entirely the same. But -here the interruptions in the appearance of these perceptions are so -long and frequent, that 'tis impossible to overlook them; and as the -_appearance_ of a perception in the mind and its _existence_ seem -at first sight entirely the same, it may be doubted whether we can -ever assent to so palpable a contradiction, and suppose a perception -to exist without being present to the mind. In order to clear up -this matter, and learn how the interruption in the appearance of a -perception implies not necessarily an interruption in its existence, -'twill be proper to touch upon some principles which we shall have -occasion to explain more fully afterwards.[7] - -We may begin with observing, that the difficulty in the present case -is not concerning the matter of fact, or whether the mind forms such -a conclusion concerning the continued existence of its perceptions, -but only concerning the manner in which the conclusion is formed, and -principles from which it is derived. 'Tis certain that almost all -mankind, and even philosophers themselves, for the greatest part of -their lives, take their perceptions to be their only objects, and -suppose that the very being which is intimately present to the mind, -is the real body or material existence. 'Tis also certain that this -very perception or object is supposed to have a continued uninterrupted -being, and neither to be annihilated by our absence, nor to be brought -into existence by our presence. When we are absent from it, we say it -still exists, but that we do not feel, we do not see it. When we are -present, we say we feel or see it. Here then may arise two questions; -_first_, how we can satisfy ourselves in supposing a perception to be -absent from the mind without being annihilated. _Secondly_, after what -manner we conceive an object to become present to the mind, without -some new creation of a perception or image; and what we mean by this -_seeing_, and _feeling_, and _perceiving_. - -As to the first question, we may observe, that what we call a _mind_, -is nothing but a heap or collection of different perceptions, united -together by certain relations, and supposed, though falsely, to -be endowed with a perfect simplicity and identity. Now, as every -perception is distinguishable from another, and may be considered as -separately existent; it evidently follows, that there is no absurdity -in separating any particular perception from the mind; that is, in -breaking off all its relations with that connected mass of perceptions -which constitute a thinking being. - -The same reasoning affords us an answer to the second question. If the -name of _perception_ renders not this separation from a mind absurd -and contradictory, the name of _object_, standing for the same thing, -can never render their conjunction impossible. External objects are -seen and felt, and become present to the mind; that is, they acquire -such a relation to a connected heap of perceptions as to influence them -very considerably in augmenting their number by present reflections -and passions, and in storing the memory with ideas. The same continued -and uninterrupted being may, therefore, be sometimes present to the -mind and sometimes absent from it without any real or essential change -in the being itself. An interrupted appearance to the senses implies -not necessarily an interruption in the existence. The supposition of -the continued existence of sensible objects or perceptions involves -no contradiction. We may easily indulge our inclination to that -supposition. When the exact resemblance of our perceptions makes us -ascribe to them an identity, we may remove the seeming interruption -by feigning a continued being, which may fill those intervals, and -preserve a perfect and entire identity to our perceptions. - -But as we here not only _feign_ but _believe_ this continued existence, -the question is, _from whence arises such a belief_? and this question -leads us to the _fourth_ member of this system. It has been proved -already, that belief, in general, consists in nothing but the vivacity -of an idea; and that an idea may acquire this vivacity by its relation -to some present impression. Impressions are naturally the most vivid -perceptions of the mind; and this quality is in part conveyed by the -relation to every connected idea. The relation causes a smooth passage -from the impression to the idea, and even gives a propensity to that -passage. The mind falls so easily from the one perception to the other, -that it scarce perceives the change, but retains in the second a -considerable share of the vivacity of the first. It is excited by the -lively impression, and this vivacity is conveyed to the related idea, -without any great diminution in the passage, by reason of the smooth -transition and the propensity of the imagination. - -But suppose that this propensity arises from some other principle, -besides that of relation; 'tis evident, it must still have the same -effect, and convey the vivacity from the impression to the idea. Now, -this is exactly the present case. Our memory presents us with a vast -number of instances of perceptions perfectly resembling each other, -that return at different distances of time, and after considerable -interruptions. This resemblance gives us a propension to consider these -interrupted perceptions as the same; and also a propension to connect -them by a continued existence, in order to justify this identity, and -avoid the contradiction in which the interrupted appearance of these -perceptions seems necessarily to involve us. Here then we have a -propensity to feign the continued existence of all sensible objects; -and as this propensity arises from some lively impressions of the -memory, it bestows a vivacity on that fiction; or, in other words, -makes us believe the continued existence of body. If, sometimes we -ascribe a continued existence to objects, which are perfectly new to -us, and of whose constancy and coherence we have no experience, 'tis -because the manner, in which they present themselves to our senses, -resembles that of constant and coherent objects; and this resemblance -is a source of reasoning and analogy, and leads us to attribute the -same qualities to the similar objects. - -I believe an intelligent reader will find less difficulty to assent -to this system, than to comprehend it fully and distinctly, and will -allow, after a little reflection, that every part carries its own proof -along with it. 'Tis indeed evident, that as the vulgar _suppose_ their -perceptions to be their only objects, and at the same time _believe_ -the continued existence of matter, we must account for the origin of -the belief upon that supposition. Now, upon that supposition, 'tis a -false opinion that any of our objects, or perceptions, are identically -the same after an interruption; and consequently the opinion of -their identity can never arise from reason, but must arise from the -imagination. The imagination is seduced into such an opinion only by -means of the resemblance of certain perceptions; since we find they are -only our resembling perceptions, which we have a propension to suppose -the same. This propension to bestow an identity on our resembling -perceptions, produces the fiction of a continued existence; since that -fiction, as well as the identity, is really false, as is acknowledged -by all philosophers, and has no other effect than to remedy the -interruption of our perceptions, which is the only circumstance that -is contrary to their identity. In the last place, this propension -causes belief by means of the present impressions of the memory; since, -without the remembrance of former sensations, 'tis plain we never -should have any belief of the continued existence of body. Thus, in -examining all these parts, we find that each of them is supported by -the strongest proofs; and that all of them together form a consistent -system, which is perfectly convincing. A strong propensity or -inclination alone, without any present impression, will sometimes cause -a belief or opinion. How much more when aided by that circumstance! - -But though we are led after this manner, by the natural propensity of -the imagination, to ascribe a continued existence to those sensible -objects or perceptions, which we find to resemble each other in their -interrupted appearance; yet a very little reflection and philosophy -is sufficient to make us perceive the fallacy of that opinion. I have -already observed, that there is an intimate connexion betwixt those -two principles, of a _continued_ and of a _distinct_ or _independent_ -existence, and that we no sooner establish the one than the other -follows, as a necessary consequence. 'Tis the opinion of a continued -existence, which first takes place, and without much study or -reflection draws the other along with it, wherever the mind follows -its first and most natural tendency. But when we compare experiments, -and reason a little upon them, we quickly perceive, that the doctrine -of the independent existence of our sensible perceptions is contrary -to the plainest experience. This leads us backward upon our footsteps -to perceive our error in attributing a continued existence to our -perceptions, and is the origin of many very curious opinions, which we -shall here endeavour to account for. - -'Twill first be proper to observe a few of those experiments, which -convince us, that our perceptions are not possessed of any independent -existence. When we press one eye with a finger, we immediately perceive -all the objects to become double, and one half of them to be removed -from their common and natural position. But as we do not attribute a -continued existence to both these perceptions, and as they are both -of the same nature, we clearly perceive, that all our perceptions -are dependent on our organs, and the disposition of our nerves and -animal spirits. This opinion is confirmed by the seeming increase and -diminution of objects according to their distance; by the apparent -alterations in their figure; by the changes in their colour and -other qualities, from our sickness and distempers, and by an infinite -number of other experiments of the same kind; from all which we learn, -that our sensible perceptions are not possessed of any distinct or -independent existence. - -The natural consequence of this reasoning should be, that our -perceptions have no more a continued than an independent existence; -and, indeed, philosophers have so far run into this opinion, that they -change their system, and distinguish (as we shall do for the future) -betwixt perceptions and objects, of which the former are supposed to be -interrupted and perishing, and different at every different return; the -latter to be uninterrupted, and to preserve a continued existence and -identity. But however philosophical this new system may be esteemed, -I assert that 'tis only a palliative remedy, and that it contains -all the difficulties of the vulgar system, with some others that are -peculiar to itself. There are no principles either of the understanding -or fancy, which lead us directly to embrace this opinion of the double -existence of perceptions and objects, nor can we arrive at it but by -passing through the common hypothesis of the identity and continuance -of our interrupted perceptions. Were we not first persuaded that our -perceptions are our only objects, and continue to exist even when they -no longer make their appearance to the senses, we should never be led -to think that our perceptions and objects are different, and that our -objects alone preserve a continued existence. "The latter hypothesis -has no primary recommendation either to reason or the imagination, but -acquires all its influence on the imagination from the former." This -proposition contains two parts, which we shall endeavour to prove as -distinctly and clearly as such abstruse subjects will permit. - -As to the first part of the proposition, _that this philosophical -hypothesis has no primary recommendation, either to reason or the -imagination_, we may soon satisfy ourselves with regard to _reason_, -by the following reflections. The only existences, of which we are -certain, are perceptions, which, being immediately present to us -by consciousness, command our strongest assent, and are the first -foundation of all our conclusions. The only conclusion we can draw -from the existence of one thing to that of another, is by means of the -relation of cause and effect, which shows, that there is a connexion -betwixt them, and that the existence of one is dependent on that of -the other. The idea of this relation is derived from past experience, -by which we find, that two beings are constantly conjoined together, -and are always present at once to the mind. But as no beings are ever -present to the mind but perceptions, it follows, that we may observe -a conjunction or a relation of cause and effect between different -perceptions, but can never observe it between perceptions and objects. -'Tis impossible, therefore, that from the existence or any of the -qualities of the former, we can ever form any conclusion concerning the -existence of the latter, or ever satisfy our reason in this particular. - -'Tis no less certain, that this philosophical system has no primary -recommendation to the _imagination_, and that that faculty would never, -of itself, and by its original tendency, have fallen upon such a -principle. I confess it will be somewhat difficult to prove this to the -full satisfaction of the reader; because it implies a negative, which -in many cases will not admit of any positive proof. If any one would -take the pains to examine this question, and would invent a system, to -account for the direct origin of this opinion from the imagination, -we should be able, by the examination of that system, to pronounce a -certain judgment in the present subject. Let it be taken for granted, -that our perceptions are broken and interrupted, and, however like, -are still different from each other; and let any one, upon this -supposition, show why the fancy, directly and immediately, proceeds -to the belief of another existence, resembling these perceptions in -their nature, but yet continued, and uninterrupted, and identical; and -after he has done this to my satisfaction, I promise to renounce my -present opinion. Meanwhile I cannot forbear concluding, from the very -abstractedness and difficulty of the first supposition, that 'tis an -improper subject for the fancy to work upon. Whoever would explain the -origin of the _common_ opinion concerning the continued and distinct -existence of body, must take the mind in its _common_ situation, and -must proceed upon the supposition, that our perceptions are our only -objects, and continue to exist even when they are not perceived. Though -this opinion be false, 'tis the most natural of any, and has alone any -primary recommendation to the fancy. - -As to the second part of the proposition, _that the philosophical -system acquires all its influence on the imagination from the -vulgar one_; we may observe, that this is a natural and unavoidable -consequence of the foregoing conclusion, _that it has no primary -recommendation to reason or the imagination_. For as the philosophical -system is found by experience to take hold of many minds, and, in -particular, of all those who reflect ever so little on this subject, it -must derive all its authority from the vulgar system, since it has no -original authority of its own. The manner in which these two systems, -though directly contrary, are connected together, may be explained as -follows. - -The imagination naturally runs on in this train of thinking. Our -perceptions are our only objects: resembling perceptions are the -same, however broken or uninterrupted in their appearance: this -appearing interruption is contrary to the identity: the interruption -consequently extends not beyond the appearance, and the perception -or object really continues to exist, even when absent from us: our -sensible perceptions have, therefore, a continued and uninterrupted -existence. But as a little reflection destroys this conclusion, that -our perceptions have a continued existence, by showing that they have a -dependent one, 'twould naturally be expected, that we must altogether -reject the opinion, that there is such a thing in nature as a continued -existence, which is preserved even when it no longer appears to the -senses. The case, however, is otherwise. Philosophers are so far from -rejecting the opinion of a continued existence upon rejecting that of -the independence and continuance of our sensible perceptions, that -though all sects agree in the latter sentiment, the former, which is -in a manner its necessary consequence, has been peculiar to a few -extravagant sceptics; who, after all, maintained that opinion in words -only, and were never able to bring themselves sincerely to believe it. - -There is a great difference betwixt such opinions as we form after -a calm and profound reflection, and such as we embrace by a kind of -instinct or natural impulse, on account of their suitableness and -conformity to the mind. If these opinions become contrary, 'tis not -difficult to foresee which of them will have the advantage. As long as -our attention is bent upon the subject, the philosophical and studied -principle may prevail; but the moment we relax our thoughts, nature -will display herself, and draw us back to our former opinion. Nay she -has sometimes such an influence, that she can stop our progress, even -in the midst of our most profound reflections, and keep us from running -on with all the consequences of any philosophical opinion. Thus, though -we clearly perceive the dependence and interruption of our perceptions, -we stop short in our career, and never upon that account reject the -notion of an independent and continued existence. That opinion has -taken such deep root in the imagination, that 'tis impossible ever to -eradicate it, nor will any strained metaphysical conviction of the -dependence of our perceptions be sufficient for that purpose. - -But though our natural and obvious principles here prevail above our -studied reflections, 'tis certain there must be some struggle and -opposition in the case; at least so long as these reflections retain -any force or vivacity. In order to set ourselves at ease in this -particular, we contrive a new hypothesis, which seems to comprehend -both these principles of reason and imagination. This hypothesis is the -philosophical one of the double existence of perceptions and objects; -which pleases our reason, in allowing that our dependent perceptions -are interrupted and different, and at the same time is agreeable to -the imagination, in attributing a continued existence to something -else, which we call _objects_. This philosophical system, therefore, -is the monstrous offspring of two principles, which are contrary to -each other, which are both at once embraced by the mind, and which -are unable mutually to destroy each other. The imagination tells us, -that our resembling perceptions have a continued and uninterrupted -existence, and are not annihilated by their absence. Reflection tells -us, that even our resembling perceptions are interrupted in their -existence, and different from each other. The contradiction betwixt -these opinions we elude by a new fiction, which is conformable to the -hypotheses both of reflection and fancy, by ascribing these contrary -qualities to different existences; the _interruption_ to perceptions, -and the _continuance_ to objects. Nature is obstinate, and will not -quit the field, however strongly attacked by reason; and at the same -time reason is so clear in the point, that there is no possibility -of disguising her. Not being able to reconcile these two enemies, we -endeavour to set ourselves at ease as much as possible, by successively -granting to each whatever it demands, and by feigning a double -existence, where each may find something that has all the conditions it -desires. Were we fully convinced that our resembling perceptions are -continued, and identical, and independent, we should never run into -this opinion of a double existence; since we should find satisfaction -in our first supposition, and would not look beyond. Again, were we -fully convinced that our perceptions are dependent, and interrupted, -and different, we should be as little inclined to embrace the opinion -of a double existence; since in that case we should clearly perceive -the error of our first supposition of a continued existence, and would -never regard it any farther. 'Tis therefore from the intermediate -situation of the mind that this opinion arises, and from such an -adherence to these two contrary principles, as makes us seek some -pretext to justify our receiving both; which happily at last is found -in the system of a double existence. - -Another advantage of this philosophical system is its similarity to -the vulgar one, by which means we can humour our reason for a moment, -when it becomes troublesome and solicitous; and yet upon its least -negligence or inattention, can easily return to our vulgar and natural -notions. Accordingly we find, that philosophers neglect not this -advantage, but, immediately upon leaving their closets, mingle with the -rest of mankind in those exploded opinions, that our perceptions are -our only objects, and continue identically and uninterruptedly the same -in all their interrupted appearances. - -There are other particulars of this system, wherein we may remark its -dependence on the fancy, in a very conspicuous manner. Of these, I -shall observe the two following. _First_, we suppose external objects -to resemble internal perceptions. I have already shown, that the -relation of cause and effect can never afford us any just conclusion -from the existence or qualities of our perceptions to the existence of -external continued objects: and I shall farther add, that even though -they could afford such a conclusion, we should never have any reason -to infer that our objects resemble our perceptions. That opinion, -therefore, is derived from nothing but the quality of the fancy -above explained, _that it borrows all its ideas from some precedent -perception_. We never can conceive any thing but perceptions, and -therefore must make every thing resemble them. - -Secondly, as we suppose our objects in general to resemble our -perceptions, so we take it for granted, that every particular object -resembles that perception which it causes. The relation of cause and -effect determines us to join the other of resemblance; and the ideas -of these existences being already united together in the fancy by the -former relation, we naturally add the latter to complete the union. -We have a strong propensity to complete every union by joining new -relations to those which we have before observed betwixt any ideas, as -we shall have occasion to observe presently.[8] - -Having thus given an account of all the systems, both popular and -philosophical, with regard to external existences, I cannot forbear -giving vent to a certain sentiment which arises upon reviewing those -systems. I begun this subject with premising, that we ought to have an -implicit faith in our senses, and that this would be the conclusion I -should draw from the whole of my reasoning. But to be ingenuous, I feel -myself _at present_ of a quite contrary sentiment, and am more inclined -to repose no faith at all in my senses, or rather imagination, than to -place in it such an implicit confidence. I cannot conceive how such -trivial qualities of the fancy, conducted by such false suppositions, -can ever lead to any solid and rational system. They are the coherence -and constancy of our perceptions, which produce the opinion of their -continued existence; though these qualities of perceptions have no -perceivable connexion with such an existence. The constancy of our -perceptions has the most considerable effect, and yet is attended with -the greatest difficulties. 'Tis a gross illusion to suppose, that -our resembling perceptions are numerically the same; and 'tis this -illusion which leads us into the opinion, that these perceptions are -uninterrupted, and are still existent, even when they are not present -to the senses. This is the case with our popular system. And as to -our philosophical one, 'tis liable to the same difficulties; and is, -over and above, loaded with this absurdity, that it at once denies and -establishes the vulgar supposition. Philosophers deny our resembling -perceptions to be identically the same, and uninterrupted; and yet -have so great a propensity to believe them such, that they arbitrarily -invent a new set of perceptions, to which they attribute these -qualities. I say, a new set of perceptions: for we may well suppose in -general, but 'tis impossible for us distinctly to conceive, objects to -be in their nature any thing but exactly the same with perceptions. -What then can we look for from this confusion of groundless and -extraordinary opinions but error and falsehood? And how can we justify -to ourselves any belief we repose in them? - -This sceptical doubt, both with respect to reason and the senses, is -a malady which can never be radically cured, but must return upon us -every moment, however we may chase it away, and sometimes may seem -entirely free from it. 'Tis impossible, upon any system, to defend -either our understanding or senses; and we but expose them farther -when we endeavour to justify them in that manner. As the sceptical -doubt arises naturally from a profound and intense reflection on those -subjects, it always increases the farther we carry our reflections, -whether in opposition or conformity to it. Carelessness and inattention -alone can afford us any remedy. For this reason I rely entirely upon -them; and take it for granted, whatever may be the reader's opinion at -this present moment, that an hour hence he will be persuaded there is -both an external and internal world; and, going upon that supposition, -I intend to examine some general systems, both ancient and modern, -which have been proposed of both, before I proceed to a more particular -inquiry concerning our impressions. This will not, perhaps, in the end, -be found foreign to our present purpose. - - -[1] Part II. Sect. 6. - -[2] Sect. 5. - -[3] Part II. Sect. 4. - -[4] Part II. Sect. 5. - -[5] Part. II. Sect. 5. - -[6] This reasoning, it must be confessed, is somewhat abstruse, and -difficult to be comprehended; but it is remarkable, that this very -difficulty may be converted into a proof of the reasoning. We may -observe, that there are two relations, and both of them resemblances, -which contribute to our mistaking the succession of our interrupted -perceptions for an identical object. The first is, the resemblance of -the perceptions: the second is, the resemblance which the act of the -mind in surveying a succession of resembling objects, bears to that in -surveying an identical object. Now these resemblances we are apt to -confound with each other; and 'tis natural we should, according to this -very reasoning. But let us keep them distinct, and we shall find no -difficulty in conceiving the precedent argument. - -[7] Sect. 6. - -[8] Sect. 5. - - - - -SECTION III. - -OF THE ANCIENT PHILOSOPHY. - - -Several moralists have recommended it as an excellent method of -becoming acquainted with our own hearts, and knowing our progress in -virtue, to recollect our dreams in a morning, and examine them with the -same rigour that we would our most serious and most deliberate actions. -Our character is the same throughout, say they, and appears best -where artifice, fear and policy, have no place, and men can neither -be hypocrites with themselves nor others. The generosity or baseness -of our temper, our meekness or cruelty, our courage or pusillanimity, -influence the fictions of the imagination with the most unbounded -liberty, and discover themselves in the most glaring colours. In like -manner, I am persuaded, there might be several useful discoveries made -from a criticism of the fictions of the ancient philosophy concerning -_substances, and substantial forms, and accidents, and occult -qualities_, which, however unreasonable and capricious, have a very -intimate connexion with the principles of human nature. - -'Tis confessed by the most judicious philosophers, that our ideas of -bodies are nothing but collections formed by the mind of the ideas of -the several distinct sensible qualities, of which objects are composed, -and which we find to have a constant union with each other. But however -these qualities may in themselves be entirely distinct, 'tis certain -we commonly regard the compound, which they form, as _one_ thing, -and as continuing the _same_ under very considerable alterations. -The acknowledged composition is evidently contrary to this supposed -_simplicity_, and the variation to the _identity_. It may therefore be -worth while to consider the _causes_, which make us almost universally -fall into such evident contradictions, as well as the _means_ by which -we endeavour to conceal them. - -'Tis evident, that as the ideas of the several distinct _successive_ -qualities of objects are united together by a very close relation, the -mind, in looking along the succession, must be carried from one part -of it to another by an easy transition, and will no more perceive the -change, than if it contemplated the same unchangeable object. This easy -transition is the effect, or rather essence of relation; and as the -imagination readily takes one idea for another, where their influence -on the mind is similar; hence it proceeds, that any such succession -of related qualities is readily considered as one continued object, -existing without any variation. The smooth and uninterrupted progress -of the thought, being alike in both cases, readily deceives the mind, -and makes us ascribe an identity to the changeable succession of -connected qualities. - -But when we alter our method of considering the succession, and, -instead of tracing it gradually through the successive points of time, -survey at once any two distinct periods of its duration, and compare -the different conditions of the successive qualities; in that case -the variations, which were insensible when they arose gradually, do -now appear of consequence, and seem entirely to destroy the identity. -By this means there arises a kind of contrariety in our method of -thinking, from the different points of view, in which we survey the -object, and from the nearness or remoteness of those instants of time, -which we compare together. When we gradually follow an object in its -successive changes, the smooth progress of the thought makes us ascribe -an identity to the succession; because 'tis by a similar act of the -mind we consider an unchangeable object. When we compare its situation -after a considerable change the progress of the thought is broke; and -consequently we are presented with the idea of diversity; in order -to reconcile which contradictions the imagination is apt to feign -something unknown and invisible, which it supposes to continue the same -under all these variations; and this unintelligible something it calls -a _substance, or original and first matter_. - -We entertain a like notion with regard to the _simplicity_ of -substances, and from like causes. Suppose an object perfectly simple -and indivisible to be presented, along with another object, whose -_co-existent_ parts are connected together by a strong relation, 'tis -evident the actions of the mind, in considering these two objects, are -not very different. The imagination conceives the simple object at -once, with facility, by a single effort of thought, without change or -variation. The connexion of parts in the compound object has almost the -same effect, and so unites the object within itself, that the fancy -feels not the transition in passing from one part to another. Hence the -colour, taste, figure, solidity, and other qualities, combined in a -peach or melon, are conceived to form _one thing_; and that on account -of their close relation, which makes them affect the thought in the -same manner, as if perfectly uncompounded. But the mind rests not here. -Whenever it views the object in another light, it finds that all these -qualities are different, and distinguishable, and separable from each -other; which view of things being destructive of its primary and more -natural notions, obliges the imagination to feign an unknown something, -or _original_ substance and matter, as a principle of union or cohesion -among these qualities, and as what may give the compound object a title -to be called one thing, notwithstanding its diversity and composition. - -The Peripatetic philosophy asserts the _original_ matter to be -perfectly homogeneous in all bodies, and considers fire, water, earth, -and air, as of the very same substance, on account of their gradual -revolutions and changes into each other. At the same time it assigns to -each of these species of objects a distinct _substantial form_, which -it supposes to be the source of all those different qualities they -possess, and to be a new foundation of simplicity and identity to each -particular species. All depends on our manner of viewing the objects. -When we look along the insensible changes of bodies, we suppose all of -them to be of the same substance or essence. When we consider their -sensible differences, we attribute to each of them a substantial and -essential difference. And in order to indulge ourselves in both these -ways of considering our objects, we suppose all bodies to have at once -a substance and a substantial form. - -The notion of _accidents_ is an unavoidable consequence of this method -of thinking with regard to substances and substantial forms; nor can -we forbear looking upon colours, sounds, tastes, figures, and other -properties of bodies, as existences, which cannot subsist apart, -but require a subject of inhesion to sustain and support them. For -having never discovered any of these sensible qualities, where, for -the reasons above mentioned, we did not likewise fancy a substance -to exist; the same habit, which makes us infer a connexion betwixt -cause and effect, makes us here infer a dependence of every quality on -the unknown substance. The custom of imagining a dependence has the -same effect as the custom of observing it would have. This conceit, -however, is no more reasonable than any of the foregoing. Every quality -being a distinct thing from another, may be conceived to exist apart, -and may exist apart not only from every other quality, but from that -unintelligible chimera of a substance. - -But these philosophers carry their fictions still farther in their -sentiments concerning _occult qualities_, and both suppose a substance -supporting, which they do not understand, and an accident supported, -of which they have as imperfect an idea. The whole system, therefore, -is entirely incomprehensible, and yet is derived from principles as -natural as any of these above explained. - -In considering this subject, we may observe a gradation of three -opinions that rise above each other, according as the persons who -form them acquire new degrees of reason and knowledge. These opinions -are that of the vulgar, that of a false philosophy, and that of the -true; where we shall find upon inquiry, that the true philosophy -approaches nearer to the sentiments of the vulgar than to those of a -mistaken knowledge. 'Tis natural for men, in their common and careless -way of thinking, to imagine they perceive a connexion betwixt such -objects as they have constantly found united together; and because -custom has rendered it difficult to separate the ideas, they are apt -to fancy such a separation to be in itself impossible and absurd. But -philosophers, who abstract from the effects of custom, and compare -the ideas of objects, immediately perceive the falsehood of these -vulgar sentiments, and discover that there is no known connexion among -objects. Every different object appears to them entirely distinct and -separate; and they perceive that 'tis not from a view of the nature -and qualities of objects we infer one from another, but only when in -several instances we observe them to have been constantly conjoined. -But these philosophers, instead of drawing a just inference from this -observation, and concluding, that we have no idea of power or agency, -separate from the mind and belonging to causes; I say, instead of -drawing this conclusion, they frequently search for the qualities -in which this agency consists, and are displeased with every system -which their reason suggests to them, in order to explain it. They -have sufficient force of genius to free them from the vulgar error, -that there is a natural and perceivable connexion betwixt the several -sensible qualities and actions of matter, but not sufficient to keep -them from ever seeking for this connexion in matter or causes. Had -they fallen upon the just conclusion, they would have returned back -to the situation of the vulgar, and would have regarded all these -disquisitions with indolence and indifference. At present they seem to -be in a very lamentable condition, and such as the poets have given -us but a faint notion of in their descriptions of the punishment of -Sisyphus and Tantalus. For what can be imagined more tormenting than -to seek with eagerness what for ever flies us, and seek for it in a -place where 'tis impossible it can ever exist? - -But as Nature seems to have observed a kind of justice and compensation -in every thing, she has not neglected philosophers more than the rest -of the creation, but has reserved them a consolation amid all their -disappointments and afflictions. This consolation principally consists -in their invention of the words _faculty_ and _occult quality_. For -it being usual, after the frequent use of terms, which are really -significant and intelligible, to omit the idea which we would express -by them, and preserve only the custom by which we recal the idea at -pleasure; so it naturally happens, that after the frequent use of -terms which are wholly insignificant and unintelligible, we fancy them -to be on the same footing with the precedent, and to have a secret -meaning which we might discover by reflection. The resemblance of their -appearance deceives the mind, as is usual, and makes us imagine a -thorough resemblance and conformity. By this means these philosophers -set themselves at ease, and arrive at last, by an illusion, at the -same indifference which the people attain by their stupidity, and true -philosophers by their moderate scepticism. They need only say, that -any phenomenon which puzzles them arises from a faculty or an occult -quality, and there is an end of all dispute and inquiry upon the matter. - -But among all the instances wherein the Peripatetics have shown they -were guided by every trivial propensity of the imagination, no one is -more remarkable than their _sympathies, antipathies, and horrors of -a vacuum_. There is a very remarkable inclination in human nature to -bestow on external objects the same emotions which it observes in -itself, and to find every where those ideas which are most present to -it. This inclination, 'tis true, is suppressed by a little reflection, -and only takes place in children, poets, and the ancient philosophers. -It appears in children, by their desire of beating the stones which -hurt them: in poets by their readiness to personify every thing; and in -the ancient philosophers, by these fictions of sympathy and antipathy. -We must pardon children, because of their age; poets, because they -profess to follow implicitly the suggestions of their fancy; but -what excuse shall we find to justify our philosophers in so signal a -weakness? - - - - -SECTION IV. - -OF THE MODERN PHILOSOPHY. - - -But here it may be objected, that the imagination, according to my own -confession, being the ultimate judge of all systems of philosophy, I -am unjust in blaming the ancient philosophers for making use of that -faculty, and allowing themselves to be entirely guided by it in their -reasonings. In order to justify myself, I must distinguish in the -imagination betwixt the principles which are permanent, irresistible, -and universal; such as the customary transition from causes to effects, -and from effects to causes: and the principles, which are changeable, -weak and irregular; such as those I have just now taken notice of. The -former are the foundation of all our thoughts and actions, so that -upon their removal, human nature must immediately perish and go to -ruin. The latter are neither unavoidable to mankind, nor necessary, or -so much as useful in the conduct of life; but, on the contrary, are -observed only to take place in weak minds, and being opposite to the -other principles of custom and reasoning, may easily be subverted by a -due contrast and opposition. For this reason, the former are received -by philosophy, and the latter rejected. One who concludes somebody to -be near him, when he hears an articulate voice in the dark, reasons -justly and naturally; though that conclusion be derived from nothing -but custom, which infixes and enlivens the idea of a human creature, on -account of his usual conjunction with the present impression. But one, -who is tormented he knows not why, with the apprehension of spectres -in the dark, may perhaps be said to reason, and to reason naturally -too: but then it must be in the same sense that a malady is said to -be natural; as arising from natural causes, though it be contrary to -health, the most agreeable and most natural situation of man. - -The opinions of the ancient philosophers, their fictions of substance -and accident, and their reasonings concerning substantial forms and -occult qualities, are like the spectres in the dark, and are derived -from principles, which, however common, are neither universal nor -unavoidable in human nature. The _modern philosophy_ pretends to be -entirely free from this defect, and to arise only from the solid, -permanent, and consistent principles of the imagination. Upon what -grounds this pretension is founded, must now be the subject of our -inquiry. - -The fundamental principle of that philosophy is the opinion concerning -colours, sounds, tastes, smells, heat and cold; which it asserts to -be nothing but impressions in the mind, derived from the operation -of external objects, and without any resemblance to the qualities of -the objects. Upon examination, I find only one of the reasons commonly -produced for this opinion to be satisfactory; viz. that derived from -the variations of those impressions, even while the external object, -to all appearance, continues the same. These variations depend upon -several circumstances. Upon the different situations of our health: -a man in a malady feels a disagreeable taste in meats, which before -pleased him the most. Upon the different complexions and constitutions -of men: that seems bitter to one, which is sweet to another. Upon the -difference of their external situation and position: colours reflected -from the clouds change according to the distance of the clouds, and -according to the angle they make with the eye and luminous body. Fire -also communicates the sensation of pleasure at one distance, and that -of pain at another. Instances of this kind are very numerous and -frequent. - -The conclusion drawn from them, is likewise as satisfactory as can -possibly be imagined. 'Tis certain, that when different impressions of -the same sense arise from any object, every one of these impressions -has not a resembling quality existent in the object. For as the same -object cannot, at the same time, be endowed with different qualities -of the same sense, and as the same quality cannot resemble impressions -entirely different; it evidently follows, that many of our impressions -have no external model or archetype. Now, from like effects we -presume like causes. Many of the impressions of colour, sound, &c., -are confessed to be nothing but internal existences, and to arise -from causes, which no ways resemble them. These impressions are in -appearance nothing different from the other impressions of colour, -sound, &c. We conclude, therefore, that they are, all of them, derived -from a like origin. - -This principle being once admitted, all the other doctrines of that -philosophy seem to follow by an easy consequence. For, upon the removal -of sounds, colours, heat, cold, and other sensible qualities, from the -rank of continued independent existences, we are reduced merely to -what are called primary qualities, as the only _real_ ones, of which -we have any adequate notion. These primary qualities are extension and -solidity, with their different mixtures and modifications; figure, -motion, gravity and cohesion. The generation, increase, decay and -corruption of animals and vegetables, are nothing but changes of figure -and motion; as also the operations of all bodies on each other; of -fire, of light, water, air, earth, and of all the elements and powers -of nature. One figure and motion produces another figure and motion; -nor does there remain in the material universe any other principle, -either active or passive, of which we can form the most distant idea. - -I believe many objections might be made to this system; but at present -I shall confine myself to one, which is, in my opinion, very decisive. -I assert, that instead of explaining the operations of external objects -by its means, we utterly annihilate all these objects, and reduce -ourselves to the opinions of the most extravagant scepticism concerning -them. If colours, sounds, tastes and smells be merely perceptions, -nothing, we can conceive, is possessed of a real, continued, and -independent existence; not even motion, extension and solidity, which -are the primary qualities chiefly insisted on. - -To begin with the examination of motion; 'tis evident this is a quality -altogether inconceivable alone, and without a reference to some other -object. The idea of motion necessarily supposes that of a body moving. -Now, what is our idea of the moving body, without which motion is -incomprehensible? It must resolve itself into the idea of extension or -of solidity; and consequently the reality of motion depends upon that -of these other qualities. - -This opinion, which is universally acknowledged concerning motion, I -have proved to be true with regard to extension; and have shown that -'tis impossible to conceive extension but as composed of parts, endowed -with colour or solidity. The idea of extension is a compound idea; but -as it is not compounded of an infinite number of parts or inferior -ideas, it must at last resolve itself into such as are perfectly simple -and indivisible. These simple and indivisible parts not being ideas of -extension, must be nonentities, unless conceived as coloured or solid. -Colour is excluded from any real existence. The reality therefore of -our idea of extension depends upon the reality of that of solidity; nor -can the former be just while the latter is chimerical. Let us then lend -our attention to the examination of the idea of solidity. - -The idea of solidity is that of two objects, which, being impelled -by the utmost force, cannot penetrate each other, but still maintain -a separate and distinct existence. Solidity therefore is perfectly -incomprehensible alone, and without the conception of some bodies which -are solid, and maintain this separate and distinct existence. Now, -what idea have we of these bodies? The ideas of colours, sounds, and -other secondary qualities, are excluded. The idea of motion depends on -that of extension, and the idea of extension on that of solidity. 'Tis -impossible, therefore, that the idea of solidity can depend on either -of them. For that would be to run in a circle, and make one idea depend -on another, while, at the same time, the latter depends on the former. -Our modern philosophy, therefore, leaves us no just nor satisfactory -idea of solidity, nor consequently of matter. - -This argument will appear entirely conclusive to every one that -comprehends it; but because it may seem abstruse and intricate to -the generality of readers, I hope to be excused if I endeavour to -render it more obvious by some variation of the expression. In order -to form an idea of solidity, we must conceive two bodies pressing on -each other without any penetration; and 'tis impossible to arrive at -this idea, when we confine ourselves to one object, much more without -conceiving any. Two nonentities cannot exclude each other from their -places, because they never possess any place, nor can be endowed with -any quality. Now I ask, what idea do we form of these bodies or objects -to which we suppose solidity to belong? To say that we conceive them -merely as solid, is, to run on _in infinitum_. To affirm that we paint -them out to ourselves as extended, either resolves all into a false -idea, or returns in a circle. Extension must necessarily be considered -either as coloured, which is a false idea, or as solid, which brings us -back to the first question. We may make the same observation concerning -mobility and figure; and, upon the whole, must conclude, that after the -exclusion of colours, sounds, heat and cold, from the rank of external -existences, there remains nothing which can afford us a just and -consistent idea of body. - -Add to this, that, properly speaking, solidity or impenetrability is -nothing but an impossibility of annihilation, as has been already -observed:[8] for which reason 'tis the more necessary for us to form -some distinct idea of that object whose annihilation we suppose -impossible. An impossibility of being annihilated cannot exist, and can -never be conceived to exist, by itself, but necessarily requires some -object or real existence to which it may belong. Now, the difficulty -still remains how to form an idea of this object or existence, without -having recourse to the secondary and sensible qualities. - -Nor must we omit, on this occasion, our accustomed method of examining -ideas by considering those impressions from which they are derived. -The impressions which enter by the sight and hearing, the smell and -taste, are affirmed by modern philosophy to be without any resembling -objects; and consequently the idea of solidity, which is supposed to -be real, can never be derived from any of these senses. There remains, -therefore, the feeling as the only sense that can convey the impression -which is original to the idea of solidity; and, indeed, we naturally -imagine that we feel the solidity of bodies, and need but touch any -object in order to perceive this quality. But this method of thinking -is more popular than philosophical, as will appear from the following -reflections. - -First, 'tis easy to observe, that though bodies are felt by means -of their solidity, yet the feeling is a quite different thing from -the solidity, and that they have not the least resemblance to each -other. A man who has the palsy in one hand has as perfect an idea of -impenetrability, when he observes that hand to be supported by the -table, as when he feels the same table with the other hand. An object -that presses upon any of our members meets with resistance; and that, -resistance, by the motion it gives to the nerves and animal spirits, -conveys a certain sensation to the mind; but it does not follow that -the sensation, motion and resistance, are any ways resembling. - -Secondly, the impressions of touch are simple impressions, except when -considered with regard to their extension; which makes nothing to the -present purpose: and from this simplicity I infer, that they neither -represent solidity, nor any real object. For let us put two cases, viz. -that of a man who presses a stone or any solid body with his hand, and -that of two stones which press each other; 'twill readily be allowed -that these two cases are not in every respect alike, but that in the -former there is conjoined with the solidity a feeling or sensation of -which there is no appearance in the latter. In order, therefore, to -make these two cases alike, 'tis necessary to remove some part of the -impression which the man feels by his hand, or organ of sensation; and -that being impossible in a simple impression, obliges us to remove the -whole, and proves that this whole impression has no archetype or model -in external objects; to which we may add, that solidity necessarily -supposes two bodies, along with contiguity and impulse; which being a -compound object, can never be represented by a simple impression. Not -to mention, that, though solidity continues always invariably the same, -the impressions of touch change every moment upon us, which is a clear -proof that the latter are not representations of the former. - -Thus there is a direct and total opposition betwixt our reason and our -senses; or, more properly speaking, betwixt those conclusions we form -from cause and effect, and those that persuade us of the continued and -independent existence of body. When we reason from cause and effect, we -conclude, that neither colour, sound, taste nor smell, have a continued -and independent existence. When we exclude these sensible qualities, -there remains nothing in the universe which has such an existence. - - -[8] Part II. Sect. 4. - - - - -SECTION V. - -OF THE IMMATERIALITY OF THE SOUL. - - -Having found such contradictions and difficulties in every system -concerning external objects, and in the idea of matter, which we fancy -so clear and determinate, we shall naturally expect still greater -difficulties and contradictions in every hypothesis concerning our -internal perceptions, and the nature of the mind, which we are apt -to imagine so much more obscure and uncertain. But in this we should -deceive ourselves. The intellectual world, though involved in infinite -obscurities, is not perplexed with any such contradictions as those we -have discovered in the natural. What is known concerning it, agrees -with itself; and what is unknown, we must be contented to leave so. - -'Tis true, would we hearken to certain philosophers, they promise to -diminish our ignorance; but I am afraid 'tis at the hazard of running -us into contradictions, from which the subject is of itself exempted. -These philosophers are the curious reasoners concerning the material -or immaterial substances, in which they suppose our perceptions to -inhere. In order to put a stop to these endless cavils on both sides, -I know no better method, than to ask these philosophers in a few -words, _What they mean by substance and inhesion?_ And after they have -answered this question, 'twill then be reasonable, and not till then, -to enter seriously into the dispute. - -This question we have found impossible to be answered with regard to -matter and body; but besides that in the case of the mind it labours -under all the same difficulties, 'tis burthened with some additional -ones, which are peculiar to that subject. As every idea is derived from -a precedent impression, had we any idea of the substance of our minds, -we must also have an impression of it, which is very difficult, if not -impossible, to be conceived. For how can an impression represent a -substance, otherwise than by resembling it? And how can an impression -resemble a substance, since, according to this philosophy, it is not a -substance, and has none of the peculiar qualities or characteristics of -a substance? - -But leaving the question of _what may or may not be_, for that other -_what actually is_, I desire those philosophers, who pretend that we -have an idea of the substance of our minds, to point out the impression -that produces it, and tell distinctly after what manner that impression -operates, and from what object it is derived. Is it an impression of -sensation or reflection? Is it pleasant, or painful, or indifferent? -Does it attend us at all times, or does it only return at intervals? -If at intervals, at what times principally does it return, and by what -causes is it produced? - -If, instead of answering these questions, any one should evade -the difficulty, by saying, that the definition of a substance is -_something which may exist by itself_, and that this definition ought -to satisfy us: should this be said, I should observe, that this -definition agrees to every thing that can possibly be conceived; -and never will serve to distinguish substance from accident, or the -soul from its perceptions. For thus I reason. Whatever is clearly -conceived, may exist; and whatever is clearly conceived, after any -manner, may exist after the same manner. This is one principle which -has been already acknowledged. Again, every thing which is different is -distinguishable, and every thing which is distinguishable is separable -by the imagination. This is another principle. My conclusion from both -is, that since all our perceptions are different from each other, -and from every thing else in the universe, they are also distinct -and separable, and may be considered as separately existent, and may -exist separately, and have no need of any thing else to support their -existence. They are therefore substances, as far as this definition -explains a substance. - -Thus, neither by considering the first origin of ideas, nor by means -of a definition, are we able to arrive at any satisfactory notion -of substance, which seems to me a sufficient reason for abandoning -utterly that dispute concerning the materiality and immateriality of -the soul, and makes me absolutely condemn even the question itself. We -have no perfect idea of any thing but of a perception. A substance is -entirely different from a perception. We have therefore no idea of a -substance. Inhesion in something is supposed to be requisite to support -the existence of our perceptions. Nothing appears requisite to support -the existence of a perception. We have therefore no idea of inhesion. -What possibility then of answering that question, _Whether perceptions -inhere in a material or immaterial substance_, when we do not so much -as understand the meaning of the question? - -There is one argument commonly employed for the immateriality of the -soul, which seems to me remarkable. Whatever is extended consists -of parts; and whatever consists of parts is divisible, if not in -reality, at least in the imagination. But 'tis impossible any thing -divisible can be _conjoined_ to a thought or perception, which is a -being altogether inseparable and indivisible. For, supposing such a -conjunction, would the indivisible thought exist on the left or on -the right hand of this extended divisible body? On the surface or in -the middle? On the back or fore-side of it? If it be conjoined with -the extension, it must exist somewhere within its dimensions. If it -exist within its dimensions, it must either exist in one particular -part; and then that particular part is indivisible, and the perception -is conjoined only with it, not with the extension: or if the thought -exists in every part, it must also be extended, and separable, -and divisible, as well as the body, which is utterly absurd and -contradictory. For can any one conceive a passion of a yard in length, -a foot in breadth, and an inch in thickness? Thought therefore and -extension are qualities wholly incompatible, and never can incorporate -together into one subject. - -This argument affects not the question concerning the _substance_ of -the soul, but only that concerning its _local conjunction_ with matter; -and therefore it may not be improper to consider in general what -objects are, or are not susceptible of a local conjunction. This is a -curious question, and may lead us to some discoveries of considerable -moment. - -The first notion of space and extension is derived solely from the -senses of sight and feeling; nor is there anything, but what is -coloured or tangible, that has parts disposed after such a manner -as to convey that idea. When we diminish or increase a relish, 'tis -not after the same manner that we diminish or increase any visible -object; and when several sounds strike our hearing at once, custom and -reflection alone make us form an idea of the degrees of the distance -and contiguity of those bodies from which they are derived. Whatever -marks the place of its existence, either must be extended, or must be a -mathematical point, without parts or composition. What is extended must -have a particular figure, as square, round, triangular; none of which -will agree to a desire, or indeed to any impression or idea, except -of these two senses above-mentioned. Neither ought a desire, though -indivisible, to be considered as a mathematical point. For in that case -'twould be possible, by the addition of others, to make two, three, -four desires; and these disposed and situated in such a manner, as to -have a determinate length, breadth, and thickness; which is evidently -absurd. - -'Twill not be surprising after this, if I deliver a maxim, which is -condemned by several metaphysicians, and is esteemed contrary to the -most certain principles of human reason. This maxim is, _that an object -may exist, and yet be no where_: and I assert, that this is not only -possible, but that the greatest part of beings do and must exist after -this manner. An object may be said to be no where, when its parts are -not so situated with respect to each other, as to form any figure or -quantity; nor the whole with respect to other bodies so as to answer -to our notions of contiguity or distance. Now, this is evidently the -case with all our perceptions and objects, except those of the sight -and feeling. A moral reflection cannot be placed on the right or on -the left hand of a passion; nor can a smell or sound be either of a -circular or a square figure. - -These objects and perceptions, so far from requiring any particular -place, are absolutely incompatible with it, and even the imagination -cannot attribute it to them. And as to the absurdity of supposing them -to be no where, we may consider, that if the passions and sentiments -appear to the perception to have any particular place, the idea of -extension might be derived from them, as well as from the sight and -touch; contrary to what we have already established. If they _appear_ -not to have any particular place, they may possibly _exist_ in the same -manner; since whatever we conceive is possible. - -'Twill not now be necessary to prove, that those perceptions, which -are simple, and exist no where, are incapable of any conjunction in -place with matter or body, which is extended and divisible; since 'tis -impossible to found a relation but on some common quality.[9] It may -be better worth our while to remark, that this question of the local -conjunction of objects, does not only occur in metaphysical disputes -concerning the nature of the soul, but that even in common life we have -every moment occasion to examine it. Thus, supposing we consider a -fig at one end of the table, and an olive at the other, 'tis evident, -that, in forming the complex ideas of these substances, one of the most -obvious is that of their different relishes; and 'tis as evident, that -we incorporate and conjoin these qualities with such as are coloured -and tangible. The bitter taste of the one, and sweet of the other, are -supposed to lie in the very visible body, and to be separated from -each other by the whole length of the table. This is so notable and so -natural an illusion, that it may be proper to consider the principles -from which it is derived. - -Though an extended object be incapable of a conjunction in place -with another that exists without any place or extension, yet are -they susceptible of many other relations. Thus the taste and smell -of any fruit are inseparable from its other qualities of colour and -tangibility; and whichever of them be the cause or effect, 'tis certain -they are always co-existent. Nor are they only co-existent in general, -but also cotemporary in their appearance in the mind; and 'tis upon -the application of the extended body to our senses we perceive its -particular taste and smell. These relations, then, of _causation, and -contiguity in the time of their appearance_, betwixt the extended -object and the quality, which exists without any particular place, -must have such an effect on the mind, that, upon the appearance of -one, it will immediately turn its thought to the conception of the -other. Nor is this all. We not only turn our thought from one to the -other upon account of their relation, but likewise endeavour to give -them a new relation, viz. that of _a conjunction in place_, that we -may render the transition more easy and natural. For 'tis a quality, -which I shall often have occasion to remark in human nature, and shall -explain more fully in its proper place, that, when objects are united -by any relation, we have a strong propensity to add some new relation -to them, in order to complete the union. In our arrangement of bodies, -we never fail to place such as are resembling in contiguity to each -other, or, at least, in correspondent points of view: why? but because -we feel a satisfaction in joining the relation of contiguity to that -of resemblance, or the resemblance of situation to that of qualities. -The effects of this propensity have been already observed[10] in that -resemblance, which we so readily suppose betwixt particular impressions -and their external causes. But we shall not find a more evident effect -of it than in the present instance, where, from the relations of -causation and contiguity in time betwixt two objects, we feign likewise -that of a conjunction in place, in order to strengthen the connexion. - -But whatever confused notions we may form of an union in place betwixt -an extended body, as a fig, and its particular taste, 'tis certain -that, upon reflection, we must observe in this union something -altogether unintelligible and contradictory. For, should we ask -ourselves one obvious question, viz. if the taste, which we conceive to -be contained in the circumference of the body, is in every part of it, -or in one only, we must quickly find ourselves at a loss, and perceive -the impossibility of ever giving a satisfactory answer. We cannot reply -that 'tis only in one part: for experience convinces us that every part -has the same relish. We can as little reply that it exists in every -part: for then we must suppose it figured and extended; which is absurd -and incomprehensible. Here, then, we are influenced by two principles, -directly contrary to each other, viz. that _inclination_ of our fancy -by which we are determined to incorporate the taste with the extended -object, and our _reason_, which shows us the impossibility of such an -union. Being divided betwixt these opposite principles, we renounce -neither one nor the other, but involve the subject in such confusion -and obscurity, that we no longer perceive the opposition. We suppose -that the taste exists within the circumference of the body, but in -such a manner, that it fills the whole without extension, and exists -entire in every part without separation. In short, we use, in our most -familiar way of thinking, that scholastic principle which, when crudely -proposed, appears so shocking, of _totum in toto, et totum in qualibet -parte_; which is much the same as if we should say, that a thing is in -a certain place, and yet is not there. - -All this absurdity proceeds from our endeavouring to bestow a place on -what is utterly incapable of it; and that endeavour again arises from -our inclination to complete an union which is founded on causation and -a contiguity of time, by attributing to the objects a conjunction in -place. But if ever reason be of sufficient force to overcome prejudice, -'tis certain that, in the present case, it must prevail. For we have -only this choice left, either to suppose that some beings exist without -any place, or that they are figured and extended; or that when they -are incorporated with extended objects, the whole is in the whole, and -the whole in every part. The absurdity of the two last suppositions -proves sufficiently the veracity of the first. Nor is there any fourth -opinion: For as to the supposition of their existence in the manner of -mathematical points, it resolves itself into the second opinion, and -supposes, that several passions may be placed in a circular figure, -and that a certain number of smells, conjoined with a certain number -of sounds, may make a body of twelve cubic inches; which appears -ridiculous upon the bare mentioning of it. - -But though in this view of things we cannot refuse to condemn, the -materialists, who conjoin all thought with extension; yet a little -reflection will show us equal reason for blaming their antagonists, -who conjoin all thought with a simple and indivisible substance. The -most vulgar philosophy informs us, that no external object can make -itself known to the mind immediately, and without the interposition of -an image or perception. That table, which just now appears to me, is -only a perception, and all its qualities are qualities of a perception. -Now, the most obvious of all its qualities is extension. The perception -consists of parts. These parts are so situated as to afford us the -notion of distance and contiguity, of length, breadth and thickness. -The termination of these three dimensions is what we call figure. This -figure is moveable, separable, and divisible. Mobility and separability -are the distinguishing properties of extended objects. And to cut short -all disputes, the very idea of extension is copied from nothing but an -impression, and consequently must perfectly agree to it. To say the -idea of extension agrees to any thing, is to say it is extended. - -The freethinker may now triumph in his turn; and having found there are -impressions and ideas really extended, may ask his antagonists, how -they can incorporate a simple and indivisible subject with an extended -perception? All the arguments of theologians may here be retorted -upon them. Is the indivisible subject or immaterial substance, if you -will, on the left or on the right hand of the perception? Is it in -this particular part, or in that other? Is it in every part without -being extended? Or is it entire in any one part without deserting the -rest? 'Tis impossible to give any answer to these questions but what -will both be absurd in itself, and will account for the union of our -indivisible perceptions with an extended substance. - -This gives me an occasion to take anew into consideration the question -concerning the substance of the soul; and though I have condemned that -question as utterly unintelligible, yet I cannot forbear proposing some -farther reflections concerning it. I assert, that the doctrine of the -immateriality, simplicity, and indivisibility of a thinking substance -is a true atheism, and will serve to justify all those sentiments for -which Spinoza is so universally infamous. From this topic I hope at -least to reap one advantage, that my adversaries will not have any -pretext to render the present doctrine odious by their declamations -when they see that they can be so easily retorted on them. - -The fundamental principle of the atheism of Spinoza is the doctrine -of the simplicity of the universe, and the unity of that substance -in which he supposes both thought and matter to inhere. There is -only one substance, says he, in the world, and that substance is -perfectly simple and indivisible, and exists every where without -any local presence. Whatever we discover externally by sensation, -whatever we feel internally by reflection, all these are nothing but -modifications of that one simple and necessarily existent being, and -are not possessed of any separate or distinct existence. Every passion -of the soul, every configuration of matter however different and -various, inhere in the same substance, and preserve in themselves their -characters of distinction, without communicating them to that subject -in which they inhere. The same _substratum_, if I may so speak, -supports the most different modifications without any difference in -itself, and varies them without any variation. Neither time, nor place, -nor all the diversity of nature are able to produce any composition or -change in its perfect simplicity and identity. - -I believe this brief exposition of the principles of that famous -atheist will be sufficient for the present purpose, and that without -entering farther into these gloomy and obscure regions, I shall be able -to show, that this hideous hypothesis is almost the same with that of -the immateriality of the soul, which has become so popular. To make -this evident, let us remember,[11] that as every idea is derived from -a preceding perception, 'tis impossible our idea of a perception, and -that of an object or external existence, can ever represent what are -specifically different from each other. Whatever difference we may -suppose betwixt them, 'tis still incomprehensible to us; and we are -obliged, either to conceive an external object merely as a relation -without a relative, or to make it the very same with a perception or -impression. - -The consequence I shall draw from this may, at first sight, appear a -mere sophism; but upon the least examination will be found solid and -satisfactory. I say then, that since we may suppose, but never can -conceive, a specific difference betwixt an object and impression, -any conclusion we form concerning the connexion and repugnance of -impressions, will not be known certainly to be applicable to objects; -but that, on the other hand, whatever conclusions of this kind we form -concerning objects, will most certainly be applicable to impressions. -The reason is not difficult. As an object is supposed to be different -from an impression, we cannot be sure, that the circumstance, upon -which we found our reasoning, is common to both, supposing we form the -reasoning upon the impression. 'Tis still possible, that the object may -differ from it in that particular. But when we first form our reasoning -concerning the object, 'tis beyond doubt, that the same reasoning -must extend to the impression: and that because the quality of the -object, upon which the argument is founded, must at least be conceived -by the mind, and could not be conceived, unless it were common to an -impression; since we have no idea but what is derived from that origin. -Thus we may establish it as a certain maxim, that we can never, by any -principle, but by an irregular kind of reasoning from experience,[12] -discover a connexion or repugnance betwixt objects, which extends not -to impressions; though the inverse proposition may not be equally -true, that all the discoverable relations of impressions are common to -objects. - -To apply this to the present case; there are two different systems -of beings presented, to which I suppose myself under a necessity of -assigning some substance, or ground of inhesion. I observe first the -universe of objects or of body: the sun, moon, and stars; the earth, -seas, plants, animals, men, ships, houses, and other productions either -of art or nature. Here Spinoza appears, and tells me, that these -are only modifications and that the subject in which they inhere is -simple, uncompounded, and indivisible. After this I consider the other -system of beings, viz. the universe of thought, or my impressions and -ideas. There I observe another sun, moon, and stars; an earth, and -seas, covered and inhabited by plants and animals; towns, houses, -mountains, rivers; and in short every thing I can discover or conceive -in the first system. Upon my inquiring concerning these, theologians -present themselves, and tell me, that these also are modifications, and -modifications of one simple, uncompounded, and indivisible substance. -Immediately upon which I am deafened with the noise of a hundred -voices, that treat the first hypothesis with detestation and scorn, and -the second with applause and veneration. I turn my attention to these -hypotheses to see what may be the reason of so great a partiality; -and find that they have the same fault of being unintelligible, and -that, as far as we can understand them, they are so much alike, that -'tis impossible to discover any absurdity in one, which is not common -to both of them. We have no idea of any quality in an object, which -does not agree to, and may not represent a quality in an impression; -and that because all our ideas are derived from our impressions. We -can never therefore find any repugnance betwixt an extended object as -a modification, and a simple uncompounded essence, as its substance; -unless that repugnance takes place equally betwixt the perception or -impression of that extended object, and the same uncompounded essence. -Every idea of a quality in an object passes through an impression; -and therefore every _perceivable_ relation, whether of connexion or -repugnance, must be common both to objects and impressions. - -But though this argument, considered in general, seems evident beyond -all doubt and contradiction, yet to make it more clear and sensible, -let us survey it in detail; and see whether all the absurdities, -which have been found in the system of Spinoza, may not likewise be -discovered in that of theologians.[13] - -First, it has been said against Spinoza, according to the scholastic -way of talking, rather than thinking, that a mode, not being any -distinct or separate existence, must be the very same with its -substance, and consequently the extension of the universe must be in -a manner identified with that simple, uncompounded essence in which -the universe is supposed to inhere. But this, it may be pretended, is -utterly impossible and inconceivable unless the indivisible substance -expand itself, so as to correspond to the extension, or the extension -contract itself, so as to answer to the indivisible substance. This -argument seems just, as far as we can understand it; and 'tis plain -nothing is required, but a change in the terms, to apply the same -argument to our extended perceptions, and the simple essence of the -soul; the ideas of objects and perceptions being in every respect the -same, only attended with the supposition of a difference, that is -unknown and incomprehensible. - -Secondly, it has been said, that we have no idea of substance, which -is not applicable to matter; nor any idea of a distinct substance, -which is not applicable to every distinct portion of matter. Matter -therefore is not a mode but a substance, and each part of matter is -not a distinct mode, but a distinct substance. I have already proved, -that we have no perfect idea of substance; but that taking it for -_something that can exist by itself_, 'tis evident every perception -is a substance, and every distinct part of a perception a distinct -substance: and consequently the one hypothesis labours under the same -difficulties in this respect with the other. - -Thirdly, it has been objected to the system of one simple substance in -the universe, that this substance, being the support or _substratum_ -of every thing, must at the very same instant be modified into forms, -which are contrary and incompatible. The round and square figures -are incompatible in the same substance at the same time. How then is -it possible, that the same substance can at once be modified into -that square table, and into this round one? I ask the same question -concerning the impressions of these tables; and find that the answer is -no more satisfactory in one case than in the other. - -It appears, then, that to whatever side we turn, the same difficulties -follow us, and that we cannot advance one step towards the establishing -the simplicity and immateriality of the soul, without preparing the -way for a dangerous and irrecoverable atheism. 'Tis the same case, -if, instead of calling thought a modification of the soul, we should -give it the more ancient, and yet more modish name of an _action_. -By an action we mean much the same thing as what is commonly called -an abstract mode; that is, something which, properly speaking, is -neither distinguishable, nor separable from its substance, and is only -conceived by a distinction of reason, or an abstraction. But nothing is -gained by this change of the term of modification for that of action; -nor do we free ourselves from one single difficulty by its means, as -will appear from the two following reflections: - -First, I observe, that the word _action_, according to this explication -of it, can never justly be applied to any perception, as derived from a -mind or thinking substance. Our perceptions are all really different, -and separable, and distinguishable from each other, and from every -thing else which we can imagine; and therefore, 'tis impossible to -conceive how they can be the action or abstract mode of any substance. -The instance of motion, which is commonly made use of to show after -what manner perception depends as an action upon its substance, rather -confounds than instructs us. Motion, to all appearance, induces no real -nor essential change on the body, but only varies its relation to other -objects. But, betwixt a person in the morning walking in a garden, -with company agreeable to him; and a person in the afternoon enclosed -in a dungeon, and full of terror, despair and resentment, there seems -to be a radical difference, and of quite another kind, than what is -produced on a body by the change of its situation. As we conclude from -the distinction and separability of their ideas, that external objects -have a separate existence from each other; so, when we make these ideas -themselves our objects, we must draw the same conclusion concerning -_them_, according to the precedent reasoning. At least, it must be -confessed, that having no idea of the substance of the soul, 'tis -impossible for us to tell how it can admit of such differences, and -even contrarieties of perception, without any fundamental change; and, -consequently, can never tell in what sense perceptions are actions of -that substance. The use, therefore, of the word _action_, unaccompanied -with any meaning, instead of that of modification, makes no addition -to our knowledge, nor is of any advantage to the doctrine of the -immateriality of the soul. - -I add, in the second place, that if it brings any advantage to that -cause, it must bring an equal to the cause of atheism. For, do our -theologians pretend to make a monopoly of the word _action_, and may -not the atheists likewise take possession of it, and affirm that -other plants, animals, men, &c., are nothing but particular actions -of one simple universal substance, which exerts itself from a blind -and absolute necessity? This you'll say, is utterly absurd. I own -'tis unintelligible; but, at the same time assert, according to the -principles above explained, that 'tis impossible to discover any -absurdity in the supposition, that all the various objects in nature -are actions of one simple substance, which absurdity will not be -applicable to a like supposition concerning impressions and ideas. - -From these hypotheses concerning the _substance_ and _local -conjunction_ of our perceptions, we may pass to another, which is more -intelligible than the former, and more important than the latter, viz. -concerning the _cause_ of our perceptions. Matter and motion, 'tis -commonly said in the schools, however varied, are still matter and -motion, and produce only a difference in the position and situation of -objects. Divide a body as often as you please, 'tis still body. Place -it in any figure, nothing ever results but figure, or the relation -of parts. Move it in any manner, you still find motion or a change -of relation. 'Tis absurd to imagine, that motion in a circle, for -instance, should be nothing but merely motion in a circle; while motion -in another direction, as in an ellipse, should also be a passion or -moral reflection: that the shocking of two globular particles should -become a sensation of pain, and that the meeting of two triangular ones -should afford a pleasure. Now as these different shocks and variations -and mixtures are the only changes of which matter is susceptible, and -as these never afford us any idea of thought or perception, 'tis -concluded to be impossible, that thought can ever be caused by matter. - -Few have been able to withstand the seeming evidence of this argument; -and yet nothing in the world is more easy than to refute it. We need -only reflect on what has been proved at large, that we are never -sensible of any connexion betwixt causes and effects, and that 'tis -only by our experience of their constant conjunction, we can arrive -at any knowledge of this relation. Now, as all objects, which are not -contrary, are susceptible of a constant conjunction, and as no real -objects are contrary; I have inferred from these principles,[14] that -to consider the matter _a priori_, any thing may produce any thing, -and that we shall never discover a reason, why any object may or may -not be the cause of any other, however great, or however little the -resemblance may be betwixt them. This evidently destroys the precedent -reasoning concerning the cause of thought or perception. For though -there appear no manner of connexion betwixt motion or thought, the -case is the same with all other causes and effects. Place one body -of a pound weight on one end of a lever, and another body of the -same weight on another end; you will never find in these bodies any -principle of motion dependent on their distances from the centre, more -than of thought and perception. If you pretend, therefore, to prove, -_a priori_, that such a position of bodies can never cause thought; -because, turn it which way you will, 'tis nothing but a position of -bodies; you must, by the same course of reasoning conclude, that it -can never produce motion; since there is no more apparent connexion -in the one case than in the other. But as this latter conclusion is -contrary to evident experience, and as 'tis possible we may have a like -experience in the operations of the mind, and may perceive a constant -conjunction of thought and motion; you reason too hastily, when, from -the mere consideration of the ideas, you conclude that 'tis impossible -motion can ever produce thought, or a different position of parts give -rise to a different passion or reflection. Nay, 'tis not only possible -we may have such an experience, but 'tis certain we have it; since -every one may perceive, that the different dispositions of his body -change his thoughts and sentiments. And should it be said, that this -depends on the union of soul and body, I would answer, that we must -separate the question concerning the substance of the mind from that -concerning the cause of its thought; and that, confining ourselves -to the latter question, we find, by the comparing their ideas, that -thought and motion are different from each other, and by experience, -that they are constantly united; which being all the circumstances that -enter into the idea of cause and effect, when applied to the operations -of matter, we may certainly conclude, that motion may be, and actually -is, the cause of thought and perception. - -There seems only this dilemma left us in the present case; either to -assert, that nothing can be the cause of another, but where the mind -can perceive the connexion in its idea of the objects: or to maintain, -that all objects which we find constantly conjoined, are upon that -account to be regarded as causes and effects. If we choose the first -part of the dilemma, these are the consequences. _First_, we in reality -affirm, that there is no such thing in the universe as a cause or -productive principle, not even the Deity himself; since our idea of -that Supreme Being is derived from particular impressions, none of -which contain any efficacy, nor seem to have _any_ connexion with _any_ -other existence. As to what may be said, that the connexion betwixt the -idea of an infinitely powerful Being and that of any effect, which he -wills, is necessary and unavoidable; I answer, that we have no idea of -a Being endowed with any power, much less of one endowed with infinite -power. But if we will change expressions, we can only define power by -connexion; and then in saying, that the idea of an infinitely powerful -Being is connected with that of every effect which he wills, we really -do no more than assert, that a Being, whose volition is connected with -every effect, is connected with every effect; which is an identical -proposition, and gives us no insight into the nature of this power or -connexion. But, _secondly_, supposing that the Deity were the great and -efficacious principle which supplies the deficiency of all causes, this -leads us into the grossest impieties and absurdities. For upon the same -account that we have recourse to him in natural operations, and assert -that matter cannot of itself communicate motion, or produce thought, -viz. because there is no apparent connexion betwixt these objects; I -say, upon the very same account, we must acknowledge that the Deity -is the author of all our volitions and perceptions; since they have -no more apparent connexion either with one another, or with the -supposed but unknown substance of the soul. This agency of the Supreme -Being we know to have been asserted by several philosophers[15] with -relation to all the actions of the mind, except volition, or rather -an inconsiderable part of volition; though 'tis easy to perceive, that -this exception is a mere pretext, to avoid the dangerous consequences -of that doctrine. If nothing be active but what has an apparent -power, thought is in no case any more active than matter; and if this -inactivity must make us have recourse to a Deity, the Supreme Being is -the real cause of all our actions, bad as well as good, vicious as well -as virtuous. - -Thus we are necessarily reduced to the other side of the dilemma, -viz. that all objects, which are found to be constantly conjoined, -are upon that account only to be regarded as causes and effects. Now, -as all objects which are not contrary, are susceptible of a constant -conjunction, and as no real objects are contrary; it follows, that, for -ought we can determine by the mere ideas, any thing may be the cause -or effect of any thing; which evidently gives the advantage to the -materialists above their antagonists. - -To pronounce, then, the final decision upon the whole: the question -concerning the substance of the soul is absolutely unintelligible: -all our perceptions are not susceptible of a local union, either with -what is extended or unextended; there being some of them of the one -kind, and some of the other: and as the constant conjunction of objects -constitutes the very essence of cause and effect, matter and motion -may often be regarded as the causes of thought, as far as we have any -notion of that relation. - -'Tis certainly a kind of indignity to philosophy, whose sovereign -authority ought every where to be acknowledged, to oblige her on every -occasion to make apologies for her conclusions, and justify herself -to every particular art and science, which may be offended at her. -This puts one in mind of a king arraigned for high treason against -his subjects. There is only one occasion when philosophy will think -it necessary and even honourable to justify herself; and that is, -religion may seem to be in the least offended; whose rights are as dear -to her as her own, and are indeed the same. If any one, therefore, -should imagine that the foregoing arguments are any ways dangerous to -religion, I hope the following apology will remove his apprehensions. - -There is no foundation for any conclusion _a priori_, either concerning -the operations or duration of any object, of which 'tis possible for -the human mind to form a conception. Any object may be imagined to -become entirely inactive, or to be annihilated in a moment; and 'tis -an evident principle, _that whatever we can imagine is possible_. -Now this is no more true of matter, than of spirit; of an extended -compounded substance, than of a simple and unextended. In both cases -the metaphysical arguments for the immortality of the soul are equally -inconclusive; and in both cases the moral arguments and those derived -from the analogy of nature are equally strong and convincing. If my -philosophy therefore makes no addition to the arguments for religion, I -have at least the satisfaction to think it takes nothing from them, but -that every thing remains precisely as before. - - -[9] Part I. Sect. 5. - -[10] Sect 2, towards the end. - -[11] Part. II. Sect. 6. - -[12] Such as that of Sect. 2, from the coherence of our perceptions. - -[13] See Bayle's Dictionary, article of Spinoza. - -[14] Part III. sect. 15. - -[15] As Father Malebranche and other Cartesians. - - - - -SECTION VI. - -OF PERSONAL IDENTITY. - - -There are some philosophers, who imagine we are every moment intimately -conscious of what we call our _self_; that we feel its existence and -its continuance in existence; and are certain, beyond the evidence -of a demonstration, both of its perfect identity and simplicity. The -strongest sensation, the most violent passion, say they, instead of -distracting us from this view, only fix it the more intensely, and make -us consider their influence on _self_ either by their pain or pleasure. -To attempt a farther proof of this were to weaken its evidence; since -no proof can be derived from any fact of which we are so intimately -conscious; nor is there any thing, of which we can be certain, if we -doubt of this. - -Unluckily all these positive assertions are contrary to that very -experience which is pleaded for them; nor have we any idea of _self_, -after the manner it is here explained. For, from what impression could -this idea be derived? This question 'tis impossible to answer without -a manifest contradiction and absurdity; and yet 'tis a question which -must necessarily be answered, if we would have the idea of self pass -for clear and intelligible. It must be some one impression that gives -rise to every real idea. But self or person is not any one impression, -but that to which our several impressions and ideas are supposed to -have a reference. If any impression gives rise to the idea of self, -that impression must continue invariably the same, through the whole -course of our lives; since self is supposed to exist after that manner. -But there is no impression constant and invariable. Pain and pleasure, -grief and joy, passions and sensations succeed each other, and never -all exist at the same time. It cannot therefore be from any of these -impressions, or from any other, that the idea of self is derived; and -consequently there is no such idea. - -But farther, what must become of all our particular perceptions upon -this hypothesis? All these are different, and distinguishable, and -separable from each other, and may be separately considered, and may -exist separately, and have no need of any thing to support their -existence. After what manner therefore do they belong to self, and how -are they connected with it? For my part, when I enter most intimately -into what I call _myself_, I always stumble on some particular -perception or other, of heat or cold, light or shade, love or hatred, -pain or pleasure. I never can catch _myself_ at any time without a -perception, and never can observe any thing but the perception. When -my perceptions are removed for any time, as by sound sleep, so long am -I insensible of _myself_, and may truly be said not to exist. And were -all my perceptions removed by death, and could I neither think, nor -feel, nor see, nor love, nor hate, after the dissolution of my body, -I should be entirely annihilated, nor do I conceive what is farther -requisite to make me a perfect nonentity. If any one, upon serious and -unprejudiced reflection, thinks he has a different notion of _himself_, -I must confess I can reason no longer with him. All I can allow him is, -that he may be in the right as well as I, and that we are essentially -different in this particular. He may, perhaps, perceive something -simple and continued, which he calls _himself_; though I am certain -there is no such principle in me. - -But setting aside some metaphysicians of this kind, I may venture to -affirm of the rest of mankind, that they are nothing but a bundle or -collection of different perceptions, which succeed each other with an -inconceivable rapidity, and are in a perpetual flux and movement. Our -eyes cannot turn in their sockets without varying our perceptions. -Our thought is still more variable than our sight; and all our -other senses and faculties contribute to this change; nor is there -any single power of the soul, which remains unalterably the same, -perhaps for one moment. The mind is a kind of theatre, where several -perceptions successively make their appearance; pass, repass, glide -away, and mingle in an infinite variety of postures and situations. -There is properly no _simplicity_ in it at one time, nor _identity_ -in different, whatever natural propension we may have to imagine that -simplicity and identity. The comparison of the theatre must not mislead -us. They are the successive perceptions only, that constitute the mind; -nor have we the most distant notion of the place where these scenes are -represented, or of the materials of which it is composed. - -What then gives us so great a propension to ascribe an identity to -these successive perceptions, and to suppose ourselves possessed of an -invariable and uninterrupted existence through the whole course of our -lives? In order to answer this question, we must distinguish betwixt -personal identity, as it regards our thought or imagination, and as it -regards our passions or the concern we take in ourselves. The first -is our present subject; and to explain it perfectly we must take the -matter pretty deep, and account for that identity, which we attribute -to plants and animals; there being a great analogy betwixt it and the -identity of a self or person. - -We have a distinct idea of an object that remains invariable and -uninterrupted through a supposed variation of time; and this idea we -call that of _identity_ or _sameness_. We have also a distinct idea -of several different objects existing in succession, and connected -together by a close relation; and this to an accurate view affords -as perfect a notion of _diversity_, as if there was no manner of -relation among the objects. But though these two ideas of identity, -and a succession of related objects, be in themselves perfectly -distinct, and even contrary, yet 'tis certain that, in our common -way of thinking, they are generally confounded with each other. That -action of the imagination, by which we consider the uninterrupted and -invariable object, and that by which we reflect on the succession of -related objects, are almost the same to the feeling; nor is there much -more effort of thought required in the latter case than in the former. -The relation facilitates the transition of the mind from one object -to another, and renders its passage as smooth as if it contemplated -one continued object. This resemblance is the cause of the confusion -and mistake, and makes us substitute the notion of identity, instead -of that of related objects. However at one instant we may consider -the related succession as variable or interrupted, we are sure the -next to ascribe to it a perfect identity, and regard it as invariable -and uninterrupted. Our propensity to this mistake is so great from -the resemblance above mentioned, that we fall into it before we are -aware; and though we incessantly correct ourselves by reflection, -and return to a more accurate method of thinking, yet we cannot long -sustain our philosophy, or take off this bias from the imagination. -Our last resource is to yield to it, and boldly assert that these -different related objects are in effect the same, however interrupted -and variable. In order to justify to ourselves this absurdity, we often -feign some new and unintelligible principle, that connects the objects -together, and prevents their interruption or variation. Thus, we feign -the continued existence of the perceptions of our senses, to remove -the interruption; and run into the notion of a _soul_, and _self_, and -_substance_, to disguise the variation. But, we may farther observe, -that where we do not give rise to such a fiction, our propension to -confound identity with relation is so great, that we are apt to imagine -something unknown and mysterious,[16] connecting the parts, beside -their relation; and this I take to be the case with regard to the -identity we ascribe to plants and vegetables. And even when this does -not take place, we still feel a propensity to confound these ideas, -though we are not able fully to satisfy ourselves in that particular, -nor find any thing invariable and uninterrupted to justify our notion -of identity. - -Thus, the controversy concerning identity is not merely a dispute -of words. For, when we attribute identity, in an improper sense, -to variable or interrupted objects, our mistake is not confined to -the expression, but is commonly attended with a fiction, either of -something invariable and uninterrupted, or of something mysterious and -inexplicable, or at least with a propensity to such fictions. What -will suffice to prove this hypothesis to the satisfaction of every -fair inquirer, is to show, from daily experience and observation, that -the objects which are variable or interrupted, and yet are supposed -to continue the same, are such only as consist of a succession of -parts, connected together by resemblance, contiguity, or causation. -For as such a succession answers evidently to our notion of diversity, -it can only be by mistake we ascribe to it an identity; and as the -relation of parts, which leads us into this mistake, is really nothing -but a quality, which produces an association of ideas, and an easy -transition of the imagination from one to another, it can only be from -the resemblance, which this act of the mind bears to that by which we -contemplate one continued object, that the error arises. Our chief -business, then, must be to prove, that all objects, to which we ascribe -identity, without observing their invariableness and uninterruptedness, -are such as consist of a succession of related objects. - -In order to this, suppose any mass of matter, of which the parts are -contiguous and connected, to be placed before us; 'tis plain we must -attribute a perfect identity to this mass, provided all the parts -continue uninterruptedly and invariably the same, whatever motion or -change of place we may observe either in the whole or in any of the -parts. But supposing some very _small_ or _inconsiderable_ part to -be added to the mass, or subtracted from it; though this absolutely -destroys the identity of the whole, strictly speaking, yet as we seldom -think so accurately, we scruple not to pronounce a mass of matter -the same, where we find so trivial an alteration. The passage of the -thought from the object before the change to the object after it, is so -smooth and easy, that we scarce perceive the transition, and are apt to -imagine, that 'tis nothing but a continued survey of the same object. - -There is a very remarkable circumstance that attends this experiment; -which is, that though the change of any considerable part in a mass -of matter destroys the identity of the whole, yet we must measure -the greatness of the part, not absolutely, but by its _proportion_ -to the whole. The addition or diminution of a mountain would not be -sufficient to produce a diversity in a planet; though the change of a -very few inches would be able to destroy the identity of some bodies. -'Twill be impossible to account for this, but by reflecting that -objects operate upon the mind, and break or interrupt the continuity of -its actions, not according to their real greatness, but according to -their proportion to each other; and therefore, since this interruption -makes an object cease to appear the same, it must be the uninterrupted -progress of the thought which constitutes the imperfect identity. - -This may be confirmed by another phenomenon. A change in any -considerable part of a body destroys its identity; but 'tis remarkable, -that where the change is produced _gradually_ and _insensibly_, we -are less apt to ascribe to it the same effect. The reason can plainly -be no other, than that the mind, in following the successive changes -of the body, feels an easy passage from the surveying its condition -in one moment, to the viewing of it in another, and in no particular -time perceives any interruption in its actions. From which continued -perception, it ascribes a continued existence and identity to the -object. - -But whatever precaution we may use in introducing the changes -gradually, and making them proportionable to the whole, 'tis certain, -that where the changes are at last observed to become considerable, we -make a scruple of ascribing identity to such different objects. There -is, however, another artifice, by which we may induce the imagination -to advance a step farther; and that is, by producing a reference of the -parts to each other, and a combination to some _common end_ or purpose. -A ship, of which a considerable part has been changed by frequent -reparations, is still considered as the same; nor does the difference -of the materials hinder us from ascribing an identity to it. The -common end, in which the parts conspire, is the same under all their -variations, and affords an easy transition of the imagination from one -situation of the body to another. - -But this is still more remarkable, when we add a _sympathy_ of parts -to their _common end_, and suppose that they bear to each other the -reciprocal relation of cause and effect in all their actions and -operations. This is the case with all animals and vegetables; where not -only the several parts have a reference to some general purpose, but -also a mutual dependence on, and connexion with, each other. The effect -of so strong a relation is, that though every one must allow, that in -a very few years both vegetables and animals endure a _total_ change, -yet we still attribute identity to them, while their form, size and -substance, are entirely altered. An oak that grows from a small plant -to a large tree is still the same oak, though there be not one particle -of matter or figure of its parts the same. An infant becomes a man, and -is sometimes fat, sometimes lean, without any change in his identity. - -We may also consider the two following phenomena, which are remarkable -in their kind. The first is, that though we commonly be able to -distinguish pretty exactly betwixt numerical and specific identity, yet -it sometimes happens that we confound them, and in our thinking and -reasoning employ the one for the other. Thus, a man who hears a noise -that is frequently interrupted and renewed, says it is still the same -noise, though 'tis evident the sounds have only a specific identity or -resemblance, and there is nothing numerically the same but the cause -which produced them. In like manner it may be said, without breach -of the propriety of language, that such a church, which was formerly -of brick, fell to ruin, and that the parish rebuilt the same church -of freestone, and according to modern architecture. Here neither the -form nor materials are the same, nor is there any thing common to the -two objects but their relation to the inhabitants of the parish; and -yet this alone is sufficient to make us denominate them the same. But -we must observe, that in these cases the first object is in a manner -annihilated before the second comes into existence; by which means, -we are never presented, in any one point of time, with the idea of -difference and multiplicity; and for that reason are less scrupulous in -calling them the same. - -Secondly, we may remark, that though, in a succession of related -objects, it be in a manner requisite that the change of parts be not -sudden nor entire, in order to preserve the identity, yet where the -objects are in their nature changeable and inconstant, we admit of a -more sudden transition than would otherwise be consistent with that -relation. Thus, as the nature of a river consists in the motion and -change of parts, though in less than four-and-twenty hours these be -totally altered, this hinders not the river from continuing the same -during several ages. What is natural and essential to any thing is, -in a manner, expected; and what is expected makes less impression, -and appears of less moment than what is unusual and extraordinary. -A considerable change of the former kind seems really less to the -imagination than the most trivial alteration of the latter; and by -breaking less the continuity of the thought, has less influence in -destroying the identity. - -We now proceed to explain the nature of _personal identity_, which -has become so great a question in philosophy, especially of late -years, in England, where all the abstruser sciences are studied with a -peculiar ardour and application. And here 'tis evident the same method -of reasoning must be continued which has so successfully explained the -identity of plants, and animals, and ships, and houses, and of all the -compounded and changeable productions either of art or nature. The -identity which we ascribe to the mind of man is only a fictitious one, -and of a like kind with that which we ascribe to vegetables and animal -bodies. It cannot therefore have a different origin, but must proceed -from a like operation of the imagination upon like objects. - -But lest this argument should not convince the reader, though in my -opinion perfectly decisive, let him weigh the following reasoning, -which is still closer and more immediate. 'Tis evident that the -identity which we attribute to the human mind, however perfect we may -imagine it to be, is not able to run the several different perceptions -into one, and make them lose their characters of distinction and -difference, which are essential to them. 'Tis still true that every -distinct perception which enters into the composition of the mind, -is a distinct existence, and is different, and distinguishable, -and separable from every other perception, either contemporary or -successive. But as, notwithstanding this distinction and separability, -we [suppose] the whole train of perceptions to be united by identity, -a question naturally arises concerning this relation of identity, -whether it be something that really binds our several perceptions -together, or only associates their ideas in the imagination; that is, -in other words, whether, in pronouncing concerning the identity of a -person, we observe some real bond among his perceptions, or only feel -one among the ideas we form of them. This question we might easily -decide, if we would recollect what has been already proved at large, -that the understanding never observes any real connexion among objects, -and that even the union of cause and effect, when strictly examined, -resolves itself into a customary association of ideas. For from thence -it evidently follows, that identity is nothing really belonging to -these different perceptions, and uniting them together, but is merely -a quality which we attribute to them, because of the union of their -ideas in the imagination when we reflect upon them. Now, the only -qualities which can give ideas an union in the imagination, are these -three relations above mentioned. These are the uniting principles in -the ideal world, and without them every distinct object is separable -by the mind, and may be separately considered, and appears not to have -any more connexion with any other object than if disjoined by the -greatest difference and remoteness. 'Tis therefore on some of these -three relations of resemblance, contiguity and causation, that identity -depends; and as the very essence of these relations consists in their -producing an easy transition of ideas, it follows, that our notions of -personal identity proceed entirely from the smooth and uninterrupted -progress of the thought along a train of connected ideas, according to -the principles above explained. - -The only question, therefore, which remains is, by what relations this -uninterrupted progress of our thought is produced, when we consider -the successive existence of a mind or thinking person. And here 'tis -evident we must confine ourselves to resemblance and causation, and -must drop contiguity, which has little or no influence in the present -case. - -To begin with _resemblance_; suppose we could see clearly into the -breast of another, and observe that succession of perceptions which -constitutes his mind or thinking principle, and suppose that he always -preserves the memory of a considerable part of past perceptions, 'tis -evident that nothing could more contribute to the bestowing a relation -on this succession amidst all its variations. For what is the memory -but a faculty, by which we raise up the images of past perceptions? And -as an image necessarily resembles its object, must not the frequent -placing of these resembling perceptions in the chain of thought, convey -the imagination more easily from one link to another, and make the -whole seem like the continuance of one object? In this particular, -then, the memory not only discovers the identity, but also contributes -to its production, by producing the relation of resemblance among the -perceptions. The case is the same, whether we consider ourselves or -others. - -As to _causation_; we may observe, that the true idea of the human -mind, is to consider it as a system of different perceptions or -different existences, which are linked together by the relation of -cause and effect, and mutually produce, destroy, influence, and -modify each other. Our impressions give rise to their correspondent -ideas; and these ideas, in their turn, produce other impressions. One -thought chases another, and draws after it a third, by which it is -expelled in its turn. In this respect, I cannot compare the soul more -properly to any thing than to a republic or commonwealth, in which -the several members are united by the reciprocal ties of government -and subordination, and give rise to other persons who propagate the -same republic in the incessant changes of its parts. And as the same -individual republic may not only change its members, but also its -laws and constitutions; in like manner the same person may vary his -character and disposition, as well as his impressions and ideas, -without losing his identity. Whatever changes he endures, his several -parts are still connected by the relation of causation. And in this -view our identity with regard to the passions serves to corroborate -that with regard to the imagination, by the making our distant -perceptions influence each other, and by giving us a present concern -for our past or future pains or pleasures. - -As memory alone acquaints us with the continuance and extent of this -succession of perceptions, 'tis to be considered, upon that account -chiefly, as the source of personal identity. Had we no memory, we never -should have any notion of causation, nor consequently of that chain of -causes and effects, which constitute our self or person. But having -once acquired this notion of causation from the memory, we can extend -the same chain of causes, and consequently the identity of our persons -beyond our memory, and can comprehend times, and circumstances, and -actions, which we have entirely forgot, but suppose in general to have -existed. For how few of our past actions are there, of which we have -any memory? Who can tell me, for instance, what were his thoughts and -actions on the first of January 1715, the eleventh of March 1719, and -the third of August 1733? Or will he affirm, because he has entirely -forgot the incidents of these days, that the present self is not the -same person with the self of that time; and by that means overturn -all the most established notions of personal identity? In this view, -therefore, memory does not so much _produce_ as _discover_ personal -identity, by showing us the relation of cause and effect among our -different perceptions. 'Twill be incumbent on those who affirm that -memory produces entirely our personal identity, to give a reason why we -can thus extend our identity beyond our memory. - -The whole of this doctrine leads us to a conclusion, which is of great -importance in the present affair, viz. that all the nice and subtile -questions concerning personal identity can never possibly be decided, -and are to be regarded rather as grammatical than as philosophical -difficulties. Identity depends on the relations of ideas; and these -relations produce identity, by means of that easy transition they -occasion. But as the relations, and the easiness of the transition may -diminish by insensible degrees, we have no just standard by which we -can decide any dispute concerning the time when they acquire or lose a -title to the name of identity. All the disputes concerning the identity -of connected objects are merely verbal, except so far as the relation -of parts gives rise to some fiction or imaginary principle of union, as -we have already observed. - -What I have said concerning the first origin and uncertainty of our -notion of identity, as applied to the human mind, may be extended -with little or no variation to that of _simplicity_. An object, whose -different co-existent parts are bound together by a close relation, -operates upon the imagination after much the same manner as one -perfectly simple and indivisible, and requires not a much greater -stretch of thought in order to its conception. From this similarity -of operation we attribute a simplicity to it, and feign a principle -of union as the support of this simplicity, and the centre of all the -different parts and qualities of the object. - -Thus we have finished our examination of the several systems of -philosophy, both of the intellectual and moral world; and, in our -miscellaneous way of reasoning, have been led into several topics, -which will either illustrate and confirm some preceding part of this -discourse, or prepare the way for our following opinions. 'Tis now time -to return to a more close examination of our subject, and to proceed in -the accurate anatomy of human nature, having fully explained the nature -of our judgment and understanding. - - -[16] If the reader is desirous to see how a great genius may be -influenced by these seemingly trivial principles of the imagination, as -well as the mere vulgar, let him read my Lord Shaftsbury's reasonings -concerning the uniting principle of the universe, and the identity of -plants and animals. See his _Moralists_, or _Philosophical Rhapsody_. - - - - -SECTION VII. - -CONCLUSION OF THIS BOOK. - - -But before I launch out into those immense depths of philosophy which -lie before me, I find myself inclined to stop a moment in my present -station, and to ponder that voyage which I have undertaken, and which -undoubtedly requires the utmost art and industry to be brought to a -happy conclusion. Methinks I am like a man, who, having struck on many -shoals, and having narrowly escaped shipwreck in passing a small frith, -has yet the temerity to put out to sea in the same leaky weather-beaten -vessel, and even carries his ambition so far as to think of compassing -the globe under these disadvantageous circumstances. My memory of past -errors and perplexities makes me diffident for the future. The wretched -condition, weakness, and disorder of the faculties, I must employ in -my inquiries, increase my apprehensions. And the impossibility of -amending or correcting these faculties, reduces me almost to despair, -and makes me resolve to perish on the barren rock, on which I am at -present, rather than venture myself upon that boundless ocean which -runs out into immensity. This sudden view of my danger strikes me with -melancholy; and, as 'tis usual for that passion, above all others, to -indulge itself, I cannot forbear feeding my despair with all those -desponding reflections which the present subject furnishes me with in -such abundance. - -I am first affrighted and confounded with that forlorn solitude in -which I am placed in my philosophy, and fancy myself some strange -uncouth monster, who, not being able to mingle and unite in society, -has been expelled all human commerce, and left utterly abandoned and -disconsolate. Fain would I run into the crowd for shelter and warmth, -but cannot prevail with myself to mix with such deformity. I call -upon others to join me, in order to make a company apart, but no one -will hearken to me. Every one keeps at a distance, and dreads that -storm which beats upon me from every side. I have exposed myself to -the enmity of all metaphysicians, logicians, mathematicians, and even -theologians; and can I wonder at the insults I must suffer? I have -declared my disapprobation of their systems; and can I be surprised -if they should express a hatred of mine and of my person? When I look -abroad, I foresee on every side dispute, contradiction, anger, calumny -and detraction. When I turn my eye inward, I find nothing but doubt and -ignorance. All the world conspires to oppose and contradict me; though -such is my weakness, that I feel all my opinions loosen and fall of -themselves, when unsupported by the approbation of others. Every step -I take is with hesitation, and every new reflection makes me dread an -error and absurdity in my reasoning. - -For with what confidence can I venture upon such bold enterprises, -when, beside those numberless infirmities peculiar to myself, I find so -many which are common to human nature? Can I be sure that, in leaving -all established opinions, I am following truth? and by what criterion -shall I distinguish her, even if fortune should at last guide me on -her footsteps? After the most accurate and exact of my reasonings, I -can give no reason why I should assent to it, and feel nothing but a -_strong_ propensity to consider objects _strongly_ in that view under -which they appear to me. Experience is a principle which instructs me -in the several conjunctions of objects for the past. Habit is another -principle which determines me to expect the same for the future; and -both of them conspiring to operate upon the imagination, make me form -certain ideas in a more intense and lively manner than others which -are not attended with the same advantages. Without this quality, by -which the mind enlivens some ideas beyond others (which seemingly is so -trivial, and so little founded on reason), we could never assent to any -argument, nor carry our view beyond those few objects which are present -to our senses. Nay, even to these objects we could never attribute any -existence but what was dependent on the senses, and must comprehend -them entirely in that succession of perceptions which constitutes our -self or person. Nay, farther, even with relation to that succession, we -could only admit of those perceptions which are immediately present to -our consciousness; nor could those lively images, with which the memory -presents us, be ever received as true pictures of past perceptions. The -memory, senses, and understanding are therefore all of them founded on -the imagination, or the vivacity of our ideas. - -No wonder a principle so inconstant and fallacious should lead us into -errors when implicitly followed (as it must be) in all its variations. -'Tis this principle which makes us reason from causes and effects; and -'tis the same principle which convinces us of the continued existence -of external objects when absent from the senses. But though these two -operations be equally natural and necessary in the human mind, yet in -some circumstances they are directly contrary;[17] nor is it possible -for us to reason justly and regularly from causes and effects, and at -the same time believe the continued existence of matter. How then shall -we adjust those principles together? Which of them shall we prefer? Or -in case we prefer neither of them, but successively assent to both, as -is usual among philosophers, with what confidence can we afterwards -usurp that glorious title, when we thus knowingly embrace a manifest -contradiction? - -This contradiction[18] would be more excusable were it compensated -by any degree of solidity and satisfaction in the other parts of our -reasoning. But the case is quite contrary. When we trace up the human -understanding to its first principles, we find it to lead us into -such sentiments as seem to turn into ridicule all our past pains and -industry, and to discourage us from future inquiries. Nothing is more -curiously inquired after by the mind of man than the causes of every -phenomenon; nor are we content with knowing the immediate causes, but -push on our inquiries till we arrive at the original and ultimate -principle. We would not willingly stop before we are acquainted with -that energy in the cause by which it operates on its effect; that tie, -which connects them together; and that efficacious quality on which -the tie depends. This is our aim in all our studies and reflections: -and how must we be disappointed when we learn that this connexion, -tie, or energy lies merely in ourselves, and is nothing but that -determination of the mind which is acquired by custom, and causes us -to make a transition from an object to its usual attendant, and from -the impression of one to the lively idea of the other? Such a discovery -not only cuts off all hope of ever attaining satisfaction, but even -prevents our very wishes; since it appears, that when we say we desire -to know the ultimate and operating principle as something which resides -in the external object, we either contradict ourselves, or talk without -a meaning. - -This deficiency in our ideas is not indeed perceived in common life, -nor are we sensible that, in the most usual conjunctions of cause and -effect, we are as ignorant of the ultimate principle which binds them -together, as in the most unusual and extraordinary. But this proceeds -merely from an illusion of the imagination; and the question is, -how far we ought to yield to these illusions. This question is very -difficult, and reduces us to a very dangerous dilemma, whichever way we -answer it. For if we assent to every trivial suggestion of the fancy, -beside that these suggestions are often contrary to each other, they -lead us into such errors, absurdities, and obscurities, that we must -at last become ashamed of our credulity. Nothing is more dangerous to -reason than the flights of the imagination, and nothing has been the -occasion of more mistakes among philosophers. Men of bright fancies -may in this respect be compared to those angels, whom the Scripture -represents as covering their eyes with their wings. This has already -appeared in so many instances, that we may spare ourselves the trouble -of enlarging upon it any farther. - -But, on the other hand, if the consideration of these instances makes -us take a resolution to reject all the trivial suggestions of the -fancy, and adhere to the understanding, that is, to the general and -more established properties of the imagination; even this resolution, -if steadily executed, would be dangerous, and attended with the -most fatal consequences. For I have already shown,[19] that the -understanding, when it acts alone, and according to its most general -principles, entirely subverts itself, and leaves not the lowest degree -of evidence in any proposition, either in philosophy or common life. -We save ourselves from this total scepticism only by means of that -singular and seemingly trivial property of the fancy, by which we -enter with difficulty into remote views of things, and are not able to -accompany them with so sensible an impression, as we do those which -are more easy and natural. Shall we, then, establish it for a general -maxim, that no refined or elaborate reasoning is ever to be received? -Consider well the consequences of such a principle. By this means you -cut off entirely all science and philosophy: you proceed upon one -singular quality of the imagination, and by a parity of reason must -embrace all of them: and you expressly contradict yourself; since this -maxim must be built on the preceding reasoning, which will be allowed -to be sufficiently refined and metaphysical. What party, then, shall -we choose among these difficulties? If we embrace this principle, -and condemn all refined reasoning, we run into the most manifest -absurdities. If we reject it in favour of these reasonings, we subvert -entirely the human understanding. We have therefore no choice left, -but betwixt a false reason and none at all. For my part, I know not -what ought to be done in the present case. I can only observe what -is commonly done; which is, that this difficulty is seldom or never -thought of; and even where it has once been present to the mind, is -quickly forgot, and leaves but a small impression behind it. Very -refined reflections have little or no influence upon us; and yet we do -not, and cannot establish it for a rule, that they ought not to have -any influence; which implies a manifest contradiction. - -But what have I here said, that reflections very refined and -metaphysical have little or no influence upon us? This opinion I can -scarce forbear retracting, and condemning from my present feeling and -experience. The _intense_ view of these manifold contradictions and -imperfections in human reason has so wrought upon me, and heated my -brain, that I am ready to reject all belief and reasoning, and can -look upon no opinion even as more probable or likely than another. -Where am I, or what? From what causes do I derive my existence, and to -what condition shall I return? Whose favour shall I court, and whose -anger must I dread? What beings surround me? and on whom have I any -influence, or who have any influence on me? I am confounded with all -these questions, and begin to fancy myself in the most deplorable -condition imaginable, environed with the deepest darkness, and utterly -deprived of the use of every member and faculty. - -Most fortunately it happens, that since reason is incapable of -dispelling these clouds, Nature herself suffices to that purpose, and -cures me of this philosophical melancholy and delirium, either by -relaxing this bent of mind, or by some avocation, and lively impression -of my senses, which obliterate all these chimeras. I dine, I play a -game of backgammon, I converse, and am merry with my friends; and -when, after three or four hours' amusement, I would return to these -speculations, they appear so cold, and strained, and ridiculous, that I -cannot find in my heart to enter into them any farther. - -Here, then, I find myself absolutely and necessarily determined to -live, and talk, and act like other people in the common affairs of -life. But notwithstanding that my natural propensity, and the course -of my animal spirits and passions reduce me to this indolent belief -in the general maxims of the world, I still feel such remains of my -former disposition, that I am ready to throw all my books and papers -into the fire, and resolve never more to renounce the pleasures of life -for the sake of reasoning and philosophy. For those are my sentiments -in that splenetic humour which governs me at present. I may, nay I -must yield to the current of nature, in submitting to my senses and -understanding; and in this blind submission I show most perfectly my -sceptical disposition and principles. But does it follow that I must -strive against the current of nature, which leads me to indolence -and pleasure; that I must seclude myself, in some measure, from the -commerce and society of men, which is so agreeable; and that I must -torture my brain with subtilties and sophistries, at the very time that -I cannot satisfy myself concerning the reasonableness of so painful an -application, nor have any tolerable prospect of arriving by its means -at truth and certainty? Under what obligation do I lie of making such -an abuse of time? And to what end can it serve, either for the service -of mankind, or for my own private interest? No: if I must be a fool, as -all those who reason or believe any thing _certainly_ are, my follies -shall at least be natural and agreeable. Where I strive against my -inclination, I shall have a good reason for my resistance; and will no -more be led a wandering into such dreary solitudes, and rough passages, -as I have hitherto met with. - -These are the sentiments of my spleen and indolence; and indeed I must -confess, that philosophy has nothing to oppose to them, and expects a -victory more from the returns of a serious good-humoured disposition, -than from the force of reason and conviction. In all the incidents of -life, we ought still to preserve our scepticism. If we believe that -fire warms, or water refreshes, 'tis only because it costs us too much -pains to think otherwise. Nay, if we are philosophers, it ought only to -be upon sceptical principles, and from an inclination which we feel to -the employing ourselves after that manner. Where reason is lively, and -mixes itself with some propensity, it ought to be assented to. Where it -does not, it never can have any title to operate upon us. - -At the time, therefore, that I am tired with amusement and company, -and have indulged a _reverie_ in my chamber, or in a solitary walk -by a river side, I feel my mind all collected within itself, and am -naturally _inclined_ to carry my view into all those subjects, about -which I have met with so many disputes in the course of my reading and -conversation. I cannot forbear having a curiosity to be acquainted with -the principles of moral good and evil, the nature and foundation of -government, and the cause of those several passions and inclinations -which actuate and govern me. I am uneasy to think I approve of one -object, and disapprove of another; call one thing beautiful, and -another deformed; decide concerning truth and falsehood, reason and -folly, without knowing upon what principles I proceed. I am concerned -for the condition of the learned world, which lies under such a -deplorable ignorance in all these particulars. I feel an ambition to -arise in me of contributing to the instruction of mankind, and of -acquiring a name by my inventions and discoveries. These sentiments -spring up naturally in my present disposition; and should I endeavour -to banish them, by attaching myself to any other business or diversion, -I _feel_ I should be a loser in point of pleasure; and this is the -origin of my philosophy. - -But even suppose this curiosity and ambition should not transport -me into speculations without the sphere of common life, it would -necessarily happen, that from my very weakness I must be led into such -inquiries. 'Tis certain that superstition is much more bold in its -systems and hypotheses than philosophy; and while the latter contents -itself with assigning new causes and principles to the phenomena which -appear in the visible world, the former opens a world of its own, and -presents us with scenes, and beings, and objects, which are altogether -new. Since, therefore, 'tis almost impossible for the mind of man to -rest, like those of beasts, in that narrow circle of objects, which -are the subject of daily conversation and action, we ought only to -deliberate concerning the choice of our guide, and ought to prefer that -which is safest and most agreeable. And in this respect I make bold to -recommend philosophy, and shall not scruple to give it the preference -to superstition of every kind or denomination. For as superstition -arises naturally and easily from the popular opinions of mankind, it -seizes more strongly on the mind, and is often able to disturb us in -the conduct of our lives and actions. Philosophy, on the contrary, if -just, can present us only with mild and moderate sentiments; and if -false and extravagant, its opinions are merely the objects of a cold -and general speculation, and seldom go so far as to interrupt the -course of our natural propensities. The _Cynics_ are an extraordinary -instance of philosophers, who, from reasonings purely philosophical, -ran into as great extravagancies of conduct as any _monk_ or _dervise_ -that ever was in the world. Generally speaking, the errors in religion -are dangerous; those in philosophy only ridiculous. - -I am sensible, that these two cases of the strength and weakness of the -mind will not comprehend all mankind, and that there are in England, -in particular, many honest gentlemen, who, being always employed in -their domestic affairs, or amusing themselves in common recreations, -have carried their thoughts very little beyond those objects, which -are every day exposed to their senses. And indeed, of such as these I -pretend not to make philosophers, nor do I expect them either to be -associates in these researches, or auditors of these discoveries. They -do well to keep themselves in their present situation; and, instead -of refining them into philosophers, I wish we could communicate to -our founders of systems, a share of this gross earthy mixture, as an -ingredient, which they commonly stand much in need of, and which would -serve to temper those fiery particles, of which they are composed. -While a warm imagination is allowed to enter into philosophy, and -hypotheses embraced merely for being specious and agreeable, we can -never have any steady principles, nor any sentiments, which will suit -with common practice and experience. But were these hypotheses once -removed, we might hope to establish a system or set of opinions, which -if not true (for that, perhaps, is too much to be hoped for), might at -least be satisfactory to the human mind, and might stand the test of -the most critical examination. Nor should we despair of attaining this -end, because of the many chimerical systems, which have successively -arisen and decayed away among men, would we consider the shortness of -that period, wherein these questions have been the subjects of inquiry -and reasoning. Two thousand years with such long interruptions, and -under such mighty discouragements, are a small space of time to give -any tolerable perfection to the sciences; and perhaps we are still in -too early an age of the world to discover any principles, which will -bear the examination of the latest posterity. For my part, my only hope -is, that I may contribute a little to the advancement of knowledge, -by giving in some particulars a different turn to the speculations of -philosophers, and pointing out to them more distinctly those subjects, -where alone they can expect assurance and conviction. Human Nature is -the only science of man; and yet has been hitherto the most neglected. -'Twill be sufficient for me, if I can bring it a little more into -fashion; and the hope of this serves to compose my temper from that -spleen, and invigorate it from that indolence, which sometimes prevail -upon me. If the reader finds himself in the same easy disposition, -let him follow me in my future speculations. If not, let him follow -his inclination, and wait the returns of application and good humour. -The conduct of a man who studies philosophy in this careless manner, -is more truly sceptical than that of one who, feeling in himself an -inclination to it, is yet so overwhelmed with doubts and scruples, -as totally to reject it. A true sceptic will be diffident of his -philosophical doubts, as well as of his philosophical conviction; and -will never refuse any innocent satisfaction which offers itself, upon -account of either of them. - -Nor is it only proper we should in general indulge our inclination -in the most elaborate philosophical researches, notwithstanding our -sceptical principles, but also that we should yield to that propensity, -which inclines us to be positive and certain in _particular points_, -according to the light in which we survey them in any _particular -instant_. 'Tis easier to forbear all examination and inquiry, than -to check ourselves in so natural a propensity, and guard against -that assurance, which always arises from an exact and full survey -of an object. On such an occasion we are apt not only to forget our -scepticism, but even our modesty too; and make use of such terms as -these, _'tis evident, 'tis certain, 'tis undeniable_; which a due -deference to the public ought, perhaps, to prevent. I may have fallen -into this fault after the example of others; but I here enter a -_caveat_ against any objections which may be offered on that head; and -declare that such expressions were extorted from me by the present view -of the object, and imply no dogmatical spirit, nor conceited idea of -my own judgment, which are sentiments that I am sensible can become -nobody, and a sceptic still less than any other. - - -[17] Sect. 4. - -[18] Part III. Sect. 14. - -[19] Section 1. - - -END OF VOLUME FIRST. - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Philosophical Works, v. 1 (of 4), by David Hume - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS, V. 1 (OF 4) *** - -***** This file should be named 53791-8.txt or 53791-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/7/9/53791/ - -Produced by Madelaine Kilsby and Marc D'Hooghe at Free -Literature (back online soon in an extended version, also -linking to free sources for education worldwide ... MOOC's, -educational materials,...) 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Philosophical Works, v. 1 (of 4) - Including all the Essays, and Exhibiting the more Important - Alterations and Corrections in the Successive Editions - Published by the Author - -Author: David Hume - -Release Date: December 22, 2016 [EBook #53791] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS, V. 1 (OF 4) *** - - - - -Produced by Madelaine Kilsby and Marc D'Hooghe at Free -Literature (back online soon in an extended version, also -linking to free sources for education worldwide ... MOOC's, -educational materials,...) Images generously made available -by the Bodleian Library, Oxford. - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> -<h1>THE</h1> - -<h1>PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS</h1> - -<h1>OF</h1> - -<h1>DAVID HUME.</h1> - - -<h4>INCLUDING ALL THE ESSAYS, AND EXHIBITING THE</h4> - -<h4>MORE IMPORTANT ALTERATIONS AND CORRECTIONS</h4> - -<h4>IN THE SUCCESSIVE EDITIONS PUBLISHED</h4> - -<h4>BY THE AUTHOR.</h4> - - -<h4>IN FOUR VOLUMES.</h4> - - -<h4>VOL. I.</h4> - - -<h5>EDINBURGH:</h5> - -<h5>PRINTED FOR ADAM BLACK AND WILLIAM TAIT;</h5> - -<h5>AND CHARLES TAIT, 63, FLEET STREET,</h5> - -<h5>LONDON.</h5> - -<h5>MDCCCXXVI.</h5> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/hume_front02.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -<p class="capt">Allan Ramsey pinx.—Robert Grace Sculp.—David Hume</p> -</div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h4>ADVERTISEMENT.</h4> - - -<p>The Philosophical Writings of Mr Hume are here for the first time -collected in a uniform edition. The Essays are reprinted from the -Edition of 1777, in two octavo volumes, corrected by the Author for -the press, a short time before his death, and which he desired might -be regarded as containing his philosophical principles. The text of -that Edition has been faithfully adhered to in the present; but as -it has been thought an interesting object of curiosity, to trace the -successive variations of sentiment and taste in a mind like that of -Hume, and to mark the gradual and most observable increase of caution -in his expression of those sentiments, it has been the care of the -present Editor to compare the former Editions, of which a List is -here subjoined, and where any alterations were discovered, not merely -verbal, but illustrative of the philosophical opinions of the author, -to add these as Notes to the passages where they occur.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span></p> - -<p>The Essays contained in the early Editions, but which were omitted -in that of 1777, will be found at the end of the last volume of the -present Collection of his Works, together with the Two Essays, on -Suicide, and the Immortality of the Soul.</p> - -<p>In addition to the Author's Life, written by himself, the Account -of the Controversy with M. Rousseau has also been prefixed. It was -originally printed in French, and shortly afterwards in English, in the -year 1766. The English translation was superintended by Mr Hume; and as -it relates to an extraordinary occurrence in the Lives of these eminent -philosophers, has been thought a suitable appendage to the short Memoir -of himself.</p> - -<p> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">EDINBURGH,</span><br /> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">JUNE 1825.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>EDITIONS OF THE ESSAYS COLLATED AND REFERRED TO.</h4> - -<blockquote> - -<p>Essays, Moral and Political. Edinburgh, Kincaid, 1741. -12mo. (A)</p> - -<p>Essays, Moral and Political, Vol. II. Edinburgh, Kincaid, -1742. 12mo. pp. 105. (B)</p> - -<p>Essays, Moral and Political, 2d Edition, corrected. -Edinburgh, Kincaid, 1742. 12mo. pp. 189. (C)</p> - -<p>Essays, Moral and Political. By D. Hume, Esq. 3d Edition, -corrected, with additions. London, Millar, 1748. 12mo. (D)</p> - -<p>Three Essays, Moral and Political, never before published, -which completes the former Edition, in two volumes octavo. -By D. Hume, Esq. London, Millar, 1748. 12mo. (E)</p> - -<p>Political Discourses. By D. Hume, Esq. Edinburgh, Kincaid, -1752. Small 8vo. <i>To this Edition there is sometimes added -'a List of Scotticisms</i>.' (F)</p> - -<p>Political Discourses. By D. Hume, Esq. 2d Edition. -Edinburgh, Kincaid, 1752. 12mo. <i>Merely a reprint of the -preceding</i>. (G)</p> - -<p>Essays and Treatises on several Subjects. By D. Hume, Esq. -Vol. IV. containing Political Discourses. 3d Edition, with -Additions and Corrections. London, Millar, 1754. (H)</p> - -<p>Four Dissertations: 1st, Natural History of Religion: 2d, -of the Passions: 3d, of Tragedy: 4th,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span> of the Standard of -Taste. By D. Hume, Esq. London, Millar, 1757. 12mo. (I)</p> - -<p>Philosophical Essays concerning Human Understanding. By the -Author of the Essays Moral and Political. London, Millar, -1748. 12mo. (K)</p> - -<p>Philosophical Essays concerning Human Understanding. By -D. Hume, Esq. 2d Edition, with Additions and Corrections. -London, Millar, 1750. 12mo. (L)</p> - -<p>An Enquiry concerning the Principles of Morals. By D. Hume, -Esq. London, Millar, 1751. (M)</p> - -<p>Essays and Treatises on several Subjects. By D. Hume, Esq. -London, Millar, 1768. 2 vols. 4to. (N)</p> - -<p>Essays and Treatises on several Subjects. By D. Hume, Esq. -London, Cadell, 1777. 2 vols 8vo. (O)</p> - -<p><i>The above List comprehends all the Editions which vary -materially from each other. Those which have been found on -examination to be mere reprints, are not included.</i></p></blockquote> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p style="margin-left: 15%; text-decoration: none;"> -<span class="caption" style="font-size: 0.8em;"><a name="CONTENTS_OF_VOLUME_FIRST" id="CONTENTS_OF_VOLUME_FIRST">CONTENTS OF VOLUME FIRST.</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#MY_OWN_LIFE">Life of the Author</a><br /> -<a href="#LETTER_FROM_ADAM_SMITH_LLD">Letter from Adam Smith, LL.D. to William Strachan Esq.</a>,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and <a href="#THE_LATTER-WILL_AND_TESTAMENT_OF_DAVID_HUME">Latter-will and Testament of Mr Hume</a></span><br /> -<a href="#ACCOUNT_OF_THE_CONTROVERSY">Account of the Controversy between Hume and Rousseau</a><br /> -<a href="#SCOTTICISMS">List of Scotticisms</a><br /> -<br /> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;"><a href="#A_TREATISE_OF_HUMAN_NATURE">TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;"><a href="#INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;"><a href="#BOOK_I_I">BOOK I.—OF THE UNDERSTANDING.</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;"><a href="#PART_I_I">PART I.</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;"><a href="#PART_I_I">OF IDEAS, THEIR ORIGIN, COMPOSITION, CONNEXION, ABSTRACTION,</a></span> &c.<br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_I_aI">Of the Origin of our Ideas</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_II_aI">Division of the Subject</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_III_aI">Of the Ideas of the Memory and Imagination</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IV_aI">Of the Connexion or Association of Ideas</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_V_aI">Of Relations</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VI_aI">Of Modes and Substances</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VII_aI">Of Abstract Ideas</a><br /> -<br /> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;"><a href="#PART_II_I">PART II.</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;"><a href="#PART_II_I">OF THE IDEAS OF SPACE AND TIME.</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_I_bI">Of the infinite Divisibility of our Ideas of Space and Time</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_II_bI">Of the infinite Divisibility of Space and Time</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_III_bI">Of the other Qualities of our Ideas of Space and Time</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IV_bI">Objections answered</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_V_bI">The same Subject continued</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VI_bI">Of the Idea of Existence, and of external Existence</a><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span><br /> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;"><a href="#PART_III_I">PART III.</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;"><a href="#PART_III_I">OF KNOWLEDGE AND PROBABILITY.</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_I_cI">Of Knowledge</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_II_cI">Of Probability, and of the Idea of Cause and Effect</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_III_cI">Why a Cause is always necessary</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IV_cI">Of the component parts of our Reasonings concerning Cause and effect</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_V_cI">Of the Impressions of the Senses and Memory</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VI_cI">Of the Inference from the Impression to the Idea</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VII_cI">Of the Nature of the Idea or Belief</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VIII_cI">Of the Causes of Belief</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IX_cI">Of the Effects of other Relations and other Habits</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_X_cI">Of the Influence of Belief</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_XI_cI">Of the Probability of Chances</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_XII_cI">Of the Probability of Causes</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_XIII_cI">Of unphilosophical Probability</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_XIV_cI">Of the Idea of Necessary Connexion</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_XV_cI">Rules by which to judge of Causes and Effects</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_XVI_cI">Of the Reason of Animals</a><br /> -<br /> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;"><a href="#PART_IV_I">PART IV.</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;"><a href="#PART_IV_I">OF THE SCEPTICAL AND OTHER SYSTEMS OF PHILOSOPHY.</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<a href="#SECTION_I_dI">Of Scepticism with regard to Reason</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_II_dI">Of Scepticism with regard to the Senses</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_III_dI">Of the Ancient Philosophy</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_IV_dI">Of the Modern Philosophy</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_V_dI">Of the Immateriality of the Soul</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VI_dI">Of Personal Identity</a><br /> -<a href="#SECTION_VII_dI">Conclusion of this Book</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</a></span><br /> -</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p> -<h3>LIFE OF THE AUTHOR BY HIMSELF.</h3> - -<hr class="tb" /> - - -<h4><a name="MY_OWN_LIFE" id="MY_OWN_LIFE">MY OWN LIFE.</a></h4> - - -<p>It is difficult for a man to speak long of himself without vanity; -therefore, I shall be short. It may be thought an instance of vanity -that I pretend at all to write my life; but this Narrative shall -contain little more than the History of my Writings; as, indeed, almost -all my life has been spent in literary pursuits and occupations. The -first success of most of my writings was not such as to be an object of -vanity.</p> - -<p>I was born the 26th of April 1711, old style, at Edinburgh. I was of a -good family, both by father and mother. My father's family is a branch -of the Earl of Home's or Hume's; and my ancestors had been proprietors -of the estate, which my brother possesses, for several generations. My -mother was daughter of Sir David Falconer, President of the College of -Justice; the title of Lord Halkerton came by succession to her brother.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</a></span></p> - -<p>My family, however, was not rich; and, being myself a younger brother, -my patrimony, according to the mode of my country, was of course very -slender. My father, who passed for a man of parts, died when I was -an infant, leaving me, with an elder brother and a sister, under the -care of our mother, a woman of singular merit, who, though young and -handsome, devoted herself entirely to the rearing and educating of -her children. I passed through the ordinary course of education with -success, and was seized very early with a passion for literature, which -has been the ruling passion of my life, and the great source of my -enjoyments. My studious disposition, my sobriety, and my industry, gave -my family a notion that the law was a proper profession for me; but I -found an unsurmountable aversion to every thing but the pursuits of -philosophy and general learning; and while they fancied I was poring -upon Voet and Vinnius, Cicero and Virgil were the authors which I was -secretly devouring.</p> - -<p>My very slender fortune, however, being unsuitable to this plan of -life, and my health being a little broken by my ardent application, I -was tempted, or rather forced, to make a very feeble trial for entering -into a more active scene of life. In 1734, I went to Bristol, with some -recommendations to eminent merchants, but in a few months found that -scene totally unsuitable to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v_b" id="Page_v_b">[Pg v]</a></span> me, I went over to France, with a view of -prosecuting my studies in a country retreat; and I there laid that plan -of life, which I have steadily and successfully pursued. I resolved -to make a very rigid frugality supply my deficiency of fortune, to -maintain unimpaired my independency, and to regard every object as -contemptible, except the improvement of my talents in literature.</p> - -<p>During my retreat in France, first at Rheims, but chiefly at La Flêche, -in Anjou, I composed my <i>Treatise of Human Nature</i>. After passing three -years very agreeably in that country, I came over to London in 1737. -In the end of 1738, I published my Treatise, and immediately went down -to my mother and my brother, who lived at his country-house, and was -employing himself very judiciously and successfully in the improvement -of his fortune.</p> - -<p>Never literary attempt was more unfortunate than my Treatise of Human -Nature. It fell <i>dead-born from the press</i>, without reaching such -distinction, as even to excite a murmur among the zealots. But being -naturally of a cheerful and sanguine temper, I very soon recovered -the blow, and prosecuted with great ardour my studies in the country. -In 1742, I printed at Edinburgh the first part of my Essays: the work -was favourably received, and soon made me entirely forget my former -disappointment. I continued<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi_b" id="Page_vi_b">[Pg vi]</a></span> with my mother and brother in the country, -and in that time recovered the knowledge of the Greek language, which I -had too much neglected in my early youth.</p> - -<p>In 1745, I received a letter from the Marquis of Annandale, inviting me -to come and live with him in England; I found also, that the friends -and family of that young nobleman were desirous of putting him under -my care and direction, for the state of his mind and health required -it. I lived with him a twelvemonth. My appointments during that time -made a considerable accession to my small fortune. I then received -an invitation from General St Clair to attend him as a secretary to -his expedition, which was at first meant against Canada, but ended -in an incursion on the coast of France. Next year, to wit, 1747, I -received an invitation from the General to attend him in the same -station in his military embassy to the courts of Vienna and Turin. -I then wore the uniform of an officer, and was introduced at these -courts as <i>aide-de-camp</i> to the General, along with Sir Harry Erskine -and Captain Grant, now General Grant. These two years were almost the -only interruptions which my studies have received during the course -of my life. I passed them agreeably, and in good company; and my -appointments, with my frugality, had made me reach a fortune, which I -called independent, though most of my friends were inclined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii_b" id="Page_vii_b">[Pg vii]</a></span> to smile -when I said so; in short, I was now master of near a thousand pounds.</p> - -<p>I had always entertained a notion, that my want of success in -publishing the Treatise of Human Nature, had proceeded more from the -manner than the matter, and that I had been guilty of a very usual -indiscretion, in going to the press too early. I, therefore, cast -the first part of that work anew in the Inquiry concerning Human -Understanding, which was published while I was at Turin. But this piece -was at first little more successful than the Treatise of Human Nature. -On my return from Italy, I had the mortification to find all England -in a ferment, on account of Dr Middleton's Free Inquiry, while my -performance was entirely overlooked and neglected. A new edition, which -had been published at London, of my Essays, Moral and Political, met -not with a much better reception.</p> - -<p>Such is the force of natural temper, that these disappointments made -little or no impression on me. I went down in 1749, and lived two years -with my brother at his country-house, for my mother was now dead. I -there composed the second part of my Essays, which I called Political -Discourses, and also my Inquiry concerning the Principles of Morals, -which is another part of my Treatise that I cast anew. Meanwhile, my -bookseller A. Millar informed me, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii_b" id="Page_viii_b">[Pg viii]</a></span> my former publications (all -but the unfortunate Treatise) were beginning to be the subject of -conversation; that the sale of them was gradually increasing, and that -new editions were demanded. Answers by Reverends, and Right Reverends, -came out two or three in a year; and I found, by Dr Warburton's -railing, that the books were beginning to be esteemed in good company. -However, I had fixed a resolution, which I inflexibly maintained, never -to reply to any body; and not being very irascible in my temper, I have -easily kept myself clear of all literary squabbles. These symptoms of -a rising reputation gave me encouragement, as I was ever more disposed -to see the favourable than unfavourable side of things; a turn of mind -which it is more happy to possess, than to be born to an estate of ten -thousand a year.</p> - -<p>In 1751, I removed from the country to the town, the true scene for -a man of letters. In 1752, were published at Edinburgh, where I -then lived, my Political Discourses, the only work of mine that was -successful on the first publication. It was well received abroad -and at home. In the same year was published at London, my Inquiry -concerning the Principles of Morals; which, in my own opinion (who -ought not to judge on that subject), is of all my writings, historical, -philosophical, or literary, incomparably the best. It came unnoticed -and unobserved into the world.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix_b" id="Page_ix_b">[Pg ix]</a></span></p> - -<p>In 1752, the Faculty of Advocates chose me their Librarian, an office -from which I received little or no emolument, but which gave me the -command of a large library. I then formed the plan of writing the -History of England; but being frightened with the notion of continuing -a narrative through a period of 1700 years, I commenced with the -accession of the House of Stuart, an epoch when, I thought, the -misrepresentations of faction began chiefly to take place. I was, I -own, sanguine in my expectations of the success of this work. I thought -that I was the only historian that had at once neglected present -power, interest, and authority, and the cry of popular prejudices; and -as the subject was suited to every capacity, I expected proportional -applause. But miserable was my disappointment: I was assailed by one -cry of reproach, disapprobation, and even detestation; English, Scotch, -and Irish, Whig and Tory, Churchman and Sectary, Free-thinker and -Religionist, Patriot and Courtier, united in their rage against the -man, who had presumed to shed a generous tear for the fate of Charles -I. and the Earl of Strafford; and after the first ebullitions of their -fury were over, what was still more mortifying, the book seemed to sink -into oblivion. Mr Millar told me, that in a twelvemonth he sold only -forty-five copies of it. I scarcely, indeed, heard of one man in the -three kingdoms, considerable for rank or letters, that could endure the -book. I must only except the primate of England, Dr Herring, and the -primate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x_b" id="Page_x_b">[Pg x]</a></span> of Ireland, Dr Stone, which seem two odd exceptions. These -dignified prelates separately sent me messages not to be discouraged.</p> - -<p>I was however, I confess, discouraged; and had not the war been at that -time breaking out between France and England, I had certainly retired -to some provincial town of the former kingdom, have changed my name, -and never more have returned to my native country. But as this scheme -was not now practicable, and the subsequent volume was considerably -advanced, I resolved to pick up courage, and to persevere.</p> - -<p>In this interval, I published at London my Natural History of Religion, -along with some other small pieces. Its public entry was rather -obscure, except only that Dr Hurd wrote a pamphlet against it, with all -the illiberal petulance, arrogance and scurrility, which distinguish -the Warburtonian school. This pamphlet gave me some consolation for the -otherwise indifferent reception of my performance.</p> - -<p>In 1756, two years after the fall of the first volume, was published -the second volume of my History, containing the period from the death -of Charles I. till the Revolution. This performance happened to give -less displeasure to the Whigs, and was better received. It not only -rose itself, but helped to buoy up its unfortunate brother.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span></p> - -<p>But though I had been taught, by experience, that the Whig party -were in possession of bestowing all places, both in the state and -in literature, I was so little inclined to yield to their senseless -clamour, that in above a hundred alterations, which farther study, -reading or reflection, engaged me to make in the reigns of the two -first Stuarts, I have made all of them invariably to the Tory side. It -is ridiculous to consider the English constitution before that period -as a regular plan of liberty.</p> - -<p>In 1759, I published my History of the House of Tudor. The clamour -against this performance was almost equal to that against the History -of the two first Stuarts. The reign of Elizabeth was particularly -obnoxious. But I was now callous against the impressions of public -folly, and continued very peaceably and contentedly in my retreat -at Edinburgh, to finish, in two volumes, the more early part of the -English History, which I gave to the public in 1761, with tolerable, -and but tolerable success.</p> - -<p>But, notwithstanding this variety of winds and seasons, to which my -writings had been exposed, they had still been making such advances, -that the copy-money given me by the booksellers, much exceeded any -thing formerly known in England; I was become not only independent, but -opulent. I retired to my native country of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span> Scotland, determined never -more to set my foot out of it; and retaining the satisfaction of never -having preferred a request to one great man, or even making advances of -friendship to any of them. As I was now turned of fifty, I thought of -passing all the rest of my life in this philosophical manner, when I -received, in 1763, an invitation from the Earl of Hertford, with whom I -was not in the least acquainted, to attend him on his embassy to Paris, -with a near prospect of being appointed secretary to the embassy, -and, in the meanwhile, of performing the functions of that office. -This offer, however inviting, I at first declined, both because I was -reluctant to begin connexions with the great, and because I was afraid -that the civilities and gay company of Paris, would prove disagreeable -to a person of my age and humour: but on his Lordship's repeating the -invitation, I accepted of it, I have every reason, both of pleasure and -interest, to think myself happy in my connexions with that nobleman, as -well as afterwards with his brother, General Conway.</p> - -<p>Those who have not seen the strange effects of Modes, will never -imagine the reception I met with at Paris, from men and women of all -ranks and stations. The more I resiled from their excessive civilities, -the more I was loaded with them. There is, however, a real satisfaction -in living at Paris, from the great number of sensible,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span> knowing, and -polite company with which that city abounds above all places in the -universe. I thought once of settling there for life.</p> - -<p>I was appointed secretary to the embassy; and, in summer 1765, Lord -Hertford left me, being appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. I was -<i>chargé d'affaires</i> till the arrival of the Duke of Richmond, towards -the end of the year. In the beginning of 1766, I left Paris, and -next summer went to Edinburgh, with the same view as formerly, of -burying myself in a philosophical retreat. I returned to that place, -not richer, but with much more money, and a much larger income, -by means of Lord Hertford's friendship, than I left it; and I was -desirous of trying what superfluity could produce, as I had formerly -made an experiment of a competency. But, in 1767, I received from Mr -Conway an invitation to be Under-secretary; and this invitation, both -the character of the person, and my connexions with Lord Hertford, -prevented me from declining. I returned to Edinburgh in 1769, very -opulent (for I possessed a revenue of 1000<i>l</i>. a year), healthy, and, -though somewhat stricken in years, with the prospect of enjoying long -my ease, and of seeing the increase of my reputation.</p> - -<p>In spring 1775, I was struck with a disorder in my bowels, which at -first gave me no alarm, but has since, as I apprehend it, become -mortal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</a></span> and incurable. I now reckon upon a Speedy dissolution. I have -suffered very little pain from my disorder; and what is more strange, -have, notwithstanding the great decline of my person, never suffered -a moment's abatement of my spirits; insomuch, that were I to name the -period of my life, which I should most choose to pass over again, I -might be tempted to point to this later period. I possess the same -ardour as ever in study, and the same gaiety in company. I consider, -besides, that a man of sixty-five, by dying, cuts off only a few -years of infirmities; and though I see many symptoms of my literary -reputation's breaking out at last with additional lustre, I knew that -I could have but few years to enjoy it. It is difficult to be more -detached from life than I am at present.</p> - -<p>To conclude historically with my own character. I am, or rather was -(for that is the style I must now use in speaking of myself, which -emboldens me the more to speak my sentiments); I was, I say, a man -of mild dispositions, of command of temper, of an open, social, -and cheerful humour, capable of attachment, but little susceptible -of enmity, and of great moderation in all my passions. Even my -love of literary fame, my ruling passion, never soured my temper, -notwithstanding my frequent disappointments. My company was not -unacceptable to the young and careless, as well as to the studious and -literary; and as I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</a></span> took a particular pleasure in the company of modest -women, I had no reason to be displeased with the reception I met with -from them. In a word, though most men any wise eminent, have found -reason to complain of calumny, I never was touched, or even attacked -by her baleful tooth: and though I wantonly exposed myself to the -rage of both civil and religious factions, they seemed to be disarmed -in my behalf of their wonted fury. My friends never had occasion to -vindicate any one circumstance of my character and conduct: not but -that the zealots, we may well suppose, would have been glad to invent -and propagate any story to my disadvantage, but they could never find -any which they thought would wear the face of probability. I cannot say -there is no vanity in making this funeral oration of myself, but I hope -it is not a misplaced one; and this is a matter of fact which is easily -cleared and ascertained.</p> - -<p><span style="font-size: 0.8em;">APRIL</span> 18. 1776.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[Pg xvi]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="LETTER_FROM_ADAM_SMITH_LLD" id="LETTER_FROM_ADAM_SMITH_LLD">LETTER FROM ADAM SMITH, LL.D.</a></h4> - -<h5>TO</h5> - -<h4>WILLIAM STRACHAN, Esq.</h4> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<blockquote> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 60%;"><i>Kirkaldy, Fifeshire, Nov</i>. 9, 1776.</span><br /> -</p> - - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;">DEAR SIR,</p> - -<p>It is with a real, though a very melancholy pleasure, that I sit down -to give you some account of the behaviour of our late excellent friend, -Mr Hume, during his last illness.</p> - -<p>Though, in his own judgment, his disease was mortal and incurable, -yet he allowed himself to be prevailed upon, by the entreaty of his -friends, to try what might be the effects of a long journey. A few -days before he set out, he wrote that account of his own life, which, -together with his other papers, he has left to your care. My account, -therefore, shall begin where his ends.</p> - -<p>He set out for London towards the end of April, and at Morpeth met -with Mr John Home and myself, who had both come down from London on -purpose to see him, expecting to have found him at Edinburgh. Mr Home -returned with him, and attended him during the whole of his stay in -England, with that care and attention which might be expected from a -temper so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[Pg xvii]</a></span> perfectly friendly and affectionate. As I had written to my -mother that she might expect me in Scotland, I was under the necessity -of continuing my journey. His disease seemed to yield to exercise -and change of air, and when he arrived in London, he was apparently -in much better health than when he left Edinburgh. He was advised to -go to Bath to drink the waters, which appeared for some time to have -so good an effect upon him, that even he himself began to entertain, -what he was not apt to do, a better opinion of his own health. His -symptoms, however, soon returned with their usual violence, and from -that moment he gave up all thoughts of recovery, but submitted with the -utmost cheerfulness, and the most perfect complacency and resignation. -Upon his return to Edinburgh, though he found himself much weaker, yet -his cheerfulness never abated, and he continued to divert himself, -as usual, with correcting his own works for a new edition, with -reading books of amusement, with the conversation of his friends; and, -sometimes in the evening, with a party at his favourite game of whist. -His cheerfulness was so great, and his conversation and amusements run -so much in their usual strain, that, notwithstanding all bad symptoms, -many people could not believe he was dying. "I shall tell your friend, -Colonel Edmondstone," said Doctor Dundas to him one day, "that I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[Pg xviii]</a></span> left -you much better, and in a fair way of recovery." "Doctor," said he, "as -I believe you would not choose to tell any thing but the truth, you -had better tell him, that I am dying as fast as my enemies, if I have -any, could wish, and as easily and cheerfully as my best friends could -desire." Colonel Edmondstone soon afterwards came to see him, and take -leave of him; and on his way home, he could not forbear writing him a -letter bidding him once more an eternal adieu, and applying to him, as -to a dying man, the beautiful French verses in which the Abbé Chaulieu, -in expectation of his own death, laments his approaching separation -from his friend, the Marquis de la Fare. Mr Hume's magnanimity and -firmness were such, that his most affectionate friends knew that they -hazarded nothing in talking or writing to him as to a dying man, -and that so far from being hurt by this frankness, he was rather -pleased and flattered by it. I happened to come into his room while -he was reading this letter, which he had just received, and which he -immediately showed me. I told him, that though I was sensible how very -much he was weakened, and that appearances were in many respects very -bad, yet his cheerfulness was still so great, the spirit of life seemed -still to be so very strong in him, that I could not help entertaining -some faint hopes. He answered, "Your hopes are groundless. An<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xix" id="Page_xix">[Pg xix]</a></span> habitual -diarrhoea of more than a year's standing, would be a very bad disease -at any age: at my age it is a mortal one. When I lie down in the -evening, I feel myself weaker than when I rose in the morning; and when -I rise in the morning, weaker than when I lay down in the evening. I -am sensible, besides, that some of my vital parts are affected, so -that I must soon die." "Well," said I, "if it must be so, you have at -least the satisfaction of leaving all your friends, your brother's -family in particular, in great prosperity." He said that he felt that -satisfaction so sensibly, that when he was reading, a few days before, -Lucian's Dialogues of the Dead, among all the excuses which are alleged -to Charon for not entering readily into his boat, he could not find -one that fitted him; he had no house to finish, he had no daughter to -provide for, he had no enemies upon whom he wished to revenge himself. -"I could not well imagine," said he, "what excuse I could make to -Charon in order to obtain a little delay. I have done every thing of -consequence which I ever meant to do; and I could at no time expect -to leave my relations and friends in a better situation than that in -which I am now likely to leave them. I therefore have all reason to die -contented." He then diverted himself with inventing several jocular -excuses, which he supposed he might make to Charon, and with imagining<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xx" id="Page_xx">[Pg xx]</a></span> -the very surly answers which it might suit the character of Charon -to return to them. "Upon further consideration," said he, "I thought -I might say to him, Good Charon, I have been correcting my works for -a new edition. Allow me a little time, that I may see how the public -receives the alterations." But Charon would answer, "When you have seen -the effect of these, you will be for making other alterations. There -will be no end of such excuses; so, honest friend, please step into the -boat." But I might still urge, "Have a little patience, good Charon; I -have been endeavouring to open the eyes of the public. If I live a few -years longer, I may have the satisfaction of seeing the downfall of -some of the prevailing systems of superstition." But Charon would then -lose all temper and decency. "You loitering rogue, that will not happen -these many hundred years. Do you fancy I will grant you a lease for so -long a term? Get into the boat this instant, you lazy loitering rogue."</p> - -<p>But, though Mr Hume always talked of his approaching dissolution -with great cheerfulness, he never affected to make any parade of his -magnanimity. He never mentioned the subject but when the conversation -naturally led to it, and never dwelt longer upon it than the course of -the conversation happened to require:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxi" id="Page_xxi">[Pg xxi]</a></span> it was a subject, indeed, which -occurred pretty frequently, in consequence of the inquiries which his -friends, who came to see him, naturally made concerning the state of -his health. The conversation which I mentioned above, and which passed -on Thursday the 8th of August, was the last, except one, that I ever -had with him. He had now become so very weak, that the company of his -most intimate friends fatigued him; for his cheerfulness was still so -great, his complaisance and social disposition were still so entire, -that when any friend was with him, he could not help talking more, -and with greater exertion, than suited the weakness of his body. At -his own desire, therefore, I agreed to leave Edinburgh, where I was -staying partly upon his account, and returned to my mother's house -here, at Kirkaldy, upon condition that he would send for me whenever he -wished to see me; the physician who saw him most frequently, Dr Black, -undertaking, in the mean time, to write me occasionally an account of -the state of his health.</p> - -<p>On the 22d of August, the Doctor wrote me the following letter:</p> - -<p>"Since my last, Mr Hume has passed his time pretty easily, but is -much weaker. He sits up, goes down stairs once a day, and amuses -himself with reading, but seldom sees anybody. He finds that even the -conversation of his most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxii" id="Page_xxii">[Pg xxii]</a></span> intimate friends fatigues and oppresses him; -and it is happy that he does not need it, for he is quite free from -anxiety, impatience, or low spirits, and passes his time very well with -the assistance of amusing books."</p> - - -<p>I received the day after a letter from Mr Hume himself, of which the -following is an extract.</p> -</blockquote> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<blockquote> -<p><span style="margin-left: 65%;">"<i>Edinburgh</i>, 23<i>d August</i>, 1776.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;">"MY DEAREST FRIEND,</p> - -<p>"I am obliged to make use of my nephew's hand in writing to you, as I -do not rise to-day.</p> - - -<p class="p2">"I go very fast to decline, and last night had a small fever, which I -hoped might put a quicker period to this tedious illness, but unluckily -it has, in a great measure, gone off. I cannot submit to your coming -over here on my account, as it is possible for me to see you so small a -part of the day, but Doctor Black can better inform you concerning the -degree of strength which may from time to time remain with me. Adieu," -&c.</p> - - -<p>Three days after I received the following letter from Doctor Black.</p> -</blockquote> -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxiii" id="Page_xxiii">[Pg xxiii]</a></span></p> -<blockquote> -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 55%;">"<i>Edinburgh, Monday</i>, 26<i>th August</i>, 1776.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;">"DEAR SIR,</p> - -<p>"Yesterday about four o'clock afternoon, Mr Hume expired. The near -approach of his death became evident in the night between Thursday -and Friday, when his disease became excessive, and soon weakened him -so much, that he could no longer rise out of his bed. He continued to -the last perfectly sensible, and free from much pain or feelings of -distress. He never dropped the smallest expression of impatience; but -when he had occasion to speak to the people about him, always did it -with affection and tenderness. I thought it improper to write to bring -you over, especially as I heard that he had dictated a letter to you -desiring you not to come. When he became very weak, it cost him an -effort to speak, and he died in such a happy composure of mind, that -nothing could exceed it."</p> - - -<p>Thus died our most excellent, and never to be forgotten friend; -concerning whose philosophical opinions men will, no doubt, judge -variously, every one approving, or condemning them, according as they -happen to coincide or disagree with his own; but concerning whose -character and conduct there can scarce be a difference of opinion. -His temper, indeed, seemed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxiv" id="Page_xxiv">[Pg xxiv]</a></span> to be more happily balanced, if I may be -allowed such an expression, than that perhaps of any other man I have -ever known. Even in the lowest state of his fortune, his great and -necessary frugality never hindered him from exercising, upon proper -occasions, acts both of charity and generosity. It was a frugality -founded, not upon avarice, but upon the love of independency. The -extreme gentleness of his nature never weakened either the firmness of -his mind, or the steadiness of his resolutions. His constant pleasantry -was the genuine effusion of good nature and good humour, tempered -with delicacy and modesty, and without even the slightest tincture of -malignity, so frequently the disagreeable source of what is called wit -in other men. It never was the meaning of his raillery to mortify; -and therefore, far from offending, it seldom failed to please and -delight, even those who were the objects of it. To his friends, who -were frequently the objects of it, there was not perhaps any one of all -his great and amiable qualities, which contributed more to endear his -conversation. And that gaiety of temper, so agreeable in society, but -which is so often accompanied with frivolous and superficial qualities, -was in him certainly attended with the most severe application, the -most extensive learning, the greatest depth of thought, and a capacity -in every respect the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxv" id="Page_xxv">[Pg xxv]</a></span> most comprehensive. Upon the whole, I have -always considered him, both in his lifetime and since his death, as -approaching as nearly to the idea of a perfectly wise and virtuous man, -as perhaps the nature of human frailty will permit.</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 40%;">I ever am, dear Sir,</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 50%;">Most affectionately yours,</span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 65%; font-size: 0.8em;">ADAM SMITH.</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> -<img src="images/calton_hill.jpg" width="600" alt="" /> -<p class="capt">Drawn by A. Nasmyth—Engraved by W. Miller—HUME'S -MONUMENT, CALTON HILL.</p> -</div> -<hr class="chap" /> - - - -<h4><a name="THE_LATTER-WILL_AND_TESTAMENT_OF_DAVID_HUME" id="THE_LATTER-WILL_AND_TESTAMENT_OF_DAVID_HUME">THE LATTER-WILL AND TESTAMENT OF DAVID HUME.</a></h4> - - -<p>I, David Hume, second lawful son of Joseph Home of Ninewells, -advocate, for the love and affection I bear to John Home of Ninewells, -my brother, and for other causes, <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">DO</span>, by these presents, under the -reservations and burdens after-mentioned, <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">GIVE</span> and <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">DISPOSE</span> to the said -John Home, or, if he die before me, to David Home, his second son, -his heirs and assigns whatsomever, all lands, heritages, debts, and -sums of money, as well heritable as moveable, which shall belong to me -at the time of my decease, as also my whole effects in general, real -and personal, with and under the burden of the following legacies, -viz. to my sister Catherine Home, the sum of twelve hundred pounds -sterling, payable the first term of Whitsunday or Martinmas after my -decease, together with all my English books, and the life-rent of my -house in St James's Court, or in case that house be sold at the time -of my decease, twenty pounds a year during the whole course of her -life: To my friend Adam Ferguson, Professor of Moral Philosophy in -the College of Edinburgh, two hundred pounds sterling: To my friend -M. d'Alembert, member of the French Academy, and of the Academy of -Sciences in Paris, two hundred pounds: To my friend Dr Adam Smith, late -Professor of Moral Philosophy in Glasgow, I leave all my manuscripts -without exception, desiring him to publish my <i>Dialogues on Natural -Religion</i>, which are comprehended in this present bequest; but to -publish no other papers which he suspects not to have been written -within these five years, but to destroy them all at his leisure: And -I even leave him full power over all my papers, except the Dialogues -above mentioned; and though I can trust to that intimate and sincere -friendship, which has ever subsisted between us, for his faithful -execution of this part of my will, yet, as a small recompense of his -pains in correcting and publishing this work, I leave him two hundred -pounds, to be paid immediately after the publication of it: I also -leave to Mrs Anne and Mrs Janet Hepburn, daughters of Mr James Hepburn -of Keith, one hundred pounds a piece: To my cousin David Campbell, son -of Mr Campbell, minister of Lillysleaf, one hundred pounds: To the -Infirmary of Edinburgh, fifty pounds: To all the servants who shall be -in my family at the time of my decease, one year's wages; and to my -housekeeper, Margaret Irvine, three year's wages: And I also ordain, -that my brother, or nephew, or executor, whoever he be, shall not pay -up to the said Margaret Irvine, without her own consent, any sum of -money which I shall owe her at the time of my decease, whether by bill, -bond, or for wages, but shall retain in his hand, and pay her the legal -interest upon it, till she demand the principal: And in case my brother -above-mentioned shall survive me, I leave to his son David, the sum of -a thousand pounds to assist him in his education: But in case that by -my brother's death before me, the succession of my estate and effects -shall devolve to the aforesaid David, I hereby burden him, over and -above the payment of the aforesaid legacies, with the payment of the -sums following: To his brothers Joseph and John, a thousand pounds -a piece: To his sisters Catherine and Agnes, five hundred pounds a -piece: all which sums, as well as every sum contained in the present -disposition (except that to Dr Smith), to be payable the first term of -Whitsunday and Martinmas, after my decease; and all of them, without -exception, in sterling money. And I do hereby nominate and appoint -the said John Home, my brother, and failing of him by decease, the -said David Home, to be my sole executor and universal legatee, with -and under the burdens above mentioned; reserving always full power and -liberty to me, at any time of my life, even in deathbed, to alter and -innovate these presents, in whole or in part, and to burden the same -with such other legacies as I shall think fit. And I do hereby declare -these presents to be a good, valid, and sufficient evidence, albeit -found in my custody, or in the custody of any other person at the time -of my death, &c. (<i>in common style</i>.) Signed 4 January 1776, before -these witnesses, the Right Honourable the Earl of Home, and Mr John -McGowan, Clerk to the Signet.</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 65%; font-size: 0.8em;">DAVID HUME.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>I also <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">ORDAIN</span>, that if I shall die any where in Scotland, I shall be -buried in a private manner in the Calton churchyard, the south side -of it, and a monument to be built over my body, at an expense not -exceeding a hundred pounds, with an inscription containing only my -name, with the year of my birth and death, leaving it to posterity to -add the rest.</p> - -<p><i>At Edinburgh</i>, 15<i>th April</i>, 1776. <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">DAVID HUME</span>.</p> - -<p>I also leave for rebuilding the bridge of Churnside the sum of a -hundred pounds; but on condition that the managers of the bridge -shall take none of the stones for building the bridge from the quarry -of Ninewells, except from that part of the quarry which has been -already opened. I leave to my nephew Joseph, the sum of fifty pounds to -enable him to make a good sufficient drain and sewer round the house -of Ninewells, but on condition that, if that drain and sewer be not -made, from whatever cause, within a year after my death, the said fifty -pounds shall be paid to the poor of the parish of Churnside: To my -sister, instead of all my English books, I leave her a hundred volumes -at her choice: To David Waite, servant to my brother, I leave the sum -of ten pounds, payable the first term after my death.</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-left: 65%">DAVID HUME.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxvii" id="Page_xxvii">[Pg xxvii]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4>AN</h4> - -<h4>ACCOUNT</h4> - -<h4>OF THE CONTROVERSY</h4> - -<h4>BETWEEN</h4> - -<h4>HUME AND ROUSSEAU.</h4> - - -<h4>LONDON. M.D.CC.LXVI.</h4> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxix" id="Page_xxix">[Pg xxix]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h4><a name="ADVERTISEMENT_OF_THE_FRENCH_EDITORS" id="ADVERTISEMENT_OF_THE_FRENCH_EDITORS">ADVERTISEMENT OF THE FRENCH EDITORS.</a></h4> - - -<p>The name and writings of Mr Hume have been long since well known -throughout Europe. At the same time, his personal acquaintance -have remarked, in the candour and simplicity of his manners, that -impartiality and ingenuousness of disposition which distinguishes his -character, and is sufficiently indicated in his writings.</p> - -<p>He hath exerted those great talents he received from nature, and the -acquisitions he made by study, in the search of truth, and promoting -the good of mankind; never wasting his time, or sacrificing his repose, -in literary or personal disputes. He hath seen his writings frequently -censured with bitterness, by fanaticism, ignorance, and the spirit of -party, without ever giving an answer to his adversaries.</p> - -<p>Even those who have attacked his works with the greatest violence, have -always respected his personal character. His love of peace is so well -known, that the criticisms written against<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxx" id="Page_xxx">[Pg xxx]</a></span> his pieces, have been often -brought him by their respective authors, for him to revise and correct -them. At one time, in particular, a performance of this kind was shown -to him, in which he had been treated in a very rude and even injurious -manner; on remarking which to the author, the latter struck out the -exceptionable passages, blushing and wondering at the force of that -<i>polemic spirit</i> which had carried him imperceptibly away beyond the -founds of truth and decency.</p> - -<p>It was with great reluctance that a man, possessed of such pacific -dispositions, could be brought to consent to the publication of the -following piece. He was very sensible that the quarrels among men -of letters are a scandal to philosophy; nor was any person in the -world less formed for giving occasion to a scandal, so consolatory to -blockheads. But the circumstances were such as to draw him into it, in -spite of his inclinations.</p> - -<p>All the world knows that Mr Rousseau, proscribed in almost every -country where he resided, determined at length to take refuge in -England; and that Mr Hume, affected by his situation, and his -misfortunes, undertook to bring him over, and to provide for him a -peaceful, safe, and convenient asylum. But very few persons are privy -to the zeal, activity, and even delicacy, with which Mr Hume conferred -this act of benevolence. What an affectionate attachment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxi" id="Page_xxxi">[Pg xxxi]</a></span> he had -contracted for this new friend, which humanity had given him! with what -address he endeavoured to anticipate his desires, without offending his -pride! in short, with what address he strove to justify, in the eyes of -others, the singularities of Mr Rousseau, and to defend his character -against those who were not disposed to think so favourably of him as he -did himself.</p> - -<p>Even at the time when Mr Hume was employed in doing Mr Rousseau the -most essential service, he received from him the most insolent and -abusive letter. The more such a stroke was unexpected, the more it was -cruel and affecting. Mr Hume wrote an account of this extraordinary -adventure to his friends at Paris, and expressed himself in his letters -with all that indignation which so strange a proceeding must excite. -He thought himself under no obligation to keep terms with a man, who, -after having received from him the most certain and constant marks -of friendship, could reproach him, without any reason, as false, -treacherous, and as the most wicked of mankind.</p> - -<p>In the mean time, the dispute between these two celebrated personages -did not fail to make a noise. The complaints of Mr Hume soon came to -the knowledge of the public, which at first hardly believed it possible -that Mr Rousseau could be guilty of that excessive ingratitude<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxii" id="Page_xxxii">[Pg xxxii]</a></span> -laid to his charge. Even Mr Hume's friends were fearful, lest, in -the first effusions of sensibility, he was not carried too far, and -had not mistaken for wilful crimes of the heart, the vagaries of -the imagination, or the deceptions of the understanding. He judged -it necessary, therefore to explain the affair, by writing a precise -narrative of all that passed between him and Mr Rousseau, from -their first connection to their rupture. This narrative he sent to -his friends, some of whom advised him to print it, alleging, that -as Mr Rousseau's accusations were become public, the proofs of his -justification ought to be so too. Mr Hume did not give into these -arguments, choosing rather to run the risk of being unjustly censured, -than to resolve on making himself a public party in an affair so -contrary to his disposition and character. A new incident, however, at -length overcame his reluctance. Mr Rousseau had addressed a letter to -a bookseller at Paris, in which he directly accuses Mr Hume of having -entered into a league with his enemies to betray and defame him; and -in which he boldly defies Mr Hume to print the papers he had in his -hands. This letter was communicated to several persons in Paris, was -translated into English, and the translation printed in the public -papers in London. An accusation and defiance so very public could not -be suffered to pass without reply, while any long<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxiii" id="Page_xxxiii">[Pg xxxiii]</a></span> silence on the part -of Mr Hume might have been interpreted little in his favour.</p> - -<p>Besides, the news of this dispute had spread itself over Europe, and -the opinions entertained of it were various. It had doubtless been -much happier, if the whole affair had been buried in oblivion, and -remained a profound secret; but as it was impossible to prevent the -public interesting itself in the controversy, it became necessary at -least that the truth of the matter should be known. Mr Hume's friends -unitedly represented to him all these reasons, the force of which he -was at length convinced of; and seeing the necessity, consented, though -with reluctance, to the printing of his memorial.</p> - -<p>The narrative, and notes, are translated from the English.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> The -letters of Mr Rousseau, which serve as authentic proofs of the facts -are exact copies of the originals.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> - -<p>This pamphlet contains many strange instances of singularity, that -will appear extraordinary enough to those who will give themselves<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxiv" id="Page_xxxiv">[Pg xxxiv]</a></span> -the trouble to peruse it. Those who do not choose to take the trouble, -however, may possibly do better, as its contents are of little -importance, except to those who are immediately interested.</p> - -<p>On the whole, Mr Hume, in offering to the public the genuine pieces of -his trial, has authorized us to declare, that he will never take up the -pen again on the subject. Mr Rousseau indeed may return to the charge; -he may produce suppositions, misconstructions, inferences, and new -declamations; he may create and realize new phantoms, and envelop them -in the clouds of his rhetoric, he will meet with no more contradiction. -The facts are all laid before the public;<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> and Mr Hume submits his -cause to the determination of every man of sense and probity.</p> - - - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> And are now re-translated, for the most part, from the -French, the French editors having taken some liberties, not without Mr -Hume's consent, with the English original.—<i>English translator</i>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> in the present edition Mr Hume's letters are printed -<i>verbatim</i>; and to Mr Rousseau's the translator hath endeavoured to do -justice, as well with regard to the sense as the expression. Not that -he can flatter himself with having always succeeded in the latter. -He has taken the liberty also to add a note or two, regarding some -particular circumstances which had come to his knowledge.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> The original letters of both parties will be lodged in -the British Museum, on account of the above mentioned defiance of -Mr Rousseau, and his subsequent insinuation, that if they should be -published, they would be falsified.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxv" id="Page_xxxv">[Pg xxxv]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4>AN</h4> - -<h4><a id="ACCOUNT_OF_THE_CONTROVERSY"></a>ACCOUNT OF THE CONTROVERSY</h4> - -<h4>BETWEEN</h4> - -<h4>MR HUME AND MR ROUSSEAU.</h4> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p style="margin-left: 65%"><i>August</i> 1, 1766.</p> - -<p>My connexion with Mr Rousseau began in 1762, when the Parliament of -Paris had issued an arrêt for apprehending him, on account of his -<i>Emilius</i>. I was at that time at Edinburgh. A person of great worth -wrote to me from Paris, that Mr Rousseau intended to seek an asylum -in England, and desired I would do him all the good offices in my -power. As I conceived Mr Rousseau had actually put his design in -execution, I wrote to several of my friends in London, recommending -this celebrated exile to their favour. I wrote also immediately to Mr<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxvi" id="Page_xxxvi">[Pg xxxvi]</a></span> -Rousseau himself; assuring him of my desire to oblige, and readiness -to serve him. At the same time, I invited him to come to Edinburgh, -if the situation would be agreeable, and offered him a retreat in my -own house, so long as he should please to partake of it. There needed -no other motive to excite me to this act of humanity, than the idea -given me of Mr Rousseau's personal character, by the friend who had -recommended him, his well known genius and abilities, and above all, -his misfortunes; the very cause of which was an additional reason to -interest me in his favour. The following is the answer I received.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h5>MR ROUSSEAU TO MR HUME.</h5> - - -<blockquote> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;"> -<i>Motiers-Travers</i>, <i>Feb</i>. 19, 1763. -</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;">SIR,</p> - -<p>I did not receive till lately, and at this place, the -letter you did me the honour to direct to me at London, the -2d of July last, on the supposition that I was then arrived -at that capital. I should doubtless have made choice of -a retreat in your country, and as near as possible to -yourself, if I had foreseen what a reception I was to meet -with in my own. No other nation could claim a preference to -England. And this prepossession, for which I have dearly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxvii" id="Page_xxxvii">[Pg xxxvii]</a></span> -suffered, was at that time too natural not to be very -excusable; but, to my great astonishment, as well as that -of the public, I have met with nothing but affronts and -insults, where I hoped to have found consolation at least, -if not gratitude. How many reasons have I not to regret -the want of that asylum and philosophical hospitality -I should have found with you! My misfortunes, indeed, -have constantly seemed to lead me in a manner that way. -The protection and kindness of my Lord Marshall, your -worthy and illustrious countryman, hath brought Scotland -home to me, if I may so express myself, in the midst of -Switzerland; he hath made you so often bear a part in our -conversation, hath brought me so well acquainted with your -virtues, which I before was only with your talents, that -he inspired me with the most tender friendship for you, -and the most ardent desire of obtaining yours, before I -even knew you were disposed to grant it. Judge then of the -pleasure I feel, at finding this inclination reciprocal. -No, Sir, I should pay your merit but half its due, if -it were the subject only of my admiration. Your great -impartiality, together with your amazing penetration and -genius, would lift you far above the rest of mankind, -if you were less attached to them by the goodness of -your heart. My Lord Marshal, in acquainting me that the -amiableness of your disposition was still greater than the -sublimity of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxviii" id="Page_xxxviii">[Pg xxxviii]</a></span> your genius, rendered a correspondence with -you every day more desirable, and cherished in me those -wishes which he inspired, of ending my days near you. Oh, -Sir, that a better state of health, and more convenient -circumstances, would but enable me to take such a journey -in the manner I could like! Could I but hope to see you and -my Lord Marshal one day settled in your own country, which -should for ever after be mine, I should be thankful, in -such a society, for the very misfortunes that led me into -it, and should account the day of its commencement as the -first of my life. Would to Heaven I might live to see that -happy day, though now more to be desired than expected! -With what transports should I not exclaim, on setting foot -in that happy country which gave birth to David Hume and -the Lord Marshal of Scotland!</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -Salve, facis mihi debita tellus!<br /> -Hĉc domus, hĉc patria est.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 55%; font-size: 0.8em;">J. J .R.</span><br /> -</p> -</blockquote> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p>This letter is not published from a motive of vanity; as will be seen -presently, when I give the reader a recantation of all the eulogies it -contains; but only to complete the course of our correspondence, and to -show that I have been long since disposed to Mr Rousseau's service.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xxxix" id="Page_xxxix">[Pg xxxix]</a></span></p> - -<p>From this time our correspondence entirely ceased, till about the -middle of last autumn (1765), when it was renewed by the following -accident. A certain lady of Mr Rousseau's acquaintance, being on a -journey to one of the French provinces, bordering on Switzerland, had -taken that opportunity of paying a visit to our solitary philosopher, -in his retreat at Motiers-Travers. To this lady he complained, that -his situation in Neufchâtel was become extremely disagreeable, as well -on account of the superstition of the people, as the resentment of the -clergy; and that he was afraid he should shortly be under the necessity -of seeking an asylum elsewhere; in which case, England appeared to -him, from the nature of its laws and government, to be the only place -to which he could retire with perfect security; adding, that my Lord -Marshal, his former protector, had advised him to put himself under my -protection, (that was the term he was pleased, to make use of), and -that he would accordingly address himself to me, if he thought it would -not be giving me too much trouble.</p> - -<p>I was at that time charged with the affairs of England at the court of -France; but as I had the prospect of soon returning to London, I could -not reject a proposal made to me under such circumstances, by a man -so celebrated for his genius and misfortunes. As soon as I was thus -informed, therefore, of the situation and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xl" id="Page_xl">[Pg xl]</a></span> intentions of Mr Rousseau, I -wrote to him, making him an offer of my services; to which he returned -the following answer.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<blockquote> - -<h5>MR ROUSSEAU TO MR HUME.</h5> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;"> -<i>Strasbourg</i>, <i>Dec</i>. 4, 1765. -</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;">SIR,</p> - -<p>Your goodness affects me as much as it does me honour. -The best reply I can make to your offers is to accept -them, which I do. I shall set out in five or six days to -throw myself into your arms. Such is the advice of my Lord -Marshal, my protector, friend and father; it is the advice -also of Madam * * * <a name="FNanchor_1_4" id="FNanchor_1_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_4" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> whose good sense and benevolence -serve equally for my direction and consolation; in fine, -I may say it is the advice of my own heart, which takes -a pleasure in being indebted to the most illustrious of -my contemporaries, to a man whose goodness surpasses his -glory. I sigh after a solitary and free retirement, wherein -I might finish my days in peace. If this be procured me by -means of your benevolent solicitude, I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xli" id="Page_xli">[Pg xli]</a></span> shall then enjoy at -once the pleasure of the only blessing my heart desires, -and also that of being indebted for it to you. I am, Sir, -with all my heart, &c.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 65%; font-size: 0.8em;">J. J. R.</p> -</blockquote> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_4" id="Footnote_1_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_4"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The person here mentioned desired her name might be -suppressed. <i>French Editor</i>. -</p> -<p> -As the motive to the suppression of the lady's name can hardly be -supposed to extend to this country, the <i>English translator</i> takes the -liberty to mention the name of the Marchioness de Verdelin.</p></div> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p>Not that I had deferred till this time my endeavours to be useful to Mr -Rousseau. The following letter was communicated to me by Mr Clairaut, -some weeks before his death.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<blockquote> - -<h5>MR ROUSSEAU TO MR CLAIRAUT.</h5> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;"> -<i>Motiers-Travers</i>, <i>March</i> 3, 1765. -</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;">SIR,</p> - -<p>The remembrance of your former kindness, induces me to -be again importunate. It is to desire you will be so -good, for the second time, to be the censor of one of -my performances. It is a very paltry rhapsody, which I -compiled many years ago, under the title of <i>A Musical -Dictionary</i>, and am now obliged to republish it for -subsistence. Amidst the torrent of misfortunes that -overwhelm me, I am not in a situation to review the work; -which, I know, is full of oversights and mistakes. If any -interest you may take in the lot of the most unfortunate -of mankind, should induce you to bestow a little more -attention on his work than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xlii" id="Page_xlii">[Pg xlii]</a></span> on that of another, I should be -extremely obliged to you, if you would take the trouble to -correct such errors as you may meet with in the perusal. -To point them out, without correcting them, would be doing -nothing, for I am absolutely incapable of paying the -least attention to such a work; so that if you would but -condescend to alter, add, retrench, and, in short, use it -as you would do your own, you would do a great charity, for -which I should be extremely thankful. Accept, Sir, my most -humble excuses and salutations.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 65%; font-size: 0.8em;">J. J. R.</p></blockquote> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p>It is with reluctance I say it, but I am compelled to it; I now know of -a certainty that this affectation of extreme poverty and distress was a -mere pretence, a petty kind of imposture which Mr Rousseau successfully -employed to excite the compassion of the public; but I was then very -far from suspecting any such artifice. I must own, I felt on this -occasion an emotion of pity, mixed with indignation, to think a man -of letters of such eminent merit, should be reduced, in spite of the -simplicity of his manner of living, to such extreme indigence; and that -this unhappy state should be rendered more intolerable by sickness, -by the approach of old age, and the implacable rage of persecution. -I knew that many persons imputed the wretchedness of Mr Rousseau to -his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xliii" id="Page_xliii">[Pg xliii]</a></span> excessive pride, which induced him to refuse the assistance of -his friends; but I thought this fault, if it were a fault, was a very -respectable one. Too many men of letters have debased their character -in stooping so low as to solicit the assistance of persons of wealth -or power, unworthy of affording them protection; and I conceived that -a noble pride, even though carried to excess, merited some indulgence -in a man of genius, who, borne up by a sense of his own superiority and -a love of independence, should have braved the storms of fortune and -the insults of mankind. I proposed, therefore, to serve Mr Rousseau -in his own way. I desired Mr Clairaut, accordingly, to give me his -letter, which I showed to several of Mr Rousseau's friends and patrons -in Paris. At the same time I proposed to them a scheme by which he -might be relieved, without suspecting any thing of the matter. This -was to engage the bookseller, who was to publish his <i>Dictionary</i>, to -give Mr Rousseau a greater sum for the copy than he had offered, and -to indemnify him by paying him the difference. But this project, which -could not be executed without the assistance of Mr Clairaut, fell to -the ground at the unexpected decease of that learned and respectable -academician.</p> - -<p>Retaining, however, still the same idea of Mr Rousseau's excessive -poverty, I constantly retained the same inclination to oblige him;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xliv" id="Page_xliv">[Pg xliv]</a></span> -and when I was informed of his intention to go to England under my -conduct, I formed a scheme much of the same kind with that I could not -execute at Paris. I wrote immediately to my friend, Mr John Stewart of -Buckingham Street, that I had an affair to communicate to him, of so -secret and delicate a nature, that I should not venture even to commit -it to paper, but that he might learn the particulars of Mr Elliot -(now Sir Gilbert Elliot), who would soon return from Paris to London. -The plan was this, and was really communicated by Mr Elliot some time -after to Mr Stewart, who was at the same time enjoined to the greatest -secrecy.</p> - -<p>Mr Stewart was to look out for some honest discreet farmer in his -neighbourhood in the country, who might be willing to lodge and board -Mr Rousseau and his gouvernante in a very decent and plentiful manner, -at a pension which Mr Stewart might settle at fifty or sixty pounds a -year; the farmer engaging to keep such agreement a profound secret, and -to receive from Mr Rousseau only twenty or twenty-five pounds a year, I -engaging to supply the difference.</p> - -<p>It was not long before Mr Stewart wrote me word he had found a -situation which he conceived might be agreeable; on which I desired he -would get the apartment furnished in a proper and convenient manner at -my expense.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xlv" id="Page_xlv">[Pg xlv]</a></span> But this scheme, in which there could not possibly enter -any motive of vanity on my part, secrecy being a necessary condition of -its execution, did not take place, other designs presenting themselves -more convenient and agreeable. The fact, however, is well known both to -Mr Stewart and Sir Gilbert Elliot.</p> - -<p>It will not be improper here to mention another plan concerted with -the same intentions. I had accompanied Mr Rousseau into a very -pleasant part of the county of Surry, where he spent two days at -Colonel Webb's, Mr Rousseau seeming to me highly delighted with the -natural and solitary beauties of the place. Through the means of Mr -Stewart, therefore, I entered into treaty with Colonel Webb for the -purchasing the house, with a little estate adjoining, in order to make -a settlement for Mr Rousseau. If, after what has passed, Mr Rousseau's -testimony be of any validity, I may appeal to himself for the truth of -what I advance. But be this as it will, these facts are well known to -Mr Stewart, to General Clarke, and in part to Colonel Webb.</p> - -<p>But to proceed in my narrative. Mr Rousseau came to Paris, provided -with a passport which his friends had obtained for him. I conducted him -to England. For upwards of two months after our arrival, I employed -myself and my friends in looking out for some agreeable situation for -him. We gave way to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xlvi" id="Page_xlvi">[Pg xlvi]</a></span> all his caprices; excused all his singularities; -indulged him in all his humours; in short, neither time nor trouble -was spared to procure him what he desired;<a name="FNanchor_2_5" id="FNanchor_2_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_5" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> and, notwithstanding he -rejected several of the projects which I had laid out for him, yet I -thought myself sufficiently recompensed for my trouble by the gratitude -and even affection with which he appeared to repay my solicitude.</p> - -<p>At length his present settlement was proposed and approved. Mr -Davenport, a gentleman of family, fortune and worth, offered him his -house at Wooton, in the county of Derby, where he himself seldom -resides, and at which Mr Rousseau and his housekeeper are boarded at a -very moderate expense.</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_5" id="Footnote_2_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_5"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> It is probably to this excessive and ill-judged -complaisance Mr Hume may in a great degree impute the disagreeable -consequences that have followed. There is no end in indulging caprice, -nor any prudence in doing it, when it is known to be such. It may be -thought humane to indulge the weak of body or mind, the decrepitude of -age, and imbecility of childhood; but even here it too often proves -cruelty to the very parties indulged. How much more inexcusable, -therefore, is it to cherish the absurdities of whim and singularity in -men of genius and abilities! How is it possible to make a man easy or -happy in a world, to whose customs and maxims he is determined to run -retrograde? No. Capricious men, like forward children, should be left -to kick against the pricks, and vent their spleen unnoticed. To humour, -is only to spoil them.—<i>English Translator</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xlvii" id="Page_xlvii">[Pg xlvii]</a></span></p></div> - -<p>When Mr Rousseau arrived at Wooton, he wrote me the following letter.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<blockquote> - -<h5>MR ROUSSEAU TO MR HUME.</h5> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;"><i>Wooton</i>, <i>March</i> 22, 1766.</p> - -<p>You see already, my dear patron, by the date of my letter, -that I am arrived at the place of my destination; but you -cannot see all the charms which I find in it. To do this, -you should be acquainted with the situation, and be able -to read my heart. You ought, however, to read at least -those of my sentiments with respect to you, and which you -have so well deserved. If I live in this agreeable asylum -as happy as I hope to do, one of the greatest pleasures of -my life will be, to reflect that I owe it to you. To make -another happy, is to deserve to be happy one's self. May -you therefore find in yourself the reward of all you have -done for me! Had I been alone, I might perhaps have met -with hospitality; but I should have never relished it so -highly as I now do in owing it to your friendship. Retain -still that friendship for me, my dear patron; love me for -my sake, who am so much indebted to you; love me for your -own, for the good you have done me. I am sensible of the -full value of your sincere friendship: it is the object of -my ardent wishes: I am ready to repay it with all mine, -and feel something in my heart which may one day convince -you that it is not without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xlviii" id="Page_xlviii">[Pg xlviii]</a></span> its value. As, for the reasons -agreed on between us, I shall receive nothing by the post, -you will be pleased, when you have the goodness to write to -me, to send your letters to Mr Davenport. The affair of the -carriage is not yet adjusted, because I know I was imposed -on. It is a trifling fault, however, which may be only the -effect of an obliging vanity, unless it should happen to be -repeated. If you were concerned in it, I would advise you -to give up, once for all, these little impositions, which -cannot proceed from any good motive, when converted into -snares for simplicity. I embrace you, my dear patron, with -the same cordiality which I hope to find in you.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 65%; font-size: 0.8em;">J. J. R.</p></blockquote> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p>Some few days after, I received from him another letter, of which the -following is a copy.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<blockquote> - -<h5>MR ROUSSEAU TO MR HUME.</h5> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;"><i>Wooton</i>, <i>March</i> 29, 1766.</p> - -<p>You will see, my dear patron, by the letter Mr Davenport -will have transmitted you, how agreeably I find myself -situated in this place. I might perhaps be more at my ease -if I were less noticed; but the solicitude of so polite an -host as mine is too obliging to give offence; and as there -is nothing in life without its inconvenience,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xlix" id="Page_xlix">[Pg xlix]</a></span> that of -being too good is one of those which is the most tolerable. -I find a much greater inconvenience in not being able to -make the servants understand me, and particularly in my not -understanding them. Luckily Mrs le Vasseur serves me as -interpreter, and her fingers speak better than my tongue. -There is one advantage, however, attending my ignorance, -which is a kind of compensation; it serves to tire and keep -at a distance impertinent visitors. The minister of the -parish came to see me yesterday, who, finding that I spoke -to him only in French, would not speak to me in English, so -that our interview was almost a silent one. I have taken -a great fancy to this expedient, and shall make use of it -with all my neighbours, if I have any. Nay, should I even -learn to speak English, I would converse with them only in -French, especially if I were so happy as to find they did -not understand a word of that language; an artifice this, -much of the same kind with that which the Negroes pretend -is practised by the monkeys, who, they say, are capable of -speech, but cannot be prevailed upon to talk, lest they -should be set to work.</p> - -<p>It is not true in any sense that I agreed to accept of -a model from Mr Gosset as a present. On the contrary, I -asked him the price, which he told me was a guinea and -half, adding that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_l" id="Page_l">[Pg l]</a></span> he intended to present me with it; an -offer I did not accept. I desire you therefore to pay him -for it, and Mr Davenport will be so good as repay you the -money. And if Mr Gosset does not consent to be paid for it, -it must be returned to him, and purchased by some other -hand. It is designed for Mr du Peyrou, who desired long -since to have my portrait, and caused one to be painted -in miniature, which is not at all like me. You were more -fortunate in this respect than me; but I am sorry that, by -your assiduity to serve me, you deprived me of the pleasure -of discharging the same friendly obligation with regard to -yourself. Be so good, my dear patron, as to order the model -to be sent to Messrs Guinand and Hankey, Little St Helen's, -Bishopsgate Street, in order to be transmitted to Mr du -Peyrou by the first safe conveyance. It hath been a frost -ever since I have been here; the snow falls daily; and the -wind is cutting and severe; notwithstanding all which, I -had rather lodge in the hollow trunk of an old tree, in -this country, than in the most superb apartment in London. -Good day, my dear patron. I embrace you with all my heart.<br /> -<span style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-left: 65%;">J. J. R.</span></p> -</blockquote> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p>Mr Rousseau and I having agreed not to lay each other under any -restraint by a continued correspondence, the only subject of our future -letters was the obtaining a pension for him from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_li" id="Page_li">[Pg li]</a></span> the King of England, -which was then in agitation, and of which affair the following is a -concise and faithful relation.</p> - -<p>As we were conversing together one evening at Calais, where we were -detained by contrary winds, I asked Mr Rousseau if he would not accept -of a pension from the King of England, in case his Majesty should be -pleased to grant him one. To this he replied, it was a matter of some -difficulty to resolve on, but that he should be entirely directed -by the advice of my Lord Marshall. Encouraged by this answer, I no -sooner arrived in London than I addressed myself to his Majesty's -Ministers, and particularly to General Conway, Secretary of State, and -General Grĉme, Secretary and Chamberlain to the Queen. Application was -accordingly made to their Majesties, who, with their usual goodness, -consented, on condition only that the affair should not be made public. -Mr Rousseau and I both wrote to my Lord Marshall; and Mr Rousseau -expressly observed in his letter, that the circumstance of the affair's -being to be kept secret was very agreeable to him. The consent of my -Lord Marshall arrived, as may readily be imagined; soon after which Mr -Rousseau set out for Wooton, while the business remained some time in -suspense, on account of the indisposition of General Conway.</p> - -<p>In the mean time, I began to be afraid, from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lii" id="Page_lii">[Pg lii]</a></span> what I had observed of -Mr Rousseau's disposition and character, that his natural restlessness -of mind would prevent the enjoyment of that repose, to which the -hospitality and security he found in England invited him. I saw, with -infinite regret, that he was born for storms and tumults, and that the -disgust which might succeed the peaceful enjoyment of solitude and -tranquillity, would soon render him a burthen to himself and every body -about him.<a name="FNanchor_3_6" id="FNanchor_3_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_6" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> But, as I lived at the distance of an hundred and fifty -miles from the place of his residence, and was constantly employed in -doing him good offices, I did not expect that I myself should be the -victim of this unhappy disposition.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_6" id="Footnote_3_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_6"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> In forming the opinion of Mr Rousseau's disposition, Mr -Hume was by no means singular. The striking features of Mr Rousseau's -extraordinary character having been strongly marked in the criticisms -on his several writings, in the Monthly Review, particularly in the -account of his Letters from the Mountains, in the appendix to the 31st -vol. of that work, where this celebrated genius is described, merely -from the general tenour of his writings and the outlines of his public -conduct, to be exactly such a kind of person as Mr Hume hath discovered -him from intimate and personal acquaintance.—<i>English translator</i>.</p></div> - - -<p>It is necessary to introduce here a letter, which was written last -winter, at Paris, in the name of the king of Prussia.</p> - - -<blockquote> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;">MY DEAR JOHN JAMES,</p> - -<p>You have renounced Geneva, your native soil. You have been -driven from Switzerland,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_liii" id="Page_liii">[Pg liii]</a></span> a country of which you have made -such boast in your writings. In France you are outlawed: -come then to me. I admire your talents, and amuse myself -with your reveries; on which, however, by the way, you -bestow too much time and attention. It is high time to grow -prudent and happy; you have made yourself sufficiently -talked of for singularities little becoming a truly great -man: show your enemies that you have sometimes common -sense: this will vex them without hurting you. My dominions -afford you a peaceable retreat: I am desirous to do you -good, and will do it, if you can but think it such. But -if you are determined to refuse my assistance, you may -expect that I shall say not a word about it to any one. -If you persist in perplexing your brains to find out new -misfortunes, choose such as you like best; I am a king, -and can make you as miserable as you can wish; at the same -time, I will engage to do that which your enemies never -will, I will cease to persecute you, when you are no longer -vain of persecution.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">Your sincere friend, <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">FREDERICK</span>.</p> -</blockquote> - - -<p>This letter was written by Mr Horace Walpole, about three weeks before -I left Paris; but though we lodged in the same hotel, and were often -together, Mr Walpole, out of regard to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_liv" id="Page_liv">[Pg liv]</a></span> me, carefully concealed this -piece of pleasantry till after my departure. He then showed it to some -friends, who took copies; and those of course presently multiplied; so -that this little piece had been spread with rapidity all over Europe, -and was in every body's hands when I saw it, for the first time, in -London.</p> - -<p>I believe every one will allow, who knows any thing of the liberty of -this country, that such a piece of raillery could not, even by the -utmost influence of kings, lords and commons, by all the authority -ecclesiastical, civil and military, be kept from finding its way to the -press. It was accordingly published in the St James's Chronicle, and a -few days after I was very much surprised to find the following piece in -the same paper.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<blockquote> - -<h5>MR ROUSSEAU TO THE AUTHOR OF THE ST JAMES'S CHRONICLE.</h5> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;"><i>Wooton</i>, <i>April</i> 7<i>th</i>, 1766.</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;">SIR,</p> - -<p>You have been wanting in that respect which every private -person owes to crowned heads, in publickly ascribing -to the King of Prussia, a letter full of baseness and -extravagance; by which circumstance alone, you might be -very well assured he could not be the author. You have even -dared to subscribe his name, as if you had seen him write -it with his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lv" id="Page_lv">[Pg lv]</a></span> own hand. I inform you, Sir, that this letter -was fabricated at Paris, and, what rends and afflicts my -heart, that the impostor hath his accomplices in England.</p> - -<p>In justice to the King of Prussia, to truth, and to myself, -you ought therefore to print the letter I am now writing, -and to which I set my name, by way of reparation for a -fault, which you would undoubtedly reproach yourself for -if you knew of what atrociousness you have been made the -instrument. Sir, I make you my sincere salutations.</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-left: 65%;">J. J. R.</p></blockquote> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p>I was sorry to see Mr Rousseau display such an excess of sensibility, -on account of so simple and unavoidable an incident, as the publication -of this pretended letter from the King of Prussia. But I should have -accused myself of a most black and malevolent disposition, if I had -imagined Mr Rousseau could have suspected me to have been the editor of -it, or that he had intentionally directed his resentment against me. -He now informs me, however, that this was really the case. Just eight -days before, I had received a letter, written in the most amicable -terms imaginable.<a name="FNanchor_4_7" id="FNanchor_4_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_7" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> I am, surely, the last man in the world, who, in -common sense, ought to be suspected; yet, without even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lvi" id="Page_lvi">[Pg lvi]</a></span> the pretence -of the smallest proof or probability, I am, of a sudden, the first -man not only suspected, but certainly concluded to be the publisher; -I am, without further inquiry or explication, intentionally insulted -in a public paper; I am, from the dearest friend, converted into a -treacherous and malignant enemy; and all my present and past services -are at one stroke very artfully cancelled. Were it not ridiculous to -employ reasoning on such a subject, and with such a man, I might ask -Mr Rousseau, "Why I am supposed to have any malignity against him?" -My actions, in a hundred instances, had sufficiently demonstrated -the contrary; and it is not usual for favours conferred to beget ill -will in the person who confers them. But supposing I had secretly -entertained an animosity towards him, would I run the risk of a -discovery, by so silly a vengeance, and by sending this piece to the -press, when I knew, from the usual avidity of the news-writers to find -articles of intelligence, that it must necessarily in a few days be -laid hold of?</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_7" id="Footnote_4_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_7"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> That of the 29th of March.</p></div> - -<p>But not imagining that I was the object of so black and ridiculous a -suspicion, I pursued my usual train, by serving my friend in the least -doubtful manner. I renewed my applications to General Conway, as soon -as the state of that gentleman's health permitted it: the General -applies again to his Majesty: his Majesty's consent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lvii" id="Page_lvii">[Pg lvii]</a></span> is renewed: the -Marquis of Rockingham, first Commissioner of the Treasury, is also -applied to: the whole affair is happily finished; and full of joy, I -conveyed the intelligence to my friend. On which Mr Conway soon after -received the following letter.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<blockquote> - -<h5>MR ROUSSEAU TO GENERAL CONWAY.</h5> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;"><i>May</i> 12<i>th</i>, 1766.</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;">SIR,</p> - -<p>Affected with a most lively sense of the favour his -Majesty hath honoured me with, and with that of your -goodness, which procured it me, it affords me the most -pleasing sensation to reflect, that the best of Kings, and -the Minister most worthy of his confidence, are pleased -to interest themselves in my fortune. This, Sir, is an -advantage of which I am justly tenacious, and which I will -never deserve to lose. But it is necessary I should speak -to you with that frankness you admire. After the many -misfortunes that have befallen me, I thought myself armed -against all possible events. There have happened to me -some, however, which I did not foresee, and which indeed an -ingenuous mind ought not to have foreseen: hence it is that -they affect me by so much the more severely. The trouble -in which they involve me, indeed, deprives me of the ease -and presence of mind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lviii" id="Page_lviii">[Pg lviii]</a></span> necessary to direct my conduct: all -I can reasonably do, under so distressed a situation, -is to suspend my resolutions about every affair of such -importance as is that in agitation. So far from refusing -the beneficence of the King from pride, as is imputed to -me, I am proud of acknowledging it, and am only sorry I -cannot do it more publicly. But when I actually receive -it, I would be able to give up myself entirely to those -sentiments which it would naturally inspire, and to have an -heart replete with gratitude for his Majesty's goodness and -yours. I am not at all afraid this manner of thinking will -make any alteration in yours towards me. Deign, therefore, -Sir, to preserve that goodness for me, till a more happy -opportunity, when you will be satisfied that I defer taking -the advantage of it, only to render myself more worthy of -it. I beg of you, Sir, to accept of my most humble and -respectful salutations.</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-left: 65%;">J. J. R.</p></blockquote> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p>This letter appeared both to General Conway and me a plain refusal, as -long as the article of secrecy was insisted on; but as I knew that Mr -Rousseau had been acquainted with that condition from the beginning, -I was the less surprised at his silence towards me. I thought that my -friend, conscious of having treated me ill in this affair, was ashamed -to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lix" id="Page_lix">[Pg lix]</a></span> write to me; and having prevailed on General Conway to keep the -matter still open, I wrote a very friendly letter to Mr Rousseau, -exhorting him to return to his former way of thinking, and to accept of -the pension.</p> - -<p>As to the deep distress which he mentions to General Conway, and which, -he says, deprives him even of the use of his reason, I was set very -much at ease on that head, by receiving a letter from Mr Davenport, who -told me, that his guest was at that very time extremely happy, easy, -cheerful, and even sociable. I saw plainly, in this event, the usual -infirmity of my friend, who wishes to interest the world in his favour, -by passing for sickly, and persecuted, and distressed, and unfortunate, -beyond all measure, even while he is the most happy and contented. His -pretences of an extreme sensibility had been too frequently repeated, -to have any effect on a man who was so well acquainted with them.</p> - -<p>I waited three weeks in vain for an answer: I thought this a little -strange, and I even wrote so to Mr Davenport; but having to do with -a very odd sort of a man, and still accounting for his silence by -supposing him ashamed to write to me, I was resolved not to be -discouraged, nor to lose the opportunity of doing him an essential -service, on account of a vain ceremonial. I accordingly renewed my -applications to the Ministers, and was so happy as to be enabled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lx" id="Page_lx">[Pg lx]</a></span> to -write the following letter to Mr Rousseau, the only one of so old a -date of which I have a copy.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<blockquote> - -<h5>MR HUME TO MR ROUSSEAU.</h5> - - -<p style="margin-left: 40%;"><i>Lisle-street</i>, <i>Leicester-fields</i>, 19<i>th June</i>, 1766.</p> - -<p>As I have not received any answer from you, I conclude, -that you persevere in the same resolution of refusing all -marks of his Majesty's goodness, as long as they must -remain a secret. I have therefore applied to General Conway -to have this condition removed; and I was so fortunate as -to obtain his promise that he would speak to the King for -that purpose. It will only be requisite, said he, that we -know previously from Mr Rousseau, whether he would accept -of a pension publicly granted him, that his Majesty may -not be exposed to a second refusal. He gave me authority -to write to you on that subject; and I beg to hear your -resolution as soon as possible. If you give your consent, -which I earnestly entreat you to do, I know, that I could -depend on the good offices of the Duke of Richmond, to -second General Conway's application; so that I have no -doubt of success. I am, my Dear Sir, Yours, with great -sincerity,</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 65%; font-size: 0.8em;">D. H.</p></blockquote> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p>In five days I received the following answer.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxi" id="Page_lxi">[Pg lxi]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote> - -<h5>MR ROUSSEAU TO MR HUME.</h5> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;"><i>Wooton</i>, <i>June</i> 23<i>d</i>, 1766.</p> - -<p>I imagined, Sir, that my silence, truly interpreted by your -own conscience, had said enough; but since you have some -design in not understanding me, I shall speak. You have -but ill disguised yourself. I know you, and you are not -ignorant of it. Before we had any personal connections, -quarrels, or disputes; while we knew each other only by -literary reputation, you affectionately made me the offer -of the good offices of yourself and friends. Affected by -this generosity, I threw myself into your arms; you brought -me to England, apparently to procure me an asylum, but in -fact to bring me to dishonour. You applied to this noble -work, with a zeal worthy of your heart, and a success -worthy of your abilities. You needed not have taken so much -pains: you live and converse with the world; I with myself -in solitude. The public love to be deceived, and you were -formed to deceive them. I know one man, however, whom you -can not deceive; I mean myself. You know with what horror -my heart rejected the first suspicion of your designs. You -know I embraced you with tears in my eyes, and told you, if -you were not the best of men, you must be the blackest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxii" id="Page_lxii">[Pg lxii]</a></span> of -mankind. In reflecting on your private conduct, you must -say to yourself sometimes, you are not the best of men: -under which conviction, I doubt much if ever you will be -the happiest.</p> - -<p>I leave your friends and you to carry on your schemes as -you please; giving up to you, without regret, my reputation -during life; certain that, sooner or later, justice will be -done to that of both. As to your good offices in matters -of interest, which you have made use of as a mask, I thank -you for them, and shall dispense with profiting by them. I -ought not to hold a correspondence with you any longer, or -to accept of it to my advantage in any affair in which you -are to be the mediator. Adieu, Sir, I wish you the truest -happiness; but as we ought not to have any thing to say to -each other for the future, this is the last letter you will -receive from me.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 65%; font-size: 0.8em;">J. J. R.</p></blockquote> -<hr class="r5" /> -<p>To this I immediately sent the following reply.</p> - - -<blockquote> - -<h5>MR HUME TO MR ROUSSEAU.</h5> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;"><i>June</i> 26<i>th</i>, 1766.</p> - -<p>As I am conscious of having ever acted towards you the most -friendly part, of having<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxiii" id="Page_lxiii">[Pg lxiii]</a></span> always given the most tender, the -most active proofs of sincere affection; you may judge of -my extreme surprize on perusing your epistle. Such violent -accusations, confined altogether to generals, it is as -impossible to answer, as it is impossible to comprehend -them. But affairs cannot, must not remain on that footing. -I shall charitably suppose, that some infamous calumniator -has belied me to you. But in that case, it is your duty, -and I am persuaded it will be your inclination, to give me -an opportunity of detecting him, and of justifying myself; -which can only be done by your mentioning the particulars -of which I am accused. You say, that I myself know that -I have been false to you; but I say it loudly, and will -say it to the whole world, that I know the contrary, that -I know my friendship towards you has been unbounded and -uninterrupted, and that though instances of it have been -very generally remarked both in France and England, the -smallest part of it only has as yet come to the knowledge -of the public. I demand, that you will produce me the man -who will assert the contrary; and above all, I demand, -that he will mention any one particular in which I have -been wanting to you. You owe this to me; you owe it to -yourself; you owe it to truth, and honour, and justice, and -to every thing that can be deemed sacred among men. As an -innocent man; I will not say, as your friend; I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxiv" id="Page_lxiv">[Pg lxiv]</a></span> will not -say, as your benefactor; but, I repeat it, as an innocent -man, I claim the privilege of proving my innocence, and of -refuting any scandalous lie which may have been invented -against me. Mr Davenport, to whom I have sent a copy of -your letter, and who will read this before he delivers it, -I am confident, will second my demand, and will tell you, -that nothing possibly can be more equitable. Happily I -have preserved the letter you wrote me after your arrival -at Wooton; and you there express in the strongest terms, -indeed in terms too strong, your satisfaction in my poor -endeavours to serve you: the little epistolary intercourse -which afterwards passed between us, has been all employed -on my side to the most friendly purposes. Tell me, what has -since given you offence. Tell me of what I am accused. Tell -me the man who accuses me. Even after you have fulfilled -all these conditions, to my satisfaction, and to that of Mr -Davenport, you will have great difficulty to justify the -employing such outrageous terms towards a man, with whom -you have been so intimately connected, and whom, on many -accounts, you ought to have treated with some regard and -decency.</p> - -<p>Mr Davenport knows the whole transaction about your -pension, because I thought it necessary that the person who -had undertaken your settlement, should be fully acquainted -with your circumstances; lest he should be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxv" id="Page_lxv">[Pg lxv]</a></span> tempted to -perform towards you concealed acts of generosity, which, if -they accidentally came to your knowledge, might give you -some grounds of offence. I am, Sir,</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 65%; font-size: 0.8em;">D. H.</p></blockquote> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p>Mr Davenport's authority procured me, in three weeks, the following -enormous letter; which however has this advantage, that it confirms all -the material circumstances of the foregoing narrative. I have subjoined -a few notes relative to some facts which Mr Rousseau hath not truly -represented, and leave my readers to judge which of us deserves the -greatest confidence.</p> - - - -<blockquote> - -<h5>MR ROUSSEAU TO MR HUME.</h5> - - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;"><i>Wooton</i>, <i>July</i> 10, 1766.</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em; ">SIR,</p> - -<p>I am indisposed, and little in a situation to write; but -you require an explanation, and it must be given you: it -was your own fault you had it not long since; but you did -not desire it, and I was therefore silent: at present you -do, and I have sent it. It will be a long one, for which I -am very sorry; but I have much to say, and would put an end -to the subject at once.</p> - -<p>As I live retired from the world, I am ignorant<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxvi" id="Page_lxvi">[Pg lxvi]</a></span> of what -passes in it. I have no party, no associates, no intrigues; -I am told nothing, and I know only what I feel. But as care -hath been taken to make me severely feel; that I well know. -The first concern of those who engage in bad designs is to -secure themselves from legal proofs of detection: it would -not be very advisable to seek a remedy against them at law. -The innate conviction of the heart admits of another kind -of proof, which influences the sentiments of honest men. -You well know the basis of mine.</p> - -<p>You ask me, with great confidence, to name your accuser. -That accuser, Sir, is the only man in the world whose -testimony I should admit against you; it is yourself. I -shall give myself up, without fear or reserve, to the -natural frankness of my disposition; being an enemy to -every kind of artifice, I shall speak with the same -freedom as if you were an indifferent person, on whom I -placed all that confidence which I no longer have in you. -I will give you a history of the emotions of my heart, -and of what produced them; while speaking of Mr Hume in -the third person, I shall make yourself the judge of what -I ought to think of him. Notwithstanding the length of -my letter, I shall pursue no other order than that of my -ideas, beginning with the premises, and ending with the -demonstration.</p> - -<p>I quitted Switzerland, wearied out by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxvii" id="Page_lxvii">[Pg lxvii]</a></span> barbarous -treatment I had undergone; but which affected only my -personal security, while my honour was safe. I was going, -as my heart directed me, to join my Lord Marshal; when I -received at Strasburg, a most affectionate invitation from -Mr Hume, to go over with him to England, where he promised -me the most agreeable reception, and more tranquillity -than I have met with. I hesitated some time between my old -friend and my new one; in this I was wrong. I preferred -the latter, and in this was still more so. But the desire -of visiting in person a celebrated nation, of which I had -heard both so much good and so much ill, prevailed. Assured -I could not lose George Keith, I was flattered with the -acquisition of David Hume. His great merit, extraordinary -abilities, and established probity of character, made me -desirous of annexing his friendship to that with which -I was honoured by his illustrious countrymen. Besides, -I gloried not a little in setting an example to men of -letters, in a sincere union between two men so different in -their principles.</p> - -<p>Before I had received an invitation from the King of -Prussia, and my Lord Marshal, undetermined about the place -of my retreat, I had desired, and obtained by the interest -of my friends, a passport from the Court of France. I made -use of this, and went to Paris to join Mr Hume. He saw, -and perhaps saw too much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxviii" id="Page_lxviii">[Pg lxviii]</a></span> of, the favourable reception I -met with from a great Prince, and I will venture to say, -of the public. I yielded, as it was my duty, though with -reluctance, to that eclat; concluding how far it must -excite the envy of my enemies. At the same time, I saw -with pleasure, the regard which the public entertained for -Mr Hume, sensibly increasing throughout Paris, on account -of the good work he had undertaken with respect to me. -Doubtless he was affected too; but I know not if it was in -the same manner as I was.</p> - -<p>We set out with one of my friends, who came to England -almost entirely on my account. When we were landed at -Dover, transported with the thoughts of having set foot in -this land of liberty, under the conduct of so celebrated a -person, I threw my arms round his neck, and pressed him to -my heart, without speaking a syllable; bathing his cheeks, -as I kissed them, with tears sufficiently expressive. This -was not the only, nor the most remarkable instance I have -given him of the effusions of a heart full of sensibility. -I know not what he does with the recollection of them, when -that happens; but I have a notion they must be sometimes -troublesome to him.</p> - -<p>At our arrival in London, we were mightily caressed and -entertained: all ranks of people eagerly pressing to -give me marks of their benevolence and esteem. Mr Hume -presented<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxix" id="Page_lxix">[Pg lxix]</a></span> me politely to every body; and it was natural -for me to ascribe to him, as I did, the best part of my -good reception. My heart was full of him, I spoke in his -praise to every one, I wrote to the same purpose to all -my friends; my attachment to him gathering every day new -strength, while his appeared the most affectionate to me, -of which he frequently gave me instances that touched me -extremely. That of causing my portrait to be painted, -however, was not of the number. This seemed to me to carry -with it too much the affectation of popularity, and had an -air of ostentation which by no means pleased me. All this, -however, might have been easily excusable, had Mr Hume -been a man apt to throw away his money, or had a gallery -of pictures with the portraits of his friends. After all, -I freely confess, that, on this head, I may be in the -wrong.<a name="FNanchor_5_8" id="FNanchor_5_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_8" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p> - -<p>But what appears to me an act of friendship and generosity -the most undoubted and estimable, in a word, the most -worthy of Mr Hume, was the care he took to solicit for me, -of his own accord, a pension from the King, to which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxx" id="Page_lxx">[Pg lxx]</a></span> most -assuredly I had no right to aspire. As I was a witness -to the zeal he exerted in that affair, I was greatly -affected with it. Nothing could flatter me more than a -piece of service of that nature; not merely for the sake -of interest; for, too much attached, perhaps, to what I -actually possess, I am not capable of desiring what I have -not, and, as I am able to subsist on my labour, and the -assistance of my friends, I covet nothing more. But the -honour of receiving testimonies of the goodness, I will not -say of so great a monarch, but of so good a father, so good -a husband, so good a master, so good a friend, and, above -all, so worthy a man, was sensibly affecting: and when I -considered farther, that the minister who had obtained -for me this favour, was a living instance of that probity -which of all others is the most important to mankind, and -at the same time hardly ever met with in the only character -wherein it can be useful, I could not check the emotions of -my pride, at having for my benefactors three men, who of -all the world I could most desire to have my friends. Thus, -so far from refusing the pension offered me, I only made -one condition necessary for my acceptance; this was the -consent of a person, whom I could not, without neglecting -my duty, fail to consult.</p> - -<p>Being honoured with the civilities of all the world, I -endeavoured to make a proper return.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxxi" id="Page_lxxi">[Pg lxxi]</a></span> In the mean time, -my bad state of health, and being accustomed to live in -the country, made my residence in town very disagreeable. -Immediately country houses presented themselves in plenty; -I had my choice of all the counties of England. Mr Hume -took the trouble to receive these proposals, and to -represent them to me; accompanying me to two or three in -the neighbouring counties. I hesitated a good while in my -choice, and he increased the difficulty of determination. -At length I fixed on this place, and immediately Mr Hume -settled the affair; all difficulties vanished, and I -departed; arriving presently at this solitary, convenient, -and agreeable habitation, where the owner of the house -provides every thing, and nothing is wanting. I became -tranquil, independent; and this seemed to be the wished-for -moment when all my misfortunes should have an end. On the -contrary, it was now they began; misfortunes more cruel -than any I had yet experienced.</p> - -<p>Hitherto I have spoken in the fulness of my heart, and to -do justice, with the greatest pleasure, to the good offices -of Mr Hume. Would to Heaven that what remains for me to say -were of the same nature! It would never give me pain to -speak what would redound to his honour; nor is it proper to -set a value on benefits till one is accused of ingratitude, -which is the case at present. I will venture to make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxxii" id="Page_lxxii">[Pg lxxii]</a></span> one -observation, therefore, which renders it necessary. In -estimating the services of Mr Hume, by the time and the -pains they took him up, they were of an infinite value, -and that still more from the good will displayed in their -performance; but for the actual service they were of to -me, it was much more in appearance than reality. I did -not come over to beg my bread in England; I brought the -means of subsistence with me. I came merely to seek an -asylum in a country which is open to every stranger without -distinction. I was, besides, not so totally unknown as -that, if I had arrived alone, I should have wanted either -assistance or service. If some persons have sought my -acquaintance for the sake of Mr Hume, others have sought -it for my own. Thus, when Mr Davenport, for example, was -so kind as to offer my present retreat, it was not for the -sake of Mr Hume, whom he did not know, and whom he saw only -in order to desire him to make me his obliging proposal; -so that, when Mr Hume endeavours to alienate from me this -worthy man, he takes that from me which he did not give -me.<a name="FNanchor_6_9" id="FNanchor_6_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_9" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> All the good that hath been done me, would have been -done me nearly the same without him, and perhaps better;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxxiii" id="Page_lxxiii">[Pg lxxiii]</a></span> -but the evil would not have been done me at all; for why -should I have enemies in England? Why are those enemies all -the friends of Mr Hume? Who could have excited their enmity -against me? It certainly was not I, who knew nothing of -them, nor ever saw them in my life. I should not have had a -single enemy had I come to England alone.<a name="FNanchor_7_10" id="FNanchor_7_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_10" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></p> - -<p>I have hitherto dwelt upon public and notorious facts, -which, from their own nature, and my acknowledgment, have -made the greatest eclat. Those which are to follow are -particular and secret, at least in their cause; and all -possible measures have been taken to keep the knowledge of -them from the public; but as they are well known to the -person interested, they will not have the less influence -toward his own conviction.</p> - -<p>A very short time after our arrival in London, I observed -an absurd change in the minds of the people regarding -me, which soon became very apparent. Before I arrived in -England, there was not a nation in Europe in which I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxxiv" id="Page_lxxiv">[Pg lxxiv]</a></span> -had a greater reputation, I will venture to say, or was -held in greater estimation. The public papers were full -of encomiums on me, and a general outcry prevailed on my -persecutors.<a name="FNanchor_8_11" id="FNanchor_8_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_11" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> This was the case at my arrival, which -was published in the newspapers with triumph; England -prided itself in affording me refuge, and justly gloried -on that occasion in its laws and government; when all of a -sudden, without the least assignable cause, the tone was -changed, and that so speedily and totally, that, of all -the caprices of the public, never was known any thing more -surprising. The signal was given in a certain <i>Magazine</i>, -equally full of follies and falsehoods, in which the -author, being well informed, or pretending to be so, gives -me out for the son of a musician. From this time<a name="FNanchor_9_12" id="FNanchor_9_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_12" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> I was -constantly spoken of in print in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxxv" id="Page_lxxv">[Pg lxxv]</a></span> very equivocal or -slighting manner.<a name="FNanchor_10_13" id="FNanchor_10_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_13" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> Every thing that had been published -concerning my misfortunes was misrepresented, altered, or -placed in a wrong light, and always as much as possible to -my disadvantage. So far was any body from speaking of the -reception I met with at Paris, and which had made but too -much noise, it was not generally supposed that I durst have -appeared in that city, even one of Mr Hume's friends being -very much surprised when I told him I came through it.</p> - -<p>Accustomed as I had been too much to the inconstancy of -the public, to be affected by this instance of it, I could -not help being astonished, however, at a change, so very -sudden and general, that not one of those who had so much -praised me in my absence, appeared, now I was present, to -think even of my existence. I thought it something very -odd that, immediately after the return of Mr Hume, who had -so much credit in London, with so much influence over the -booksellers and men of letters, and such great connections -with them, his presence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxxvi" id="Page_lxxvi">[Pg lxxvi]</a></span> should produce an effect so -contrary to what might have been expected; that among so -many writers of every kind, not one of his friends should -show himself to be mine; while it was easy to be seen, -that those who spoke of him were not his enemies, since, -in noticing his public character, they reported that I had -come through France under his protection, and by favour of -a passport which he had obtained of the court; nay, they -almost went so far as to insinuate, that I came over in -his retinue, and at his expense. All this was of little -signification, and was only singular; but what was much -more so, was, that his friends changed their tone with me -as much as the public. I shall always take a pleasure in -saying that they were still equally solicitous to serve -me, and that they exerted themselves greatly in my favour; -but so far were they from showing me the same respect, -particularly the gentleman at whose house we alighted on -our arrival, that he accompanied all his actions with -discourse so rude, and sometimes so insulting, that one -would have thought he had taken an occasion to oblige -me, merely to have a right to express his contempt.<a name="FNanchor_11_14" id="FNanchor_11_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_14" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> -His brother,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxxvii" id="Page_lxxvii">[Pg lxxvii]</a></span> who was at first very polite and obliging, -altered his behaviour with so little reserve, that he -would hardly deign to speak a single word to me, even in -their own house, in return to a civil salutation, or to -pay any of those civilities which are usually paid in like -circumstances to strangers. Nothing new had happened, -however, except the arrival of J. J. Rousseau and David -Hume: and certainly the cause of these alterations did -not come from me, unless, indeed, too great a portion -of simplicity, discretion, and modesty, be the cause of -offence in England. As to Mr Hume, he was so far from -assuming such a disgusting tone, that he gave into the -other extreme. I have always looked upon flatterers with -an eye of suspicion: and he was so full of all kinds<a name="FNanchor_12_15" id="FNanchor_12_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_15" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> -of flattery, that he even obliged me, when I could bear -it no longer,<a name="FNanchor_13_16" id="FNanchor_13_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_16" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> to tell him my sentiments on that head. -His behaviour was such as to render few words necessary, -yet I could have wished he had substituted, in the room of -such gross encomiums,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxxviii" id="Page_lxxviii">[Pg lxxviii]</a></span> sometimes the language of a friend; -but I never found any thing in his, which savoured of true -friendship, not even in his manner of speaking of me to -others in my presence. One would have thought that, in -endeavouring to procure me patrons, he strove to deprive -me of their good will; that he sought rather to have me -assisted than loved; and I have been sometimes surprised at -the rude turn he hath given to my behaviour before people -who might not unreasonably have taken offence at it. I -shall give an example of what I mean. Mr Pennick of the -Museum, a friend of my Lord Marshal's, and minister of a -parish where I was solicited to reside, came to see me. Mr -Hume made my excuses, while I myself was present, for not -having paid him a visit. Doctor Matty, said he, invited us -on Thursday to the Museum, where Mr Rousseau should have -seen you; but he chose rather to go with Mrs Garrick to -the play: we could not do both the same day.<a name="FNanchor_14_17" id="FNanchor_14_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_17" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> You will -confess, Sir, this was a strange method of recommending me -to Mr Pennick.</p> - -<p>I know not what Mr Hume might say in private of me to his -acquaintance, but nothing was more extraordinary than -their behaviour to me, even by his own confession, and -even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxxix" id="Page_lxxix">[Pg lxxix]</a></span> often through his own means. Although my purse was -not empty, and I needed not that of any other person, -which he very well knew, yet any one would have thought -I was come over to subsist on the charity of the public, -and that nothing more was to be done than to give me alms -in such a manner as to save me a little confusion.<a name="FNanchor_15_18" id="FNanchor_15_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_18" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> I -must own, this constant and insolent piece of affectation -was one of those things which made me averse to reside in -London. This certainly was not the footing on which any -man should have been introduced in England, had there been -a design of procuring him ever so little respect. This -display of charity, however, may admit of a more favourable -interpretation, and I consent it should. To proceed.</p> - -<p>At Paris was published a fictitious letter from the King -of Prussia, addressed to me, and replete with the most -cruel malignity. I learned with surprise that it was one -Mr Walpole, a a friend of Mr Hume's who was the editor; I -asked him if it were true; in answer to which question, -he only asked me, of whom I had the information. A moment -before he had given me a card for this same Mr Walpole, -written to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxxx" id="Page_lxxx">[Pg lxxx]</a></span> engage him to bring over such papers as related -to me from Paris, and which I wanted to have by a safe hand.</p> - -<p>I was informed that the son of that quack<a name="FNanchor_16_19" id="FNanchor_16_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_19" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> Tronchin, -my most mortal enemy, was not only the friend of Mr Hume, -and under his protection, but that they both lodged in the -same house together; and when Mr Hume found that I knew -it, he imparted it in confidence; assuring me at the same -time that the son was by no means like the father. I lodged -a few nights myself, together with my governante, in the -same house; and by the air and manner with which we were -received by the landladies, who are his friends, I judged -in what manner either Mr Hume, or that man, who, as he -said, was by no means like his father, must have spoken to -them both of her and me.<a name="FNanchor_17_20" id="FNanchor_17_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_20" class="fnanchor">[17]</a></p> - -<p>All these facts put together, added to a certain appearance -of things on the whole, insensibly gave me an uneasiness -which I rejected with horror. In the mean time, I found -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxxxi" id="Page_lxxxi">[Pg lxxxi]</a></span> letters I wrote did not come to hand; those I received -had often been opened; and all went through the hands of -Mr Hume.<a name="FNanchor_18_21" id="FNanchor_18_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_21" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> If at any time any one escaped him, he could -not conceal his eagerness to see it. One evening, in -particular, I remember a very remarkable circumstance of -this kind that greatly struck me.<a name="FNanchor_19_22" id="FNanchor_19_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_22" class="fnanchor">[19]</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxxxii" id="Page_lxxxii">[Pg lxxxii]</a></span></p> - -<p>As we were sitting one evening, after supper, silent by -the fire-side, I caught his eyes intently fixed on mine, -as indeed happened very often; and that in a manner of -which it is very difficult to give an idea. At that time -he gave me a stedfast, piercing look, mixed with a sneer, -which greatly disturbed me. To get rid of the embarrassment -I lay under, I endeavoured to look full at him in my -turn; but, in fixing my eyes against his, I felt the most -inexpressible terror, and was obliged soon to turn them -away. The speech and physiognomy of the good David is that -of an honest man; but where, great God! did this good man -borrow those eyes he fixes so sternly and unaccountably on -those of his friends?</p> - -<p>The impression of this look remained with me, and gave me -much uneasiness. My trouble increased even to a degree of -fainting; and if I had not been relieved by an effusion -of tears, I had been suffocated. Presently after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxxxiii" id="Page_lxxxiii">[Pg lxxxiii]</a></span> this I -was seized with the most violent remorse; I even despised -myself; till at length, in a transport which I still -remember with delight, I sprang on his neck, embraced him -eagerly; while almost choked with sobbing, and bathed in -tears, I cried out, in broken accents, <i>No, no, David -Hume cannot be treacherous. If he be not the best of men, -he must be the basest of mankind</i>. David Hume politely -returned my embraces, and, gently, tapping me on the back, -repeated several times, in a good-natured and easy tone, -<i>Why, what, my dear Sir! Nay, my dear Sir! Oh, my dear -Sir!</i> He said nothing more. I felt my heart yearn within -me. We went to bed; and I set out the next day for the -country.</p> - -<p>Arrived at this agreeable asylum, to which I have travelled -so far in search of repose, I ought to find it in a -retired, convenient, and pleasant habitation; the master -of which, a man of understanding and worth, spares for -nothing to render it agreeable to me. But what repose can -be tasted in life, when the heart is agitated? Afflicted -with the most cruel uncertainty, and ignorant what to think -of a man whom I ought to love and esteem, I endeavoured to -get rid of that fatal doubt, in placing confidence in my -benefactor. For, wherefore, from what unaccountable caprice -should he display so much apparent zeal for my happiness, -and at the same time entertain secret<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxxxiv" id="Page_lxxxiv">[Pg lxxxiv]</a></span> designs against my -honour. Among the several observations that disturbed me, -each fact was in itself of no great moment; it was their -concurrence that was surprising; yet I thought, perhaps, -that Mr Hume, informed of other facts, of which I was -ignorant, could have given me a satisfactory solution of -them, had we come to an explanation. The only thing that -was inexplicable, was, that he refused to come to such -an explanation; which both his honour and his friendship -rendered equally necessary. I saw very well there was -something in the affair which I did not comprehend, and -which I earnestly wished to know. Before I came to an -absolute determination, therefore, with regard to him, -I was desirous of making another effort, and to try to -recover him, if he had permitted himself to be seduced by -my enemies, or, in short, to prevail on him to explain -himself one way or other. Accordingly I wrote him a letter, -which he ought to have found very natural,<a name="FNanchor_20_23" id="FNanchor_20_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_23" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> if he were -guilty; but very extraordinary, if he were innocent. -For what could be more extraordinary than a letter full -of gratitude for his services, and at the same time, of -distrust of his sentiments; and in which, placing in a -manner his actions on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxxxv" id="Page_lxxxv">[Pg lxxxv]</a></span> one side, and his sentiments on the -other, instead of speaking of the proofs of friendship -he had given me, I desired him to love me, for the good -he had done me!<a name="FNanchor_21_24" id="FNanchor_21_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_24" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> I did not take the precaution to -preserve a copy of this letter; but as he hath done it, -let him produce it: and whoever shall read it, and see -therein a man labouring under a secret trouble, which he is -desirous of expressing, and is afraid to do it, will, I am -persuaded, be curious to know what kind of éclaircissement -it produced, especially after the preceding scene. None. -Absolutely none at all. Mr Hume contented himself, in his -answer, with only speaking of the obliging offices Mr -Davenport proposed to do for me. As for the rest, he said -not a word of the principal subject of my letter, nor of -the situation of my heart, of whose distress he could not -be ignorant. I was more struck with this silence, than I -had been with his phlegm during our last conversation. In -this I was wrong; this silence was very natural after the -other, and was no more than I ought to have expected. For -when one hath ventured to declare to a man's face, <i>I am -tempted to believe you a traitor</i>, and he hath not the -curiosity to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxxxvi" id="Page_lxxxvi">[Pg lxxxvi]</a></span> ask you <i>for what</i>,<a name="FNanchor_22_25" id="FNanchor_22_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_25" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> it may be depended -on he will never have any such curiosity as long as he -lives; and it is easy to judge of him from these slight -indications.</p> - -<p>After the receipt of his letter, which was long delayed, I -determined at length to write to him no more. Soon after, -every thing served to confirm me in the resolution to -break off all farther correspondence with him. Curious to -the last degree concerning the minutest circumstance of -my affairs, he was not content to learn them of me, in -our frequent conversations; but, as I learned, never let -slip an opportunity of being alone with my governante,<a name="FNanchor_23_26" id="FNanchor_23_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_26" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> -to interrogate her even importunately concerning my -occupations, my resources, my friends, acquaintances, their -names, situations, place of abode, and all this after -setting out with telling her he was well acquainted with -the whole of my connections; nay, with the most jesuitical -address, he would ask the same questions of us separately. -One ought undoubtedly to interest one's self in the affairs -of a friend; but one ought to be satisfied with what he -thinks proper to let us know of them, particularly when -people are so frank and ingenuous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxxxvii" id="Page_lxxxvii">[Pg lxxxvii]</a></span> as I am. Indeed all this -petty inquisitiveness is very little becoming a philosopher.</p> - -<p>About the same time I received two other letters which had -been opened. The one from Mr Boswell, the seal of which -was so loose and disfigured, that Mr Davenport, when he -received it, remarked the same to Mr Hume's servant. The -other was from Mr d'Ivernois, in Mr Hume's packet, and -which had been sealed up again by means of a hot iron, -which, awkwardly applied, had burnt the paper round the -impression. On this I wrote to Mr Davenport to desire him -to take charge of all the letters which might be sent for -me, and to trust none of them in any body's hands, under -any pretext whatever. I know not whether Mr Davenport, who -certainly was far from thinking that precaution was to be -observed with regard to Mr Hume, showed him my letter or -not; but this I know, that the latter had all the reason -in the world to think he had forfeited my confidence, and -that he proceeded nevertheless in his usual manner, without -troubling himself about the recovery of it.</p> - -<p>But what was to become of me, when I saw, in the public -papers, the pretended letter of the King of Prussia which -I had never before seen, that fictitious letter, printed -in French and English, given for genuine, even with the -signature of the King, and in which I knew the pen of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxxxviii" id="Page_lxxxviii">[Pg lxxxviii]</a></span> Mr -d'Alembert as certainly as if I had seen him write it?<a name="FNanchor_24_27" id="FNanchor_24_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_27" class="fnanchor">[24]</a></p> - -<p>In a moment a ray of light discovered to me the secret -cause of that touching and sudden change, which I had -observed in the public respecting me; and I saw the plot -which was put in execution at London, had been laid in -Paris.</p> - -<p>Mr d'Alembert, another intimate friend of Mr Hume's, had -been long since my secret enemy, and lay in watch for -opportunities to injure me without exposing himself. He -was the only person, among the men of letters, of my old -acquaintance, who did not come to see me,<a name="FNanchor_25_28" id="FNanchor_25_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_28" class="fnanchor">[25]</a> or send their -civilities during my last passage through Paris. I knew his -secret disposition, but I gave myself very little trouble -about it, contenting myself with advising my friends of it -occasionally. I remember that being asked about him one day -by Mr Hume, who afterwards asked my governante the same -question, I told him that Mr d'Alembert was a cunning, -artful man. He contradicted me with a warmth that surprised -me; not then knowing they stood so well with each other, -and that it was his own cause he defended.</p> - -<p>The perusal of the letter above mentioned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_lxxxix" id="Page_lxxxix">[Pg lxxxix]</a></span> alarmed me a -good deal, when, perceiving that I had been brought over -to England in consequence of a project which began to be -put in execution, but of the end of which I was ignorant, -I felt the danger without knowing what to guard against, -or on whom to rely. I then recollected four terrifying -words Mr Hume had made use of, and of which I shall speak -hereafter. What could be thought of a paper in which my -misfortunes were imputed to me as a crime, which tended, in -the midst of my distress, to deprive me of all compassion, -and, to render its effects still more cruel, pretended -to have been written by a Prince who had afforded me -protection? What could I divine would be the consequence -of such a beginning? The people in England read the public -papers, and are in no wise prepossessed in favour of -foreigners. Even a coat, cut in a different fashion from -their own, is sufficient to excite a prejudice against -them. What then had not a poor stranger to expect in his -rural walks, the only pleasures of his life, when the good -people in the neighbourhood were once thoroughly persuaded -he was fond of being persecuted and pelted? Doubtless -they would be ready enough to contribute to his favourite -amusement. But my concern, my profound and cruel concern, -the bitterest indeed I ever felt, did not arise from the -danger to which I was personally exposed. I have braved -too many others<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xc" id="Page_xc">[Pg xc]</a></span> to be much moved with that. The treachery -of a false friend,<a name="FNanchor_26_29" id="FNanchor_26_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_29" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> to which I had fallen a prey, was -the circumstance that filled my too susceptible heart with -deadly sorrow. In the impetuosity of its first emotions, of -which I never yet was master, and of which my enemies have -artfully taken the advantage, I wrote several letters full -of disorder, in which I did not disguise either my anxiety -or indignation.</p> - -<p>I have, Sir, so many things to mention, that I forget half -of them by the way. For instance, a certain narrative -in form of a letter, concerning my manner of living at -Montmorency, was given by the booksellers to Mr Hume, who -showed it me. I agreed to its being printed, and Mr Hume -undertook the care of its edition; but it never appeared. -Again, I had brought over with me a copy of the letters -of Mr du Peyron, containing a relation of the treatment I -had met with at Neufchâtel. I gave them into the hands of -the same bookseller to have them translated and reprinted. -Mr Hume charged himself with the care of them; but they -never appeared.<a name="FNanchor_27_30" id="FNanchor_27_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_30" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> The supposititious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xci" id="Page_xci">[Pg xci]</a></span> letter of the King -of Prussia, and its translation, had no sooner made their -appearance, than I immediately apprehended why the other -pieces had been suppressed,<a name="FNanchor_28_31" id="FNanchor_28_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_31" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> and I wrote as much to -the booksellers.<a name="FNanchor_29_32" id="FNanchor_29_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_32" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> I wrote several other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xcii" id="Page_xcii">[Pg xcii]</a></span> letters also, -which probably were handed about London; till at length -I employed the credit of a man of quality and merit, to -insert a declaration of the imposture in the public papers. -In this declaration, I concealed no part of my extreme -concern, nor did I in the least disguise the cause.</p> - -<p>Hitherto Mr Hume seems to have walked in darkness. You will -soon see him appear in open day, and act without disguise. -Nothing more is necessary, in our behaviour towards cunning -people, than to act ingenuously; sooner or later they will -infallibly betray themselves.</p> - -<p>When this pretended letter from the Ring of Prussia was -first published in London, Mr Hume, who certainly knew that -it was fictitious, as I had told him so, yet said nothing -of the matter, did not write to me, but was totally silent; -and did not even think of making any declaration of the -truth, in favour of his absent friend.<a name="FNanchor_30_33" id="FNanchor_30_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_33" class="fnanchor">[30]</a> It answered his -purpose better to let the report take its course, as he did.</p> - -<p>Mr Hume having been my conductor into England, he was of -course in a manner my patron and protector. If it were but -natural in him to undertake my defence, it was no less -so that, when I had a public protestation to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xciii" id="Page_xciii">[Pg xciii]</a></span> make, I -should have addressed myself to him. Having already ceased -writing to him,<a name="FNanchor_31_34" id="FNanchor_31_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_34" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> however, I had no mind to renew our -correspondence. I addressed myself therefore to another -person. The first slap on the face I gave my patron. He -felt nothing of it.</p> - -<p>In saying the letter was fabricated at Paris, it was of -very little consequence to me whether it was understood -particularly of Mr d'Alembert, or of Mr Walpole, whose -name he borrowed on the occasion. But in adding that, what -afflicted and tore my heart was, the impostor had got his -accomplices in England; I expressed myself very clearly -to their friend, who was in London, and was desirous of -passing for mine. For certainly he was the only person in -England, whose hatred could afflict and rend my heart. This -was the second slap of the face I gave my patron. He did -not feel, however, yet.</p> - -<p>On the contrary, he maliciously pretended that my -affliction arose solely from the publication of the -above letter, in order to make me pass for a man who was -excessively affected by satire. Whether I am vain or not, -certain it is I was mortally afflicted; he knew it, and -yet wrote me not a word. This affectionate friend, who had -so much at heart the filling of my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xciv" id="Page_xciv">[Pg xciv]</a></span> purse, gave himself no -trouble to think my heart was bleeding with sorrow.</p> - -<p>Another piece appeared soon after, in the same papers, -by the author of the former, and still if possible more -cruel, in which the writer could not disguise his rage -at the reception I met with at Paris.<a name="FNanchor_32_35" id="FNanchor_32_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_35" class="fnanchor">[32]</a> This however -did not affect me; it told me nothing new. Mere libels -may take their course without giving me any emotion; -and the inconstant public may amuse themselves as long -as they please with the subject. It is not an affair of -conspirators, who, bent on the destruction of my honest -fame, are determined by some means or other to effect it. -It was necessary to change the battery.</p> - -<p>The affair of the pension was not determined. It was -not difficult, however, for Mr Hume to obtain, from the -humanity of the minister, and the generosity of the King, -the favour of its determination. He was required to inform -me of it, which he did. This, I must confess, was one of -the critical moments of my life. How much did it cost me -to do my duty! My preceding engagements, the necessity -of showing a due respect for the goodness of the King, -and for that of his minister, together with the desire of -displaying how far I was sensible of both; add to these the -advantage of being made a little more easy in circumstances -in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xcv" id="Page_xcv">[Pg xcv]</a></span> decline of life, surrounded as I was by enemies -and evils; in fine, the embarrassment I was under to find -a decent excuse for not accepting a benefit already half -accepted; all these together made the necessity of that -refusal very difficult and cruel: for necessary it was, or -I should have been one of the meanest and basest of mankind -to have voluntarily laid myself under an obligation to a -man who had betrayed me.</p> - -<p>I did my duty, though not without reluctance. I wrote -immediately to General Conway, and in the most civil and -respectful manner possible, without giving an absolute -refusal, excusing myself from accepting the pension for the -present.</p> - -<p>Now, Mr Hume had been the only negociator of this affair, -nay the only person who had spoke of it. Yet I not only -did not give him any answer, though it was he who wrote to -me on the subject, but did not even so much as mention him -in my letter to General Conway. This was the third slap of -the face I gave my patron, which if he does not feel, it is -certainly his own fault, he can feel nothing.</p> - -<p>My letter was not clear, nor could it be so to General -Conway, who did not know the motives of my refusal; but -it was very plain to Mr Hume, who knew them but too well. -He pretended nevertheless to be deceived as well with -regard to the cause of my discontent, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xcvi" id="Page_xcvi">[Pg xcvi]</a></span> to that of my -declining the pension; and, in a letter he wrote me on the -occasion, gave me to understand that the King's goodness -might be continued towards me, if I should reconsider the -affair of the pension. In a word, he seemed determined, -at all events, to remain still my patron, in spite of my -teeth. You will imagine, Sir, he did not expect my answer; -and he had none. Much about this time, for I do not know -exactly the date, nor is such precision necessary, appeared -a letter, from Mr de Voltaire to me, with an English -translation, which still improved on the original. The -noble object of this ingenious performance, was to draw -on me the hatred and contempt of the people, among whom -I was come to reside. I made not the least doubt that my -dear patron was one of the instruments of its publication; -particularly when I saw that the writer, in endeavouring -to alienate from me those who might render my life -agreeable, had omitted the name of him who brought me over. -He doubtless knew that it was superfluous, and that with -regard to him, nothing more was necessary to be said. The -omission of his name, so impoliticly forgot in this letter, -recalled to my mind what Tacitus says of the picture of -Brutus, omitted in a funeral solemnity, viz. that every -body took notice of it, particularly because it was not -there.</p> - -<p>Mr Hume was not mentioned; but he lives<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xcvii" id="Page_xcvii">[Pg xcvii]</a></span> and converses -with people that are mentioned. It is well known his -friends are all my enemies; there are abroad such people -as Tronchin, d'Alembert, and Voltaire;<a name="FNanchor_33_36" id="FNanchor_33_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_36" class="fnanchor">[33]</a> but it is much -worse in London; for here I have no enemies but what are -his friends. For why, indeed, should I have any other? -Why should I have even them?<a name="FNanchor_34_37" id="FNanchor_34_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_37" class="fnanchor">[34]</a> What have I done to Lord -Littleton,<a name="FNanchor_35_38" id="FNanchor_35_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_38" class="fnanchor">[35]</a> whom I don't even know? What have I done to -Mr Walpole, whom I know full as little? What do they know -of me, except that I am unhappy, and a friend to their -friend Hume? What can he have said to them, for it is only -through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xcviii" id="Page_xcviii">[Pg xcviii]</a></span> him they know any thing of me? I can very well -imagine, that, considering the part he has to play, he does -not unmask himself to every body; for then he would be -disguised to nobody. I can very well imagine that he does -not speak of me to General Conway and the Duke of Richmond -as he does in his private conversations with Mr Walpole, -and his secret correspondence with Mr d'Alembert. But let -any one discover the clue that hath been unravelled since -my arrival in London, and it will easily be seen whether Mr -Hume does not hold the principal thread.</p> - -<p>At length the moment arrived in which it was thought proper -to strike the great blow, the effect of which was prepared -for by a fresh satirical piece put in the papers.<a name="FNanchor_36_39" id="FNanchor_36_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_39" class="fnanchor">[36]</a> Had -there remained in me the least doubt, it would have been -impossible to have harboured it after perusing this piece, -as it contained facts unknown to any body but Mr Hume; -exaggerated, it is true, in order to render them odious to -the public.</p> - -<p>It is said in this paper that my door was opened to the -rich, and shut to the poor.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xcix" id="Page_xcix">[Pg xcix]</a></span> Pray, who knows when my door -was open or shut, except Mr Hume, with whom I lived, and by -whom every body was introduced that I saw? I will except -one great personage, whom I gladly received without knowing -him, and whom I should still have more gladly received if -I had known him. It was Mr Hume who told me his name when -he was gone; on which information, I was really chagrined, -that, as he deigned to mount up two pair of stairs, he was -not received in the first floor. As to the poor, I have -nothing to say about the matter. I was constantly desirous -of seeing less company; but as I was unwilling to displease -any one, I suffered myself to be directed in this affair -altogether by Mr Hume, and endeavoured to receive every -body he introduced as well as I could, without distinction, -whether rich or poor. It is said in the same piece that I -received my relations very coldly, <i>not to say any thing -worse</i>. This general charge relates to my having once -received, with some indifference, the only relation I have, -out of Geneva, and that in the presence of Mr Hume.<a name="FNanchor_37_40" id="FNanchor_37_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_37_40" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> It -must necessarily be either Mr Hume or this relation who -furnished that piece of intelligence. Now, my cousin, whom -I have always known for a friendly relation and a worthy -man, is incapable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_c" id="Page_c">[Pg c]</a></span> of furnishing materials for public -satires against me. Add to this, that his situation in life -confining him to the conversation of persons in trade, he -has no connection with men of letters or paragraph writers, -and still less with satirists and libellers; so that the -article could not come from him. At the worst, can I help -imagining that Mr Hume must have endeavoured to take -advantage of what he said, and construed it in favour of -his own purpose? It is not improper to add, that, after my -rupture with Mr Hume, I wrote an account of it to my cousin.</p> - -<p>In fine, it is said in the same paper that I am apt to -change my friends. No great subtlety is necessary to -comprehend what this reflection is preparative to.</p> - -<p>But let us distinguish facts. I have preserved some very -valuable and solid friends for twenty-five to thirty years. -I have others whose friendship is of a later date, but no -less valuable, and which, if I live, I may preserve still -longer. I have not found, indeed, the same security in -general among those friendships I have made with men of -letters. I have for this reason sometimes changed them, and -shall always change them when they appear suspicious; for I -am determined never to have friends by way of ceremony; I -have them only with a view to show them my affection.</p> - -<p>If ever I was fully and clearly convinced of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ci" id="Page_ci">[Pg ci]</a></span> any thing, I -am so convinced that Mr Hume furnished the materials for -the above paper.</p> - -<p>But what is still more, I have not only that absolute -conviction, but it is very clear to me that Mr Hume -intended I should: For how can it be supposed that a man of -his subtlety should be so imprudent as to expose himself -thus, if he had not intended it? What was his design in -it? Nothing is more clear than this. It was to raise my -resentment to the highest pitch, that he might strike the -blow he was preparing to give me with greater eclat. He -knew he had nothing more to do than put me in a passion, -and I should be guilty of a number of absurdities. We are -now arrived at the critical moment which is to show whether -he reasoned well or ill.</p> - -<p>It is necessary to have all the presence of mind, all -the phlegm and resolution of Mr Hume, to be able to -take the part he hath taken, after all that has passed -between us. In the embarrassment I was under in writing -to General Conway, I could make use only of obscure -expressions, to which Mr Hume, in quality of my friend, -gave what interpretation he pleased. Supposing, therefore, -for he knew very well to the contrary, that it was the -circumstance of secrecy which gave me uneasiness, he -obtained the promise of the General to endeavour to remove -it; but before any thing was done, it was previously -necessary to know whether I would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cii" id="Page_cii">[Pg cii]</a></span> accept of the pension -without that condition, in order not to expose his Majesty -to a second refusal.</p> - -<p>This was the decisive moment, the end and object of all -his labours. An answer was required: he would have it. To -prevent effectually indeed my neglect of it, he sent to Mr -Davenport a duplicate of his letter to me; and, not content -with this precaution, wrote me word, in another billet, -that he could not possibly stay any longer in London to -serve me. I was giddy with amazement on reading this note. -Never in my life did I meet with any thing so unaccountable.</p> - -<p>At length he obtained from me the so much desired answer, -and began presently to triumph. In writing to Mr Davenport, -he treated me as a monster of brutality and ingratitude. -But he wanted to do still more. He thinks his measures -well taken; no proof can be made to appear against him. He -demands an explanation: he shall have it, and here it is.</p> - -<p>That last stroke was a masterpiece. He himself proves every -thing, and that beyond reply.</p> - -<p>I will suppose, though by way of impossibility, that my -complaints against Mr Hume never reached his ears; that he -knew nothing of them; but was as perfectly ignorant as if -he had held no cabal with those who are acquainted with -them, but had resided all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ciii" id="Page_ciii">[Pg ciii]</a></span> while in China.<a name="FNanchor_38_41" id="FNanchor_38_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_38_41" class="fnanchor">[38]</a> Yet the -behaviour passing directly between us; the last striking -words which I said to him in London; the letter which -followed replete with fears and anxiety; my persevering -silence still more expressive than words; my public -and bitter complaints with regard to the letter of Mr -d'Alembert; my letter to the Secretary of State, who did -not write to me, in answer to that which Mr Hume wrote to -me himself, and in which I did not mention him; and in fine -my refusal, without deigning to address myself to him, to -acquiesce in an affair which he had managed in my favour, -with my own privity, and without any opposition on my part; -all this must have spoken in a very forcible manner, I will -not say to any person of the least sensibility, but to -every man of common sense.</p> - -<p>Strange that, after I had ceased to correspond with him for -three months, when I had made no answer to any one of his -letters, however important the subject of it, surrounded -with both public and private marks of that affliction -which his infidelity gave me; a man of so enlightened an -understanding, of so penetrating a genius by nature, and -so dull by design, should see nothing, hear nothing, feel -nothing,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_civ" id="Page_civ">[Pg civ]</a></span> be moved at nothing; but, without one word of -complaint, justification, or explanation, continue to give -me the most pressing marks of his good will to serve me, -in spite of myself? He wrote to me affectionately, that he -could not stay any longer in London to do me service, as if -we had agreed that he should stay there for that purpose! -This blindness, this insensibility, this perseverance, are -not in nature; they must be accounted for, therefore, from -other motives. Let us set this behaviour in a still clearer -light; for this is the decisive point.</p> - -<p>Mr Hume must necessarily have acted in this affair, either -as one of the first or last of mankind. There is no medium. -It remains to determine which of the two it hath been.</p> - -<p>Could Mr Hume, after so many instances of disdain on my -part, have still the astonishing generosity as to persevere -sincerely to serve me? He knew it was impossible for me to -accept his good offices, so long as I entertained for him -such sentiments as I had conceived. He had himself avoided -an explanation. So that to serve me without justifying -himself, would have been to render his services useless; -this therefore was no generosity. If he supposed that in -such circumstances I should have accepted his services, he -must have supposed me to have been an infamous scoundrel. -It was then in behalf of a man whom he supposed to be a -scoundrel, that he so warmly solicited a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cv" id="Page_cv">[Pg cv]</a></span> pension from his -Majesty. Can any thing be supposed more extravagant?</p> - -<p>But let it be supposed that Mr Hume, constantly pursuing -his plan, should only have said to himself, This is the -moment for its execution; for, by pressing Rousseau to -accept the pension, he will be reduced either to accept or -refuse it. If he accepts it, with the proofs I have in hand -against him, I shall be able completely to disgrace him: -if he refuses, after having accepted it, he will have no -pretext, but must give a reason for such refusal. This is -what I expect; if he accuses me, he is ruined.</p> - -<p>If, I say, Mr Hume reasoned with himself in this manner, -he did what was consistent with his plan, and in that -case very natural; indeed this is the only way in which -his conduct in this affair can be explained, for upon -any other supposition it is inexplicable: if this be not -demonstrable, nothing ever was so. The critical situation -to which he had now reduced me, re-recalled strongly to my -mind the four words I mentioned above; and which I heard -him say and repeat, at a time when I did not comprehend -their full force. It was the first night after our -departure from Paris. We slept in the same chamber, when, -during the night, I heard him several times cry out with -great vehemence, in the French language, <i>Je tiens J. J. -Rousseau.</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cvi" id="Page_cvi">[Pg cvi]</a></span> 'I have you, Rousseau.' I know not whether he -was awake or asleep.<a name="FNanchor_39_42" id="FNanchor_39_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_39_42" class="fnanchor">[39]</a></p> - -<p>The expression was remarkable, coming from a man who is too -well acquainted with the French language, to be mistaken -with regard to the force or choice of words. I took these -words, however, and I could not then take them otherwise -than in a favourable sense: notwithstanding the tone of -voice in which they were spoken, was still less favourable -than the expression. It is indeed impossible for me to -give any idea of it; but it corresponds exactly with those -terrible looks I have before mentioned. At every repetition -of them I was seized with a shuddering, a kind of horror I -could not resist, though a moment's recollection restored -me, and made me smile at my terror. The next day all this -was so perfectly obliterated, that I did not even think of -it during my stay in London, and its neighbourhood. It was -not till my arrival in this place, that so many things have -contributed to recall these words to my mind; and indeed -recall them every moment.</p> - -<p>These words, the tone of which dwells on my heart, as if -I had but just heard them;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cvii" id="Page_cvii">[Pg cvii]</a></span> those long and fatal looks so -frequently cast on me; the patting me on the back, with the -repetition of <i>O, my dear Sir</i>, in answer to my suspicions -of his being a traitor: all this affects me to such a -degree, after what preceded, that this recollection, had I -no other, would be sufficient to prevent any reconciliation -or return of confidence between us; not a night indeed -passes over my head, but I think I hear, <i>Rousseau, I have -you</i>, ring in my ears as if he had just pronounced them.</p> - -<p>Yes, Mr Hume, I know you <i>have me</i>; but that only by -mere externals: you have me in the public opinion and -judgment of mankind. You have my reputation, and perhaps my -security, to do with as you will. The general prepossession -is in your favour; it will be very easy for you to make me -pass for the monster you have begun to represent me; and -I already see the barbarous exultation of my implacable -enemies. The public will no longer spare me. Without any -farther examination, every body is on the side of those who -have conferred favours; because each is desirous to attract -the same good offices, by displaying a sensibility of the -obligation. I foresee readily the consequences of all this, -particularly in the country to which you have conducted me; -and where, being without friends, and an utter stranger -to every body, I lie almost entirely at your mercy. The -sensible part of mankind, however, will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cviii" id="Page_cviii">[Pg cviii]</a></span> comprehend that I -must be so far from seeking this affair, that nothing more -disagreeable or terrible could possibly have happened to me -in my present situation. They will perceive that nothing -but my invincible aversion to all kind of falsehood, and -the possibility of my professing a regard for a person who -had forfeited it, could have prevented my dissimulation, -at a time when it was on so many accounts my interest. But -the sensible part of mankind are few, nor do they make the -greatest noise in the world.</p> - -<p>Yes, Mr Hume, you <i>have me</i> by all the ties of this life; -but you have no power over my probity or my fortitude, -which, being independent either of you or of mankind, I -will preserve in spite of you. Think not to frighten me -with the fortune that awaits me. I know the opinions of -mankind; I am accustomed to their injustice, and have -learned to care little about it. If you have taken your -resolution, as I have reason to believe you have, be -assured mine is taken also. I am feeble indeed in body, but -never possessed greater strength of mind.</p> - -<p>Mankind may say and do what they will, it is of little -consequence to me. What is of consequence, however, is, -that I should end as I have begun; that I should continue -to preserve my ingenuousness and integrity to the end, -whatever may happen; and that I should have no cause to -reproach myself either with meanness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cix" id="Page_cix">[Pg cix]</a></span> in adversity, or -insolence in prosperity. Whatever disgrace attends, or -misfortune threatens me, I am ready to meet them. Though I -am to be pitied, I am much less so than you, and all the -revenge I shall take on you is, to leave you the tormenting -consciousness of being obliged, in spite of yourself, -to have a respect for the unfortunate person you have -oppressed.</p> - -<p>In closing this letter, I am surprised at my having been -able to write it. If it were possible to die with grief, -every line was sufficient to kill me with sorrow. Every -circumstance of the affair is equally incomprehensible. -Such conduct as yours hath been, is not in nature: it is -contradictory to itself, and yet it is demonstrable to me -that it has been such as I conceive. On each side of me -there is a bottomless abyss! and I am lost in one or the -other.</p> - -<p>If you are guilty, I am the most unfortunate of mankind; -if you are innocent, I am the most culpable.<a name="FNanchor_40_43" id="FNanchor_40_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_40_43" class="fnanchor">[40]</a> You even -make me desire to be that contemptible object. Yes, the -situation to which you see me reduced, prostrate at your -feet, crying out for mercy, and doing every thing to obtain -it; publishing aloud my own unworthiness, and paying the -most explicit homage to your virtues, would be a state of -joy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cx" id="Page_cx">[Pg cx]</a></span> and cordial effusion, after the grievous state of -restraint and mortification into which you have plunged me. -I have but a word more to say. If you are guilty, write -to me no more; it would be superfluous, for certainly -you could not deceive me. If you are innocent, justify -yourself. I know my duty; I love, and shall always love -it, however difficult and severe. There is no state of -abjection that a heart, not formed for it, may not recover -from. Once again, I say, if you are innocent, deign to -justify yourself; if you are not, adieu for ever.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 65%; font-size: 0.8em;">J. J. R.</p></blockquote> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_8" id="Footnote_5_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_8"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> The fact was this. My friend, Mr Ramsay, a painter of -eminence, and a man of merit, proposed to draw Mr Rousseau's picture; -and when he had begun it, told me he intended to make me a present -of it. Thus the design of having Mr Rousseau's picture drawn did not -come from me, nor did it cost me any thing. Mr Rousseau, therefore, -is equally contemptible in paying me a compliment for this pretended -gallantry, in his letter of the 29th March, and in converting it into -ridicule here.—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_9" id="Footnote_6_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_9"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Mr Rousseau forms a wrong judgment of me, and ought to -know me better. I have written to Mr Davenport, even since our rupture, -to engage him to continue his kindness to his unhappy guest.—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7_10" id="Footnote_7_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_10"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> How strange are the effects of a disordered imagination! -Mr Rousseau tells us he is ignorant of what passes in the world, -and yet talks of the enemies he has in England. How does he know -this? Where did he see them? He hath received nothing but marks of -beneficence and hospitality. Mr Walpole is the only person who hath -thrown out a little piece of raillery against him; but is not therefore -his enemy. If Mr Rousseau could have seen things exactly as they are, -he would have seen that he had no other friend in England but me, and -no other enemy but himself.—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8_11" id="Footnote_8_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_11"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> That a general outcry should prevail against Mr Rousseau's -persecutors in England, is no wonder. Such an outcry would have -prevailed from sentiments of humanity, had he been a person of much -less note; so that this is no proof of his being esteemed. And as to -the encomiums on him inserted in the public newspapers, the value of -such kind of puffs is well known in England. I have already observed, -that the authors of more respectable works were at no loss what to -think of Mr Rousseau, but had formed a proper judgment of him long -before his arrival in England. The genius which displayed itself in his -writings did by no means blind the eyes of the more sensible part of -mankind to the absurdity and inconsistency of his opinions and conduct. -In exclaiming against Mr Rousseau's fanatical persecutors, they did -not think him the more possessed of the true spirit of martyrdom. The -general opinion indeed was, that he had too much philosophy to be very -devout, and had too much devotion to have much philosophy.—<i>English -Translator</i>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_9_12" id="Footnote_9_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_12"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Mr Rousseau knows very little of the public judgment in -England, if he thinks it is to be influenced by any story told in a -certain Magazine. But, as I have before said, it was not from this -time that Mr Rousseau was slightingly spoke of, but long before, and -that in a more consequential manner. Perhaps, indeed, Mr Rousseau -ought in justice to impute great part of those civilities he met with -on his arrival, rather to vanity and curiosity than to respect and -esteem.—<i>English Translator</i>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_10_13" id="Footnote_10_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_13"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> So then I find I am to answer for every article of every -Magazine and newspaper printed in England. I assure Mr Rousseau I would -rather answer for every robbery committed on the highway; and I am -entirely as innocent of the one as the other.—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_11_14" id="Footnote_11_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_14"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> This relates to my friend Mr John Stewart, who -entertained Mr Rousseau at his house, and did him all the good -offices in his power. Mr Rousseau, in complaining of this gentleman's -behaviour, forgets that he wrote Mr Stewart a letter from Wooton, -full of acknowledgments, and just expressions of gratitude. What Mr -Rousseau adds, regarding the brother of Mr Stewart, is neither civil -nor true—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_12_15" id="Footnote_12_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_15"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> I shall mention only one, that made me smile; this was, -his attention to have, every time I came to see him, a volume of -<i>Eloisa</i> upon his table; as if I did not know enough of Mr Hume's taste -for reading, as to be well assured, that of all books in the world, -Eloisa must be one of the most tiresome to him.—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">ROUSSEAU</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_13_16" id="Footnote_13_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_16"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> The reader may judge from the two first letters of -Mr Rousseau, which I published with that view, on which side the -flatteries commenced. As for the rest, I loved and esteemed Mr -Rousseau, and took a pleasure in giving him to understand so. I might -perhaps be too lavish in my praises; but I can assure the reader he -never once complained of it.—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_14_17" id="Footnote_14_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_17"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> I don't recollect a single circumstance of this history; -but what makes me give very little credit to it, is, that I remember -very well we had settled two different days for the purposes mentioned, -that is, one to go to the Museum, and another to the play.—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_15_18" id="Footnote_15_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_18"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> I conceive Mr Rousseau hints here at two or three -dinners, that were sent him from the house of Mr Stewart, when he -chose to dine at his own lodgings; this was not done, however, to save -him the expense of a meal, but because there was no convenient tavern -or chop-house in the neighbourhood. I beg the reader's pardon for -descending to such trivial particulars.—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_16_19" id="Footnote_16_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_19"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> We have not been authorized to suppress this -affronting term; but it is too gross and groundless to do any injury -to the celebrated and respectable physician to whose name it is -annexed.—<i>French Editors</i>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_17_20" id="Footnote_17_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_20"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> Thus am I accused of treachery, because I am a friend -of Mr Walpole, who hath thrown out a little raillery on Mr Rousseau, -and because the son of a man whom Mr Rousseau does not like lodges -by accident in the same house; because my landladies, who do not -understand a syllable of French, received Mr Rousseau coldly. As to the -rest, all that I said to Mr Rousseau about the young Tronchin was, that -he had not the same prejudices against him as his father.—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_18_21" id="Footnote_18_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_21"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> The story of Mr Rousseau's letters is as follows. He had -often been complaining to me, and with reason, that he was ruined by -postage at Neufchâtel, which commonly cost him about 25 or 26 louis -d'ors a year, and all for letters which were of no significance, being -wrote, some of them by people who took that opportunity of abusing him, -and most of them by persons unknown to him. He was therefore resolved, -he said, in England to receive no letters which came by the post; and -the same resolution he reiterates in his letter to me dated the 22d -of March. When he went to Chiswick, near London, the postman brought -his letters to me. I carried him out a cargo of them. He exclaimed, -desired me to return the letters, and recover the price of postage. I -told him, that, in that case, the clerks of the Post Office were entire -masters of his letters. He said he was indifferent: they might do with -them what they pleased. I added, that he would by that means be cut -off from all correspondence with all his friends. He replied, that he -would give a particular direction to such as he desired to correspond -with. But till his instructions for that purpose could arrive, what -could I do more friendly than to save, at my own expense, his letters -from the curiosity and indiscretion of the clerks of the Post Office? -I am indeed ashamed to find myself obliged to discover such petty -circumstances.——Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_19_22" id="Footnote_19_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_22"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> It is necessary to explain this circumstance. I had been -writing on Mr Hume's table, during his absence, an answer to a letter -I had just received. He came in, very anxious to know what I had been -writing, and hardly able to contain himself from desiring to read it. -I closed my letter, however, without showing it him; when, as I was -putting it into my pocket, he asked me for it eagerly, saying he would -send it away on the morrow, being post-day. The letter lay on the -table. Lord Newnham came in. Mr Hume went out of the room for a moment, -on which I took the letter up again, saying I should find time to send -it the next day. Lord Newnham offered to get it inclosed in the French -ambassador's packet, which I accepted. Mr Hume re-entered the moment -his Lordship had inclosed it, and was pulling out his seal. Mr Hume -officiously offered his own seal, and that with so much earnestness, -that it could not well be refused. The bell was rung, and Lord Newnham -gave the letter to Mr Hume's servant, to give it to his own, who waited -below with the chariot, in order to have it sent to the ambassador. -Mr Hume's servant was hardly got out of the room, but I said to -myself, I'll lay a wager the master follows. He did not fail to do as -I expected. Not knowing how to leave Lord Newnham alone, I staid some -time before I followed Mr Hume. I said nothing; but he must perceive -that I was uneasy. Thus, although I have received no answer to my -letter, I doubt not of its going to hand; but I confess, I cannot help -suspecting it was read first.—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">ROUSSEAU</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_20_23" id="Footnote_20_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_23"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> It appears from what he wrote to me afterwards, that he -was very well satisfied with this letter, and that he thought of it -very well.—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">ROUSSEAU</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_21_24" id="Footnote_21_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_24"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> My answer to this is contained in Mr Rousseau's own -letter of the 22d of March; wherein he expresses himself with the -utmost cordiality, without any reserve, and without the least -appearance of suspicion.—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_22_25" id="Footnote_22_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_25"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> All this hangs upon the fable he had so artfully worked -up, as I before observed.—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_23_26" id="Footnote_23_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_26"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> I had only one such opportunity with his governante, -which was on their arrival in London. I must own it never entered into -my head to talk to her upon any other subject than the concerns of Mr -Rousseau.—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_24_27" id="Footnote_24_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_27"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> See Mr d'Alembert's declaration on this head, annexed to -this narrative.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_25_28" id="Footnote_25_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_28"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> Mr Rousseau declares himself to have been fatigued -with the visits he received; ought he therefore to complain that Mr -d'Alembert, whom he did not like, did not importune him with his?—Mr -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_26_29" id="Footnote_26_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_29"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> This <i>false friend</i> is, undoubtedly, myself. But what is -the treachery? What harm have I done, or could I do to Mr Rousseau? On -the supposition of my entering into a project to ruin him, how could -I think to bring it about by the services I did him? If Mr Rousseau -should gain credit, I must be thought still more weak than wicked.—Mr -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_27_30" id="Footnote_27_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_30"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> The booksellers have lately informed me that the edition -is finished, and will shortly be published. This may be; but it is too -late, and what is still worse, it is too opportune for the purpose -intended to be served.—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">ROUSSEAU</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_28_31" id="Footnote_28_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_31"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> It is about four months since Mr Becket, the bookseller, -told Mr Rousseau that the publication of these pieces was delayed on -account of the indisposition of the translator. As for any thing else, -I never promised to take any charge at all of the edition, as Mr Becket -can testify.—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_29_32" id="Footnote_29_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_32"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> As to Mr Rousseau's suspicions of the cause of the -<i>suppression</i>, as he calls it, of the Narrative and Letters above -mentioned, the translator thinks it incumbent on him to affirm, that -they were entirely groundless. It is true, as Mr Becket told Mr Hume, -that the translator of the letters was indisposed about that time. -But the principal cause of the delay was, that he was of his own mere -motion, no less indisposed to those pieces making their appearance in -English at all;(*) and this not out of ill will to Mr Rousseau, or -good will to Mr Hume, neither of which he ever saw, or spoke to, in -his life; but really out of regard to the character and reputation of -a man, whose genius he admired, and whose works he had translated: -well knowing the publication of such squabbles could do Mr Rousseau -no good in the opinion of the more judicious and sensible part of -mankind. With regard to the translation of the narrative of his manner -of living at Montmorency, I never saw it till it was actually printed, -when Mr Becket put it into my hands, and I frankly told him that I -thought it a very unseasonable, puerile affair, and could by no means -serve to advance Mr Rousseau's estimation in the eyes of the public. -It was certainly of great importance to the good people of England, -to know how Mr Rousseau amused himself seven or eight years ago at -Montmorency, that he cooked his own broth, and did not leave it to the -management of his nurse, for fear she should have a better dinner than -himself! Yet this is one of the most remarkable circumstances contained -in that narrative, except indeed that we are told, Mr Rousseau is a -most passionate admirer of virtue, and that his eyes always sparkle -at the bare mention of that word.—O Virtue! how greatly is thy name -prostituted! And how fair, from the teeth outward, are thy nominal -votaries!—<i>English Translator</i>. -</p> -<p> -(*) For, so far were the booksellers from intending to <i>suppress</i> these -pieces, that they actually reprinted the French edition of Peyrou's -Letters, and published it in London.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_30_33" id="Footnote_30_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_33"><span class="label">[30]</span></a> No body could possibly be mistaken with regard to the -letter's being fictitious; besides it was well known that Mr Walpole -was the author of it—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_31_34" id="Footnote_31_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_34"><span class="label">[31]</span></a> Mr Rousseau forgets himself here. It was but a week -before that he wrote me a very friendly letter. See his letter of the -29th of March.—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_32_35" id="Footnote_32_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_35"><span class="label">[32]</span></a> I know nothing of this pretended libel.—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_33_36" id="Footnote_33_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_36"><span class="label">[33]</span></a> I have never been so happy as to meet with Mr de -Voltaire; he only did me the honour to write me a letter about three -years ago. As to Mr Tronchin, I never saw him in my life, nor ever had -any correspondence with him. Of Mr d'Alembert's friendship, indeed, I -am proud to make a boast.—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_34_37" id="Footnote_34_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34_37"><span class="label">[34]</span></a> Why indeed? except that sensible people in England -are averse to affectation and quackery. Those who see and despise -these most in Mr Rousseau, are not, however, his <i>enemies</i>; perhaps, -if he could be brought to think so, they are his best and truest -friends.—<i>English Translator</i>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_35_38" id="Footnote_35_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35_38"><span class="label">[35]</span></a> Mr Rousseau, seeing the letter addressed to him in -the name of Voltaire advertised in the public papers, wrote to Mr -Davenport, who was then in London, to desire he would bring it him. I -told Mr Davenport that the printed copy was very faulty, but that I -would ask of Lord Littleton a manuscript copy, which was correct. This -is sufficient to make Mr Rousseau conclude that Lord Littleton is his -mortal enemy, and my intimate friend; and that we are in a conspiracy -against him. He ought rather to have concluded, that the printed copy -could not come from me,—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>. -</p> -<p> -The piece above mentioned was shown to the <i>Translator</i> before its -publication, and many absurd liberties taken with the original pointed -out and censured. At which time there did not appear, from the parties -concerned in it, that Mr Hume could have the least hand in, or could -have known any thing of the edition.—<i>English Translator</i>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_36_39" id="Footnote_36_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36_39"><span class="label">[36]</span></a> I have never seen this piece, neither before nor after -its publication; nor has it come to the knowledge of any body to whom I -have spoken of it—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>. -</p> -<p> -The <i>translator</i>, who has been attentive to every thing that has come -out from, or about Mr Rousseau, knows also nothing of this piece. Why -did not Mr Rousseau mention particularly in what paper, and when it -appeared?—<i>English Translator</i>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_37_40" id="Footnote_37_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37_40"><span class="label">[37]</span></a> I was not present when Mr Rousseau received his cousin. -I only just saw them afterwards together for about a minute on the -terrace in Buckingham Street.—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_38_41" id="Footnote_38_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38_41"><span class="label">[38]</span></a> How was it possible for me to guess at such chimerical -suspicions? Mr Davenport, the only person of my acquaintance who then -saw Mr Rousseau, assures me that he was perfectly ignorant of them -himself.—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_39_42" id="Footnote_39_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39_42"><span class="label">[39]</span></a> I cannot answer for every thing I may say in my sleep, -and much less am I conscious whether or not I dream in French. But -pray, as Mr Rousseau did not know whether I was asleep or awake when I -pronounced those terrible words, with such a terrible voice, how is he -certain that he himself was well awake when he heard them?—Mr <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_40_43" id="Footnote_40_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor_40_43"><span class="label">[40]</span></a> And does it depend on an <i>if</i>, after all Mr R's positive -conviction, and absolute demonstrations?—<i>English Translator</i>.</p></div> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p>I hesitated some time whether I should make any reply to this strange -memorial. At length I determined to write Mr Rousseau the following -letter.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<blockquote> - -<h5>MR HUME TO MR ROUSSEAU.</h5> - - -<p style="margin-left: 40%;"><i>Lisle-street, Leicester-fields, July</i> 22<i>d</i>, 1766.</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em;">SIR,</p> - -<p>I shall only answer one article of your long letter: it -is that which regards the conversation between us the -evening before your departure. Mr Davenport had imagined a -good natured artifice, to make you believe that a retour -chaise had offered for Wooton; and I believe he made an -advertisement be put in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cxi" id="Page_cxi">[Pg cxi]</a></span> papers, in order the better to -deceive you. His purpose was only to save you some expenses -in the journey, which I thought a laudable project; though -I had no hand either in contriving or conducting it. You -entertained, how ever, suspicions of his design, while we -were sitting alone by my fire-side; and you reproached me -with concurring in it. I endeavoured to pacify you, and to -divert the discourse; but to no purpose. You sat sullen, -and was either silent, or made me very peevish answers. At -last you rose up, and took a turn or two about the room; -when all of a sudden, and to my great surprise, you clapped -yourself on my knee, threw your arms about my neck, kissed -me with seeming ardour, and bedewed my face with tears. -You exclaimed, 'My dear friend, can you ever pardon this -folly! After all the pains you have taken to serve me, -after the numberless instances of friendship you have given -me, here I reward you with this ill humour and sullenness. -But your forgiveness of me will be a new instance of your -friendship; and I hope you will find at bottom, that my -heart is not unworthy of it.'</p> - -<p>I was very much affected, I own; and I believe, there -passed a very tender scene between us. You added, by -way of compliment, that though I had many better titles -to recommend me to posterity, yet perhaps my uncommon -attachment and friendship to a poor unhappy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cxii" id="Page_cxii">[Pg cxii]</a></span> persecuted -man, would not altogether be overlooked.</p> - -<p>This incident, Sir, was somewhat remarkable; and it is -impossible that either you or I could so soon have forgot -it. But you have had the assurance to tell me the story -twice in a manner so different, or rather so opposite, that -when I persist, as I do, in this account, it necessarily -follows, that either you or I am a liar. You imagine, -perhaps, that because the incident passed privately without -a witness, the question will lie between the credibility -of your assertion and of mine. But you shall not have this -advantage or disadvantage, whichever you are pleased to -term it. I shall produce against you other proofs, which -will put the matter beyond controversy.</p> - -<p>First, You are not aware, that I have a letter under your -hand, which is totally irreconcilable with your account, -and confirms mine.<a name="FNanchor_41_44" id="FNanchor_41_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_41_44" class="fnanchor">[41]</a></p> - -<p>Secondly, I told the story the next day, or the day after, -to Mr Davenport, with a friendly view of preventing any -such good natured artifices for the future. He surely -remembers it.</p> - -<p>Thirdly, As I thought the story much to your honour, I -told it to several of my friends<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cxiii" id="Page_cxiii">[Pg cxiii]</a></span> here. I even wrote it to -Mde. de Boufflers at Paris. I believe no one will imagine, -that I was preparing beforehand an apology, in case of a -rupture with you; which, of all human events, I should then -have thought the most incredible, especially as we were -separated almost for ever, and I still continued to render -you the most essential services.</p> - -<p>Fourthly, The story, as I tell it, is consistent and -rational: there is not common sense in your account. What! -because sometimes, when absent in thought, I have a fixed -look or stare, you suspect me to be a traitor, and you -have the assurance to tell me of such black and ridiculous -suspicions! Are not most studious men (and many of them -more than I) subject to such reveries or fits of absence, -without being exposed to such suspicions? You do not even -pretend that, before you left London, you had any other -solid grounds of suspicion against me.</p> - -<p>I shall enter into no detail with regard to your letter: -the other articles of it are as much without foundation as -you yourself know this to be. I shall only add, in general, -that I enjoyed about a month ago an uncommon pleasure, when -I reflected, that through many difficulties, and by most -assiduous care and pains, I had, beyond my most sanguine -expectations, provided for your repose, honour and fortune. -But I soon felt a very sensible uneasiness when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cxiv" id="Page_cxiv">[Pg cxiv]</a></span> I found -that you had wantonly and voluntarily thrown away all these -advantages, and was become the declared enemy of your -repose, fortune, and honour: I cannot be surprised after -this that you are my enemy. Adieu, and for ever. I am, Sir, -yours,</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-left: 65%;">D. H.</p></blockquote> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_41_44" id="Footnote_41_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor_41_44"><span class="label">[41]</span></a> That of the 22d of March, which is entirely cordial; and -proves that Mr Rousseau had never, till that moment, entertained, or -at least discovered the smallest suspicion against me. There is also -in the same letter, a peevish passage about the hire of a chaise.—Mr -<span style="font-size: 0.8em;">HUME</span>.</p></div> - - -<p>To all these papers, I need only subjoin the following letter of Mr -Walpole to me, which proves how ignorant and innocent I am of the whole -matter of the King of Prussia's letter.</p> - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<blockquote> - -<h5>MR WALPOLE TO MR HUME.</h5> - - -<p style="margin-left: 40%;"><i>Arlington Street, July</i> 26<i>th</i>, 1766.</p> - -<p>I cannot be precise as to the time of my writing the King -of Prussia's letter, but I do assure you, with the utmost -truth, that it was several days before you left Paris, -and before Rousseau's arrival there, of which I can give -you a strong proof; for I not only suppressed the letter -while you staid there, out of delicacy to you, but it was -the reason why, out of delicacy to myself, I did not go to -see him, as you often proposed to me; thinking it wrong to -go and make a cordial visit to a man, with a letter in my -pocket to laugh at him. You are at full liberty, dear Sir, -to make use of what I say in your justification, either -to Rousseau or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cxv" id="Page_cxv">[Pg cxv]</a></span> any body else. I should be very sorry to -have you blamed on my account: I have a hearty contempt of -Rousseau, and am perfectly indifferent what any body thinks -of the matter. If there is any fault, which I am far from -thinking, let it lie on me. No parts can hinder my laughing -at their possessor, if he is a mountebank. If he has a bad -and most ungrateful heart, as Rousseau has shown in your -case, into the bargain, he will have my scorn likewise, as -he will of all good and sensible men. You may trust your -sentence to such, who are as respectable judges as any that -have pored over ten thousand more volumes.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 40%;">Yours most sincerely,</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 65%; font-size: 0.8em;">H. W.</p></blockquote> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p>Thus I have given a narrative, as concise as possible, of this -extraordinary affair, which I am told has very much attracted the -attention of the public, and which contains more unexpected incidents -than any other in which I was ever engaged. The persons to whom I have -shown the original papers which authenticate the whole, have differed -very much in their opinion, as well of the use I ought to make of them -as of Mr Rousseau's present sentiments and state of mind. Some of them -have maintained that he is altogether insincere in his quarrel with -me, and his opinion of my guilt, and that the whole proceeds from that -excessive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cxvi" id="Page_cxvi">[Pg cxvi]</a></span> pride which forms the basis of his character, and which -leads him both to seek the eclat of refusing the King of England's -bounty, and to shake off the intolerable burthen of an obligation to -me, by every sacrifice of honour, truth, and friendship, as well as of -interest. They found their sentiments on the absurdity of that first -supposition on which he grounds his anger, viz. that Mr Walpole's -letter, which he knew had been every where dispersed both in Paris -and London, was given to the press by me; and as this supposition is -contrary to common sense on the one hand, and not supported even by the -pretence of the slightest probability on the other, they conclude, that -it never had any weight even with the person himself who lays hold of -it. They confirm their sentiments by the number of fictions and lies -which he employs to justify his anger; fictions with regard to points -in which it is impossible for him to be mistaken. They also remark his -real cheerfulness and gaiety, amidst the deep melancholy with which -he pretended to be oppressed; not to mention the absurd reasoning -which runs through the whole, and on which it is impossible for any -man to rest his conviction. And though a very important interest is -here abandoned, yet money is not universally the chief object with -mankind: vanity weighs farther with some men, particularly with this -philosopher; and the very ostentation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cxvii" id="Page_cxvii">[Pg cxvii]</a></span> of refusing a pension from the -King of England—an ostentation which, with regard to other Princes, -he has often sought—might be of itself a sufficient motive for his -present conduct.</p> - -<p>There are others of my friends who regard this whole affair in a more -compassionate light, and consider Mr Rousseau as an object rather -of pity than of anger. They suppose the same domineering pride and -ingratitude to be the basis of his character; but they are also willing -to believe that his brain has received a sensible shock, and that his -judgment, set afloat, is carried to every side, as it is pushed by the -current of his humours and of his passions. The absurdity of his belief -is no proof of its insincerity. He imagines himself the sole important -being in the universe: he fancies all mankind to be in a combination -against him: his greatest benefactor, as hurting him most, is the chief -object of his animosity: and though he supports all his whimsies by -lies and fictions, this is so frequent a case with wicked men, who are -in that middle state between sober reason and total frenzy, that it -needs give no surprise to any body.</p> - -<p>I own that I am much inclined to this latter opinion; though, at -the same time, I question whether, in any period of his life, Mr -Rousseau was ever more in his senses than he is at present. The former -brilliancy of his genius,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cxviii" id="Page_cxviii">[Pg cxviii]</a></span> and his great talents for writing, are no -proof of the contrary. It is an old remark, that great wits are near -allied to madness; and even in those frantic letters which he has wrote -to me, there are evidently strong traces of his wonted genius and -eloquence. He has frequently told me that he was composing his memoirs, -in which justice should be done to his own character, to that of his -friends, and to that of his enemies; and as Mr Davenport informs me, -that, since his retreat into the country, he has been much employed in -writing, I have reason to conclude that he is at present finishing that -undertaking. Nothing could be more unexpected to me than my passing -so suddenly from the class of his friend to that of his enemies; but -this transition being made, I must expect to be treated accordingly; -and I own that this reflection gave me some anxiety.<a name="FNanchor_42_45" id="FNanchor_42_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_42_45" class="fnanchor">[42]</a> A work of -this nature, both from the celebrity of the person, and the strokes -of eloquence interspersed, would certainly attract the attention of -the world; and it might be published either after my death, or after -that of the author. In the former case, there would be nobody who -could tell the story, or justify my memory. In the latter, my apology, -wrote in opposition to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cxix" id="Page_cxix">[Pg cxix]</a></span> a dead person, would lose a great deal of its -authenticity. For this reason, I have at present collected the whole -story into one Narrative, that I may show it to my friends, and at any -time have it in my power to make whatever use of it they and I should -think proper. I am, and always have been, such a lover of peace, that -nothing but necessity, or very forcible reasons, could have obliged me -to give it to the public.</p> - -<p><i>'Perdidi beneficium. Numquid quĉ consecravimus perdidisse nos dicimus? -Inter consecrata beneficium est; etiam si male respondit, bene -collatum. Non est ille qualem speravimus; simus nos quales fuimus, ei -dissimiles.'</i><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 40%; font-size: 0.8em;">SENECA DE BENEFICIIS, LIB. VII. CAP. 29.</span><br /> -</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_42_45" id="Footnote_42_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor_42_45"><span class="label">[42]</span></a> In his letter of the 22d of March, he flatters me -indirectly with the figure I am to make in his Memoirs. In that of -the 23d of June, he threatens me. These are proofs how much he is in -earnest.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cxx" id="Page_cxx">[Pg cxx]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h4><a name="DECLARATION_OF_MR_DALEMBERT_RELATING_TO_MR_WALPOLES_LETTER" id="DECLARATION_OF_MR_DALEMBERT_RELATING_TO_MR_WALPOLES_LETTER">DECLARATION OF MR D'ALEMBERT, RELATING TO MR WALPOLE'S LETTER.</a></h4> - - -<p class="center">(<i>Addressed to the French Editors</i>.)</p> - -<p class="p2">It is with the greatest surprise I learn, from Mr Hume, that Mr -Rousseau accuses me of being the author of the ironical letter -addressed to him, in the public papers, under the name of the King of -Prussia. Every body knows, both at Paris and London, that such letter -was written by Mr Walpole; nor does he disown it. He acknowledges only -that he was a little assisted, in regard to the style, by a person he -does not name, and whom perhaps he ought to name. As to my part, on -whom the public suspicions have fallen in this affair, I am not at -all acquainted with Mr Walpole. I don't even believe I ever spoke to -him; having only happened to meet once occasionally on a visit. I have -not only had not the least to do, either directly or indirectly, with -the letter in question, but could mention above a hundred persons, -among the friends as well as enemies of Mr Rousseau, who have heard me -greatly disapprove of it; because, as I said, we ought not to ridicule -the unfortunate, especially when they do us no harm. Besides, my -respect for the King of Prussia, and the acknowledgments I owe him, -might, I should have thought, have persuaded Mr Rousseau that I should -not have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cxxi" id="Page_cxxi">[Pg cxxi]</a></span> taken such a liberty with the name of that Prince, though in -pleasantry.</p> - -<p>To this I shall add, that I never was an enemy to Mr Rousseau, either -open or secret, as he pretends; and I defy him to produce the least -proof of my having endeavoured to injure him in any shape whatever. I -can prove to the contrary, by the most respectable witnesses, that I -have always endeavoured to oblige him, whenever it lay in my power.</p> - -<p>As to my pretended <i>secret correspondence</i> with Mr Hume, it is very -certain that we did not begin to write to each other till about five -or six months after his departure, on occasion of the quarrel arisen -between him and Mr Rousseau, and into which the latter thought proper -unnecessarily to introduce me.</p> - -<p>I thought this declaration necessary for my own sake, as well as for -the sake of truth, and in regard to the situation of Mr Rousseau. I -sincerely lament his having so little confidence in the probity of -mankind, and particularly in that of Mr Hume.</p> - -<p style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-left: 65%;">D'ALEMBERT.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cxxiii" id="Page_cxxiii">[Pg cxxiii]</a></span></p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cxxv" id="Page_cxxv">[Pg cxxv]</a></span></p> -<h4><a name="SCOTTICISMS" id="SCOTTICISMS">SCOTTICISMS.</a></h4> - - -<p><i>Will</i>, in the first person, as <i>I will walk</i>, <i>we will walk</i>, -expresses the intention or resolution of the person, along with the -future event: In the second and third person, as, <i>you will</i>, <i>he -will</i>, <i>they will</i>, it expresses the future action or event, without -comprehending or excluding the volition.</p> - -<p><i>Shall</i>, in the first person, whether singular or plural, expresses -the future action or event, without excluding or comprehending the -intention or resolution: But in the <i>second</i> or <i>third</i> person, it -marks a necessity, and commonly a necessity proceeding from the person -who speaks; as, <i>he shall walk</i>, <i>you shall repent it</i>.</p> - -<p>These variations seem to have proceeded from a politeness in the -<i>English</i>, who, in speaking to others, or of others, made use of the -term <i>will</i>, which implies volition, even where the event may be the -subject of necessity and constraint. And in speaking of themselves, -made use of the term <i>shall</i>, which implies constraint, even though the -event may be the object of choice.</p> - -<p><i>Wou'd</i> and <i>shou'd</i> are conjunctive moods, subject to the same rule; -only, we may observe, that in a sentence, where there is a condition -exprest, and a consequence of that condition, the former always -requires <i>shou'd</i>, and the latter <i>wou'd</i>, in the second and third -persons; as, <i>if he shou'd fall, he wou'd break his leg</i>, &c.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cxxvi" id="Page_cxxvi">[Pg cxxvi]</a></span></p> - -<p><i>These</i> is the plural of <i>this</i>; <i>those of that</i>. The former, -therefore, expresses what is near: the latter, what is more remote. As, -in these lines of the Duke of Buckingham,</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">"Philosophers and poets vainly strove,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In every age, the lumpish mass to move.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">THOSE</span> were pedants if compared with <span style="font-size: 0.8em;">THESE</span>,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Who knew not only to instruct, but please."</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Where a relative is to follow, and the subject has not been mentioned -immediately before, <i>those</i> is always required. <i>Those observations -which he made</i>. <i>Those kingdoms which Alexander conquered</i>.</p> - -<p>In the verbs, which end in <i>t</i>, or <i>te</i>, we frequently omit <i>ed</i> in -the preterperfect and in the participle; as, <i>he operate</i>, <i>it was -cultivate</i>. <i>Milton</i> says, <i>in thought more elevate</i>; but he is the -only author who uses that expression.</p> - -<p><i>Notice</i> shou'd not be used as a verb. The proper phrase is <i>take -notice</i>. Yet I find Lord Shaftesbury uses <i>notic'd</i>, the participle: -And <i>unnotic'd</i> is very common.</p> - -<p><i>Hinder to do</i>, is <i>Scotch</i>. The <i>English</i> phrase is, <i>hinder from -doing</i>. Yet <i>Milton</i> says, <i>Hindered not Satan to pervert the mind</i>. -Book IX.</p> - - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="center"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td align="left"><span style="font-size: 0.8em;">SCOTCH</span></td><td></td><td align="left"><span style="font-size: 0.8em;">ENGLISH</span></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"> -Conform to<br /> -Friends and acquaintances<br /> -Maltreat<br /> -Advert to<br /> -Proven, improven, approven<br /> -Pled<br /> -Incarcerate<br /> -Tear to pieces<br /> -Drunk, run<br /> -Fresh weather<br /> -Tender<br /> -In the long run<br /> -Notwithstanding of that<br /> -Contented himself to do<br /> -'Tis a question if<br /> -Discretion<br /> -With child to a man<br /> -Out of hand<br /> -Simply impossible<br /> -A park<br /> -In time coming<br /> -Nothing else<br /> -Mind it<br /> -Denuded<br /> -Severals<br /> -Some better<br /> -Anent<br /> -Allenarly<br /> -Alongst. Yet the <i>English</i><br /> -say both amid, amidst, among,<br /> -and amongst<br /> -Evenly<br /> -As I shall answer<br /> -Cause him do it. Yet 'tis<br /> -good <i>English</i> to say, make<br /> -him do it<br /> -Marry upon<br /> -Learn<br /> -There, where<br /> -Effectuate. This word in <i>English</i><br /> -means to effect with<br /> -pains and difficulty.<br /> -A wright. Yet 'tis good <i>English</i><br /> -to say, a wheelwright<br /> -Defunct<br /> -Evite<br /> -Part with child<br /> -Notour<br /> -To want it<br /> -<br /> -To be difficulted<br /> -Rebuted<br /> -For ordinary<br /> -Think shame<br /> -In favours of<br /> -Dubiety<br /> -Prejudge<br /> -Compete<br /> -Heritable<br /> -To remeed<br /> -Bankier<br /> -Adduce a proof<br /> -Superplus<br /> -Forfaulture<br /> -In no event<br /> -Common soldiers<br /> -Big with a man<br /> -Bygone<br /> -Debitor<br /> -Exeemed<br /> -Yesternight<br /> -Big coat<br /> -chimney<br /> -Annualrent<br /> -Tenible argument<br /> -Amissing<br /> -To condescend upon<br /> -To discharge<br /> -To extinguish an obligation<br /> -To depone<br /> -A compliment<br /> -To inquire at a man<br /> -To be angry at a man<br /> -To send an errand<br /> -To furnish goods to him<br /> -To open up<br /> -<i>Thucydide, Herodot, Sueton</i><br /> -Butter and bread<br /> -Pepper and vinegar<br /> -Paper, pen and ink<br /> -Readily<br /> -On a sudden<br /> -As ever I saw<br /> -For my share<br /> -Misgive<br /> -Rather chuse to buy as sell<br /> -Deduce<br /> -Look't over the window<br /> -A pretty enough girl<br /> -'Tis a week since he left this<br /> -Come in to the fire<br /> -To take off a new coat<br /> -Alwise<br /> -Cut out his hair<br /> -Cry him<br /> -To crave<br /> -To get a stomach<br /> -Vacance -</td> -<td> </td> -<td align="left" style="margin-left: 2em;"> -Conformable to<br /> -Friends and acquaintance<br /> -Abuse<br /> -Attend to<br /> -Prov'd, improved, approv'd<br /> -Pleaded<br /> -Imprison<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cxxvii" id="Page_cxxvii">[Pg cxxvii]</a></span> -Tear in pieces<br /> -Drank, ran<br /> -Open weather<br /> -Sickly<br /> -At long run<br /> -Notwithstanding that<br /> -Contented himself with doing<br /> -'Tis a question whether<br /> -Civility<br /> -With child by a man<br /> -Presently<br /> -Absolutely impossible<br /> -An enclosure<br /> -In time to come<br /> -No other thing<br /> -Remember it<br /> -Divested<br /> -Several<br /> -Something better<br /> -With regard to<br /> -Solely<br /> -<br /> -Along<br /> -<br /> -Even<br /> -I protest or declare<br /> -<br /> -Cause him to do it<br /> -<br /> -Marry to<br /> -Teach<br /> -Thither, whither<br /> -<br /> -Effect<br /> -<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cxxviii" id="Page_cxxviii">[Pg cxxviii]</a></span> -A Carpenter<br /> -<br /> -Deceast<br /> -Avoid<br /> -Miscarry<br /> -Notorious<br /> -To be without a thing, even<br /> -though it be not desirable<br /> -To be puzzled<br /> -Discouraged by repulses<br /> -Usually<br /> -Asham'd<br /> -In favour of<br /> -Doubtfulness<br /> -Hurt<br /> -Enter into competition<br /> -Hereditary<br /> -To remedy<br /> -Banker<br /> -Produce a proof<br /> -Surplus<br /> -Forfeiture<br /> -In no case<br /> -Private men<br /> -Great with a man<br /> -Past<br /> -Debtor<br /> -Exempted<br /> -Last night<br /> -Great coat<br /> -A grate<br /> -Interest<br /> -Good argument<br /> -Missing<br /> -To specify<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_cxxix" id="Page_cxxix">[Pg cxxix]</a></span> -To forbid<br /> -To cancel an obligation<br /> -To depose<br /> -A present<br /> -To inquire of a man<br /> -To be angry with a man<br /> -To send off an errand<br /> -To furnish him with goods<br /> -To open, or lay open<br /> -<i>Thucydides, Herodotus, Suetonius</i><br /> -Bread and butter<br /> -Vinegar and pepper<br /> -Pen, ink and paper<br /> -Probably<br /> -Of a sudden<br /> -As I ever saw<br /> -For my part<br /> -Fail<br /> -Rather chuse to buy than sell<br /> -Deduct<br /> -Look't out at the window<br /> -A pretty girl enough<br /> -'Tis a week since he left this place<br /> -Come near the fire<br /> -To make up a new suit<br /> -Always<br /> -Cut off his hair<br /> -Call him<br /> -To dun, to ask payment<br /> -To get an appetite<br /> -Vacation<br /> -</td> -</tr> -</table></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></p> -<h3><a name="A_TREATISE_OF_HUMAN_NATURE" id="A_TREATISE_OF_HUMAN_NATURE">A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.</a></h3> - - -<h4>BEING AN ATTEMPT TO INTRODUCE THE</h4> - -<h4>EXPERIMENTAL METHOD OF</h4> - -<h4>REASONING INTO</h4> - -<h4>MORAL SUBJECTS.</h4> - -<h4>RARA TEMPORUM FELICITAS, UBI SENTIRE, QUĈ VELIS;</h4> - -<h4>ET QUĈ SENTIAS, DICERE LICET.</h4> - -<h4>TACITUS.</h4> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></p> -<hr class="tb" /> -<h5><a name="BOOK_I_I" id="BOOK_I_I">BOOK I.</a></h5> - -<h4>OF THE UNDERSTANDING.</h4> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="ADVERTISEMENT_b" id="ADVERTISEMENT_b"><i>ADVERTISEMENT.</i></a></h5> - -<p><i>My design in the present Work is sufficiently explained in the -Introduction. The reader must only observe, that all the subjects I -have there planned out to myself are not treated in these two volumes. -The subjects of the Understanding and Passions make a complete chain -of reasoning by themselves; and I was willing to take advantage of -this natural division, in order to try the taste of the Public. If I -have the good fortune to meet with success, I shall proceed to the -examination of Morals, Politics, and Criticism, which will complete -this Treatise of Human Nature. The approbation of the Public I consider -as the greatest reward of my labours; but am determined to regard its -judgment, whatever it be, as my best instruction.</i></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION">INTRODUCTION.</a></h5> - - -<p>Nothing is more usual and more natural for those, who pretend to -discover any thing new to the world in philosophy and the sciences, -than to insinuate the praises of their own systems, by decrying all -those which have been advanced before them. And indeed were they -content with lamenting that ignorance, which we still lie under in the -most important questions that can come before the tribunal of human -reason, there are few, who have an acquaintance with the sciences, that -would not readily agree with them. 'Tis easy for one of judgment and -learning, to perceive the weak foundation even of those systems, which -have obtained the greatest credit, and have carried their pretensions -highest to accurate and profound reasoning. Principles taken upon -trust, consequences lamely deduced from them, want of coherence in the -parts, and of evidence in the whole, these are every where to be met -with in the systems of the most eminent philosophers, and seem to have -drawn disgrace upon philosophy itself.</p> - -<p>Nor is there required such profound knowledge to discover the present -imperfect condition of the sciences, but even the rabble without doors -may judge from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> noise and clamour which they hear, that all goes -not well within. There is nothing which is not the subject of debate, -and in which men of learning are not of contrary opinions. The most -trivial question escapes not our controversy, and in the most momentous -we are not able to give any certain decision. Disputes are multiplied, -as if every thing was uncertain. Amidst all this bustle, 'tis not -reason which carries the prize, but eloquence; and no man needs ever -despair of gaining proselytes to the most extravagant hypothesis, who -has art enough to represent it in any favourable colours. The victory -is not gained by the men at arms, who manage the pike and the sword, -but by the trumpeters, drummers, and musicians of the army.</p> - -<p>From hence, in my opinion, arises that common prejudice against -metaphysical reasonings of all kinds, even amongst those who profess -themselves scholars, and have a just value for every other part of -literature. By metaphysical reasonings, they do not understand those -on any particular branch of science, but every kind of argument which -is any way abstruse, and requires some attention to be comprehended. -We have so often lost our labour in such researches, that we commonly -reject them without hesitation, and resolve, if we must for ever be -a prey to errors and delusions, that they shall at least be natural -and entertaining. And, indeed, nothing but the most determined -scepticism, along with a great degree of indolence, can justify this -aversion to metaphysics. For, if truth be at all within the reach -of human capacity, 'tis certain it must lie very deep and abstruse; -and to hope we shall arrive at it without pains, while the greatest -geniuses have failed with the utmost pains, must certainly be esteemed -sufficiently vain and presumptuous. I pretend<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> to no such advantage -in the philosophy I am going to unfold, and would esteem it a strong -presumption against it, were it so very easy and obvious.</p> - -<p>'Tis evident, that all the sciences have a relation, greater or less, -to human nature; and that, however wide any of them may seem to run -from it, they still return back by one passage or another; Even -<i>Mathematics</i>, <i>Natural Philosophy</i>, and <i>Natural Religion</i>, are in -some measure dependant on the science of MAN; since they lie under the -cognizance of men, and are judged of by their powers and faculties. -'Tis impossible to tell what changes and improvements we; might make in -these sciences were we thoroughly acquainted with the extent and force -of human understanding, and could explain the nature of the ideas we -employ, and of the operations we perform in our reasonings. And these -improvements are the more to be hoped for in natural religion, as it -is not content with instructing us in the nature of superior powers, -but carries its views farther, to their disposition towards us, and our -duties towards them; and consequently, we ourselves are not only the -beings that reason, but also one of the objects concerning which we -reason.</p> - -<p>If, therefore, the sciences of mathematics, natural philosophy, and -natural religion, have such a dependence on the knowledge of man, what -may be expected in the other sciences, whose connexion with human -nature is more close and intimate? The sole end of logic is to explain -the principles and operations of our reasoning faculty, and the nature -of our ideas; morals and criticism regard our tastes and sentiments; -and politics consider men as united in society, and dependent on each -other. In these four sciences of <i>Logic</i>, <i>Morals</i>, <i>Criticism</i>, and -<i>Politics</i>, is comprehended almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> every thing which it can any way -import us to be acquainted with, or which can tend either to the -improvement or ornament of the human mind.</p> - -<p>Here then is the only expedient, from which we can hope for success in -our philosophical researches, to leave the tedious lingering method, -which we have hitherto followed, and, instead of taking now and then a -castle or village on the frontier, to march up directly to the capital -or centre of these sciences, to human nature itself; which being once -masters of, we may every where else hope for an easy victory. From this -station we may extend our conquests over all those sciences, which more -intimately concern human life, and may afterwards proceed at leisure, -to discover more fully those which are the objects of pure curiosity. -There is no question of importance, whose decision is not comprised -in the science of man; and there is none, which can be decided with -any certainty, before we become acquainted with that science. In -pretending, therefore, to explain the principles of human nature, we in -effect propose a complete system of the sciences, built on a foundation -almost entirely new, and the only one upon which they can stand with -any security.</p> - -<p>And, as the science of man is the only solid foundation for the other -sciences, so, the only solid foundation we can give to this science -itself must be laid on experience and observation. 'Tis no astonishing -reflection to consider, that the application of experimental philosophy -to moral subjects should come after that to natural, at the distance -of above a whole century; since we find in fact, that there was about -the same interval betwixt the origins of these sciences; and that, -reckoning from Thales to Socrates, the space of time is nearly equal to -that betwixt my Lord Bacon and some late<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> philosophers<a name="FNanchor_1_46" id="FNanchor_1_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_46" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> in England, -who have begun to put the science of man on a new footing, and have -engaged the attention, and excited the curiosity of the public. So true -it is, that however other nations may rival us in poetry, and excel us -in some other agreeable arts, the improvements in reason and philosophy -can only be owing to a land of toleration and of liberty.</p> - -<p>Nor ought we to think, that this latter improvement in the science -of man will do less honour to our native country than the former in -natural philosophy, but ought rather to esteem it a greater glory, -upon account of the greater importance of that science, as well as -the necessity it lay under of such a reformation. For to me it seems -evident, that the essence of the mind being equally unknown to us with -that of external bodies, it must be equally impossible to form any -notion of its powers and qualities otherwise than from careful and -exact experiments, and the observation of those particular effects, -which result from its different circumstances and situations. And -though we must endeavour to render all our principles as universal as -possible, by tracing up our experiments to the utmost, and explaining -all effects from the simplest and fewest causes, 'tis still certain -we cannot go beyond experience; and any hypothesis, that pretends to -discover the ultimate original qualities of human nature, ought at -first to be rejected as presumptuous and chimerical.</p> - -<p>I do not think a philosopher, who would apply himself so earnestly to -the explaining the ultimate principles of the soul, would show himself -a great master in that very science of human nature, which he pretends<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> -to explain, or very knowing in what is naturally satisfactory to the -mind of man. For nothing is more certain, than that despair has almost -the same effect upon us with enjoyment, and that we are no sooner -acquainted with the impossibility of satisfying any desire, than the -desire itself vanishes. When we see, that we have arrived at the utmost -extent of human reason, we sit down contented; though we be perfectly -satisfied in the main of our ignorance, and perceive that we can give -no reason for our most general and most refined principles, beside our -experience of their reality; which is the reason of the mere vulgar, -and what it required no study at first to have discovered for the most -particular and most extraordinary phenomenon. And as this impossibility -of making any farther progress is enough to satisfy the reader, so -the writer may derive a more delicate satisfaction from the free -confession of his ignorance, and from his prudence in avoiding that -error, into which so many have fallen, of imposing their conjectures -and hypotheses on the world for the most certain principles. When this -mutual contentment and satisfaction can be obtained betwixt the master -and scholar, I know not what more we can require of our philosophy.</p> - -<p>But if this impossibility of explaining ultimate principles should be -esteemed a defect in the science of man, I will venture to affirm, -that it is a defect common to it with all the sciences, and all the -arts, in which we can employ ourselves, whether they be such as are -cultivated in the schools of the philosophers, or practised in the -shops of the meanest artisans. None of them can go beyond experience, -or establish any principles which are not founded on that authority. -Moral philosophy has, indeed, this peculiar disadvantage,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> which is -not found in natural, that in collecting its experiments, it cannot -make them purposely, with premeditation, and after such a manner as to -satisfy itself concerning every particular difficulty which may arise. -When I am at a loss to know the effects of one body upon another in -any situation, I need only put them in that situation, and observe -what results from it. But should I endeavour to clear up after the -same manner any doubt in moral philosophy, by placing myself in the -same case with that which I consider, 'tis evident this reflection and -premeditation would so disturb the operation of my natural principles, -as must render it impossible to form any just conclusion from the -phenomenon. We must, therefore, glean up our experiments in this -science from a cautious observation of human life, and take them as -they appear in the common course of the world, by men's behaviour in -company, in affairs, and in their pleasures. Where experiments of this -kind are judiciously collected and compared, we may hope to establish -on them a science which will not be inferior in certainty, and will be -much superior in utility, to any other of human comprehension.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_46" id="Footnote_1_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_46"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Mr Locke, my Lord Shaftsbury, Dr Mandeville, Mr -Hutchinson, Dr Butler, &c.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h5> -BOOK I.</h5> - -<h4>OF THE UNDERSTANDING.</h4> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<h5><a name="PART_I_I" id="PART_I_I">PART I.</a></h5> - -<h4>OF IDEAS, THEIR ORIGIN, COMPOSITION, CONNEXION,</h4> - -<h4>AND ABSTRACTION.</h4> - - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="SECTION_I_aI" id="SECTION_I_aI">SECTION I.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF THE ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS.</h5> - - -<p>All the perceptions of the human mind resolve themselves into two -distinct kinds, which I shall call <i>impressions</i> and <i>ideas</i>. The -difference betwixt these consists in the degrees of force and -liveliness, with which they strike upon the mind, and make their way -into our thought or consciousness. Those perceptions which enter with -most force and violence, we may name <i>impressions</i>; and, under this -name, I comprehend all our sensations, passions, and emotions, as they -make their first appearance in the soul. By <i>ideas</i>, I mean the faint -images of these in thinking and reasoning; such as, for instance, are -all the perceptions excited by the present discourse, excepting only -those which arise from the sight and touch, and excepting the immediate -pleasure or uneasiness it may occasion. I believe it will not be very -necessary to employ many Words, in explaining this distinction. Every -one of himself will readily perceive the difference betwixt feeling -and thinking. The common degrees of these are easily distinguished; -though it is not impossible but, in particular instances, they may very -nearly approach to each other. Thus, in sleep, in a fever, in madness, -or in any very violent emotions of soul, our ideas may approach to -our impressions: as, on the other hand, it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> sometimes happens, that -our impressions are so faint and low, that we cannot distinguish them -from our ideas. But, notwithstanding this near resemblance in a few -instances, they are in general so very different, that no one can make -a scruple to rank them under distinct heads, and assign to each a -peculiar name to mark the difference.<a name="FNanchor_1_47" id="FNanchor_1_47"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_47" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p>There is another division of our perceptions, which it will be -convenient to observe, and which extends itself both to our impressions -and ideas. This division is into <i>simple</i> and <i>complex</i>. Simple -perceptions, or impressions and ideas, are such as admit of no -distinction nor separation. The complex are the contrary to these, and -may be distinguished into parts. Though a particular colour, taste and -smell, are qualities all united together in this apple, 'tis easy to -perceive they are not the same, but are at least distinguishable from -each other.</p> - -<p>Having, by these divisions, given an order and arrangement to our -objects, we may now apply ourselves to consider, with the more -accuracy, their qualities and relations. The first circumstance that -strikes my eye, is the great resemblance betwixt our impressions and -ideas in every other particular, except their degree of force and -vivacity. The one seem to be, in a manner, the reflection of the other; -so that all the perceptions of the mind are double, and appear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> both as -impressions and ideas. When I shut my eyes, and think of my chamber, -the ideas I form are exact representations of the impressions I felt; -nor is there any circumstance of the one, which is not to be found in -the other. In running over my other perceptions, I find still the same -resemblance and representation. Ideas and impressions appear always to -correspond to each other. This circumstance seems to me remarkable, and -engages my attention for a moment.</p> - -<p>Upon a more accurate survey I find I have been carried away too far -by the first appearance, and that I must make use of the distinction -of perceptions into <i>simple</i> and <i>complex</i>, to limit this general -decision, <i>that all our ideas and impressions are resembling</i>. I -observe that many of our complex ideas never had impressions that -corresponded to them, and that many of our complex impressions never -are exactly copied in ideas. I can imagine to myself such a city as the -New Jerusalem, whose pavement is gold, and walls are rubies, though I -never saw any such. I have seen Paris; but shall I affirm I can form -such an idea of that city, as will perfectly represent all its streets -and houses in their real and just proportions?</p> - -<p>I perceive, therefore, that though there is, in general, a great -resemblance betwixt our <i>complex</i> impressions and ideas, yet the rule -is not universally true, that they are exact copies of each other. We -may next consider, how the case stands with our <i>simple</i> perceptions. -After the most accurate examination of which I am capable, I venture to -affirm, that the rule here holds without any exception, and that every -simple idea has a simple impression, which resembles it, and every -simple impression a correspondent idea. That idea of red, which we form -in the dark, and that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> impression, which strikes our eyes in sunshine, -differ only in degree, not in nature. That the case is the same with -all our simple impressions and ideas, 'tis impossible to prove by a -particular enumeration of them. Every one may satisfy himself in this -point by running over as many as he pleases. But if any one should deny -this universal resemblance, I know no way of convincing him, but by -desiring him to show a simple impression that has not a correspondent -idea, or a simple idea that has not a correspondent impression. If he -does not answer this challenge, as 'tis certain he cannot, we may, from -his silence and our own observation, establish our conclusion.</p> - -<p>Thus we find, that all simple ideas and impressions resemble each -other; and, as the complex are formed from them, we may affirm -in general, that these two species of perception are exactly -correspondent. Having discovered this relation, which requires -no farther examination, I am curious to find some other of their -qualities. Let us consider, how they stand with regard to their -existence, and which of the impressions and ideas are causes, and which -effects.</p> - -<p>The full examination of this question is the subject of the present -treatise; and, therefore, we shall here content ourselves with -establishing one general proposition, <i>That all our simple ideas in -their first appearance, are derived from simple impressions, which are -correspondent to them, and which they exactly represent</i>.</p> - -<p>In seeking for phenomena to prove this proposition, I find only those -of two kinds; but, in each kind the phenomena are obvious, numerous, -and conclusive. I first make myself certain, by a new review, of what -I have already asserted, that every simple impression<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> is attended -with a correspondent idea, and every simple idea with a correspondent -impression. From this constant conjunction of resembling perceptions -I immediately conclude, that there is a great connexion betwixt -our correspondent impressions and ideas, and that the existence of -the one has a considerable influence upon that of the other. Such -a constant conjunction, in such an infinite number of instances, -can never arise from chance; but clearly proves a dependence of the -impressions on the ideas, or of the ideas on the impressions. That I -may know on which side this dependence lies, I consider the order of -their <i>first appearance</i>; and find, by constant experience, that the -simple impressions always take the precedence of their correspondent -ideas, but never appear in the contrary order. To give a child an -idea of scarlet or orange, of sweet or bitter, I present the objects, -or, in other words, convey to him these impressions; but proceed not -so absurdly, as to endeavour to produce the impressions by exciting -the ideas. Our ideas, upon their appearance, produce not their -correspondent impressions, nor do we perceive any colour, or feel any -sensation merely upon thinking of them. On the other hand we find, that -any impression, either of the mind or body, is constantly followed -by an idea, which resembles it, and is only different in the degrees -of force and liveliness. The constant conjunction of our resembling -perceptions, is a convincing proof, that the one are the causes of -the other; and this priority of the impressions is an equal proof, -that our impressions are the causes of our ideas, not our ideas of our -impressions.</p> - -<p>To confirm this, I consider another plain and convincing phenomenon; -which is, that wherever, by any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> accident, the faculties which give -rise to any impressions are obstructed in their operations, as when -one is born blind or deaf, not only the impressions are lost, but also -their correspondent ideas; so that there never appear in the mind the -least traces of either of them. Nor is this only true, where the organs -of sensation are entirely destroyed, but likewise where they have never -been put in action to produce a particular impression. We cannot form -to ourselves a just idea of the taste of a pine-apple, without having -actually tasted it.</p> - -<p>There is, however, one contradictory phenomenon, which may prove, -that 'tis not absolutely impossible for ideas to go before their -correspondent impressions. I believe it will readily be allowed, -that the several distinct ideas of colours, which enter by the eyes, -or those of sounds, which are conveyed by the hearing, 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, that each of them produces a -distinct idea, independent of the rest. For if this should be denied, -'tis 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 well -acquainted with colours of all kinds, excepting 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;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> 'tis 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, betwixt the contiguous colours, than in any other. Now I -ask, whether 'tis 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 derived from -the correspondent impressions; though the instance is so particular -and singular, that 'tis scarce worth our observing, and does not merit -that, for it alone, we should alter our general maxim.</p> - -<p>But, besides this exception, it may not be amiss to remark, on this -head, that the principle of the priority of impressions to ideas, must -be understood with another limitation, viz. that as our ideas are -images of our impressions, so we can form secondary ideas, which are -images of the primary, as appears from this very reasoning concerning -them. This is not, properly speaking, an exception to the rule so -much as an explanation of it. Ideas produce the images of themselves -in new ideas; but as the first ideas are supposed to be derived from -impressions, it still remains true, that all our simple ideas proceed, -either mediately or immediately, from their correspondent impressions.</p> - -<p>This, then, is the first principle I establish in the science of human -nature; nor ought we to despise it because of the simplicity of its -appearance. For 'tis remarkable, that the present question concerning -the precedency of our impressions or ideas, is the same with what has -made so much noise in other terms, when it has been disputed whether -there be any <i>innate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> ideas</i>, or whether all ideas be derived from -sensation and reflection. We may observe, that in order to prove -the ideas of extension and colour not to be innate, philosophers do -nothing but show, that they are conveyed by our senses. To prove the -ideas of passion and desire not to be innate, they observe, that we -have a preceding experience of these emotions in ourselves. Now, if -we carefully examine these arguments, we shall find that they prove -nothing but that ideas are preceded by other more lively perceptions, -from which they are derived, and which they represent. I hope this -clear stating of the question will remove all disputes concerning it, -and will render this principle of more use in our reasonings, than it -seems hitherto to have been.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_47" id="Footnote_1_47"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_47"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> I here make use of these terms, <i>impression</i> and <i>idea</i>, -in a sense different from what is usual, and I hope this liberty will -be allowed me. Perhaps I rather restore the word idea to its original -sense, from which Mr Locke had perverted it, in making it stand for all -our perceptions. By the term of impression, I would not be understood -to express the manner in which our lively perceptions are produced in -the soul, but merely the perceptions themselves; for which there is no -particular name, either in the English or any other language that I -know of.</p></div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - - -<h5><a name="SECTION_II_aI" id="SECTION_II_aI">SECTION II.</a></h5> - -<h5>DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT.</h5> - - -<p>Since it appears, that our simple impressions are prior to their -correspondent ideas, and that the exceptions are very rare, method -seems to require we should examine our impressions before we consider -our ideas. Impressions may be divided into two kinds, those of -<i>sensation</i>, and those of <i>reflection</i>. The first kind arises in the -soul originally, from unknown causes. The second is derived, in a -great measure, from our ideas, and that in the following order. An -impression first strikes upon the senses, and makes us perceive heat -or cold, thirst or hunger, pleasure or pain, of some kind or other. Of -this impression there is a copy taken by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> the mind, which remains after -the impression ceases; and this we call an idea. This idea of pleasure -or pain, when it returns upon the soul, produces the new impressions -of desire and aversion, hope and fear, which may properly be called -impressions of reflection, because derived from it. These again are -copied by the memory and imagination, and become ideas; which, perhaps, -in their turn, give rise to other impressions and ideas: so that the -impressions of reflection are only antecedent to their correspondent -ideas, but posterior to those of sensation, and derived from them. The -examination of our sensations belongs more to anatomists and natural -philosophers than to moral; and, therefore, shall not at present be -entered upon. And, as the impressions of reflection, viz. passions, -desires, and emotions, which principally deserve our attention, arise -mostly from ideas, 'twill be necessary to reverse that method, which -at first sight seems most natural; and, in order to explain the nature -and principles of the human mind, give a particular account of ideas, -before we proceed to impressions. For this reason, I have here chosen -to begin with ideas.</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h5><a name="SECTION_III_aI" id="SECTION_III_aI">SECTION III.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF THE IDEAS OF THE MEMORY AND IMAGINATION.</h5> - - -<p>We find, by experience, that when any impression has been present with -the mind, it again makes its appearance there as an idea; and this it -may do after two different ways: either when, in its new appearance,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> -it retains a considerable degree of its first vivacity, and is somewhat -intermediate betwixt an impression and an idea; or when it entirely -loses that vivacity, and is a perfect idea. The faculty by which we -repeat our impressions in the first manner, is called the <i>memory</i>, and -the other the <i>imagination</i>. 'Tis evident, at first sight, that the -ideas of the memory are much more lively and strong than those of the -imagination, and that the former faculty paints its objects in more -distinct colours, than any which are employed by the latter. When we -remember any past event, the idea of it flows in upon the mind in a -forcible manner; whereas, in the imagination, the perception is faint -and languid, and cannot, without difficulty, be preserved by the mind -steady and uniform for any considerable time. Here, then, is a sensible -difference betwixt one species of ideas and another. But of this more -fully hereafter.<a name="FNanchor_2_48" id="FNanchor_2_48"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_48" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> - -<p>There is another difference betwixt these two kinds of ideas, which is -no less evident, namely, that though neither the ideas of the memory -nor imagination, neither the lively nor faint ideas, can make their -appearance in the mind, unless their correspondent impressions have -gone before to prepare the way for them, yet the imagination is not -restrained to the same order and form with the original impressions; -while the memory is in a manner tied down in that respect, without any -power of variation.</p> - -<p>'Tis evident, that the memory preserves the original form, in which -its objects were presented, and that wherever we depart from it in -recollecting any thing, it proceeds from some defect or imperfection -in that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> faculty. An historian may, perhaps, for the more convenient -carrying on of his narration, relate an event before another to which -it was in fact posterior; but then, he takes notice of this disorder, -if he be exact; and, by that means, replaces the idea in its due -position. 'Tis the same case in our recollection of those places and -persons, with which we were formerly acquainted. The chief exercise of -the memory is not to preserve the simple ideas, but their order and -position. In short, this principle is supported by such a number of -common and vulgar phenomena, that we may spare ourselves the trouble of -insisting on it any farther.</p> - -<p>The same evidence follows us in our second principle, <i>of the liberty -of the imagination to transpose and change its ideas</i>. The fables we -meet with in poems and romances put this entirely out of question. -Nature there is totally confounded, and nothing mentioned but winged -horses, fiery dragons, and monstrous giants. Nor will this liberty of -the fancy appear strange, when we consider, that all our ideas are -copied from our impressions, and that there are not any two impressions -which are perfectly inseparable. Not to mention, that this is an -evident consequence of the division of ideas into simple and complex. -Wherever the imagination perceives a difference among ideas, it can -easily produce a separation.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_48" id="Footnote_2_48"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_48"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Part III. Sect. 5.</p> -</div> -<hr class="tb" /> - - - - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> -<h5><a name="SECTION_IV_aI" id="SECTION_IV_aI">SECTION IV.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF THE CONNEXION OR ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.</h5> - - -<p>As all simple ideas may be separated by the imagination, and may -be united again in what form it pleases, nothing would be more -unaccountable than the operations of that faculty, were it not guided -by some universal principles, which render it, in some measure, uniform -with itself in all times and places. Were ideas entirely loose and -unconnected, chance alone would join them; and 'tis impossible the same -simple ideas should fall regularly into complex ones (as they commonly -do), without some bond of union among them, some associating quality, -by which one idea naturally introduces another. This uniting principle -among ideas is not to be considered as an inseparable connexion; for -that has been already excluded from the imagination: nor yet are we to -conclude, that without it the mind cannot join two ideas; for nothing -is more free than that faculty: but we are only to regard it as a -gentle force, which commonly prevails, and is the cause why, among -other things, languages so nearly correspond to each other; Nature, -in a manner, pointing out to every one those simple ideas, which are -most proper to be united into a complex one. The qualities, from which -this association arises, and by which the mind is, after this manner, -conveyed from one idea to another, are three,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> viz. <i>resemblance, -contiguity</i> in time or place, and <i>cause</i> and <i>effect</i>.</p> - -<p>I believe it will not be very necessary to prove, that these qualities -produce an association among ideas, and, upon the appearance of one -idea, naturally introduce another. 'Tis plain, that, in the course -of our thinking, and in the constant revolution of our ideas, our -imagination runs easily from one idea to any other that <i>resembles</i> -it, and that this quality alone is to the fancy a sufficient bond and -association. 'Tis likewise evident, that as the senses, in changing -their objects, are necessitated to change them regularly, and take them -as they lie <i>contiguous</i> to each other, the imagination must, by long -custom, acquire the same method of thinking, and run along the parts -of space and time in conceiving its objects. As to the connexion that -is made by the relation of <i>cause and effect</i>, we shall have occasion -afterwards to examine it to the bottom, and therefore shall not at -present insist upon it. 'Tis sufficient to observe, that there is no -relation, which produces a stronger connexion in the fancy, and makes -one idea more readily recal another, than the relation of cause and -effect betwixt their objects.</p> - -<p>That we may understand the full extent of these relations, we must -consider, that two objects are connected together in the imagination, -not only when the one is immediately resembling, contiguous to, or the -cause of the other, but also when there is interposed betwixt them a -third object, which bears to both of them any of these relations. This -may be carried on to a great length; though, at the same time we may -observe, that each remove considerably weakens the relation. Cousins -in the fourth degree are connected by <i>causation</i>, if I may be allowed -to use that term; but not so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> closely as brothers, much less as child -and parent. In general, we may observe, that all the relations of -blood depend upon cause and effect, and are esteemed near or remote, -according to the number of connecting causes interposed betwixt the -persons.</p> - -<p>Of the three relations above mentioned this of causation is the most -extensive. Two objects may be considered as placed in this relation, -as well when one is the cause of any of the actions or motions of -the other, as when the former is the cause of the existence of the -latter. For as that action or motion is nothing but the object -itself, considered in a certain light, and as the object continues -the same in all its different situations, 'tis easy to imagine how -such an influence of objects upon one another may connect them in the -imagination.</p> - -<p>We may carry this farther, and remark, not only that two objects are -connected by the relation of cause and effect, when the one produces -a motion or any action in the other, but also when it has a power of -producing it. And this we may observe to be the source of all the -relations of interest and duty, by which men influence each other in -society, and are placed in the ties of government and subordination. -A master is such a one as, by his situation, arising either from -force or agreement, has a power of directing in certain particulars -the actions of another, whom we call servant. A judge is one, who, in -all disputed cases, can fix by his opinion the possession or property -of any thing betwixt any members of the society. When a person is -possessed of any power, there is no more required to convert it into -action, but the exertion of the will; and <i>that</i> in every case is -considered as possible, and in many as probable; especially in the case -of authority,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> where the obedience of the subject is a pleasure and -advantage to the superior.</p> - -<p>These are, therefore, the principles of union or cohesion among -our simple ideas, and in the imagination supply the place of that -inseparable connexion, by which they are united in our memory. Here -is a kind of <i>attraction</i>, which in the mental world will be found to -have as extraordinary effects as in the natural, and to show itself in -as many and as various forms. Its effects are every where conspicuous; -but, as to its causes, they are mostly unknown, and must be resolved -into <i>original</i> qualities of human nature, which I pretend not to -explain. Nothing is more requisite for a true philosopher, than to -restrain the intemperate desire of searching into causes; and, having -established any doctrine upon a sufficient number of experiments, rest -contented with that, when he sees a farther examination would lead him -into obscure and uncertain speculations. In that case his inquiry would -be much better employed in examining the effects than the causes of his -principle.</p> - -<p>Amongst the effects of this union or association of ideas, there are -none more remarkable than those complex ideas, which are the common -subjects of our thoughts and reasoning, and generally arise from some -principle of union among our simple ideas. These complex ideas may be -divided into <i>relations, modes,</i> and <i>substances</i>. We shall briefly -examine each of these in order, and shall subjoin some considerations -concerning our <i>general</i> and <i>particular</i> ideas, before we leave the -present subject, which may be considered as the elements of this -philosophy.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="SECTION_V_aI" id="SECTION_V_aI">SECTION V.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF RELATIONS.</h5> - - -<p>The word <i>relation</i> is commonly used in two senses considerably -different from each other. Either for that quality, by which two ideas -are connected together in the imagination, and the one naturally -introduces the other, after the manner above explained; or for that -particular circumstance, in which, even upon the arbitrary union of -two ideas in the fancy, we may think proper to compare them. In common -language, the former is always the sense in which we use the word -relation; and 'tis only in philosophy that we extend it to mean any -particular subject of comparison, without a connecting principle. Thus, -distance will be allowed by philosophers to be a true relation, because -we acquire an idea of it by the comparing of objects: but in a common -way we say, <i>that nothing can be more distant than such or such things -from each other, nothing can have less relation</i>; as if distance and -relation were incompatible.</p> - -<p>It may, perhaps, be esteemed an endless task to enumerate all those -qualities, which make objects admit of comparison, and by which the -ideas of <i>philosophical</i> relation are produced. But if we diligently -consider them we shall find, that without difficulty they may be -comprised under seven general heads, which may be considered as the -sources of all philosophical relation.</p> - -<p>1. The first is <i>resemblance</i>: and this is a relation,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> without which -no philosophical relation can exist, since no objects will admit of -comparison, but what have some degree of resemblance. But though -resemblance be necessary to all philosophical relation, it does not -follow that it always produces a connexion or association of ideas. -When a quality becomes very general, and is common to a great many -individuals, it leads not the mind directly to any one of them; but, -by presenting at once too great a choice, does thereby prevent the -imagination from fixing on any single object.</p> - -<p>2. <i>Identity</i> may be esteemed a second species of relation. This -relation I here consider as applied in its strictest sense to constant -and unchangeable objects; without examining the nature and foundation -of personal identity, which shall find its place afterwards. Of all -relations the most universal is that of identity, being common to every -being, whose existence has any duration.</p> - -<p>3. After identity the most universal and comprehensive relations are -those of <i>space</i> and <i>time</i>, which are the sources of an infinite -number of comparisons, such as <i>distant, contiguous, above, below, -before, after, &</i>.</p> - -<p>4. All those objects, which admit of <i>quantity</i> or <i>number</i>, may be -compared in that particular, which is another very fertile source of -relation.</p> - -<p>5. When any two objects possess the same <i>quality</i> in common, the -<i>degrees</i> in which they possess it form a fifth species of relation. -Thus, of two objects which are both heavy, the one may be either of -greater or less weight than the other. Two colours, that are of the -same kind, may yet be of different shades, and in that respect admit of -comparison.</p> - -<p>6. The relation of <i>contrariety</i> may at first sight be regarded as -an exception to the rule, <i>that no relation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> of any kind can subsist -without some degree of resemblance</i>. But let us consider, that no -two ideas are in themselves contrary, except those of existence and -non-existence, which are plainly resembling, as implying both of them -an idea of the object; though the latter excludes the object from all -times and places, in which it is supposed not to exist.</p> - -<p>7. All other objects, such as fire and water, heat and cold, are only -found to be contrary from experience, and from the contrariety of their -<i>causes</i> or <i>effects</i>; which relation of cause and effect is a seventh -philosophical relation, as well as a natural one. The resemblance -implied in this relation shall be explained afterwards.</p> - -<p>It might naturally be expected that I should join <i>difference</i> to the -other relations; but that I consider rather as a negation of relation -than as any thing real or positive. Difference is of two kinds, as -opposed either to identity or resemblance. The first is called a -difference of <i>number</i>; the other of <i>kind</i>.</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h5><a name="SECTION_VI_aI" id="SECTION_VI_aI">SECTION VI.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF MODES AND SUBSTANCES.</h5> - - -<p>I would fain ask those philosophers, who found so much of their -reasonings on the distinction of substance and accident, and imagine we -have clear ideas of each, whether the idea of <i>substance</i> be derived -from the impressions of sensation or reflection? If it be conveyed -to us by our senses, I ask, which of them, and after what manner? If -it be perceived by the eyes, it must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> be a colour; if by the ears, a -sound; if by the palate, a taste; and so of the other senses. But I -believe none will assert, that substance is either a colour, or sound, -or a taste. The idea of substance must therefore be derived from an -impression of reflection, if it really exist. But the impressions of -reflection resolve themselves into our passions and emotions; none -of which can possibly represent a substance. We have, therefore, no -idea of substance, distinct from that of a collection of particular -qualities, nor have we any other meaning when we either talk or reason -concerning it.</p> - -<p>The idea of a substance as well as that of a mode, is nothing but -a collection of simple ideas, that are united by the imagination, -and have a particular name assigned them, by which we are able to -recal, either to ourselves or others, that collection. But the -difference betwixt these ideas consists in this, that the particular -qualities, which form a substance, are commonly referred to an unknown -<i>something</i>, in which they are supposed to inhere; or granting this -fiction should not take place, are at least supposed to be closely and -inseparably connected by the relations of contiguity and causation. -The effect of this is, that whatever new simple quality we discover to -have the same connexion with the rest, we immediately comprehend it -among them, even though it did not enter into the first conception of -the substance. Thus our idea of gold may at first be a yellow colour, -weight, malleableness, fusibility; but upon the discovery of its -dissolubility in <i>aqua regia</i>, we join that to the other qualities, and -suppose it to belong to the substance as much as if its idea had from -the beginning made a part of the compound one. The principle of union -being regarded as the chief part of the complex idea, gives entrance to -whatever<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> quality afterwards occurs, and is equally comprehended by it, -as are the others, which first presented themselves.</p> - -<p>That this cannot take place in modes, is evident from considering their -nature. The simple ideas of which modes are formed, either represent -qualities, which are not united by contiguity and causation, but are -dispersed in different subjects; or if they be all united together, -the uniting principle is not regarded as the foundation of the complex -idea. The idea of a dance is an instance of the first kind of modes; -that of beauty of the second. The reason is obvious, why such complex -ideas cannot receive any new idea, without changing the name, which -distinguishes the mode.</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h5><a name="SECTION_VII_aI" id="SECTION_VII_aI">SECTION VII.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF ABSTRACT IDEAS.</h5> - - -<p>A very material question has been started concerning <i>abstract</i> or -<i>general</i> ideas, <i>whether they be general or particular in the mind's -conception of them</i>. A great philosopher<a name="FNanchor_3_49" id="FNanchor_3_49"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_49" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> has disputed the received -opinion in this particular, and has asserted, that all general ideas -are nothing but particular ones annexed to a certain term, which gives -them a more extensive signification, and makes them recal upon occasion -other individuals, which are similar to them. As I look upon this to be -one of the greatest and most valuable discoveries that has been made -of late years in the republic of letters,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> I shall here endeavour to -confirm it by some arguments, which I hope will put it beyond all doubt -and controversy.</p> - -<p>'Tis evident, that, in forming most of our general ideas, if not all -of them, we abstract from every particular degree of quantity and -quality, and that an object ceases not to be of any particular species -on account of every small alteration in its extension, duration, and -other properties. It may therefore be thought, that here is a plain -dilemma, that decides concerning the nature of those abstract ideas, -which have afforded so much speculation to philosophers. The abstract -idea of a man represents men of all sizes and all qualities, which 'tis -concluded it cannot do, but either by representing at once all possible -sizes and all possible qualities, or by representing no particular -one at all. Now, it having been esteemed absurd to defend the former -proposition, as implying an infinite capacity in the mind, it has been -commonly inferred in favour of the latter; and our abstract ideas have -been supposed to represent no particular degree either of quantity -or quality. But that this inference is erroneous, I shall endeavour -to make appear, <i>first</i>, by proving, that 'tis utterly impossible to -conceive any quantity or quality, without forming a precise notion of -its degrees; and, <i>secondly</i>, by showing, that though the capacity -of the mind be not infinite, yet we can at once form a notion of all -possible degrees of quantity and quality, in such a manner at least, -as, however imperfect, may serve all the purposes of reflection and -conversation.</p> - -<p>To begin with the first proposition, <i>that the mind cannot form any -notion of quantity or quality without forming a precise notion of -degrees of each</i>, we may prove this by the three following arguments. -First,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> we have observed, that whatever objects are different are -distinguishable, and that whatever objects are distinguishable are -separable by the thought and imagination. And we may here add, that -these propositions are equally true in the <i>inverse</i>, and that whatever -objects are separable are also distinguishable, and that whatever -objects are distinguishable are also different. For how is it possible -we can separate what is not distinguishable, or distinguish what is -not different? In order therefore to know whether abstraction implies -a separation, we need only consider it in this view, and examine, -whether all the circumstances, which we abstract from in our general -ideas, be such as are distinguishable and different from those, which -we retain as essential parts of them. But 'tis evident at first sight, -that the precise length of a line is not different nor distinguishable -from the line itself; nor the precise degree of any quality from the -quality. These ideas, therefore, admit no more of separation than they -do of distinction and difference. They are, consequently, conjoined -with each other in the conception; and the general idea of a line, -notwithstanding all our abstractions and refinements, has, in its -appearance in the mind, a precise degree of quantity and quality; -however it may be made to represent others which have different degrees -of both.</p> - -<p>Secondly, 'tis confessed, that no object can appear to the senses; or -in other words, that no impression can become present to the mind, -without being determined in its degrees both of quantity and quality. -The confusion, in which impressions are sometimes involved, proceeds -only from their faintness and unsteadiness, not from any capacity in -the mind to receive any impression, which in its real existence has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> -no particular degree nor proportion. That is a contradiction in terms; -and even implies the flattest of all contradictions, viz. that 'tis -possible for the same thing both to be and not to be.</p> - -<p>Now, since all ideas are derived from impressions, and are nothing but -copies and representations of them, whatever is true of the one must be -acknowledged concerning the other. Impressions and ideas differ only in -their strength and vivacity. The foregoing conclusion is not founded on -any particular degree of vivacity. It cannot, therefore, be affected by -any variation in that particular. An idea is a weaker impression; and, -as a strong impression must necessarily have a determinate quantity and -quality, the case must be the same with its copy or representative.</p> - -<p>Thirdly, 'tis a principle generally received in philosophy, that every -thing in nature is individual, and that 'tis utterly absurd to suppose -a triangle really existent, which has no precise proportion of sides -and angles. If this, therefore, be absurd in <i>fact and reality</i>, it -must also be absurd <i>in idea</i>; since nothing of which we can form a -clear and distinct idea is absurd and impossible. But to form the -idea of an object, and to form an idea simply, is the same thing; the -reference of the idea to an object being an extraneous denomination, of -which in itself it bears no mark or character. Now, as 'tis impossible -to form an idea of an object that is possessed of quantity and quality, -and yet is possessed of no precise degree of either, it follows, that -there is an equal impossibility of forming an idea, that is not limited -and confined in both these particulars. Abstract ideas are, therefore, -in themselves individual, however they may become general in their -representation. The image in the mind is only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> that of a particular -object, though the application of it in our reasoning be the same as if -it were universal.</p> - -<p>This application of ideas, beyond their nature, proceeds from our -collecting all their possible degrees of quantity and quality in -such an imperfect manner as may serve the purposes of life, which is -the second proposition I proposed to explain. When we have found a -resemblance<a name="FNanchor_4_50" id="FNanchor_4_50"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_50" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> among several objects, that often occur to us, we apply -the same name to all of them, whatever differences we may observe -in the degrees of their quantity and quality, and whatever other -differences may appear among them. After we have acquired a custom of -this kind, the hearing of that name revives the idea of one of these -objects, and makes the imagination conceive it with all its particular -circumstances and proportions. But as the same word is supposed to have -been frequently applied to other individuals, that are different in -many respects from that idea, which is immediately present to the mind; -the word not being able to revive the idea of all these individuals,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> -only touches the soul, if I may be allowed so to speak, and revives -that custom, which we have acquired by surveying them. They are not -really and in fact present to the mind, but only in power; nor do we -draw them all out distinctly in the imagination, but keep ourselves in -a readiness to survey any of them, as we may be prompted by a present -design or necessity. The word raises up an individual idea, along -with a certain custom, and that custom produces any other individual -one, for which we may have occasion. But as the production of all the -ideas, to which the name may be applied, is in most cases impossible, -we abridge that work by a more partial consideration, and find but few -inconveniences to arise in our reasoning from that abridgment.</p> - -<p>For this is one of the most extraordinary circumstances in the present -affair, that after the mind has produced an individual idea, upon -which we reason, the attendant custom, revived by the general or -abstract term, readily suggests any other individual, if by chance we -form any reasoning that agrees not with it. Thus, should we mention -the word triangle, and form the idea of a particular equilateral -one to correspond to it, and should we afterwards assert, <i>that -the three angles of a triangle are equal to each other</i>, the other -individuals of a scalenum and isosceles, which we overlooked at first, -immediately crowd in upon us, and make us perceive the falsehood of -this proposition, though it be true with relation to that idea which -we had formed. If the mind suggests not always these ideas upon -occasion, it proceeds from some imperfection in its faculties; and -such a one as is often the source of false reasoning and sophistry. -But this is principally the case with those ideas which are abstruse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> -and compounded. On other occasions the custom is more entire, and 'tis -seldom we run into such errors.</p> - -<p>Nay so entire is the custom, that the very same idea may be annexed to -several different words, and may be employed in different reasonings, -without any danger of mistake. Thus the idea of an equilateral triangle -of an inch perpendicular may serve us in talking of a figure, of a -rectilineal figure, of a regular figure, of a triangle, and of an -equilateral triangle. All these terms, therefore, are in this case -attended with the same idea; but as they are wont to be applied in a -greater or lesser compass, they excite their particular habits, and -thereby keep the mind in a readiness to observe, that no conclusion be -formed contrary to any ideas, which are usually comprised under them.</p> - -<p>Before those habits have become entirely perfect, perhaps the mind may -not be content with forming the idea of only one individual, but may -run over several, in order to make itself comprehend its own meaning, -and the compass of that collection, which it intends to express by the -general term. That we may fix the meaning of the word, figure, we may -revolve in our mind the ideas of circles, squares, parallelograms, -triangles of different sizes and proportions, and may not rest on one -image or idea. However this may be, 'tis certain <i>that</i> we form the -idea of individuals whenever we use any general term; <i>that</i> we seldom -or never can exhaust these individuals; and <i>that</i> those which remain, -are only represented by means of that habit by which we recal them, -whenever any present occasion requires it. This then is the nature of -our abstract ideas and general terms; and 'tis after this manner we -account for the foregoing paradox, <i>that some ideas are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> particular -in their nature, but general in their representation</i>. A particular -idea becomes general by being annexed to a general term; that is, to a -term which, from a customary conjunction, has a relation to many other -particular ideas, and readily recals them in the imagination.</p> - -<p>The only difficulty that can remain on this subject, must be with -regard to that custom, which so readily recals every particular idea -for which we may have occasion, and is excited by any word or sound -to which we commonly annex it. The most proper method, in my opinion, -of giving a satisfactory explication of this act of the mind, is -by producing other instances which are analogous to it, and other -principles which facilitate its operation. To explain the ultimate -causes of our mental actions is impossible. 'Tis sufficient if we can -give any satisfactory account of them from experience and analogy.</p> - -<p>First, then, I observe, that when we mention any great number, such as -a thousand, the mind has generally no adequate idea of it, but only a -power of producing such an idea, by its adequate idea of the decimals -under which the number is comprehended. This imperfection, however, -in our ideas, is never felt in our reasonings, which seems to be an -instance parallel to the present one of universal ideas.</p> - -<p>Secondly, we have several instances of habits which may be revived by -one single word; as when a person who has, by rote, any periods of -a discourse, or any number of verses, will be put in remembrance of -the whole, which he is at a loss to recollect, by that single word or -expression with which they begin.</p> - -<p>Thirdly, I believe every one who examines the situation of his mind -in reasoning, will agree with me,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> that we do not annex distinct and -complete ideas to every term we make use of, and that in talking -of <i>government, church, negociation, conquest</i>, we seldom spread -out in our minds all the simple ideas of which these complex ones -are composed. 'Tis however observable, that notwithstanding this -imperfection, we may avoid talking nonsense on these subjects, and may -perceive any repugnance among the ideas as well as if we had a full -comprehension of them. Thus, if instead of saying, <i>that in war the -weaker have always recourse to negociation</i>, we should say, <i>that they -have always recourse to conquest</i>, the custom which we have acquired of -attributing certain relations to ideas, still follows the words, and -makes us immediately perceive the absurdity of that proposition; in the -same manner as one particular idea may serve us in reasoning concerning -other ideas, however different from it in several circumstances.</p> - -<p>Fourthly, as the individuals are collected together, and placed under -a general term with a view to that resemblance which they bear to each -other, this relation must facilitate their entrance in the imagination, -and make them be suggested more readily upon occasion. And, indeed, if -we consider the common progress of the thought, either in reflection -or conversation, we shall find great reason to be satisfied in this -particular. Nothing is more admirable than the readiness with which the -imagination suggests its ideas, and presents them at the very instant -in which they become necessary or useful. The fancy runs from one end -of the universe to the other, in collecting those ideas which belong to -any subject. One would think the whole intellectual world of ideas was -at once subjected to our view, and that we did nothing but pick<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> out -such as were most proper for our purpose. There may not, however, be -any present, beside those very ideas, that are thus collected by a kind -of magical faculty in the soul, which, though it be always most perfect -in the greatest geniuses, and is properly what we call a genius, is -however inexplicable by the utmost efforts of human understanding.</p> - -<p>Perhaps these four reflections may help to remove all difficulties to -the hypothesis I have proposed concerning abstract ideas, so contrary -to that which has hitherto prevailed in philosophy. But to tell the -truth, I place my chief confidence in what I have already proved -concerning the impossibility of general ideas, according to the common -method of explaining them. We must certainly seek some new system on -this head, and there plainly is none beside what I have proposed. If -ideas be particular in their nature, and at the same time finite in -their number, 'tis only by custom they can become general in their -representation, and contain an infinite number of other ideas under -them.</p> - -<p>Before I leave this subject, I shall employ the same principles to -explain that <i>distinction of reason</i>, which is so much talked of, and -is so little understood in the schools. Of this kind is the distinction -betwixt figure and the body figured; motion and the body moved. The -difficulty of explaining this distinction arises from the principle -above explained, <i>that all ideas which are different are separable</i>. -For it follows from thence, that if the figure be different from -the body, their ideas must be separable as well as distinguishable; -if they be not different, their ideas can neither be separable nor -distinguishable. What then is meant by a distinction<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> of reason, since -it implies neither a difference nor separation?</p> - -<p>To remove this difficulty, we must have recourse to the foregoing -explication of abstract ideas. 'Tis certain that the mind would never -have dreamed of distinguishing a figure from the body figured, as being -in reality neither distinguishable, nor different, nor separable, did -it not observe, that even in this simplicity there might be contained -many different resemblances and relations. Thus, when a globe of white -marble is presented, we receive only the impression of a white colour -disposed in a certain form, nor are we able to separate and distinguish -the colour from the form. But observing afterwards a globe of black -marble and a cube of white, and comparing them with our former object, -we find two separate resemblances, in what formerly seemed, and really -is, perfectly inseparable. After a little more practice of this kind, -we begin to distinguish the figure from the colour by a <i>distinction -of reason</i>; that is, we consider the figure and colour together, since -they are, in effect, the same and undistinguishable; but still view -them in different aspects, according to the resemblances of which they -are susceptible. When we would consider only the figure of the globe of -white marble, we form in reality an idea both of the figure and colour, -but tacitly carry our eye to its resemblance with the globe of black -marble: and in the same manner, when we would consider its colour only, -we turn our view to its resemblance with the cube of white marble. By -this means we accompany our ideas with a kind of reflection, of which -custom renders us, in a great measure, insensible. A person who desires -us to consider the figure of a globe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> of white marble without thinking -on its colour, desires an impossibility; but his meaning is, that we -should consider the colour and figure together, but still keep in our -eye the resemblance to the globe of black marble, or that to any other -globe of whatever colour or substance.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_49" id="Footnote_3_49"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_49"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Dr Berkeley.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_50" id="Footnote_4_50"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_50"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> 'Tis evident, that even different simple ideas may have a -similarity or resemblance to each other; nor is it necessary, that the -point or circumstance of resemblance should be distinct or separable -from that in which they differ. <i>Blue</i> and <i>green</i> are different simple -ideas, but are more resembling than <i>blue</i> and <i>scarlet</i>; though -their perfect simplicity excludes all possibility of separation or -distinction. 'Tis the same case with particular sounds, and tastes, -and smells. These admit of infinite resemblances upon the general -appearance and comparison, without having any common circumstance -the same. And of this we may be certain, even from the very abstract -terms <i>simple idea</i>. They comprehend all simple ideas under them. -These resemble each other in their simplicity. And yet from their very -nature, which excludes all composition, this circumstance, in which -they resemble, is not distinguishable or separable from the rest. -'Tis the same case with all the degrees in any quality. They are all -resembling, and yet the quality, in any individual, is not distinct -from the degree.</p> -</div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="PART_II_I" id="PART_II_I">PART II.</a></h5> - -<h4>OF THE IDEAS OF SPACE AND TIME.</h4> - - - -<hr class="r5" /> -<h5><a name="SECTION_I_bI" id="SECTION_I_bI">SECTION I.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF THE INFINITE DIVISIBILITY OF OUR IDEAS OF SPACE AND TIME.</h5> - - -<p>Whatever has the air of a paradox, and is contrary to the first and -most unprejudiced notions of mankind, is often greedily embraced by -philosophers, as showing the superiority of their science, which could -discover opinions so remote from vulgar conception. On the other hand, -any thing proposed to us, which causes surprise and admiration, gives -such a satisfaction to the mind, that it indulges itself in those -agreeable emotions, and will never be persuaded that its pleasure is -entirely without foundation. From these dispositions in philosophers -and their disciples, arises that mutual complaisance betwixt them; -while the former furnish such plenty of strange and unaccountable -opinions, and the latter so readily believe them. Of this mutual -complaisance I cannot give a more evident instance than in the doctrine -of infinite divisibility, with the examination of which I shall begin -this subject of the ideas of space and time.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> - -<p>'Tis universally allowed, that the capacity of the mind is limited, and -can never attain a full and adequate conception of infinity: and though -it were not allowed, 'twould be sufficiently evident from the plainest -observation and experience. 'Tis also obvious, that whatever is capable -of being divided <i>in infinitum</i>, must consist of an infinite number -of parts, and that 'tis impossible to set any bounds to the number -of parts without setting bounds at the same time to the division. It -requires scarce any induction to conclude from hence, that the <i>idea</i>, -which we form of any finite quality, is not infinitely divisible, but -that by proper distinctions and separations we may run up this idea -to inferior ones, which will be perfectly simple and indivisible. In -rejecting the infinite capacity of the mind, we suppose it may arrive -at an end in the division of its ideas; nor are there any possible -means of evading the evidence of this conclusion.</p> - -<p>'Tis therefore certain, that the imagination reaches a <i>minimum</i>, -and may raise up to itself an idea, of which it cannot conceive -any subdivision, and which cannot be diminished without a total -annihilation. When you tell me of the thousandth and ten thousandth -part of a grain of sand, I have a distinct idea of these numbers and -of their different proportions; but the images which I form in my mind -to represent the things themselves, are nothing different from each -other, nor inferior to that image, by which I represent the grain of -sand itself, which is supposed so vastly to exceed them. What consists -of parts is distinguishable into them, and what is distinguishable is -separable. But, whatever we may imagine of the thing, the idea of a -grain of sand is not distinguishable nor separable into twenty, much -less into a thousand, ten thousand, or an infinite number of different -ideas.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> - -<p>'Tis the same case with the impressions of the senses as with the ideas -of the imagination. Put a spot of ink upon paper, fix your eye upon -that spot, and retire to such a distance that at last you lose sight -of it; 'tis plain, that the moment before it vanished, the image, or -impression, was perfectly indivisible. 'Tis not for want of rays of -light striking on our eyes, that the minute parts of distant bodies -convey not any sensible impression; but because they are removed -beyond that distance, at which their impressions were reduced to a -<i>minimum</i>, and were incapable of any farther diminution. A microscope -or telescope, which renders them visible, produces not any new rays of -light, but only spreads those which always flowed from them; and, by -that means, both gives parts to impressions, which to the naked eye -appear simple and uncompounded, and advances to a <i>minimum</i> what was -formerly imperceptible.</p> - -<p>We may hence discover the error of the common opinion, that the -capacity of the mind is limited on both sides, and that 'tis impossible -for the imagination to form an adequate idea of what goes beyond a -certain degree of minuteness as well as of greatness. Nothing can be -more minute than some ideas which we form in the fancy, and images -which appear to the senses; since there are ideas and images perfectly -simple and indivisible. The only defect of our senses is, that they -give us disproportioned images of things, and represent as minute and -uncompounded what is really great and composed of a vast number of -parts. This mistake we are not sensible of; but, taking the impressions -of those minute objects, which appear to the senses to be equal, -or nearly equal to the objects, and finding, by reason, that there -are other objects vastly more minute, we too hastily conclude, that -these are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> inferior to any idea of our imagination or impression of -our senses. This, however, is certain, that we can form ideas, which -shall be no greater than the smallest atom of the animal spirits of -an insect a thousand times less than a mite: and we ought rather to -conclude, that the difficulty lies in enlarging our conceptions so much -as to form a just notion of a mite, or even of an insect a thousand -times less than a mite. For, in order to form a just notion of these -animals, we must have a distinct idea representing every part of them; -which, according to the system of infinite divisibility, is utterly -impossible, and according to that of indivisible parts or atoms, is -extremely difficult, by reason of the vast number and multiplicity of -these parts.</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h5><a name="SECTION_II_bI" id="SECTION_II_bI">SECTION II.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF THE INFINITE DIVISIBILITY OF SPACE AND TIME.</h5> - - -<p>Wherever ideas are adequate representations of objects, the relations, -contradictions, and agreements of the ideas are all applicable to the -objects; and this we may, in general, observe to be the foundation of -all human knowledge. But our ideas are adequate representations of -the most minute parts of extension; and, through whatever divisions -and subdivisions we may suppose these parts to be arrived at, they -can never become inferior to some ideas which we form. The plain -consequence is, that whatever <i>appears</i> impossible and contradictory -upon the comparison of these ideas, must be <i>really</i> impossible and -contradictory, without any farther excuse or evasion.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> - -<p>Every thing capable of being infinitely divided contains an infinite -number of parts; otherwise the division would be stopped short by -the indivisible parts, which we should immediately arrive at. If -therefore any finite extension be infinitely divisible, it can be no -contradiction to suppose, that a finite extension contains an infinite -number of parts: and <i>vice versa</i>, if it be a contradiction to suppose, -that a finite extension contains an infinite number of parts, no finite -extension can be infinitely divisible. But that this latter supposition -is absurd, I easily convince myself by the consideration of my clear -ideas. I first take the least idea I can form of a part of extension, -and being certain that there is nothing more minute than this idea, I -conclude, that whatever I discover by its means, must be a real quality -of extension. I then repeat this idea once, twice, thrice, &c. and find -the compound idea of extension, arising from its repetition, always -to augment, and become double, triple, quadruple, &c. till at last it -swells up to a considerable bulk, greater or smaller, in proportion as -I repeat more or less the same idea. When I stop in the addition of -parts, the idea of extension ceases to augment; and were I to carry -on the addition <i>in infinitum</i>, I clearly perceive, that the idea of -extension must also become infinite. Upon the whole, I conclude, that -the idea of an infinite number of parts is individually the same idea -with that of an infinite extension; that no finite extension is capable -of containing an infinite number of parts; and, consequently, that no -finite extension is infinitely divisible.<a name="FNanchor_1_51" id="FNanchor_1_51"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_51" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> - -<p>I may subjoin another argument proposed by a noted author,<a name="FNanchor_2_52" id="FNanchor_2_52"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_52" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> which -seems to me very strong and beautiful. 'Tis evident, that existence -in itself belongs only to unity, and is never applicable to number, -but on account of the unites of which the number is composed. Twenty -men may be said to exist; but 'tis only because one, two, three, four, -&c. are existent; and if you deny the existence of the latter, that of -the former falls of course. 'Tis therefore utterly absurd to suppose -any number to exist, and yet deny the existence of unites; and as -extension is always a number, according to the common sentiment of -metaphysicians, and never resolves itself into any unite or indivisible -quantity, it follows that extension can never at all exist. 'Tis in -vain to reply, that any determinate quantity of extension is an unite; -but such a one as admits of an infinite number of fractions, and is -inexhaustible in its subdivisions. For by the same rule, these twenty -men <i>may be considered as an unite</i>. The whole globe of the earth, nay, -the whole universe <i>may be considered as an unite</i>. That term of unity -is merely a fictitious denomination, which the mind may apply to any -quantity of objects it collects together; nor can such an unity any -more exist alone than number can, as being in reality a true number. -But the unity, which can exist alone, and whose existence is necessary -to that of all number, is of another kind, and must be perfectly -indivisible, and incapable of being resolved into any lesser unity.</p> - -<p>All this reasoning takes place with regard to time; along with an -additional argument, which it may be proper to take notice of. 'Tis -a property inseparable from time, and which in a manner constitutes -its essence,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> that each of its parts succeeds another, and that none -of them, however contiguous, can ever be coexistent. For the same -reason that the year 1737 cannot concur with the present year 1738, -every moment must be distinct from, and posterior or antecedent to -another. 'Tis certain then, that time, as it exists, must be composed -of indivisible moments. For if in time we could never arrive at an -end of division, and if each moment, as it succeeds another, were not -perfectly single and indivisible, there would be an infinite number of -co-existent moments, or parts of time; which I believe will be allowed -to be an arrant contradiction.</p> - -<p>The infinite divisibility of space implies that of time, as is evident -from the nature of motion. If the latter, therefore, be impossible, the -former must be equally so.</p> - -<p>I doubt not but it will readily be allowed by the most obstinate -defender of the doctrine of infinite divisibility, that these arguments -are difficulties, and that 'tis impossible to give any answer to -them which will be perfectly clear and satisfactory. But here we may -observe, that nothing can be more absurd than this custom of calling a -<i>difficulty</i> what pretends to be a <i>demonstration</i>, and endeavouring by -that means to elude its force and evidence. 'Tis not in demonstrations, -as in probabilities, that difficulties can take place, and one argument -counterbalance another, and diminish its authority. A demonstration, -if just, admits of no opposite difficulty; and if not just, 'tis -a mere sophism, and consequently can never be a difficulty. 'Tis -either irresistible, or has no manner of force. To talk therefore of -objections and replies, and balancing of arguments in such a question -as this, is to confess, either<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> that human reason is nothing but a -play of words, or that the person himself, who talks so, has not a -capacity equal to such subjects. Demonstrations may be difficult to be -comprehended, because of the abstractedness of the subject; but can -never have any such difficulties as will weaken their authority, when -once they are comprehended.</p> - -<p>'Tis true, mathematicians are wont to say, that there are here -equally strong arguments on the other side of the question, and that -the doctrine of indivisible points is also liable to unanswerable -objections. Before I examine these arguments and objections in detail, -I will here take them in a body, and endeavour, by a short and decisive -reason, to prove, at once, that 'tis utterly impossible they can have -any just foundation.</p> - -<p>'Tis an established maxim in metaphysics, <i>That whatever the mind -clearly conceives includes the idea of possible existence</i>, or, in -other words, <i>that nothing we imagine is absolutely impossible</i>. We -can form the idea of a golden mountain, and from thence conclude, that -such a mountain may actually exist. We can form no idea of a mountain -without a valley, and therefore regard it as impossible.</p> - -<p>Now 'tis certain we have an idea of extension; for otherwise, why -do we talk and reason concerning it? 'Tis likewise certain, that -this idea, as conceived by the imagination, though divisible into -parts or inferior ideas, is not infinitely divisible, nor consists -of an infinite number of parts: for that exceeds the comprehension -of our limited capacities. Here then is an idea of extension, which -consists of parts or inferior ideas, that are perfectly indivisible: -consequently this idea implies no contradiction: consequently 'tis -possible for extension really to exist conformable to it: and -consequently,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> all the arguments employed against the possibility of -mathematical points are mere scholastic quibbles, and unworthy of our -attention.</p> - -<p>These consequences we may carry one step farther, and conclude that all -the pretended demonstrations for the infinite divisibility of extension -are equally sophistical; since 'tis certain these demonstrations cannot -be just without proving the impossibility of mathematical points; which -'tis an evident absurdity to pretend to.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_51" id="Footnote_1_51"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_51"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> It has been objected to me, that infinite divisibility -supposes only an infinite number of <i>proportional</i> not of <i>aliquot</i> -parts, and that an infinite number of proportional parts does not form -an infinite extension. But this distinction is entirely frivolous. -Whether these parts be called <i>aliquot</i> or <i>proportional</i>, they cannot -be inferior to those minute parts we conceive; and therefore, cannot -form a less extension by their conjunction.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_52" id="Footnote_2_52"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_52"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Mons. Malezieu.</p></div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - - -<h5><a name="SECTION_III_bI" id="SECTION_III_bI">SECTION III.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF THE OTHER QUALITIES OF OUR IDEAS OF SPACE AND TIME.</h5> - - -<p>No discovery could have been made more happily for deciding all -controversies concerning ideas, than that above mentioned, that -impressions always take the precedency of them, and that every idea, -with which the imagination is furnished, first makes its appearance in -a correspondent impression. These latter perceptions are all so clear -and evident, that they admit of no controversy; though many of our -ideas are so obscure, that 'tis almost impossible even for the mind, -which forms them, to tell exactly their nature and composition. Let us -apply this principle, in order to discover farther the nature of our -ideas of space and time.</p> - -<p>Upon opening my eyes and turning them to the surrounding objects, -I perceive many visible bodies; and upon shutting them again, and -considering the distance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> betwixt these bodies, I acquire the idea -of extension. As every idea is derived from some impression which -is exactly similar to it, the impressions similar to this idea of -extension, must either be some sensations derived from the sight, or -some internal impressions arising from these sensations.</p> - -<p>Our internal impressions are our passions, emotions, desires, and -aversions; none of which, I believe, will ever be asserted to be -the model from which the idea of space is derived. There remains, -therefore, nothing but the senses which can convey to us this original -impression. Now, what impression do our senses here convey to us? This -is the principal question, and decides without appeal concerning the -nature of the idea.</p> - -<p>The table before me is alone sufficient by its view to give me the -idea of extension. This idea, then, is borrowed from, and represents -some impression which this moment appears to the senses. But my senses -convey to me only the impressions of coloured points, disposed in a -certain manner. If the eye is sensible of any thing farther, I desire -it may be pointed out to me. But, if it be impossible to shew any thing -farther, we may conclude with certainty, that the idea of extension is -nothing but a copy of these coloured points, and of the manner of their -appearance.</p> - -<p>Suppose that, in the extended object, or composition of coloured -points, from which we first received the idea of extension, the points -were of a purple colour; it follows, that in every repetition of that -idea we would not only place the points in the same order with respect -to each other, but also bestow on them that precise colour with which -alone we are acquainted. But afterwards, having experience of the other -colours<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> of violet, green, red, white, black, and of all the different -compositions of these, and finding a resemblance in the disposition of -coloured points, of which they are composed, we omit the peculiarities -of colour, as far as possible, and found an abstract idea merely on -that disposition of points, or manner of appearance, in which they -agree. Nay, even when the resemblance is carried beyond the objects -of one sense, and the impressions of touch are found to be similar -to those of sight in the disposition of their parts; this does not -hinder the abstract idea from representing both, upon account of their -resemblance. All abstract ideas are really nothing but particular ones, -considered in a certain light; but being annexed to general terms, they -are able to represent a vast variety, and to comprehend objects, which, -as they are alike in some particulars, are in others vastly wide of -each other.</p> - -<p>The idea of time, being derived from the succession of our perceptions -of every kind, ideas as well as impressions, and impressions of -reflection as well as of sensation, will afford us an instance of an -abstract idea, which comprehends a still greater variety than that -of space, and yet is represented in the fancy by some particular -individual idea of a determined quantity and quality.</p> - -<p>As 'tis from the disposition of visible and tangible objects we receive -the idea of space, so, from the succession of ideas and impressions we -form the idea of time; nor is it possible for time alone ever to make -its appearance, or be taken notice of by the mind. A man in a sound -sleep, or strongly occupied with one thought, is insensible of time; -and according as his perceptions succeed each other with greater or -less rapidity, the same duration appears longer or shorter to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> his -imagination. It has been remarked by a great philosopher,<a name="FNanchor_3_53" id="FNanchor_3_53"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_53" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> that our -perceptions have certain bounds in this particular, which are fixed by -the original nature and constitution of the mind, and beyond which no -influence of external objects on the senses is ever able to hasten or -retard our thought. If you wheel about a burning coal with rapidity, -it will present to the senses an image of a circle of fire; nor will -there seem to be any interval of time betwixt its revolutions; merely -because 'tis impossible for our perceptions to succeed each other, -with the same rapidity that motion may be communicated to external -objects. Wherever we have no successive perceptions, we have no notion -of time, even though there be a real succession in the objects. From -these phenomena, as well as from many others, we may conclude, that -time cannot make its appearance to the mind, either alone or attended -with a steady unchangeable object, but is always discovered by some -<i>perceivable</i> succession of changeable objects.</p> - -<p>To confirm this we may add the following argument, which to me seems -perfectly decisive and convincing. 'Tis evident, that time or duration -consists of different parts: for otherwise, we could not conceive a -longer or shorter duration. 'Tis also evident, that these parts are -not co-existent: for that quality of the coexistence of parts belongs -to extension, and is what distinguishes it from duration. Now as time -is composed of parts that are not co-existent, an unchangeable object, -since it produces none but co-existent impressions, produces none that -can give us the idea of time; and, consequently, that idea must be -derived from a succession<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> of changeable objects, and time in its first -appearance can never be severed from such a succession.</p> - -<p>Having therefore found, that time in its first appearance to the mind -is always conjoined with a succession of changeable objects, and that -otherwise it can never fall under our notice, we must now examine, -whether it can be <i>conceived</i> without our conceiving any succession -of objects, and whether it can alone form a distinct idea in the -imagination.</p> - -<p>In order to know whether any objects, which are joined in impression, -be separable in idea, we need only consider if they be different from -each other; in which case, 'tis plain they may be conceived apart. -Every thing that is different is distinguishable, and every thing -that is distinguishable may be separated, according to the maxims -above explained. If, on the contrary, they be not different, they are -not distinguishable; and if they be not distinguishable, they cannot -be separated. But this is precisely the case with respect to time, -compared with our successive perceptions. The idea of time is not -derived from a particular impression mixed up with others, and plainly -distinguishable from them, but arises altogether from the manner in -which impressions appear to the mind, without making one of the number. -Five notes played on a flute give us the impression and idea of time, -though time be not a sixth impression which presents itself to the -hearing or any other of the senses. Nor is it a sixth impression which -the mind by reflection finds in itself. These five sounds making their -appearance in this particular manner, excite no emotion in the mind, -nor produce an affection of any kind, which being observed by it can -give rise to a new idea. For <i>that</i> is necessary to produce a new idea -of reflection; nor can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> the mind, by revolving over a thousand times -all its ideas of sensation, ever extract from them any new original -idea, unless nature has so framed its faculties, that it feels some -new original impression arise from such a contemplation. But here it -only takes notice of the our the <i>manner</i> in which the different sounds -make their appearance, and that it may afterwards consider without -considering these particular sounds, but may conjoin it with any other -objects. The ideas of some objects it certainly must have, nor is it -possible for it without these ideas ever to arrive at any conception of -time; which, since it appears not as any primary distinct impression, -can plainly be nothing but different ideas, or impressions, or objects -disposed in a certain manner, that is, succeeding each other.</p> - -<p>I know there are some who pretend that the idea of duration is -applicable in a proper sense to objects which are perfectly -unchangeable; and this I take to be the common opinion of philosophers -as well as of the vulgar. But to be convinced of its falsehood, we need -but reflect on the foregoing conclusion, that the idea of duration is -always derived from a succession of changeable objects, and can never -be conveyed to the mind by any thing stedfast and unchangeable. For -it inevitably follows from thence, that since the idea of duration -cannot be derived from such an object, it can never in any propriety or -exactness be applied to it, nor can any thing unchangeable be ever said -to have duration. Ideas always represent the objects or impressions, -from which they are derived, and can never, without a fiction, -represent or be applied to any other. By what fiction we apply the idea -of time, even to what is unchangeable, and suppose, as is common<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> that -duration is a measure of rest as well as of motion, we shall consider -afterwards.<a name="FNanchor_4_54" id="FNanchor_4_54"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_54" class="fnanchor">[4]</a></p> - -<p>There is another very decisive argument, which establishes the present -doctrine concerning our ideas of space and time, and is founded only on -that simple principle, <i>that our ideas of them are compounded of parts, -which are indivisible</i>. This argument may be worth the examining.</p> - -<p>Every idea that is distinguishable being also separable, let us -take one of those simple indivisible ideas, of which the compound -one of <i>extension</i> is formed, and separating it from all others, -and considering it apart, let us form a judgment of its nature and -qualities.</p> - -<p>'Tis plain it is not the idea of extension: for the idea of extension -consists of parts; and this idea, according to the supposition, is -perfectly simple and indivisible. Is it therefore nothing? That is -absolutely impossible. For as the compound idea of extension, which -is real, is composed of such ideas, were these so many nonentities -there would be a real existence composed of nonentities, which is -absurd. Here, therefore, I must ask, <i>What is our idea of a simple and -indivisible point</i>? No wonder if my answer appear somewhat new, since -the question itself has scarce ever yet been thought of. We are wont -to dispute concerning the nature of mathematical points, but seldom -concerning the nature of their ideas.</p> - -<p>The idea of space is conveyed to the mind by two senses, the -sight and touch; nor does any thing ever appear extended, that is -not either visible or tangible. That compound impression, which -represents extension, consists of several lesser impressions, that -are indivisible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> to the eye or feeling, and may be called impressions -of atoms or corpuscles endowed with colour and solidity. But this -is not all. 'Tis not only requisite that these atoms should be -coloured or tangible, in order to discover themselves to our senses, -'tis also necessary we should preserve the idea of their colour or -tangibility, in order to comprehend them by our imagination. There is -nothing but the idea of their colour or tangibility which can render -them conceivable by the mind. Upon the removal of the ideas of these -sensible qualities they are utterly annihilated to the thought or -imagination.</p> - -<p>Now, such as the parts are, such is the whole. If a point be not -considered as coloured or tangible, it can convey to us no idea; and -consequently the idea of extension, which is composed of the ideas of -these points, can never possibly exist: but if the idea of extension -really can exist, as we are conscious it does, its parts must also -exist; and in order to that, must be considered as coloured or -tangible. We have therefore no idea of space or extension, but when we -regard it as an object either of our sight or feeling.</p> - -<p>The same reasoning will prove, that the indivisible moments of time -must be filled with some real object or existence, whose succession -forms the duration, and makes it be conceivable by the mind.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_53" id="Footnote_3_53"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_53"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Mr Locke.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_54" id="Footnote_4_54"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_54"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Sect. 5.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p></div> - - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h5><a name="SECTION_IV_bI" id="SECTION_IV_bI">SECTION IV.</a></h5> - -<h5>OBJECTIONS ANSWERED.</h5> - - -<p>Our system concerning space and time consists of two parts, which -are intimately connected together. The first depends on this chain -of reasoning. The capacity of the mind is not infinite, consequently -no idea of extension or duration consists of an infinite number of -parts or inferior ideas, but of a finite number, and these simple -and indivisible: 'tis therefore possible for space and time to exist -conformable to this idea: and if it be possible, 'tis certain they -actually do exist conformable to it, since their infinite divisibility -is utterly impossible and contradictory.</p> - -<p>The other part of our system is a consequence of this. The parts, into -which the ideas of space and time resolve themselves, become at last -indivisible; and these indivisible parts, being nothing in themselves, -are inconceivable when not filled with something real and existent. The -ideas of space and time are therefore no separate or distinct ideas, -but merely those of the manner or order in which objects exist; or, in -other words, 'tis impossible to conceive either a vacuum and extension -without matter, or a time when there was no succession or change in -any real existence. The intimate connexion betwixt these parts of our -system is the reason why we shall examine together the objections which -have been urged against both of them, beginning with those against the -finite divisibility of extension.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> - -<p>I. The first of these objections which I shall take notice of, is more -proper to prove this connexion and dependence of the one part upon the -other than to destroy either of them. It has often been maintained in -the schools, that extension must be divisible, <i>in infinitum</i>, because -the system of mathematical points is absurd; and that system is absurd, -because a mathematical point is a nonentity, and consequently can -never, by its conjunction with others, form a real existence. This -would be perfectly decisive, were there no medium betwixt the infinite -divisibility of matter, and the nonentity of mathematical points. But -there is evidently a medium, viz. the bestowing a colour or solidity on -these points; and the absurdity of both the extremes is a demonstration -of the truth and reality of this medium. The system of <i>physical</i> -points, which is another medium, is too absurd to need a refutation. A -real extension, such as a physical point is supposed to be, can never -exist without parts different from each other; and wherever objects are -different, they are distinguishable and separable by the imagination.</p> - -<p>II. The second objection is derived from the necessity there would -be of <i>penetration</i>, if extension consisted of mathematical points. -A simple and indivisible atom that touches another must necessarily -penetrate it; for 'tis impossible it can touch it by its external -parts, from the very supposition of its perfect simplicity, which -excludes all parts. It must therefore touch it intimately, and in its -whole essence, <i>secundum se, tota, et totaliter</i>; which is the very -definition of penetration. But penetration is impossible: mathematical -points are of consequence equally impossible.</p> - -<p>I answer this objection by substituting a juster idea of penetration. -Suppose two bodies, containing no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> void within their circumference, to -approach each other, and to unite in such a manner that the body, which -results from their union, is no more extended than either of them; 'tis -this we must mean when we talk of penetration. But 'tis evident this -penetration is nothing but the annihilation of one of these bodies, and -the preservation of the other, without our being able to distinguish -particularly which is preserved and which annihilated. Before the -approach we have the idea of two bodies; after it we have the idea -only of one. 'Tis impossible for the mind to preserve any notion of -difference betwixt two bodies of the same nature existing in the same -place at the same time.</p> - -<p>Taking then penetration in this sense, for the annihilation of one body -upon its approach to another, I ask any one if he sees a necessity that -a coloured or tangible point should be annihilated upon the approach -of another coloured or tangible point? On the contrary, does he not -evidently perceive, that, from the union of these points, there results -an object which is compounded and divisible, and may be distinguished -into two parts, of which each preserves its existence, distinct and -separate, notwithstanding its contiguity to the other? Let him aid his -fancy by conceiving these points to be of different colours, the better -to prevent their coalition and confusion. A blue and a red point may -surely lie contiguous without any penetration or annihilation. For if -they cannot, what possibly can become of them? Whether shall the red or -the blue be annihilated? Or if these colours unite into one, what new -colour will they produce by their union?</p> - -<p>What chiefly gives rise to these objections, and at the same time -renders it so difficult to give a satisfactory answer to them, is -the natural infirmity and unsteadiness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> both of our imagination and -senses when employed on such minute objects. Put a spot of ink upon -paper, and retire to such a distance that the spot becomes altogether -invisible, you will find, that, upon your return and nearer approach, -the spot first becomes visible by short intervals, and afterwards -becomes always visible; and afterwards acquires only a new force in -its colouring, without augmenting its bulk; and afterwards, when it -has increased to such a degree as to be really extended, 'tis still -difficult for the imagination to break it into its component parts, -because of the uneasiness it finds in the conception of such a minute -object as a single point. This infirmity affects most of our reasonings -on the present subject, and makes it almost impossible to answer in an -intelligible manner, and in proper expressions, many questions which -may arise concerning it.</p> - -<p>III. There have been many objections drawn from the <i>mathematics</i> -against the indivisibility of the parts of extension, though at first -sight that science seems rather favourable to the present doctrine; and -if it be contrary in its <i>demonstrations</i>,'tis perfectly conformable -in its <i>definitions</i>. My present business then must be, to defend the -definitions and refute the demonstrations.</p> - -<p>A surface is <i>defined</i> to be length and breadth without depth; a line -to be length without breadth or depth; a point to be what has neither -length, breadth, nor depth. 'Tis evident that all this is perfectly -unintelligible upon any other supposition than that of the composition -of extension by indivisible points or atoms. How else could any thing -exist without length, without breadth, or without depth?</p> - -<p>Two different answers, I find, have been made to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> this argument, -neither of which is, in my opinion, satisfactory. The first is, that -the objects of geometry, those surfaces, lines, and points, whose -proportions and positions it examines, are mere ideas in the mind; -and not only never did, but never can exist in nature. They never -did exist; for no one will pretend to draw a line or make a surface -entirely conformable to the definition: they never can exist; for we -may produce demonstrations from these very ideas to prove that they are -impossible.</p> - -<p>But can any thing be imagined more absurd and contradictory than this -reasoning? Whatever can be conceived by a clear and distinct idea, -necessarily implies the possibility of existence; and he who pretends -to prove the impossibility of its existence by any argument derived -from the clear idea, in reality asserts that we have no clear idea -of it, because we have a clear idea. 'Tis in vain to search for a -contradiction in any thing that is distinctly conceived by the mind. -Did it imply any contradiction, 'tis impossible it could ever be -conceived.</p> - -<p>There is therefore no medium betwixt allowing at least the possibility -of indivisible points, and denying their idea; and 'tis on this latter -principle that the second answer to the foregoing argument is founded. -It has been pretended,<a name="FNanchor_5_55" id="FNanchor_5_55"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_55" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> that though it be impossible to conceive a -length without any breadth, yet by an abstraction without a separation -we can consider the one without regarding the other; in the same manner -as we may think of the length of the way betwixt two towns and overlook -its breadth. The length is inseparable from the breadth both in nature -and in our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> minds; but this excludes not a partial consideration, and a -<i>distinction of reason</i>, after the manner above explained.</p> - -<p>In refuting this answer I shall not insist on the argument, which I -have already sufficiently explained, that if it be impossible for -the mind to arrive at a <i>minimum</i> in its ideas, its capacity must be -infinite in order to comprehend the infinite number of parts, of which -its idea of any extension would be composed. I shall here endeavour to -find some new absurdities in this reasoning.</p> - -<p>A surface terminates a solid; a line terminates a surface; a point -terminates a line; but I assert, that if the <i>ideas</i> of a point, line, -or surface, were not indivisible, 'tis impossible we should ever -conceive these terminations. For let these ideas be supposed infinitely -divisible, and then let the fancy endeavour to fix itself on the idea -of the last surface, line, or point, it immediately finds this idea -to break into parts; and upon its seizing the last of these parts it -loses its hold by a new division, and so on <i>in infinitum</i>, without -any possibility of its arriving at a concluding idea. The number of -fractions bring it no nearer the last division than the first idea -it formed. Every particle eludes the grasp by a new fraction, like -quicksilver, when we endeavour to seize it. But as in fact there must -be something which terminates the idea of every finite quantity, and as -this terminating idea cannot itself consist of parts or inferior ideas, -otherwise it would be the last of its parts, which finished the idea, -and so on; this is a clear proof, that the ideas of surfaces, lines, -and points, admit not of any division; those of surfaces in depth, of -lines in breadth and depth, and of points in any dimension.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> - -<p>The <i>schoolmen</i> were so sensible of the force of this argument, that -some of them maintained that nature has mixed among those particles of -matter, which are divisible <i>in infinitum</i>, a number of mathematical -points in order to give a termination to bodies; and others eluded -the force of this reasoning by a heap of unintelligible cavils and -distinctions. Both these adversaries equally yield the victory. A man -who hides himself confesses as evidently the superiority of his enemy, -as another, who fairly delivers his arms.</p> - -<p>Thus it appears, that the definitions of mathematics destroy the -pretended demonstrations; and that if we have the idea of indivisible -points, lines, and surfaces, conformable to the definition, their -existence is certainly possible; but if we have no such idea, 'tis -impossible we can ever conceive the termination of any figure, without -which conception there can be no geometrical demonstration.</p> - -<p>But I go farther, and maintain, that none of these demonstrations -can have sufficient weight to establish such a principle as this of -infinite divisibility; and that because with regard to such minute -objects, they are not properly demonstrations, being built on ideas -which are not exact, and maxims which are not precisely true. When -geometry decides any thing concerning the proportions of quantity, we -ought not to look for the utmost <i>precision</i> and exactness. None of -its proofs extend so far: it takes the dimensions and proportions of -figures justly; but roughly, and with some liberty. Its errors are -never considerable, nor would it err at all, did it not aspire to such -an absolute perfection.</p> - -<p>I first ask mathematicians what they mean when they say one line or -surface is <i>equal</i> to, or <i>greater</i>, or <i>less</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> than another? Let any -of them give an answer, to whatever sect he belongs, and whether he -maintains the composition of extension by indivisible points, or by -quantities divisible <i>in infinitum</i>. This question will embarrass both -of them.</p> - -<p>There are few or no mathematicians who defend the hypothesis of -indivisible points, and yet these have the readiest and justest answer -to the present question. They need only reply, that lines or surfaces -are equal, when the numbers of points in each are equal; and that as -the proportion of the numbers varies, the proportion of the lines and -surfaces is also varied. But though this answer be <i>just</i> as well as -obvious, yet I may affirm, that this standard of equality is entirely -<i>useless</i>, and that it never is from such a comparison we determine -objects to be equal or unequal with respect to each other. For as the -points which enter into the composition of any line or surface, whether -perceived by the sight or touch, are so minute and so confounded with -each other that 'tis utterly impossible for the mind to compute their -number, such a computation will never afford us a standard, by which we -may judge of proportions. No one will ever be able to determine by an -exact enumeration, that an inch has fewer points than a foot, or a foot -fewer than an ell, or any greater measure; for which reason, we seldom -or never consider this as the standard of equality or inequality.</p> - -<p>As to those who imagine that extension is divisible <i>in infinitum</i>, -'tis impossible they can make use of this answer, or fix the equality -of any line or surface by a numeration of its component parts. For -since, according to their hypothesis, the least as well as greatest -figures contain an infinite number of parts, and since infinite -numbers, properly speaking, can neither be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> equal <i>nor</i> unequal with -respect to each other, the equality or inequality of any portions -of space can never depend on any proportion in the number of their -parts. 'Tis true, it may be said, that the inequality of an ell and a -yard consists in the different numbers of the feet of which they are -composed, and that of a foot and a yard in the number of inches. But -as that quantity we call an inch in the one is supposed equal to what -we call an inch in the other, and as 'tis impossible for the mind to -find this equality by proceeding <i>in infinitum</i> with these references -to inferior quantities, 'tis evident that at last we must fix some -standard of equality different from an enumeration of the parts.</p> - -<p>There are some who pretend,<a name="FNanchor_6_56" id="FNanchor_6_56"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_56" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> that equality is best defined by -<i>congruity</i>, and that any two figures are equal, when upon the placing -of one upon the other, all their parts correspond to and touch each -other. In order to judge of this definition let us consider, that since -equality is a relation, it is not, strictly speaking, a property in the -figures themselves, but arises merely from the comparison which the -mind makes betwixt them. If it consists therefore in this imaginary -application and mutual contact of parts, we must at least have a -distinct notion of these parts, and must conceive their contact. Now -'tis plain, that in this conception, we would run up these parts to the -greatest minuteness which can possibly be conceived, since the contact -of large parts would never render the figures equal. But the minutest -parts we can conceive are mathematical points, and consequently this -standard of equality is the same with that derived from the equality of -the number of points, which we have already determined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> to be a just -but an useless standard. We must therefore look to some other quarter -for a solution of the present difficulty.</p> - -<p>There are many philosophers, who refuse to assign any standard of -<i>equality</i>, but assert, that 'tis sufficient to present two objects, -that are equal, in order to give us a just notion of this proportion. -All definitions, say they, are fruitless without the perception of such -objects; and where we perceive such objects we no longer stand in need -of any definition. To this reasoning I entirely agree; and assert, that -the only useful notion of equality, or inequality, is derived from the -whole united appearance and the comparison of particular objects.</p> - -<p>'Tis evident that the eye, or rather the mind, is often able at one -view to determine the proportions of bodies, and pronounce them equal -to, or greater or less than each other, without examining or comparing -the number of their minute parts. Such judgments are not only common, -but in many cases certain and infallible. When the measure of a yard -and that of a foot are presented, the mind can no more question, -that the first is longer than the second, than it can doubt of those -principles which are the most clear and self-evident.</p> - -<p>There are therefore three proportions, which the mind distinguishes -in the general appearance of its objects, and calls by the names of -<i>greater, less</i>, and <i>equal</i>. But though its decisions concerning -these proportions be sometimes infallible, they are not always so; -nor are our judgments of this kind more exempt from doubt and error -than those on any other subject. We frequently correct our first -opinion by a review and reflection; and pronounce those objects to -be equal,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> which at first we esteemed unequal; and regard an object -as less, though before it appeared greater than another. Nor is this -the only correction which these judgments of our senses undergo; but -we often discover our error by a juxta-position of the objects; or, -where that is impracticable, by the use of some common and invariable -measure, which, being successively applied to each, informs us of their -different proportions. And even this correction is susceptible of a new -correction, and of different degrees of exactness, according to the -nature of the instrument by which we measure the bodies, and the care -which we employ in the comparison.</p> - -<p>When therefore the mind is accustomed to these judgments and their -corrections, and finds that the same proportion which makes two figures -have in the eye that appearance, which we call <i>equality</i>, makes them -also correspond to each other, and to any common measure with which -they are compared, we form a mixed notion of equality derived both from -the looser and stricter methods of comparison. But we are not content -with this. For as sound reason convinces us that there are bodies -<i>vastly</i> more minute than those which appear to the senses; and as a -false reason would persuade us, that there are bodies <i>infinitely</i> more -minute, we clearly perceive that we are not possessed of any instrument -or art of measuring which can secure us from all error and uncertainty. -We are sensible that the addition or removal of one of these minute -parts is not discernible either in the appearance or measuring; and as -we imagine that two figures, which were equal before, cannot be equal -after this removal or addition, we therefore suppose some imaginary -standard of equality, by which the appearances and measuring<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> are -exactly corrected, and the figures reduced entirely to that proportion. -This standard is plainly imaginary. For as the very idea of equality -is that of such a particular appearance, corrected by juxta-position -or a common measure, the notion of any correction beyond what we -have instruments and art to make, is a mere fiction of the mind, and -useless as well as incomprehensible. But though this standard be only -imaginary, the fiction however is very natural; nor is any thing more -usual, than for the mind to proceed after this manner with any action, -even after the reason has ceased, which first determined it to begin. -This appears very conspicuously with regard to time; where, though -'tis evident we have no exact method of determining the proportions of -parts, not even so exact as in extension, yet the various corrections -of our measures, and their different degrees of exactness, have given -us an obscure and implicit notion of a perfect and entire equality. The -case is the same in many other subjects. A musician, finding his ear -become every day more delicate, and correcting himself by reflection -and attention, proceeds with the same act of the mind even when the -subject fails him, and entertains a notion of a complete <i>tierce</i> or -<i>octave</i>, without being able to tell whence he derives his standard. A -painter forms the same fiction with regard to colours; a mechanic with -regard to motion. To the one <i>light</i> and <i>shade</i>, to the other <i>swift</i> -and <i>slow</i>, are imagined to be capable of an exact comparison and -equality beyond the judgments of the senses.</p> - -<p>We may apply the same reasoning to <i>curve</i> and <i>right</i> lines. Nothing -is more apparent to the senses than the distinction betwixt a curve -and a right line; nor are there any ideas we more easily form than -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> ideas of these objects. But however easily we may form these -ideas, 'tis impossible to produce any definition of them, which will -fix the precise boundaries betwixt them. When we draw lines upon -paper or any continued surface, there is a certain order by which -the lines run along from one point to another, that they may produce -the entire impression of a curve or right line; but this order is -perfectly unknown, and nothing is observed but the united appearance. -Thus, even upon the system of indivisible points, we can only form a -distant notion of some unknown standard to these objects. Upon that of -infinite divisibility we cannot go even this length, but are reduced -merely to the general appearance, as the rule by which we determine -lines to be either curve or right ones. But though we can give no -perfect definition of these lines, nor produce any very exact method -of distinguishing the one from the other, yet this hinders us not from -correcting the first appearance by a more accurate consideration, and -by a comparison with some rule, of whose rectitude, from repeated -trials, we have a greater assurance. And 'tis from these corrections, -and by carrying on the same action of the mind, even when its reason -fails us, that we form the loose idea of a perfect standard to these -figures, without being able to explain or comprehend it.</p> - -<p>'Tis true, mathematicians pretend they give an exact definition of -a right line when they say, <i>it is the shortest way betwixt two -points</i>. But in the first place I observe, that this is more properly -the discovery of one of the properties of a right line, than a just -definition of it. For I ask any one, if, upon mention of a right line, -he thinks not immediately on such a particular appearance, and if 'tis -not by accident only that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> he considers this property? A right line can -be comprehended alone; but this definition is unintelligible without a -comparison with other lines, which we conceive to be more extended. In -common life 'tis established as a maxim, that the straightest way is -always the shortest; which would be as absurd as to say, the shortest -way is always the shortest, if our idea of a right line was not -different from that of the shortest way betwixt two points.</p> - -<p>Secondly, I repeat, what I have already established, that we have no -precise idea of equality and inequality, shorter and longer, more than -of a right line or a curve; and consequently that the one can never -afford us a perfect standard for the other. An exact idea can never be -built on such as are loose and undeterminate.</p> - -<p>The idea of a <i>plain surface</i> is as little susceptible of a precise -standard as that of a right line; nor have we any other means of -distinguishing such a surface, than its general appearance. 'Tis in -vain that mathematicians represent a plain surface as produced by the -flowing of a right line. 'Twill immediately be objected, that our idea -of a surface is as independent of this method of forming a surface, as -our idea of an ellipse is of that of a cone; that the idea of a right -line is no more precise than that of a plain surface; that a right line -may flow irregularly, and by that means form a figure quite different -from a plane; and that therefore we must suppose it to flow along two -right lines, parallel to each other, and on the same plane; which is a -description that explains a thing by itself, and returns in a circle.</p> - -<p>It appears then, that the ideas which are most essential<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> to geometry, -viz. those of equality and inequality, of a right line and a plain -surface, are far from being exact and determinate, according to our -common method of conceiving them. Not only we are incapable of telling -if the case be in any degree doubtful, when such particular figures are -equal; when such a line is a right one, and such a surface a plain one; -but we can form no idea of that proportion, or of these figures, which -is firm and invariable. Our appeal is still to the weak and fallible -judgment, which we make from the appearance of the objects, and correct -by a compass, or common measure; and if we join the supposition of -any farther correction, 'tis of such a one as is either useless or -imaginary. In vain should we have recourse to the common topic, and -employ the supposition of a Deity, whose omnipotence may enable him to -form a perfect geometrical figure, and describe a right line without -any curve or inflection. As the ultimate standard of these figures is -derived from nothing but the senses and imagination, 'tis absurd to -talk of any perfection beyond what these faculties can judge of; since -the true perfection of any thing consists in its conformity to its -standard.</p> - -<p>Now, since these ideas are so loose and uncertain, I would fain ask -any mathematician, what infallible assurance he has, not only of -the more intricate and obscure propositions of his science, but of -the most vulgar and obvious principles? How can he prove to me, for -instance, that two right lines cannot have one common segment? Or -that 'tis impossible to draw more than one right line betwixt any two -points? Should he tell me, that these opinions are obviously absurd, -and repugnant to our clear ideas; I would answer,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> that I do not -deny, where two right lines incline upon each other with a sensible -angle, but 'tis absurd to imagine them to have a common segment. But -supposing these two lines to approach at the rate of an inch in twenty -leagues, I perceive no absurdity in asserting, that upon their contact -they become one. For, I beseech you, by what rule or standard do you -judge, when you assert that the line, in which I have supposed them to -concur, cannot make the same right line with those two, that form so -small an angle betwixt them? You must surely have some idea of a right -line, to which this line does not agree. Do you therefore mean, that -it takes not the points in the same order and by the same rule, as is -peculiar and essential to a right line? If so, I must inform you, that -besides that, in judging after this manner, you allow that extension -is composed of indivisible points (which, perhaps, is more than you -intend), besides this, I say, I must inform you, that neither is this -the standard from which we form the idea of a right line; nor, if it -were, is there any such firmness in our senses or imagination, as to -determine when such an order is violated or preserved. The original -standard of a right line is in reality nothing but a certain general -appearance; and 'tis evident right lines may be made to concur with -each other, and yet correspond to this standard, though corrected by -all the means either practicable or imaginable.</p> - -<p>To whatever side mathematicians turn, this dilemma still meets them. -If they judge of equality, or any other proportion, by the accurate -and exact standard, viz. the enumeration of the minute indivisible -parts, they both employ a standard, which is useless in practice, -and actually establish the indivisibility of extension,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> which they -endeavour to explode. Or if they employ, as is usual, the inaccurate -standard, derived from a comparison of objects, upon their general -appearance, corrected by measuring and juxtaposition; their first -principles, though certain and infallible, are too coarse to afford -any such subtile inferences as they commonly draw from them. The first -principles are founded on the imagination and senses; the conclusion -therefore can never go beyond, much less contradict, these faculties.</p> - -<p>This may open our eyes a little, and let us see, that no geometrical -demonstration for the infinite divisibility of extension can have so -much force as what we naturally attribute to every argument, which -is supported by such magnificent pretensions. At the same time we -may learn the reason, why geometry fails of evidence in this single -point, while all its other reasonings command our fullest assent and -approbation. And indeed it seems more requisite to give the reason -of this exception, than to show that we really must make such an -exception, and regard all the mathematical arguments for infinite -divisibility as utterly sophistical. For 'tis evident, that as no idea -of quantity is infinitely divisible, there cannot be imagined a more -glaring absurdity, than to endeavour to prove, that quantity itself -admits of such a division; and to prove this by means of ideas, which -are directly opposite in that particular. And as this absurdity is -very glaring in itself, so there is no argument founded on it, which -is not attended with a new absurdity, and involves not an evident -contradiction.</p> - -<p>I might give as instances those arguments for infinite divisibility, -which are derived from the <i>point of contact</i>. I know there is no -mathematician, who will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> not refuse to be judged by the diagrams he -describes upon paper, these being loose draughts, as he will tell us, -and serving only to convey with greater facility certain ideas, which -are the true foundation of all our reasoning. This I am satisfied with, -and am willing to rest the controversy merely upon these ideas. I -desire therefore our mathematician to form, as accurately as possible, -the ideas of a circle and a right line; and I then ask, if upon the -conception of their contact he can conceive them as touching in a -mathematical point, or if he must necessarily imagine them to concur -for some space. Whichever side he chooses, he runs himself into equal -difficulties. If he affirms, that in tracing these figures in his -imagination, he can imagine them to touch only in a point, he allows -the possibility of that idea, and consequently of the thing. If he -says, that in his conception of the contact of those lines he must -make them concur, he thereby acknowledges the fallacy of geometrical -demonstrations, when carried beyond a certain degree of minuteness; -since, 'tis certain he has such demonstrations against the concurrence -of a circle and a right line; that is, in other words, he can prove an -idea, viz. that of concurrence, to be <i>incompatible</i> with two other -ideas, viz. those of a circle and right line; though at the same time -he acknowledges these ideas to be <i>inseparable</i>.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_55" id="Footnote_5_55"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_55"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> L'Art de penser.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_56" id="Footnote_6_56"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_56"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> See Dr Barrow's Mathematical Lectures.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p></div> - - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h5><a name="SECTION_V_bI" id="SECTION_V_bI">SECTION V.</a></h5> - -<h5>THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED.</h5> - - -<p>If the second part of my system be true, <i>that the idea of space -or extension is nothing but the idea of visible or tangible points -distributed in a certain order</i>, it follows, that we can form no idea -of a vacuum, or space, where there is nothing visible or tangible. This -gives rise to three objections, which I shall examine together, because -the answer I shall give to one is a consequence of that which I shall -make use of for the others.</p> - -<p>First, it may be said, that men have disputed for many ages concerning -a vacuum and a plenum, without being able to bring the affair to a -final decision: and philosophers, even at this day, think themselves -at liberty to take party on either side, as their fancy leads them. -But whatever foundation there may be for a controversy concerning -the things themselves, it may be pretended that the very dispute is -decisive concerning the idea, and that 'tis impossible men could so -long reason about a vacuum, and either refute or defend it, without -having a notion of what they refuted or defended.</p> - -<p>Secondly, if this argument should be contested, the reality, or at -least possibility, of the <i>idea</i> of a vacuum, may be proved by the -following reasoning. Every idea is possible which is a necessary and -infallible consequence of such as are possible. Now, though we allow -the world to be at present a plenum, we may easily conceive it to be -deprived of motion; and this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> idea will certainly be allowed possible. -It must also be allowed possible, to conceive the annihilation of -any part of matter by the omnipotence of the Deity, while the other -parts remain at rest. For as every idea that is distinguishable is -separable by the imagination, and as every idea that is separable -by the imagination may be conceived to be separately existent, 'tis -evident, that the existence of one particle of matter no more implies -the existence of another, than a square figure in one body implies -a square figure in every one. This being granted, I now demand what -results from the concurrence of these two possible ideas of <i>rest</i> -and <i>annihilation</i>, and what must we conceive to follow upon the -annihilation of all the air and subtile matter in the chamber, -supposing the walls to remain the same, without any motion or -alteration? There are some metaphysicians who answer, that since matter -and extension are the same, the annihilation of the one necessarily -implies that of the other; and there being now no distance betwixt the -walls of the chamber, they touch each other; in the same manner as my -hand touches the paper which is immediately before me. But though this -answer be very common, I defy these metaphysicians to conceive the -matter according to their hypothesis, or imagine the floor and roof, -with all the opposite sides of the chamber, to touch each other, while -they continue in rest, and preserve the same position. For how can -the two walls, that run from south to north, touch each other, while -they touch the opposite ends of two walls that run from east to west? -And how can the floor and roof ever meet, while they are separated by -the four walls that lie in a contrary position? If you change their -position, you suppose a motion. If you conceive any thing betwixt them, -you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> suppose a new creation. But keeping strictly to the two ideas of -<i>rest</i> and <i>annihilation</i>, 'tis evident, that the idea which results -from them is not that of a contact of parts, but something else, which -is concluded to be the idea of a vacuum.</p> - -<p>The third objection carries the matter still farther, and not only -asserts, that the idea of a vacuum is real and possible, but also -necessary and unavoidable. This assertion is founded on the motion we -observe in bodies, which, 'tis maintained, would be impossible and -inconceivable without a vacuum, into which one body must move in order -to make way for another. I shall not enlarge upon this objection, -because it principally belongs to natural philosophy, which lies -without our present sphere.</p> - -<p>In order to answer these objections, we must take the matter pretty -deep, and consider the nature and origin of several ideas, lest we -dispute without understanding perfectly the subject of the controversy. -'Tis evident the idea of darkness is no positive idea, but merely the -negation of light, or, more properly speaking, of coloured and visible -objects. A man who enjoys his sight, receives no other perception from -turning his eyes on every side, when entirely deprived of light, than -what is common to him with one born blind; and 'tis certain such a one -has no idea either of light or darkness. The consequence of this is, -that 'tis not from the mere removal of visible objects we receive the -impression of extension without matter; and that the idea of utter -darkness can never be the same with that of vacuum.</p> - -<p>Suppose again a man to be supported in the air, and to be softly -conveyed along by some invisible power; 'tis evident he is sensible -of nothing, and never receives<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> the idea of extension, nor indeed any -idea, from this invariable motion. Even supposing he moves his limbs to -and fro, this cannot convey to him that idea. He feels in that case a -certain sensation or impression, the parts of which are successive to -each other, and may give him the idea of time, but certainly are not -disposed in such a manner as is necessary to convey the idea of space -or extension.</p> - -<p>Since, then, it appears that darkness and motion, with the utter -removal of every thing visible and tangible, can never give us the idea -of extension without matter, or of a vacuum; the next question is, -whether they can convey this idea, when mixed with something visible -and tangible?</p> - -<p>'Tis commonly allowed by philosophers, that all bodies which discover -themselves to the eye, appear as if painted on a plain surface, -and that their different degrees of remoteness from ourselves are -discovered more by reason than by the senses. When I hold up my hand -before me, and spread my fingers, they are separated as perfectly by -the blue colour of the firmament, as they could be by any visible -object which I could place betwixt them. In order, therefore, to know -whether the sight can convey the impression and idea of a vacuum, we -must suppose, that amidst an entire darkness, there are luminous bodies -presented to us, whose light discovers only these bodies themselves, -without giving us any impression of the surrounding objects.</p> - -<p>We must form a parallel supposition concerning the objects of our -feeling. 'Tis not proper to suppose a perfect removal of all tangible -objects: we must allow something to be perceived by the feeling; and -after an interval and motion of the hand or other organ<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> of sensation, -another object of the touch to be met with; and upon leaving that, -another; and so on, as often as we please. The question is, whether -these intervals do not afford us the idea of extension without body.</p> - -<p>To begin with the first case; 'tis evident, that when only two luminous -bodies appear to the eye, we can perceive whether they be conjoined or -separate; whether they be separated by a great or small distance; and -if this distance varies, we can perceive its increase or diminution, -with the motion of the bodies. But as the distance is not in this case -any thing coloured or visible, it may be thought that there is here -a vacuum or pure extension, not only intelligible to the mind, but -obvious to the very senses.</p> - -<p>This is our natural and most familiar way of thinking, but which we -shall learn to correct by a little reflection. We may observe, that -when two bodies present themselves, where there was formerly an entire -darkness, the only change that is discoverable is in the appearance of -these two objects, and that all the rest continues to be as before, a -perfect negation of light, and of every coloured or visible object. -This is not only true of what may be said to be remote from these -bodies, but also of the very distance which is interposed betwixt them; -<i>that</i> being nothing but darkness, or the negation of light; without -parts, without composition, invariable and indivisible. Now, since -this distance causes no perception different from what a blind man -receives from his eyes, or what is conveyed to us in the darkest night, -it must partake of the same properties; and as blindness and darkness -afford us no ideas of extension, 'tis impossible that the dark<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> and -undistinguishable distance betwixt two bodies can ever produce that -idea.</p> - -<p>The sole difference betwixt an absolute darkness and the appearance -of two or more visible luminous objects consists, as I said, in the -objects themselves, and in the manner they affect our senses. The -angles, which the rays of light flowing from them form with each other; -the motion that is required in the eye, in its passage from one to -the other; and the different parts of the organs which are affected -by them; these produce the only perceptions from which we can judge -of the distance. But as these perceptions are each of them simple and -indivisible, they can never give us the idea of extension.</p> - -<p>We may illustrate this by considering the sense of feeling, and the -imaginary distance or interval interposed betwixt tangible or solid -objects. I suppose two cases, viz. that of a man supported in the air, -and moving his limbs to and fro, without meeting any thing tangible; -and that of a man, who, feeling something tangible, leaves it, and, -after a motion of which he is sensible, perceives another tangible -object; and I then ask, wherein consists the difference betwixt these -two cases? No one will make any scruple to affirm, that it consists -merely in the perceiving those objects, and that the sensation, -which arises from the motion, is in both cases the same; and as that -sensation is not capable of conveying to us an idea of extension, when -unaccompanied with some other perception, it can no more give us that -idea, when mixed with the impressions of tangible objects, since that -mixture produces no alteration upon it.</p> - -<p>But though motion and darkness, either alone or attended with tangible -and visible objects, convey no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> idea of a vacuum or extension without -matter, yet they are the causes why we falsely imagine we can form -such an idea. For there is a close relation betwixt that motion and -darkness, and a real extension, or composition of visible and tangible -objects.</p> - -<p>First, we may observe, that two visible objects, appearing in the midst -of utter darkness, affect the senses in the same manner, and form the -same angle by the rays which flow from them, and meet in the eye, as if -the distance betwixt them were filled with visible objects, that give -us a true idea of extension. The sensation of motion is likewise the -same, when there is nothing tangible interposed betwixt two bodies, as -when we feel a compounded body, whose different parts are placed beyond -each other.</p> - -<p>Secondly, we find by experience, that two bodies, which are so placed -as to affect the senses in the same manner with two others, that have -a certain extent of visible objects interposed betwixt them, are -capable of receiving the same extent, without any sensible impulse or -penetration, and without any change on that angle, under which they -appear to the senses. In like manner, where there is one object, which -we cannot feel after another without an interval, and the perceiving -of that sensation we call motion in our hand or organ of sensation; -experience shews us, that 'tis possible the same object may be felt -with the same sensation of motion, along with the interposed impression -of solid and tangible objects, attending the sensation. That is, in -other words, an invisible and intangible distance may be converted into -a visible and tangible one, without any change on the distant objects.</p> - -<p>Thirdly, we may observe, as another relation betwixt these two -kinds of distance, that they have nearly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> the same effects on every -natural phenomenon. For as all qualities, such as heat, cold, light, -attraction, &c. diminish in proportion to the distance; there is but -little difference observed, whether this distance be marked out by -compounded and sensible objects, or be known only by the manner in -which the distant objects affect the senses.</p> - -<p>Here then are three relations betwixt that distance, which conveys -the idea of extension, and that other, which is not filled with any -coloured or solid object. The distant objects affect the senses in the -same manner, whether separated by the one distance or the other; the -second species of distance is found capable of receiving the first; and -they both equally diminish the force of every quality.</p> - -<p>These relations betwixt the two kinds of distance, will afford us an -easy reason why the one has so often been taken for the other, and -why we imagine we have an idea of extension without the idea of any -object either of the sight or feeling. For we may establish it as a -general maxim in this science of human nature, that wherever there is -a close relation betwixt two ideas, the mind is very apt to mistake -them, and in all its discourses and reasonings to use the one for the -other. This phenomenon occurs on so many occasions, and is of such -consequence, that I cannot forbear stopping a moment to examine its -causes. I shall only premise, that we must distinguish exactly betwixt -the phenomenon itself, and the causes which I shall assign for it; and -must not imagine, from any uncertainty in the latter, that the former -is also uncertain. The phenomenon may be real, though my explication be -chimerical. The falsehood of the one is no consequence of that of the -other; though at the same time we may observe,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> that 'tis very natural -for us to draw such a consequence; which is an evident instance of that -very principle, which I endeavour to explain.</p> - -<p>When I received the relations of <i>resemblance, contiguity</i>, and -<i>causation</i>, as principles of union among ideas, without examining -into their causes, 'twas more in prosecution of my first maxim, that -we must in the end rest contented with experience, than for want of -something specious and plausible, which I might have displayed on that -subject. 'Twould have been easy to have made an imaginary dissection -of the brain, and have shown, why, upon our conception of any idea, -the animal spirits run into all the contiguous traces, and rouze up -the other ideas that are related to it. But though I have neglected -any advantage, which I might have drawn from this topic in explaining -the relations of ideas, I am afraid I must here have recourse to it, -in order to account for the mistakes that arise from these relations. -I shall therefore observe, that as the mind is endowed with a power of -exciting any idea it pleases; whenever it despatches the spirits into -that region of the brain, in which the idea is placed; these spirits -always excite the idea, when they run precisely into the proper traces, -and rummage that cell, which belongs to the idea. But as their motion -is seldom direct, and naturally turns a little to the one side or the -other; for this reason the animal spirits, falling into the contiguous -traces, present other related ideas, in lieu of that which the mind -desired at first to survey. This change we are not always sensible of; -but continuing still the same train of thought, make use of the related -idea, which is presented to us, and employ it in our reasoning, as -if it were the same with what we demanded. This is the cause of many -mistakes and sophisms in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> philosophy; as will naturally be imagined, -and as it would be easy to show, if there was occasion.</p> - -<p>Of the three relations above-mentioned that of resemblance is the -most fertile source of error; and indeed there are few mistakes in -reasoning, which do not borrow largely from that origin. Resembling -ideas are not only related together, but the actions of the mind, -which we employ in considering them, are so little different, that we -are not able to distinguish them. This last circumstance is of great -consequence; and we may in general observe, that wherever the actions -of the mind in forming any two ideas are the same or resembling, we -are very apt to confound these ideas, and take the one for the other. -Of this we shall see many instances in the progress of this treatise. -But though resemblance be the relation, which most readily produces a -mistake in ideas, yet the others of causation and contiguity may also -concur in the same influence. We might produce the figures of poets -and orators, as sufficient proofs of this, were it as usual as it -is reasonable, in metaphysical subjects, to draw our arguments from -that quarter. But lest metaphysicians should esteem this below their -dignity, I shall borrow a proof from an observation, which may be made -on most of their own discourses, viz. that 'tis usual for men to use -words for ideas, and to talk instead of thinking in their reasonings. -We use words for ideas, because they are commonly so closely connected, -that the mind easily mistakes them. And this likewise is the reason, -why we substitute the idea of a distance, which is not considered -either as visible or tangible, in the room of extension, which is -nothing but a composition of visible or tangible points disposed in a -certain order. In causing this mistake there concur both the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> relations -of <i>causation</i> and <i>resemblance</i>. As the first species of distance is -found to be convertible into the second, 'tis in this respect a kind of -cause; and the similarity of their manner of affecting the senses, and -diminishing every quality, forms the relation of resemblance.</p> - -<p>After this chain of reasoning and explication of my principles, I am -now prepared to answer all the objections that have been offered, -whether derived from <i>metaphysics</i> or <i>mechanics</i>. The frequent -disputes concerning a vacuum, or extension without matter, prove not -the reality of the idea, upon which the dispute turns; there being -nothing more common, than to see men deceive themselves in this -particular; especially when, by means of any close relation, there is -another idea presented, which may be the occasion of their mistake.</p> - -<p>We may make almost the same answer to the second objection, derived -from the conjunction of the ideas of rest and annihilation. When every -thing is annihilated in the chamber, and the walls continue immovable, -the chamber must be conceived much in the same manner as at present, -when the air that fills it is not an object of the senses. This -annihilation leaves to the <i>eye</i> that fictitious distance, which is -discovered by the different parts of the organ that are affected, and -by the degrees of light and shade; and to the <i>feeling</i>, that which -consists in a sensation of motion in the hand, or other member of the -body. In vain should we search any farther. On whichever side we turn -this subject, we shall find that these are the only impressions such an -object can produce after the supposed annihilation; and it has already -been remarked, that impressions can give rise to no ideas, but to such -as resemble them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> - -<p>Since a body interposed betwixt two others may be supposed to be -annihilated, without producing any change upon such as lie on each -hand of it, 'tis easily conceived, how it may be created anew, and -yet produce as little alteration. Now the motion of a body has much -the same effect as its creation. The distant bodies are no more -affected in the one case, than in the other. This suffices to satisfy -the imagination, and proves there is no repugnance in such a motion. -Afterwards experience comes in play to persuade us that two bodies, -situated in the manner above described, have really such a capacity -of receiving body betwixt them, and that there is no obstacle to the -conversion of the invisible and intangible distance into one that is -visible and tangible. However natural that conversion may seem, we -cannot be sure it is practicable, before we have had experience of it.</p> - -<p>Thus I seem to have answered the three objections above mentioned; -though at the same time I am sensible, that few will be satisfied -with these answers, but will immediately propose new objections and -difficulties. 'Twill probably be said, that my reasoning makes nothing -to the matter in hand, and that I explain only the manner in which -objects affect the senses, without endeavouring to account for their -real nature and operations. Though there be nothing visible or tangible -interposed betwixt two bodies, yet we find <i>by experience</i>, that the -bodies may be placed in the same manner, with regard to the eye, and -require the same motion of the hand in passing from one to the other, -as if divided by something visible and tangible. This invisible and -intangible distance is also found <i>by experience</i> to contain a capacity -of receiving body, or of becoming visible and tangible. Here is the -whole of my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> system; and in no part of it have I endeavoured to explain -the cause, which separates bodies after this manner, and gives them -a capacity of receiving others betwixt them, without any impulse or -penetration.</p> - -<p>I answer this objection, by pleading guilty, and by confessing that -my intention never was to penetrate into the nature of bodies, or -explain the secret causes of their operations. For, besides that this -belongs not to my present purpose, I am afraid, that such an enterprise -is beyond the reach of human understanding, and that we can never -pretend to know body otherwise than by those external properties, -which discover themselves to the senses. As to those who attempt any -thing farther, I cannot approve of their ambition, till I see, in -some one instance at least, that they have met with success. But at -present I content myself with knowing perfectly the manner in which -objects affect my senses, and their connexions with each other, as far -as experience informs me of them. This suffices for the conduct of -life; and this also suffices for my philosophy, which pretends only to -explain the nature and causes of our perceptions, or impressions and -ideas.<a name="FNanchor_7_57" id="FNanchor_7_57"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_57" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> - -<p>I shall conclude this subject of extension with a paradox, which will -easily be explained from the foregoing reasoning. This paradox is, that -if you are pleased to give to the invisible and intangible distance, -or in other words, to the capacity of becoming a visible and tangible -distance, the name of a vacuum, extension and matter are the same, -and yet there is a vacuum. If you will not give it that name, motion -is possible in a plenum, without any impulse <i>in infinitum</i>, without -returning in a circle, and without penetration. But however we may -express ourselves, we must always confess, that we have no idea of any -real extension without filling it with sensible objects, and conceiving -its parts as visible or tangible.</p> - -<p>As to the doctrine, that time is nothing but the manner in which some -real objects exist; we may observe, that 'tis liable to the same -objections as the similar doctrine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> with regard to extension. If it -be a sufficient proof, that we have the idea of a vacuum, because we -dispute and reason concerning it; we must for the same reason have -the idea of time without any changeable existence; since there is no -subject of dispute more frequent and common. But that we really have -no such idea, is certain. For whence should it be derived? Does it -arise from an impression of sensation or of reflection? Point it out -distinctly to us, that we may know its nature and qualities. But if -you cannot point out <i>any such impression</i>, you may be certain you are -mistaken, when you imagine you have <i>any such idea</i>.</p> - -<p>But though it be impossible to show the impression, from which the idea -of time without a changeable existence is derived, yet we can easily -point out those appearances, which make us fancy we have that idea. For -we may observe, that there is a continual succession of perceptions in -our mind; so that the idea of time being for ever present with us, when -we consider a stedfast object at five o'clock, and regard the same at -six, we are apt to apply to it that idea in the same manner as if every -moment were distinguished by a different position, or an alteration -of the object. The first and second appearances of the object, being -compared with the succession of our perceptions, seem equally removed -as if the object had really changed. To which we may add, what -experience shows us, that the object was susceptible of such a number -of changes betwixt these appearances; as also that the unchangeable -or rather fictitious duration has the same effect upon every quality, -by increasing or diminishing it, as that succession which is obvious -to the senses. From these three relations we are apt to confound our -ideas,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> and imagine we can form the idea of a time and duration, -without any change or succession.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7_57" id="Footnote_7_57"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_57"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> As long as we confine our speculations to <i>the -appearances</i> of objects to our senses, without entering into -disquisitions concerning their real nature and operations, we are safe -from all difficulties, and can never be embarrassed by any question. -Thus, if it be asked, if the invisible and intangible distance, -interposed betwixt two objects, be something or nothing: 'tis easy to -answer, that it is <i>something</i>, viz. a property of the objects, which -affect the <i>senses</i> after such a particular manner. If it be asked, -whether two objects, having such a distance betwixt them, touch or not: -it may be answered, that this depends upon the definition of the word -<i>touch</i>. If objects be said to touch, when there is nothing <i>sensible</i> -interposed betwixt them, these objects touch: If objects be said to -touch, when their <i>images</i> strike contiguous parts of the eye, and when -the hand <i>feels</i> both objects successively, without any interposed -motion, these objects do not touch. The appearances of objects to our -senses are all consistent; and no difficulties can ever arise, but from -the obscurity of the terms we make use of. -</p> -<p> -If we carry our inquiry beyond the appearances of objects to the -senses, I am afraid, that most of our conclusions will be full of -scepticism and uncertainty. Thus, if it be asked, whether or not the -invisible and intangible distance be always full of <i>body</i>, or of -something that by an improvement of our organs might become visible or -tangible, I must acknowledge, that I find no very decisive arguments -on either side: though I am inclined to the contrary opinion, as -being more suitable to vulgar and popular notions. If <i>the Newtonian</i> -philosophy be rightly understood, it will be found to mean no more. -A vacuum is asserted; that is, bodies are said to be placed after -such a manner as to receive bodies betwixt them, without impulsion or -penetration. The real nature of this position of bodies is unknown. -We are only acquainted with its effects on the senses, and its power -of receiving body. Nothing is more suitable to that philosophy, than -a modest scepticism to a certain degree, and a fair confession of -ignorance in subjects that exceed all human capacity.</p></div> - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h5><a id="SECTION_VI_bI"></a>SECTION VI_bI.</h5> - -<h5>OF THE IDEA OF EXISTENCE, AND OF EXTERNAL EXISTENCE.</h5> - - -<p>It may not be amiss, before we leave this subject, to explain the -ideas of <i>existence</i> and of <i>external existence</i>; which have their -difficulties, as well as the ideas of space and time. By this means -we shall be the better prepared for the examination of knowledge and -probability, when we understand perfectly all those particular ideas, -which may enter into our reasoning.</p> - -<p>There is no impression nor idea of any kind, of which we have any -consciousness or memory, that is not conceived as existent; and 'tis -evident that, from this consciousness, the most perfect idea and -assurance of <i>being</i> is derived. From hence we may form a dilemma, the -most clear and conclusive that can be imagined, viz. that since we -never remember any idea or impression without attributing existence -to it, the idea of existence must either be derived from a distinct -impression, conjoined with every perception or object of our thought, -or must be the very same with the idea of the perception or object.</p> - -<p>As this dilemma is an evident consequence of the principle, that every -idea arises from a similar impression, so our decision betwixt the -propositions of the dilemma is no more doubtful. So far from there -being any distinct impression attending every impression and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> every -idea, that I do not think there are any two distinct impressions which -are inseparably conjoined. Though certain sensations may at one time -be united, we quickly find they admit of a separation, and may be -presented apart. And thus, though every impression and idea we remember -be considered as existent, the idea of existence is not derived from -any particular impression.</p> - -<p>The idea of existence, then, is the very same with the idea of what we -conceive to be existent. To reflect on any thing simply, and to reflect -on it as existent, are nothing different from each other. That idea, -when conjoined with the idea of any object, makes no addition to it. -Whatever we conceive, we conceive to be existent. Any idea we please -to form is the idea of a being; and the idea of a being is any idea we -please to form.</p> - -<p>Whoever opposes this, must necessarily point out that distinct -impression, from which the idea of entity is derived, and must prove, -that this impression is inseparable from every perception we believe to -be existent. This we may without hesitation conclude to be impossible.</p> - -<p>Our foregoing reasoning<a name="FNanchor_8_58" id="FNanchor_8_58"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_58" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> concerning the <i>distinction</i> of ideas -without any real <i>difference</i> will not here serve us in any stead. That -kind of distinction is founded on the different resemblances, which the -same simple idea may have to several different ideas. But no object can -be presented resembling some object with respect to its existence, and -different from others in the same particular; since every object that -is presented, must necessarily be existent.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> - -<p>A like reasoning will account for the idea of <i>external existence</i>. -We may observe, that 'tis universally allowed by philosophers, and is -besides pretty obvious of itself, that nothing is ever really present -with the mind but its perceptions or impressions and ideas, and that -external objects become known to us only by those perceptions they -occasion. To hate, to love, to think, to feel, to see; all this is -nothing but to perceive.</p> - -<p>Now, since nothing is ever present to the mind but perceptions, and -since all ideas are derived from something antecedently present to -the mind; it follows, that 'tis impossible for us so much as to -conceive or form an idea of any thing specifically different from -ideas and impressions. Let us fix our attention out of ourselves as -much as possible; let us chase our imagination to the heavens, or to -the utmost limits of the universe; we never really advance a step -beyond ourselves, nor can conceive any kind of existence, but those -perceptions, which have appeared in that narrow compass. This is the -universe of the imagination, nor have we any idea but what is there -produced.</p> - -<p>The farthest we can go towards a conception of external objects, when -supposed <i>specifically</i> different from our perceptions, is to form a -relative idea of them, without pretending to comprehend the related -objects. Generally speaking, we do not suppose them specifically -different; but only attribute to them different relations, connexions, -and durations. But of this more fully hereafter.<a name="FNanchor_9_59" id="FNanchor_9_59"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_59" class="fnanchor">[9]</a></p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8_58" id="Footnote_8_58"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_58"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Part I. Sect. 7.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_9_59" id="Footnote_9_59"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_59"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Part VI. Sect. 2.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h5><a name="PART_III_I" id="PART_III_I">PART III.</a></h5> - -<h4>OF KNOWLEDGE AND PROBABILITY.</h4> - - -<hr class="r5" /> -<h5><a name="SECTION_I_cI" id="SECTION_I_cI">SECTION I.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF KNOWLEDGE.</h5> - - -<p>There are seven different kinds of philosophical relation,<a name="FNanchor_1_60" id="FNanchor_1_60"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_60" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> viz. -<i>resemblance, identity, relations of time and place, proportion -in quantity or number, degrees in any quality, contrariety, and -causation</i>. These relations may be divided into two classes; into -such as depend entirely on the ideas, which we compare together, and -such as may be changed without any change in the ideas. 'Tis from -the idea of a triangle, that we discover the relation of equality, -which its three angles bear to two right ones; and this relation is -invariable, as long as our idea remains the same. On the contrary, the -relations of <i>contiguity</i> and <i>distance</i> betwixt two objects may be -changed merely by an alteration of their place, without any change on -the objects themselves or on their ideas; and the place depends on a -hundred different accidents, which cannot be foreseen by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> mind. -'Tis the same case with <i>identity</i> and <i>causation</i>. Two objects, though -perfectly resembling each other, and even appearing in the same place -at different times, may be numerically different: and as the power, by -which one object produces another, is never discoverable merely from -their idea, 'tis evident <i>cause</i> and <i>effect</i> are relations, of which -we receive information from experience, and not from any abstract -reasoning or reflection. There is no single phenomenon, even the most -simple, which can be accounted for from the qualities of the objects, -as they appear to us; or which we could foresee without the help of our -memory and experience.</p> - -<p>It appears therefore that of these seven philosophical relations, there -remain only four, which depending solely upon ideas, can be the objects -of knowledge and certainty. These four are <i>resemblance, contrariety, -degrees in quality, and proportions in quantity or number</i>. Three -of these relations are discoverable at first sight, and fall more -properly under the province of intuition than demonstration. When any -objects <i>resemble</i> each other, the resemblance will at first strike -the eye, or rather the mind; and seldom requires a second examination. -The case is the same with <i>contrariety</i>, and with the <i>degrees</i> of -any <i>quality</i>. No one can once doubt but existence and non-existence -destroy each other, and are perfectly incompatible and contrary. And -though it be impossible to judge exactly of the degrees of any quality, -such as colour, taste, heat, cold, when the difference betwixt them is -very small; yet 'tis easy to decide, that any of them is superior or -inferior to another, when their difference is considerable. And this -decision we always pronounce at first sight, without any inquiry or -reasoning.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> - -<p>We might proceed, after the same manner, in fixing the <i>proportions</i> -of <i>quantity</i> or <i>number</i>, and might at one view observe a superiority -or inferiority betwixt any numbers, or figures; especially where the -difference is very great and remarkable. As to equality or any exact -proportion, we can only guess at it from a single consideration; except -in very short numbers, or very limited portions of extension; which are -comprehended in an instant, and where we perceive an impossibility of -falling into any considerable error. In all other cases we must settle -the proportions with some liberty, or proceed in a more <i>artificial</i> -manner.</p> - -<p>I have already observed, that geometry, or the <i>art</i> by which we fix -the proportions of figures; though it much excels both in universality -and exactness, the loose judgments of the senses and imagination; yet -never attains a perfect precision and exactness. Its first principles -are still drawn from the general appearance of the objects; and that -appearance can never afford us any security, when we examine the -prodigious minuteness of which nature is susceptible. Our ideas seem -to give a perfect assurance, that no two right lines can have a common -segment; but if we consider these ideas, we shall find, that they -always suppose a sensible inclination of the two lines, and that where -the angle they form is extremely small, we have no standard of a right -line so precise as to assure us of the truth of this proposition. 'Tis -the same case with most of the primary decisions of the mathematics.</p> - -<p>There remain therefore algebra and arithmetic as the only sciences, in -which we can carry on a chain of reasoning to any degree of intricacy, -and yet preserve a perfect exactness and certainty. We are possessed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> -of a precise standard, by which we can judge of the equality and -proportion of numbers; and according as they correspond or not to that -standard, we determine their relations, without any possibility of -error. When two numbers are so combined, as that the one has always an -unite answering to every unite of the other, we pronounce them equal; -and 'tis for want of such a standard of equality in extension, that -geometry can scarce be esteemed a perfect and infallible science.</p> - -<p>But here it may not be amiss to obviate a difficulty, which may -arise from my asserting, that though geometry falls short of that -perfect precision and certainty, which are peculiar to arithmetic -and algebra, yet it excels the imperfect judgments of our senses and -imagination. The reason why I impute any defect to geometry, is, -because its original and fundamental principles are derived merely from -appearances; and it may perhaps be imagined, that this defect must -always attend it, and keep it from ever reaching a greater exactness in -the comparison of objects or ideas, than what our eye or imagination -alone is able to attain. I own that this defect so far attends it, as -to keep it from ever aspiring to a full certainty: but since these -fundamental principles depend on the easiest and least deceitful -appearances, they bestow on their consequences a degree of exactness, -of which these consequences are singly incapable. 'Tis impossible for -the eye to determine the angles of a chiliagon to be equal to 1996 -right angles, or make any conjecture, that approaches this proportion; -but when it determines, that right lines cannot concur; that we cannot -draw more than one right line between two given points; its mistakes -can never be of any consequence. And this is the nature and use of -geometry, to run us up to such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> appearances, as, by reason of their -simplicity, cannot lead us into any considerable error.</p> - -<p>I shall here take occasion to propose a second observation concerning -our demonstrative reasonings, which is suggested by the same subject -of the mathematics. 'Tis usual with mathematicians to pretend, that -those ideas, which are their objects, are of so refined and spiritual a -nature, that they fall not under the conception of the fancy, but must -be comprehended by a pure and intellectual view, of which the superior -faculties of the soul are alone capable. The same notion runs through -most parts of philosophy, and is principally made use of to explain -our abstract ideas, and to show how we can form an idea of a triangle, -for instance, which shall neither be an isosceles nor scalenum, nor be -confined to any particular length and proportion of sides. 'Tis easy -to see why philosophers are so fond of this notion of some spiritual -and refined perceptions; since by that means they cover many of their -absurdities, and may refuse to submit to the decisions of clear ideas, -by appealing to such as are obscure and uncertain. But to destroy this -artifice, we need but reflect on that principle so oft insisted on, -<i>that all our ideas are copied from out impressions</i>. For from thence -we may immediately conclude, that since all impressions are clear and -precise, the ideas, which are copied from them, must be of the same -nature, and can never, but from our fault, contain any thing so dark -and intricate. An idea is by its very nature weaker and fainter than -an impression; but being in every other respect the same, cannot imply -any very great mystery. If its weakness render it obscure, 'tis our -business to remedy that defect, as much as possible, by keeping the -idea steady and precise; and till<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> we have done so, 'tis in vain to -pretend to reasoning and philosophy.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_60" id="Footnote_1_60"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_60"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Part I. Sect. 5.</p></div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - - -<h5><a name="SECTION_II_cI" id="SECTION_II_cI">SECTION II.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF PROBABILITY, AND OF THE IDEA OF CAUSE AND EFFECT.</h5> - - -<p>This is all I think necessary to observe concerning those four -relations, which are the foundation of science; but as to the other -three, which depend not upon the idea, and may be absent or present -even while <i>that</i> remains the same, 'twill be proper to explain them -more particularly. These three relations are <i>identity, the situations -in time and place, and causation</i>.</p> - -<p>All kinds of reasoning consist in nothing but a <i>comparison</i>, and a -discovery of those relations, either constant or inconstant, which two -or more objects bear to each other. This comparison we may make, either -when both the objects are present to the senses, or when neither of -them is present, or when only one. When both the objects are present to -the senses along with the relation, we call <i>this</i> perception rather -than reasoning; nor is there in this case any exercise of the thought, -or any action, properly speaking, but a mere passive admission of -the impressions through the organs of sensation. According to this -way of thinking, we ought not to receive as reasoning any of the -observations we may make concerning <i>identity</i>, and the <i>relations</i> -of <i>time</i> and <i>place</i>; since in none of them the mind can go beyond -what is immediately present to the senses, either to discover the real -existence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> or the relations of objects. 'Tis only <i>causation</i>, which -produces such a connexion, as to give us assurance from the existence -or action of one object, that 'twas followed or preceded by any other -existence or action; nor can the other two relations ever be made use -of in reasoning, except so far as they either affect or are affected -by it. There is nothing in any objects to persuade us, that they are -either always <i>remote</i> or always <i>contiguous</i>; and when from experience -and observation we discover, that their relation in this particular -is invariable, we always conclude there is some secret <i>cause</i> which -separates or unites them. The same reasoning extends to <i>identity</i>. We -readily suppose an object may continue individually the same, though -several times absent from and present to the senses; and ascribe to -it an identity, notwithstanding the interruption of the perception, -whenever we conclude, that if we had kept our eye or hand constantly -upon it, it would have conveyed an invariable and uninterrupted -perception. But this conclusion beyond the impressions of our senses -can be founded only on the connexion of <i>cause and effect</i>; nor can -we otherwise have any security that the object is not changed upon -us, however much the new object may resemble that which was formerly -present to the senses. Whenever we discover such a perfect resemblance, -we consider whether it be common in that species of objects; whether -possibly or probably any cause could operate in producing the change -and resemblance; and according as we determine concerning these causes -and effects, we form our judgment concerning the identity of the object.</p> - -<p>Here then it appears, that of those three relations, which depend not -upon the mere ideas, the only one that can be traced beyond our senses, -and informs us<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> of existences and objects, which we do not see or feel, -is <i>causation</i>. This relation therefore we shall endeavour to explain -fully before we leave the subject of the Of the understanding.</p> - -<p>To begin regularly, we must consider the idea of <i>causation</i>, and see -from what origin it is derived. 'Tis impossible to reason justly, -without understanding perfectly the idea concerning which we reason; -and 'tis impossible perfectly to understand any idea, without tracing -it up to its origin, and examining that primary impression, from which -it arises. The examination of the impression bestows a clearness on the -idea; and the examination of the idea bestows a like clearness on all -our reasoning.</p> - -<p>Let us therefore cast our eye on any two objects, which we call -cause and effect, and turn them on all sides, in order to find that -impression, which produces an idea of such prodigious consequence. -At first sight I perceive, that I must not search for it in any of -the particular <i>qualities</i> of the objects; since, whichever of these -qualities I pitch on, I find some object that is not possessed of it, -and yet falls under the denomination of cause or effect. And indeed -there is nothing existent, either externally or internally, which is -not to be considered either as a cause or an effect; though 'tis plain -there is no one quality which universally belongs to all beings, and -gives them a title to that denomination.</p> - -<p>The idea then of causation must be derived from some <i>relation</i> among -objects; and that relation we must now endeavour to discover. I find -in the first place, that whatever objects are considered as causes or -effects, are <i>contiguous</i>; and that nothing can operate in a time or -place, which is ever so little removed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> from those of its existence. -Though distant objects may sometimes seem productive of each other, -they are commonly found upon examination to be linked by a chain of -causes, which are contiguous among themselves, and to the distant -objects; and when in any particular instance we cannot discover this -connexion, we still presume it to exist. We may therefore consider the -relation of <i>contiguity</i> as essential to that of causation; at least -may suppose it such, according to the general opinion, till we can find -a more proper occasion<a name="FNanchor_2_61" id="FNanchor_2_61"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_61" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> to clear up this matter, by examining what -objects are or are not susceptible of juxtaposition and conjunction.</p> - -<p>The second relation I shall observe as essential to causes and effects, -is not so universally acknowledged, but is liable to some controversy. -'Tis that of <i>priority</i> of time in the cause before the effect. Some -pretend that 'tis not absolutely necessary a cause should precede its -effect; but that any object or action, in the very first moment of its -existence, may exert its productive quality, and give rise to another -object or action, perfectly cotemporary with itself. But beside that -experience in most instances seems to contradict this opinion, we may -establish the relation of priority by a kind of inference or reasoning. -'Tis an established maxim both in natural and moral philosophy, that -an object, which exists for any time in its full perfection without -producing another, is not its sole cause; but is assisted by some other -principle which pushes it from its state of inactivity, and makes it -exert that energy, of which it was secretly possessed. Now if any cause -may be perfectly cotemporary with its effect, 'tis certain, according -to this maxim, that they must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> all of them be so; since any one of -them, which retards its operation for a single moment, exerts not -itself at that very individual time, in which it might have operated; -and therefore is no proper cause. The consequence of this would be -no less than the destruction of that succession of causes, which we -observe in the world; and indeed the utter annihilation of time. For -if one cause were cotemporary with its effect, and this effect with -<i>its</i> effect, and so on, 'tis plain there would be no such thing as -succession, and all objects must be co-existent.</p> - -<p>If this argument appear satisfactory, 'tis well. If not, I beg the -reader to allow me the same liberty, which I have used in the preceding -case, of supposing it such. For he shall find, that the affair is of no -great importance.</p> - -<p>Having thus discovered or supposed the two relations of <i>contiguity</i> -and <i>succession</i> to be essential to causes and effects, I find I am -stopped short, and can proceed no farther in considering any single -instance of cause and effect. Motion in one body is regarded upon -impulse as the cause of motion in another. When we consider these -objects with the utmost attention, we find only that the one body -approaches the other; and that the motion of it precedes that of -the other, but without any sensible interval. 'Tis in vain to rack -ourselves with <i>farther</i> thought and reflection upon this subject. We -can go no <i>farther</i> in considering this particular instance.</p> - -<p>Should any one leave this instance, and pretend to define a cause, by -saying it is something productive of another, 'tis evident he would -say nothing. For what does he mean by <i>production</i>? Can he give any -definition of it, that will not be the same with that of causation?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> - -<p>If he can, I desire it maybe produced. If he cannot, he here runs in a -circle, and gives a synonymous term instead of a definition.</p> - -<p>Shall we then rest contented with these two relations of contiguity and -succession, as affording a complete idea of causation? By no means. An -object may be contiguous and prior to another, without being considered -as its cause. There is a <i>necessary connexion</i> to be taken into -consideration; and that relation is of much greater importance, than -any of the other two above mentioned.</p> - -<p>Here again I turn the object on all sides, in order to discover the -nature of this necessary connexion, and find the impression, or -impressions, from which its idea may be derived. When I cast my eye -on the <i>known qualities</i> of objects, I immediately discover that the -relation of cause and effect depends not in the least on <i>them</i>. When -I consider their <i>relations</i>, I can find none but those of contiguity -and succession; which I have already regarded as imperfect and -unsatisfactory. Shall the despair of success make me assert, that I -am here possessed of an idea, which is not preceded by any similar -impression? This would be too strong a proof of levity and inconstancy; -since the contrary principle has been already so firmly established, -as to admit of no farther doubt; at least, till we have more fully -examined the present difficulty.</p> - -<p>We must therefore proceed like those who, being in search of any thing -that lies concealed from them, and not finding it in the place they -expected, beat about all the neighbouring fields, without any certain -view or design, in hopes their good fortune will at last guide them to -what they search for. 'Tis necessary for us to leave the direct survey -of this question concerning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> the nature of that <i>necessary connexion</i>, -which enters into our idea of cause and effect; and endeavour to find -some other questions, the examination of which will perhaps afford -a hint, that may serve to clear up the present difficulty. Of these -questions there occur two, which I shall proceed to examine, viz.</p> - -<p>First, for what reason we pronounce it <i>necessary</i>, that every thing -whose existence has a beginning, should also have a cause?</p> - -<p>Secondly, why we conclude, that such particular causes must -<i>necessarily</i> have such particular effects; and what is the nature of -that <i>inference</i> we draw from the one to the other, and of the <i>belief</i> -we repose in it?</p> - -<p>I shall only observe before I proceed any farther, that though the -ideas of cause and effect be derived from the impressions of reflection -as well as from those of sensation, yet for brevity's sake, I commonly -mention only the latter as the origin of these ideas; though I desire -that, whatever I say of them, may also extend to the former. Passions -are connected with their objects and with one another; no less than -external bodies are connected together. The same relation then of cause -and effect, which belongs to one, must be common to all of them.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_61" id="Footnote_2_61"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_61"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Part IV. Sect 5.</p></div> - -<hr class="tb" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> - -<h5><a name="SECTION_III_cI" id="SECTION_III_cI">SECTION III.</a></h5> - -<h5>WHY A CAUSE IS ALWAYS NECESSARY.</h5> - - -<p>To begin with the first question concerning the necessity of a cause: -'Tis a general maxim in philosophy, that <i>whatever begins to exist, -must have a cause of existence</i>. This is commonly taken for granted in -all reasonings, without any proof given or demanded. 'Tis supposed to -be founded on intuition, and to be one of those maxims which, though -they may be denied with the lips, 'tis impossible for men in their -hearts really to doubt of. But if we examine this maxim by the idea of -knowledge above explained, we shall discover in it no mark of any such -intuitive certainty; but on the contrary shall find, that 'tis of a -nature quite foreign to that species of conviction.</p> - -<p>All certainty arises from the comparison of ideas, and from the -discovery of such relations as are unalterable, so long as the ideas -continue the same. These relations are <i>resemblance, proportions in -quantity and number, degrees of any quality, and contrariety</i>; none -of which are implied in this proposition, <i>Whatever has a beginning -has also a cause of existence</i>. That proposition therefore is not -intuitively certain. At least any one, who would assert it to be -intuitively certain, must deny these to be the only infallible -relations, and must find some other relation of that kind to be implied -in it; which it will then be time enough to examine.</p> - -<p>But here is an argument, which proves at once, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> the foregoing -proposition is neither intuitively nor demonstrably certain. We can -never demonstrate the necessity of a cause to every new existence, or -new modification of existence, without showing at the same time the -impossibility there is, that any thing can ever begin to exist without -some productive principle; and where the latter proposition cannot be -proved, we must despair of ever being able to prove the former. Now -that the latter proposition is utterly incapable of a demonstrative -proof, we may satisfy ourselves by considering, that as all distinct -ideas are separable from each other, and as the ideas of cause and -effect are evidently distinct, 'twill be easy for us to conceive -any object to be non-existent this moment, and existent the next, -without conjoining to it the distinct idea of a cause or productive -principle. The separation therefore of the idea of a cause from that of -a beginning of existence, is plainly possible for the imagination; and -consequently the actual separation of these objects is so far possible, -that it implies no contradiction nor absurdity; and is therefore -incapable of being refuted by any reasoning from mere ideas, without -which 'tis impossible to demonstrate the necessity of a cause.</p> - -<p>Accordingly, we shall find upon examination, that every demonstration, -which has been produced for the necessity of a cause, is fallacious -and sophistical. All the points of time and place, say some -philosophers,<a name="FNanchor_3_62" id="FNanchor_3_62"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_62" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> in which we can suppose any object to begin to -exist, are in themselves equal; and unless there be some cause, which -is peculiar to one time and to one place, and which by that means -determines and fixes the existence, it must remain in eternal suspense; -and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> object can never begin to be, for want of something to fix -its beginning. But I ask, is there any more difficulty in supposing -the time and place to be fixed without a cause, than to suppose the -existence to be determined in that manner! The first question that -occurs on this subject is always, <i>whether</i> the object shall exist -or not: the next, <i>when</i> and <i>where</i> it shall begin to exist. If the -removal of a cause be intuitively absurd in the one case, it must be so -in the other: and if that absurdity be not clear without a proof in the -one case, it will equally require one in the other. The absurdity then -of the one supposition can never be a proof of that of the other; since -they are both upon the same footing, and must stand or fall by the same -reasoning.</p> - -<p>The second argument,<a name="FNanchor_4_63" id="FNanchor_4_63"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_63" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> which I find used on this head, labours under -an equal difficulty. Every thing, 'tis said, must have a cause; for if -any thing wanted a cause, <i>it</i> would produce <i>itself</i>, that is, exist -before it existed, which is impossible. But this reasoning is plainly -unconclusive; because it supposes that, in our denial of a cause, we -still grant what we expressly deny, viz. that there must be a cause; -which therefore is taken to be the object itself; and <i>that</i>, no doubt, -is an evident contradiction. But to say that any thing is produced, or, -to express myself more properly, comes into existence, without a cause, -is not to affirm that 'tis itself its own cause; but, on the contrary, -in excluding all external causes, excludes <i>a fortiori</i> the thing -itself which is created. An object that exists absolutely without any -cause, certainly is not its own cause; and when you assert, that the -one follows from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> other, you suppose the very point in question, -and take it for granted, that 'tis utterly impossible any thing can -ever begin to exist without a cause, but that, upon the exclusion of -one productive principle, we must still have recourse to another.</p> - -<p>'Tis exactly the same case with the third argument,<a name="FNanchor_5_64" id="FNanchor_5_64"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_64" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> which has -been employed to demonstrate the necessity of a cause. Whatever is -produced without any cause, is produced by <i>nothing</i>; or, in other -words, has nothing for its cause. But nothing can never be a cause, no -more than it can be something, or equal to two right angles. By the -same intuition, that we perceive nothing not to be equal to two right -angles, or not to be something, we perceive, that it can never be a -cause; and consequently must perceive, that every object has a real -cause of its existence.</p> - -<p>I believe it will not be necessary to employ many words in showing the -weakness of this argument, after what I have said of the foregoing. -They are all of them founded on the same fallacy, and are derived from -the same turn of thought. 'Tis sufficient only to observe, that when -we exclude all causes we really do exclude them, and neither suppose -nothing nor the object itself to be the causes of the existence; -and consequently can draw no argument from the absurdity of these -suppositions to prove the absurdity of that exclusion. If every thing -must have a cause, it follows, that, upon the exclusion of other -causes, we must accept of the object itself or of nothing as causes. -But 'tis the very point in question, whether every thing must have a -cause or not; and therefore, according to all just reasoning, it ought -never to be taken for granted.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> - -<p>They are still more frivolous who say, that every effect must have a -cause, because 'tis implied in the very idea of effect. Every effect -necessarily presupposes a cause; effect being a relative term, of which -cause is a correlative. But this does not prove that every being must -be preceded by a cause; no more than it follows, because every husband -must have a wife, that therefore every man must be married. The true -state of the question is, whether every object which begins to exist, -must owe its existence to a cause; and this I assert neither to be -intuitively nor demonstratively certain, and hope to have proved it -sufficiently by the foregoing arguments.</p> - -<p>Since it is not from knowledge or any scientific reasoning, that we -derive the opinion of the necessity of a cause to every new production, -that opinion must necessarily arise from observation and experience. -The next question, then, should naturally be, <i>how experience gives -rise to such a principle</i>? But as I find it will be more convenient -to sink this question in the following, <i>why we conclude, that such -particular causes must necessarily have such particular effects, and -why we form an inference from one to another</i>? we shall make that the -subject of our future inquiry. 'Twill, perhaps, be found in the end, -that the same answer will serve for both questions.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_62" id="Footnote_3_62"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_62"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Mr Hobbes.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_63" id="Footnote_4_63"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_63"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Dr Clarke and others.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_64" id="Footnote_5_64"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_64"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Mr Locke.</p> -</div> -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="SECTION_IV_cI" id="SECTION_IV_cI">SECTION IV.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF THE COMPONENT PARTS OF OUR REASONINGS CONCERNING CAUSE AND EFFECT.</h5> - - -<p>Though the mind in its reasonings from causes or effects, carries its -view beyond those objects which it sees or remembers, it must never -lose sight of them entirely, nor reason merely upon its own ideas, -without some mixture of impressions, or at least of ideas of the -memory, which are equivalent to impressions. When we infer effects from -causes, we must establish the existence of these causes; which we have -only two ways of doing, either by an immediate perception of our memory -or senses, or by an inference from other causes; which causes again we -must ascertain in the same manner, either by a present impression or -by an inference from <i>their</i> causes, and so on, till we arrive at some -object, which we see or remember. 'Tis impossible for us to carry on -our inferences <i>in infinitum</i>; and the only thing that can stop them, -is an impression of the memory or senses, beyond which there is no room -for doubt or inquiry.</p> - -<p>To give an instance of this, we may choose any point of history, and -consider for what reason we either believe or reject it. Thus, we -believe that Cĉsar was killed in the senate-house on the <i>ides</i> of -<i>March</i>, and that because this fact is established on the unanimous -testimony of historians, who agree to assign this precise time and -place to that event. Here are certain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> characters and letters present -either to our memory or senses; which characters we likewise remember -to have been used as the signs of certain ideas: and these ideas -were either in the minds of such as were immediately present at that -action, and received the ideas directly from its existence; or they -were derived from the testimony of others, and that again from another -testimony, by a visible gradation, till we arrive at those who were -eye-witnesses and spectators of the event. 'Tis obvious all this chain -of argument or connexion of causes and effects, is at first founded -on those characters or letters, which are seen or remembered, and -that without the authority either of the memory or senses, our whole -reasoning would be chimerical and without foundation. Every link of -the chain would in that case hang upon another; but there would not be -any thing fixed to one end of it, capable of sustaining the whole; and -consequently there would be no belief nor evidence. And this actually -is the case with all <i>hypothetical</i> arguments, or reasonings upon a -supposition; there being in them neither any present impression, nor -belief of a real existence.</p> - -<p>I need not observe, that 'tis no just objection to the present -doctrine, that we can reason upon our past conclusions or principles, -without having recourse to those impressions, from which they first -arose. For even supposing these impressions should be entirely effaced -from the memory, the conviction they produced may still remain; and -'tis equally true, that all reasonings concerning causes and effects -are originally derived from some impression; in the same manner, as -the assurance of a demonstration proceeds always from a comparison of -ideas, though it may continue after the comparison is forgot.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="SECTION_V_cI" id="SECTION_V_cI">SECTION V.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF THE IMPRESSIONS OF THE SENSES AND MEMORY.</h5> - - -<p>In this kind of reasoning, then, from causation, we employ materials, -which are of a mixed and heterogeneous nature, and which, however -connected, are yet essentially different from each other. All our -arguments concerning causes and effects consist both of an impression -of the memory or senses, and of the idea of that existence, which -produces the object of the impression, or is produced by it. Here, -therefore, we have three things to explain, viz. <i>first</i>, the original -impression. <i>Secondly</i>, the transition to the idea of the connected -cause or effect. <i>Thirdly</i>, the nature and qualities of that idea.</p> - -<p>As to those <i>impressions</i>, which arise from the <i>senses</i>, their -ultimate cause is, in my opinion, perfectly inexplicable by human -reason, and 'twill always be impossible to decide with certainty, -whether they arise immediately from the object, or are produced by -the creative power of the mind, or are derived from the Author of our -being. Nor is such a question any way material to our present purpose. -We may draw inferences from the coherence of our perceptions, whether -they be true or false; whether they represent nature justly, or be mere -illusions of the senses.</p> - -<p>When we search for the characteristic, which distinguishes the <i>memory</i> -from the imagination, we must immediately perceive, that it cannot -lie in the simple ideas it presents to us; since both these faculties -borrow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> their simple ideas from the impressions, and can never go -beyond these original perceptions. These faculties are as little -distinguished from each other by the arrangement of their complex -ideas. For, though it be a peculiar property of the memory to preserve -the original order and position of its ideas, while the imagination -transposes and changes them as it pleases; yet this difference is not -sufficient to distinguish them in their operation, or make us know the -one from the other; it being impossible to recal the past impressions, -in order to compare them with our present ideas, and see whether their -arrangement be exactly similar. Since therefore the memory is known, -neither by the order of its <i>complex</i> ideas, nor the nature of its -<i>simple</i> ones; it follows, that the difference betwixt it and the -imagination lies in its superior force and vivacity. A man may indulge -his fancy in feigning any past scene of adventures; nor would there be -any possibility of distinguishing this from a remembrance of a like -kind, were not the ideas of the imagination fainter and more obscure.</p> - -<p>It frequently happens, that when two men have been engaged in any -scene of action, the one shall remember it much better than the other, -and shall have all the difficulty in the world to make his companion -recollect it. He runs over several circumstances in vain; mentions -the time, the place, the company, what was said, what was done on all -sides; till at last he hits on some lucky circumstance, that revives -the whole, and gives his friend a perfect memory of every thing. Here -the person that forgets, receives at first all the ideas from the -discourse of the other, with the same circumstances of time and place; -though he considers them as mere fictions of the imagination. But as -soon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> as the circumstance is mentioned that touches the memory, the -very same ideas now appear in a new light, and have, in a manner, -a different feeling from what they had before. Without any other -alteration, beside that of the feeling, they become immediately ideas -of the memory, and are assented to.</p> - -<p>Since therefore the imagination can represent all the same objects -that the memory can offer to us, and since those faculties are only -distinguished by the different <i>feeling</i> of the ideas they present, it -may be proper to consider what is the nature of that feeling. And here -I believe every one will readily agree with me, that the ideas of the -memory are more <i>strong</i> and <i>lively</i> than those of the fancy.</p> - -<p>A painter, who intended to represent a passion or emotion of any kind, -would endeavour to get a sight of a person actuated by a like emotion, -in order to enliven his ideas, and give them a force and vivacity -superior to what is found in those, which are mere fictions of the -imagination. The more recent this memory is, the clearer is the idea; -and when, after a long interval, he would return to the contemplation -of his object, he always finds its idea to be much decayed, if not, -wholly obliterated. We are frequently in doubt concerning the ideas -of the memory, as they become very weak and feeble; and are at a loss -to determine whether any image proceeds from the fancy or the memory, -when it is not drawn in such lively colours as distinguish that latter -faculty. I think I remember such an event, says one; but am not sure. A -long tract of time has almost worn it out of my memory, and leaves me -uncertain whether or not it be the pure offspring of my fancy.</p> - -<p>And as an idea of the memory, by losing its force<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> and vivacity, -may degenerate to such a degree, as to be taken for an idea of the -imagination; so, on the other Of hand, an idea of the imagination may -acquire such a and force and vivacity, as to pass for an idea of the -memory, and counterfeit its effects on the belief and judgment. This -is noted in the case of liars; who by the frequent repetition of their -lies, come at last to believe and remember them, as realities; custom -and habit having, in this case, as in many others, the same influence -on the mind as nature, and infixing the idea with equal force and -vigour.</p> - -<p>Thus it appears, that the <i>belief</i> or <i>assent</i>, which always attends -the memory and senses, is nothing but the vivacity of those perceptions -they present; and that this alone distinguishes them from the -imagination. To believe is in this case to feel an immediate impression -of the senses, or a repetition of that impression in the memory. 'Tis -merely the force and liveliness of the perception, which constitutes -the first act of the judgment, and lays the foundation of that -reasoning, which we build upon it, when we trace the relation of cause -and effect.</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h5><a name="SECTION_VI_cI" id="SECTION_VI_cI">SECTION VI.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF THE INFERENCE FROM THE IMPRESSION TO THE IDEA.</h5> - - -<p>'Tis easy to observe, that in tracing this relation, the inference we -draw from cause to effect, is not derived merely from a survey of these -particular objects, and from such a penetration into their essences as -may discover the dependence of the one upon the other. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> is no -object which implies the existence of any other, if we consider these -objects in themselves, and never look beyond the ideas which we form -of them. Such an inference would amount to knowledge, and would imply -the absolute contradiction and impossibility of conceiving any thing -different. But as all distinct ideas are separable, 'tis evident there -can be no impossibility of that kind. When we pass from a present -impression to the idea of any object, we might possibly have separated -the idea from the impression, and have substituted any other idea in -its room.</p> - -<p>'Tis therefore by <i>experience</i> only that we can infer the existence -of one object from that of another. The nature of experience is this. -We remember to have had frequent instances of the existence of one -species of objects; and also remember, that the individuals of another -species of objects have always attended them, and have existed in a -regular order of contiguity and succession with regard to them. Thus -we remember to have seen that species of object we call <i>fame</i>, and to -have felt that species of sensation we call <i>heat</i>. We likewise call -to mind their constant conjunction in all past instances. Without any -farther ceremony, we call the one <i>cause</i>, and the other <i>effect</i>, and -infer the existence of the one from that of the other. In all those -instances from which we learn the conjunction of particular causes and -effects, both the causes and effects have been perceived by the senses, -and are remembered: but in all cases, wherein we reason concerning -them, there is only one perceived or remembered, and the other is -supplied in conformity to our past experience.</p> - -<p>Thus, in advancing, we have insensibly discovered a new relation -betwixt cause and effect when we least<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> expected it, and were entirely -employed upon another subject. This relation is their <i>constant -conjunction</i>. Contiguity and succession are not sufficient to make us -pronounce any two objects to be cause and effect, unless we perceive -that these two relations are preserved in several instances. We may -now see the advantage of quitting the direct survey of this relation, -in order to discover the nature of that <i>necessary connexion</i> which -makes so essential a part of it. There are hopes, that by this means -we may at last arrive at our proposed end; though, to tell the truth, -this new-discovered relation of a constant conjunction seems to -advance us but very little in our way. For it implies no more than -this, that like objects have always been placed in like relations of -contiguity and succession; and it seems evident, at least at first -sight, that by this means we can never discover any new idea, and can -only multiply, but not enlarge, the objects of our mind. It may be -thought, that what we learn not from one object, we can never learn -from a hundred, which are all of the same kind, and are perfectly -resembling in every circumstance. As our senses show us in one instance -two bodies, or motions, or qualities in certain relations of succession -and contiguity, so our memory presents us only with a multitude of -instances wherein we always find like bodies, motions, or qualities, -in like relations. From the mere repetition of any past impression, -even to infinity, there never will arise any new original idea, such -as that of a necessary connexion; and the number of impressions has in -this case no more effect than if we confined ourselves to one only. But -though this reasoning seems just and obvious, yet, as it would be folly -to despair too soon, we shall continue the thread of our discourse;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> -and having found, that after the discovery of the constant conjunction -of any objects, we always draw an inference from one object to -another, we shall now examine the nature of that inference, and of the -transition from the impression to the idea. Perhaps 'twill appear in -the end, that the necessary connexion depends on the inference, instead -of the inference's depending on the necessary connexion.</p> - -<p>Since it appears, that the transition from an impression present to -the memory or senses to the idea of an object, which we call cause or -effect, is founded on past <i>experience</i>, and on our remembrance of -their <i>constant conjunction</i>, the next question is, whether experience -produces the idea by means of the understanding or imagination; whether -we are determined by reason to make the transition, or by a certain -association and relation of perceptions. If reason determined us, it -would proceed upon that principle, <i>that instances, of which we have -had no experience, must resemble those of which we have had experience, -and that the course of nature continues always uniformly the same.</i> -In order, therefore, to clear up this matter, let us consider all the -arguments upon which such a proposition may be supposed to be founded; -and as these must be derived either from <i>knowledge</i> or <i>probability</i>, -let us cast our eye on each of these degrees of evidence, and see -whether they afford any just conclusion of this nature.</p> - -<p>Our foregoing method of reasoning will easily convince us, that there -can be no <i>demonstrative</i> arguments to prove, <i>that those instances -of which we have had no experience resemble those of which we have -had experience</i>. We can at least conceive a change in the course of -nature; which sufficiently proves that such a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> change is not absolutely -impossible. To form a clear idea of any thing is an undeniable argument -for its possibility, and is alone a refutation of any pretended -demonstration against it.</p> - -<p>Probability, as it discovers not the relations of ideas, considered -as such, but only those of objects, must in some respects be founded -on the impressions of our memory and senses, and in some respects on -our ideas. Were there no mixture of any impression in our probable -reasonings, the conclusion would be entirely chimerical: and were there -no mixture of ideas, the action of the mind, in observing the relation, -would, properly speaking, be sensation, not reasoning. 'Tis therefore -necessary, that in all probable reasonings there be something present -to the mind, either seen or remembered; and that from this we infer -something connected with it, which is not seen nor remembered.</p> - -<p>The only connexion or relation of objects, which can lead us beyond -the immediate impressions of our memory and senses, is that of cause -and effect; and that because 'tis the only one, on which we can found -a just inference from one object to another. The idea of cause and -effect is derived from <i>experience</i>, which informs us, that such -particular objects, in all past instances, have been constantly -conjoined with each other: and as an object similar to one of these -is supposed to be immediately present in its impression, we thence -presume on the existence of one similar to its usual attendant. -According to this account of things, which is, I think, in every -point unquestionable, probability is founded on the presumption of a -resemblance betwixt those objects of which we have had experience, and -those of which we have had none; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> therefore 'tis impossible this -presumption can arise from probability. The same principle cannot be -both the cause and effect of another; and this is, perhaps, the only -proposition concerning that relation, which is either intuitively or -demonstratively certain.</p> - -<p>Should any one think to elude this argument; and without determining -whether our reasoning on this subject be derived from demonstration or -probability, pretend that all conclusions from causes and effects are -built on solid reasoning: I can only desire that this reasoning may be -produced, in order to be exposed to our examination. It may perhaps -be said, that after experience of the constant conjunction of certain -objects, we reason in the following manner. Such an object is always -found to produce another. 'Tis impossible it could have this effect, if -it was not endowed with a power of production. The power necessarily -implies the effect; and therefore there is a just foundation for -drawing a conclusion from the existence of one object to that of its -usual attendant. The past production implies a power: the power implies -a new production: and the new production is what we infer from the -power and the past production.</p> - -<p>'Twere easy for me to show the weakness of this reasoning, were I -willing to make use of those observations I have already made, that -the idea of <i>production</i> is the same with that of <i>causation</i>, and -that no existence certainly and demonstratively implies a power in -any other object; or were it proper to anticipate what I shall have -occasion to remark afterwards concerning the idea we form of <i>power</i> -and <i>efficacy</i>. But as such a method of proceeding may seem either to -weaken my system, by resting one part of it on another, or to breed a -confusion in my reasoning, I shall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> endeavour to maintain my present -assertion without any such assistance.</p> - -<p>It shall therefore be allowed for at moment, that the production of one -object by another in any one instance implies a power; and that this -power is connected with its effect. But it having been already proved, -that the power lies not in the sensible qualities of the cause; and -there being nothing but the sensible qualities present to us; I ask, -why in other instances you presume that the same power still exists, -merely upon the appearance of these qualities? Your appeal to past -experience decides nothing in the present case; and at the utmost -can only prove, that that very object, which produced any other, was -at that very instant endowed with such a power; but can never prove, -that the same power must continue in the same object or collection of -sensible qualities; much less, that a like power is always conjoined -with like sensible qualities. Should it be said, that we have -experience, that the same power continues united with the same object, -and that like objects are endowed with like powers, I would renew my -question, <i>why from this experience we form any conclusion beyond those -past instances, of which we have had experience</i>? If you answer this -question in the same manner as the preceding, your answer gives still -occasion to a new question of the same kind, even <i>in infinitum</i>; which -clearly proves, that the foregoing reasoning had no just foundation.</p> - -<p>Thus, not only our reason fails us in the discovery of the <i>ultimate -connexion</i> of causes and effects, but even after experience has -informed us of their <i>constant conjunction</i>, 'tis impossible for -us to satisfy ourselves by our reason, why we should extend that -experience beyond those particular instances which have fallen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> under -our observation. We suppose, but are never able to prove, that there -must be a resemblance betwixt those objects, of which we have had -experience, and those which lie beyond the reach of our discovery.</p> - -<p>We have already taken notice of certain relations, which make us pass -from one object to another, even though there be no reason to determine -us to that transition; and this we may establish for a general rule, -that wherever the mind constantly and uniformly makes a transition -without any reason, it is influenced by these relations. Now, this is -exactly the present case. Reason can never show us the connexion of one -object with another, though aided by experience, and the observation -of their constant conjunction in all past instances. When the mind -therefore passes from the idea or impression of one object to the idea -or belief of another, it is not determined by reason, but by certain -principles, which associate together the ideas of these objects, and -unite them in the imagination. Had ideas no more union in the fancy, -than objects seem to have to the understanding, we could never draw any -inference from causes to effects, nor repose belief in any matter of -fact. The inference therefore depends solely on the union of ideas.</p> - -<p>The principles of union among ideas, I have reduced to three general -ones, and have asserted, that the idea or impression of any object -naturally introduces the idea of any other object, that is resembling, -contiguous to, or connected with it. These principles I allow to be -neither the <i>infallible</i> nor the <i>sole</i> causes of an union among ideas. -They are not the infallible causes. For one may fix his attention -during some time on any one object without looking farther. They are -not the sole causes. For the thought has evidently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> a very irregular -motion in running along its objects, and may leap from the heavens -to the earth, from one end of the creation to the other, without any -certain method or order. But though I allow this weakness in these -three relations, and this irregularity in the imagination; yet I -assert, that the only <i>general</i> principles which associate ideas, are -resemblance, contiguity, and causation.</p> - -<p>There is indeed a principle of union among ideas, which at first sight -may be esteemed different from any of these, but will be found at the -bottom to depend on the same origin. When every individual of any -species of objects is found by experience to be constantly united with -an individual of another species, the appearance of any new individual -of either species naturally conveys the thought to its usual attendant. -Thus, because such a particular idea is commonly annexed to such a -particular word, nothing is required but the hearing of that word to -produce the correspondent idea; and 'twill scarce be possible for the -mind, by its utmost efforts, to prevent that transition. In this case -it is not absolutely necessary, that upon hearing such a particular -sound, we should reflect on any past experience, and consider what idea -has been usually connected with the sound. The imagination of itself -supplies the place of this reflection, and is so accustomed to pass -from the word to the idea, that it interposes not a moment's delay -betwixt the hearing of the one, and the conception of the other.</p> - -<p>But though I acknowledge this to be a true principle of association -among ideas, I assert it to be the very same with that betwixt the -ideas of cause and effect, and to be an essential part in all our -reasonings<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> from that relation. We have no other notion of cause and -effect, but that of certain objects, which have been <i>always conjoined</i> -together, and which in all past instances have been found inseparable. -We cannot penetrate into the reason of the conjunction. We only observe -the thing itself, and always find that, from the constant conjunction, -the objects acquire an union in the imagination. When the impression -of one becomes present to us, we immediately form an idea of its usual -attendant; and consequently we may establish this as one part of the -definition of an opinion or belief, that 'tis <i>an idea related to or -associated with a present impression</i>.</p> - -<p>Thus, though causation be a <i>philosophical</i> relation, as implying -contiguity, succession, and constant conjunction, yet 'tis only so far -as it is a <i>natural</i> relation, and produces an union among our ideas, -that we are able to reason upon it, or draw any inference from it.</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h5><a name="SECTION_VII_cI" id="SECTION_VII_cI">SECTION VII.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF THE NATURE OF THE IDEA OR BELIEF.</h5> - - -<p>The idea of an object is an essential part of the belief of it, but not -the whole. We conceive many things which we do not believe. In order -then to discover more fully the nature of belief, or the qualities of -those ideas we assent to, let us weigh the following considerations.</p> - -<p>'Tis evident, that all reasonings from causes or effects terminate -in conclusions concerning matter of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> fact; that is, concerning the -existence of objects or of their qualities. 'Tis also evident, that the -idea of existence is nothing different from the idea of any object, and -that when after the simple conception of any thing we would conceive -it as existent, we in reality make no addition to or alteration on -our first idea. Thus, when we affirm that God is existent, we simply -form the idea of such a Being as he is represented to us: nor is -the existence, which we attribute to him, conceived by a particular -idea, which we join to the idea of his other qualities, and can again -separate and distinguish from them. But I go farther; and, not content -with asserting, that the conception of the existence of any object -is no addition to the simple conception of it, I likewise maintain, -that the belief of the existence joins no new ideas to those, which -compose the idea of the object. When I think of God, when I think of -him as existent, and when I believe him to be existent, my idea of him -neither increases nor diminishes. But as 'tis certain there is a great -difference betwixt the simple conception of the existence of an object, -and the belief of it, and as this difference lies not in the parts or -composition of the idea which we conceive; it follows, that it must lie -in the <i>manner</i> in which we conceive it.</p> - -<p>Suppose a person present with me, who advances propositions, to which -I do not assent, <i>that Cĉsar died in his bed, that silver is more -fusible than lead, or mercury heavier than gold</i>; 'tis evident that, -notwithstanding my incredulity, I clearly understand his meaning, and -form all the same ideas which he forms. My imagination is endowed with -the same powers as his; nor is it possible for him to conceive any -idea, which I cannot conceive; or conjoin any, which I cannot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> conjoin. -I therefore ask, wherein consists the difference betwixt believing -and disbelieving any proposition? The answer is easy with regard to -propositions, that are proved by intuition or demonstration. In that -case, the person who assents not only conceives the ideas according -to the proposition, but is necessarily determined to conceive them in -that particular manner, either immediately, or by the interposition of -other ideas. Whatever is absurd is unintelligible; nor is it possible -for the imagination to conceive any thing contrary to a demonstration. -But as, in reasonings from causation, and concerning matters of fact, -this absolute necessity cannot take place, and the imagination is free -to conceive both sides of the question, I still ask, <i>wherein consists -the difference betwixt incredulity and belief</i>? since in both cases the -conception of the idea is equally possible and requisite.</p> - -<p>'Twill not be a satisfactory answer to say, that & person, who does not -assent to a proposition you advance; after having conceived the object -in the same manner with you, immediately conceives it in a different -manner, and has different ideas of it. This answer is unsatisfactory; -not because it contains any falsehood, but because it discovers not -all the truth. 'Tis confessed that, in all cases wherein we dissent -from any person, we conceive both sides of the question; but as we can -believe only one, it evidently follows, that the belief must make some -difference betwixt that conception to which we assent, and that from -which we dissent. We may mingle, and unite, and separate, and confound, -and vary our ideas in a hundred different ways; but 'till there appears -some principle, which fixes one of these different situations, we have -in reality no opinion: and this principle, as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> it plainly makes no -addition to our precedent ideas, can only change the <i>manner</i> of our -conceiving them.</p> - -<p>All the perceptions of the mind are of two kinds, viz. impressions and -ideas, which differ from each other only in their different degrees of -force and vivacity.</p> - -<p>Our ideas are copied from our impressions, and represent them in all -their parts. When you would any way vary the idea of a particular -object, you can only increase or diminish its force and vivacity. If -you make any other change on it, it represents a different object or -impression. The case is the same as in colours. A particular shade of -any colour may acquire a new degree of liveliness or brightness without -any other variation. But when you produce any other variation, 'tis no -longer the same shade or colour; so that as belief does nothing but -vary the manner in which we conceive any object, it can only bestow on -our ideas an additional force and vivacity. An opinion therefore or -belief may be most accurately defined, <i>a lively idea related to or -associated with a present impression</i>.<a name="FNanchor_6_65" id="FNanchor_6_65"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_65" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> - -<p>Here are the heads of those arguments, which lead us to this -conclusion. When we infer the existence of an object from that of -others, some object must always be present either to the memory or -senses, in order to be the foundation of our reasoning; since the mind -cannot run up with its inferences <i>in infinitum</i>. Reason can never -satisfy us that the existence of any one object does ever imply that of -another; so that when we pass from the impression of one to the idea or -belief of another, we are not determined by reason, but by custom, or -a principle of association. But belief is somewhat more than a simple -idea. 'Tis a particular manner of forming an idea: and as the same idea -can only be varied by a variation of its degrees of force and vivacity; -it follows upon the whole, that belief is a lively idea produced -by a relation to a present impression, according to the foregoing -definition.</p> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> - -<p>This operation of the mind, which forms the belief of any matter of -fact, seems hitherto to have been one of the greatest mysteries of -philosophy; though no one has so much as suspected, that there was -any difficulty in explaining it. For my part, I must own, that I find -a considerable difficulty in the case; and that even when I think I -understand the subject perfectly, I am at a loss for terms to express -my meaning. I conclude, by an induction which seems to me very evident, -that an opinion or belief is nothing but an idea, that is different -from a fiction, not in the nature, or the order of its parts, but in -the <i>manner</i> of its being conceived. But when I would explain this -<i>manner</i>, I scarce find any word that fully answers the case, but am -obliged to have recourse to every one's feeling, in order to give him -a perfect notion of this operation of the mind. An idea assented to -<i>feels</i> different from a fictitious idea, that the fancy alone presents -to us: and this different feeling I endeavour to explain by calling -it a superior <i>force</i>, or <i>vivacity</i>, or <i>solidity</i>, or <i>steadiness</i>. -This variety of terms, which may seem so unphilosophical, is intended -only to express that act of the mind, which renders realities 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, 'tis 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 -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 that faculty can ever of -itself reach belief; 'tis evident, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> belief consists not in the -nature and order of our ideas, but in the manner of their conception, -and in their feeling to the mind. I confess, that 'tis impossible to -explain perfectly this feeling or manner of conception. We may make use -of words that express something near it. But its true and proper name -is <i>belief</i>, which is a term that every one sufficiently understands in -common life. And in philosophy, we can go no farther than assert, that -it is something <i>felt</i> by the mind, which distinguishes the ideas of -the judgment from the fictions of the imagination. It gives them more -force and influence; makes them appear of greater importance; infixes -them in the mind; and renders them the governing principles of all our -actions.</p> - -<p>This definition will also be found to be entirely conformable to every -one's feeling and experience. Nothing is more evident, than that those -ideas, to which we assent, are more strong, firm, and vivid, than the -loose reveries of a castle-builder. If one person sits down to read a -book as a romance, and another as a true history, they plainly receive -the same ideas, and in the same order; nor does the incredulity of the -one, and the belief of the other, hinder them from putting the very -same sense upon their author. His words produce the same ideas in both; -though his testimony has not the same influence on them. The latter has -a more lively conception of all the incidents. He enters deeper into -the concerns of the persons: represents to himself their actions, and -characters, and friendships, and enmities: he even goes so far as to -form a notion of their features, and air, and person. While the former, -who gives no credit to the testimony of the author, has a more faint -and languid conception of all these particulars, and, except on account -of the style<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> and ingenuity of the composition, can receive little -entertainment from it.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_65" id="Footnote_6_65"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_65"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> We may here take occasion to observe a very remarkable -error, which, being frequently inculcated in the schools, has become -a kind of established maxim, and is universally received by all -logicians. This error consists in the vulgar division of the acts of -the understanding into <i>conception, judgment</i> and <i>reasoning</i>, and -in the definitions we give of them. Conception is defined to be the -simple survey of one or more ideas: judgment to be the separating -or uniting of different ideas: reasoning to be the separating or -uniting of different ideas by the interposition of others, which show -the relation they bear to each other. But these distinctions and -definitions are faulty in very considerable articles. For, <i>first</i>,'tis -far from being true, that, in every judgment which we form, we unite -two different ideas; since in that proposition, <i>God is</i>, or indeed any -other, which regards existence, the idea of existence is no distinct -idea, which we unite with that of the object, and which is capable of -forming a compound idea by the union. <i>Secondly</i>, as we can thus form a -proposition, which contains only one idea, so we may exert our reason -without employing more than two ideas, and without having recourse to a -third to serve as a medium betwixt them. We infer a cause immediately -from its effect; and this inference is not only a true species of -reasoning, but the strongest of all others, and more convincing than -when we interpose another idea to connect the two extremes. What we -may in general affirm concerning these three acts of the understanding -is, that taking them in a proper light, they all resolve themselves -into the first, and are nothing but particular ways of conceiving our -objects. Whether we consider a single object, or several; whether we -dwell on these objects, or run from them to others; and in whatever -form or order we survey them, the act of the mind exceeds not a simple -conception; and the only remarkable difference, which occurs on this -occasion, is, when we join belief to the conception, and are persuaded -of the truth of what we conceive. This act of the mind has never yet -been explained by any philosopher; and therefore I am at liberty to -propose my hypothesis concerning it; which is, that 'tis only a strong -and steady conception of any idea, and such as approaches in some -measure to an immediate impression.</p></div> - - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h5><a name="SECTION_VIII_cI" id="SECTION_VIII_cI">SECTION VIII.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF THE CAUSES OF BELIEF.</h5> - - -<p>Having thus explained the nature of belief, and shown that it consists -in a lively idea related to a present impression; let us now proceed -to examine from what principles it is derived, and what bestows the -vivacity on the idea.</p> - -<p>I would willingly establish it as a general maxim in the science of -human nature, <i>that when any impression becomes present to us, it -not only transports the mind to such ideas as are related to it, but -likewise communicates to them a share of its force and vivacity</i>. -All the operations of the mind depend, in a great measure, on its -disposition when it performs them; and according as the spirits are -more or less elevated, and the attention more or less fixed, the action -will always have more or less vigour and vivacity. When, therefore, -any object is presented which elevates and enlivens the thought, every -action, to which the mind applies itself, will be more strong and -vivid, as long as that disposition continues. Now, 'tis evident the -continuance of the disposition depends entirely on the objects about -which the mind is employed; and that any new object naturally gives a -new direction to the spirits, and changes the disposition; as on the -contrary, when the mind fixes constantly on the same object, or passes -easily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> and insensibly along related objects, the disposition has a -much longer duration. Hence it happens, that when the mind is once -enlivened by a present impression, it proceeds to form a more lively -idea of the related objects, by a natural transition of the disposition -from the one to the other. The change of the objects is so easy, that -the mind is scarce sensible of it, but applies itself to the conception -of the related idea with all the force and vivacity it acquired from -the present impression.</p> - -<p>If, in considering the nature of relation, and that facility of -transition which is essential to it, we can satisfy ourselves -concerning the reality of this phenomenon, 'tis well: but I must -confess I place my chief confidence in experience to prove so material -a principle. 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 <i>resemblance</i>, -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, or 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 'tis set before us; but when 'tis removed, rather -choose to consider him directly, than by reflection in an image, which -is equally distant and obscure.</p> - -<p>The ceremonies of the Roman Catholic religion may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> be considered -as experiments of the same nature. The devotees of that strange -superstition usually plead in excuse of the mummeries with which they -are up-braided, 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 away, 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 'tis 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 idea 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.</p> - -<p>We may add force to these experiments by others of a different -kind, in considering the effects of <i>contiguity</i>, as well as of -<i>resemblance</i>.'Tis 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 that imitates an immediate impression. The thinking on any -object readily transports the mind to what is contiguous; but 'tis -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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> when I am two hundred leagues -distant; though even at that distance the reflecting on any thing in -the neighbourhood of my friends and 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 betwixt them; that -transition alone is not able to give a superior vivacity to any of the -ideas, for want of some immediate impression.<a name="FNanchor_7_66" id="FNanchor_7_66"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_66" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></p> - -<p>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 relicks of saints and holy men, for the same reason that -they seek after types and 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, 'tis evident one of the best -relicks a devotee could procure would be the handy-work of a saint; -and if his clothes and furniture are ever to be considered in this -light, 'tis because they were once at his disposal, and were moved -and affected by him; in which respect they are to be considered as -imperfect<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> effects, and as connected with him by a shorter chain of -consequences than any of those, from which we learn the reality of his -existence. This phenomenon clearly proves, that a present impression -with a relation of causation may enliven any idea, and consequently -produce belief or assent, according to the precedent definition of it.</p> - -<p>But why need we seek for other arguments to prove, that a present -impression with a relation or transition of the fancy may enliven any -idea, when this very instance of our reasonings from cause and effect -will alone suffice to that purpose? 'Tis certain we must have an idea -of every matter of fact which we believe. 'Tis certain that this idea -arises only from a relation to a present impression. 'Tis certain that -the belief superadds nothing to the idea, but only changes our manner -of conceiving it, and renders it more strong and lively. The present -conclusion concerning the influence of relation is the immediate -consequence of all these steps; and every step appears to me sure and -infallible. There enters nothing into this operation of the mind but -a present impression, a lively idea, and a relation or association in -the fancy betwixt the impression and idea; so that there can be no -suspicion of mistake.</p> - -<p>In order to put this whole affair in a fuller light, let us consider -it as a question in natural philosophy, which we must determine by -experience and observation. I suppose there is an object presented, -from which I draw a certain conclusion, and form to myself ideas, which -I am said to believe or assent to. Here 'tis evident, that however that -object, which is present to my senses, and that other, whose existence -I infer by reasoning, may be thought to influence each other by their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> -particular powers or qualities; yet as the phenomenon of belief, which -we at present examine, is merely internal, these powers and qualities -being entirely unknown, can have no hand in producing it. 'Tis the -present impression which is to be considered as the true and real cause -of the idea, and of the belief which attends it. We must therefore -endeavour to discover, by experiments, the particular qualities by -which 'tis enabled to produce so extraordinary an effect.</p> - -<p>First then I observe, that the present impression has not this effect -by its own proper power and efficacy, and, when considered alone -as a single perception, limited to the present moment. I find that -an impression, from which, on its first appearance, I can draw no -conclusion, may afterwards become the foundation of belief, when I have -had experience of its usual consequences. We must in every case have -observed the same impression in past instances, and have found it to -be constantly conjoined with some other impression. This is confirmed -by such a multitude of experiments, that it admits not of the smallest -doubt.</p> - -<p>From a second observation I conclude, that the belief which attends the -present impression, and is produced by a number of past impressions and -conjunctions; that this belief, I say, arises immediately, without any -new operation of the reason or imagination. Of this I can be certain, -because I never am conscious of any such operation, and find nothing -in the subject on which it can be founded. Now, as we call every -thing <i>custom</i> which proceeds from a past repetition, without any new -reasoning or conclusion, we may establish it as a certain truth, that -all the belief, which follows upon any present impression, is derived -solely from that origin. When we are accustomed to see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> two impressions -conjoined together, the appearance or idea of the one immediately -carries us to the idea of the other.</p> - -<p>Being fully satisfied on this head, I make a third set of experiments, -in order to know whether any thing be requisite, beside the customary -transition, towards the production of this phenomenon of belief. I -therefore change the first impression into an idea; and observe, that -though the customary transition to the correlative idea still remains, -yet there is in reality no belief nor persuasion. A present impression, -then, is absolutely requisite to this whole operation; and when after -this I compare an impression with an idea, and find that their only -difference consists in their different degrees of force and vivacity, -I conclude upon the whole, that belief is a more vivid and intense -conception of an idea, proceeding from its relation to a present -impression.</p> - -<p>Thus, all probable reasoning is nothing but a species of sensation. -'Tis not solely in poetry and music we must follow our taste and -sentiment, but likewise in philosophy. When I am convinced of any -principle, 'tis only an idea which strikes more strongly upon me. When -I give the preference to one set of arguments above another, I do -nothing but decide from my feeling concerning the superiority of their -influence. Objects have no discoverable connexion together; nor is it -from any other principle but custom operating upon the imagination, -that we can draw any inference from the appearance of one to the -existence of another.</p> - -<p>'Twill here be worth our observation, that the past experience, on -which all our judgments concerning cause and effect depend, may operate -on our mind in such an insensible manner as never to be taken notice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> -of, and may even in some measure be unknown to us. A person, who stops -short in his journey upon meeting a river in his way, foresees the -consequences of his proceeding forward; and his knowledge of these -consequences is conveyed to him by past experience, which informs him -of such certain conjunctions of causes and effects. But can we think, -that on this occasion he reflects on any past experience, and calls -to remembrance instances that he has seen or heard of, in order to -discover the effects of water on animal bodies? No, surely; this is not -the method, in which he proceeds in his reasoning. The idea of sinking -is so closely connected with that of water, and the idea of suffocating -with that of sinking, that the mind makes the transition without the -assistance of the memory. The custom operates before we have time for -reflection. The objects seem so inseparable, that we interpose not -a moment's delay in passing from the one or the other. But as this -transition proceeds from experience, and not from any primary connexion -betwixt the ideas, we must necessarily acknowledge, that experience may -produce a belief and a judgment of causes and effects by a separate -operation, and without being once thought of. This removes all pretext, -if there yet remains any, for asserting that the mind is convinced -by reasoning of that principle, <i>that instances of which we have no -experience, must necessarily resemble those of which we have</i>. For we -here find, that the understanding or imagination can draw inferences -from past experience, without reflecting on it; much more without -forming any principle concerning it, or reasoning upon that principle.</p> - -<p>In general we may observe, that in all the most established and uniform -conjunctions of causes and effects,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> such as those of gravity, impulse, -solidity, &c. the mind never carries its view expressly to consider -any past experience: though in other associations of objects, which -are more rare and unusual, it may assist the custom and transition -of ideas by this reflection. Nay we find in some cases, that the -reflection produces the belief without the custom; or, more properly -speaking, that the reflection produces the custom in an <i>oblique</i> and -<i>artificial</i> manner. I explain myself. 'Tis certain, that not only in -philosophy, but even in common life, we may attain the knowledge of a -particular cause merely by one experiment, provided it be made with -judgment, and after a careful removal of all foreign and superfluous -circumstances. Now, as after one experiment of this kind, the mind, -upon the appearance either of the cause or the effect, can draw an -inference concerning the existence of its correlative, and as a habit -can never be acquired merely by one instance, it may be thought that -belief cannot in this case be esteemed the effect of custom. But this -difficulty will vanish, if we consider, that, though we are here -supposed to have had only one experiment of a particular effect, -yet we have many millions to convince us of this principle, <i>that -like objects, placed in like circumstances, will always produce like -effects</i>; and as this principle has established itself by a sufficient -custom, it bestows an evidence and firmness on any opinion to which it -can be applied. The connexion of the ideas is not habitual after one -experiment; but this connexion is comprehended under another principle -that is habitual; which brings us back to our hypothesis. In all cases -we transfer our experience to instances of which we have no experience, -either <i>expressly</i> or <i>tacitly</i>, either <i>directly</i> or <i>indirectly</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> - -<p>I must not conclude this subject without observing, that 'tis very -difficult to talk of the operations of the mind with perfect propriety -and exactness; because common language has seldom made any very nice -distinctions among them, but has generally called by the same term -all such as nearly resemble each other. And as this is a source -almost inevitable of obscurity and confusion in the author, so it may -frequently give rise to doubts and objections in the reader, which -otherwise he would never have dreamed of. Thus, my general position, -that an opinion or belief is <i>nothing but a strong and lively idea -derived from a present impression related to it</i>, may be liable to the -following objection, by reason of a little ambiguity in those words -<i>strong</i> and <i>lively</i>. It may be said, that not only an impression -may give rise to reasoning, but that an idea may also have the same -influence; especially upon my principle, <i>that all our ideas are -derived from correspondent impressions</i>. For, suppose I form at present -an idea, of which I have forgot the correspondent impression, I am able -to conclude, from this idea, that such an impression did once exist; -and as this conclusion is attended with belief, it may be asked, from -whence are the qualities of force and vivacity derived which constitute -this belief? And to this I answer very readily, <i>from the present -idea</i>. For as this idea is not here considered as the representation -of any absent object, but as a real perception in the mind, of which -we are intimately conscious, it must be able to bestow, on whatever -is related to it, the same quality, call it <i>firmness, or solidity, -or force, or vivacity</i>, with which the mind reflects upon it, and is -assured of its present existence. The idea here supplies the place<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> of -an impression, and is entirely the same, so far as regards our present -purpose.</p> - -<p>Upon the same principles we need not be surprised to hear of the -remembrance of an idea; that is, of the idea of an idea, and of -its force and vivacity superior to the loose conceptions of the -imagination. In thinking of our past thoughts we not only delineate out -the objects of which we were thinking, but also conceive the action of -the mind in the meditation, that certain <i>je-ne-scai-quoi</i>, of which -'tis impossible to give any definition or description, but which every -one sufficiently understands. When the memory offers an idea of this, -and represents it as past, 'tis easily conceived how that idea may have -more vigour and firmness than when we think of a past thought of which -we have no remembrance.</p> - -<p>After this, any one will understand how we may form the idea of an -impression and of an idea, and how we may believe the existence of an -impression and of an idea.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7_66" id="Footnote_7_66"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_66"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> Naturane nobis, inquit, datum dicam, an errore quodam, -ut, cum ea loca videamus, in quibus memoria dignos viros acceperimus -multum esse versatos, magis moveamur, quam siquando eorum ipsorum aut -facta audiamus, aut scriptum aliquod legamus? velut ego nunc moveor. -Venit enim mihi Platonis in mentem: quem accipimus prinum hîc disputare -solitum: cujus etiam illi hortuli propinqui non memoriam solûm -mihi afferunt, sed ipsum videntur in conspectu meo hic ponere. Hîc -Speusippus, hic Xenocrates, hic ejus auditor Polemo; cujus ipsa illa -sessio fuit, quam videamus. Equidem etiam curiam nostram, hostiliam -dico, non hanc novam, quĉ mihi minor esse videtur postquam est major, -solebam intuens Scipionem, Catonem, Lĉlium, nostrum vero in primis avum -cogitare. Tanta vis admonitionis inest in locis; ut non sine causa ex -his memoriĉ ducta sit diciplina.—<i>Cicero de Finibus, lib. 5.</i></p></div> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h5><a name="SECTION_IX_cI" id="SECTION_IX_cI">SECTION IX.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF THE EFFECTS OF OTHER RELATIONS AND OTHER HABITS.</h5> - - -<p>However convincing the foregoing arguments may appear, we must not -rest contented with them, but must turn the subject on every side, in -order to find some new points of view, from which we may illustrate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> -and confirm such extraordinary and such fundamental principles. A -scrupulous hesitation to receive any new hypothesis is so laudable a -disposition in philosophers, and so necessary to the examination of -truth, that it deserves to be complied with, and requires that every -argument be produced which may tend to their satisfaction, and every -objection removed which may stop them in their reasoning.</p> - -<p>I have often observed, that, beside cause and effect, the two relations -of resemblance and contiguity are to be considered as associating -principles of thought, and as capable of conveying the imagination from -one idea to another. I have also observed, that when of two objects, -connected together by any of these relations, one is immediately -present to the memory or senses, not only the mind is conveyed to -its co-relative by means of the associating principle, but likewise -conceives it with an additional force and vigour, by the united -operation of that principle, and of the present impression. All this -I have observed, in order to confirm, by analogy, my explication of -our judgments concerning cause and effect. But this very argument may -perhaps be turned against me, and, instead of a confirmation of my -hypothesis, may become an objection to it. For it may be said, that -if all the parts of that hypothesis be true, viz. <i>that</i> these three -species of relation are derived from the same principles; <i>that</i> their -effects, in enforcing and enlivening our ideas, are the same; and -<i>that</i> belief is nothing but a more forcible and vivid conception of an -idea; it should follow, that that action of the mind may not only be -derived from the relation of cause and effect, but also from those of -contiguity and resemblance. But as we find by experience that belief -arises only from causation, and that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> we can draw no inference from one -object to another, except they be connected by this relation, we may -conclude, that there is some error in that reasoning which leads us -into such difficulties.</p> - -<p>This is the objection: let us now consider its solution. 'Tis evident, -that whatever is present to the memory, striking upon the mind with -a vivacity which resembles an immediate impression, must become of -considerable moment in all the operations of the mind, and must easily -distinguish itself above the mere fictions of the imagination. Of -these impressions or ideas of the memory we form a kind of system, -comprehending whatever we remember to have been present, either to our -internal perception or senses; and every particular of that system, -joined to the present impressions, we are pleased to call a <i>reality</i>. -But the mind stops not here. For finding, that with this system of -perceptions there is another connected by custom, or, if you will, -by the relation of cause or effect, it proceeds to the consideration -of their ideas; and as it feels that 'tis in a manner necessarily -determined to view these particular ideas, and that the custom or -relation, by which it is determined, admits not of the least change, -it forms them into a new system, which it likewise dignifies with the -title of <i>realities</i>. The first of these systems is the object of the -memory and senses; the second of the judgment.</p> - -<p>'Tis this latter principle which peoples the world, and brings us -acquainted with such existences as, by their removal in time and -place, lie beyond the reach of the senses and memory. By means of it -I paint the universe in my imagination, and fix my attention on any -part of it I please. I form an idea of Rome, which I neither see nor -remember, but which is connected<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> with such impressions as I remember -to have received from the conversation and books of travellers and -historians. This idea of Rome I place in a certain situation on the -idea of an object which I call the globe. I join to it the conception -of a particular government, and religion and manners. I look backward -and consider its first foundation, its several revolutions, successes -and misfortunes. All this, and every thing else which I believe, are -nothing but ideas, though, by their force and settled order, arising -from custom and the relation of cause and effect, they distinguish -themselves from the other ideas, which are merely the offspring of the -imagination.</p> - -<p>As to the influence of contiguity and resemblance, we may observe, that -if the contiguous and resembling object be comprehended in this system -of realities, there is no doubt but these two relations will assist -that of cause and effect, and infix the related idea with more force -in the imagination. This I shall enlarge upon presently. Meanwhile I -shall carry my observation a step farther, and assert, that even where -the related object is but feigned, the relation will serve to enliven -the idea, and increase its influence. A poet, no doubt, will be the -better able to form a strong description of the Elysian fields, that he -prompts his imagination by the view of a beautiful meadow or garden; -as at another time he may, by his fancy, place himself in the midst of -these fabulous regions, that by the feigned contiguity he may enliven -his imagination.</p> - -<p>But though I cannot altogether exclude the relations of resemblance and -contiguity from operating on the fancy in this manner, 'tis observable -that, when single, their influence is very feeble and uncertain. As -the relation of cause and effect is requisite to persuade us<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> of any -real existence, so is this persuasion requisite to give force to these -other relations. For where upon the appearance of an impression we not -only feign another object, but likewise arbitrarily, and of our mere -good-will and pleasure give it a particular relation to the impression, -this can have but a small effect upon the mind; nor is there any -reason, why, upon the return of the same impression, we should be -determined to place the same object in the same relation to it. There -is no manner of necessity for the mind to feign any resembling and -contiguous objects; and if it feigns such, there is as little necessity -for it always to confine itself to the same, without any difference or -variation. And indeed such a fiction is founded on so little reason, -that nothing but pure <i>caprice</i> can determine the mind to form it; and -that principle being fluctuating and uncertain, 'tis impossible it can -ever operate with any considerable degree of force and constancy. The -mind foresees and anticipates the change; and even from the very first -instant feels the looseness of its actions, and the weak hold it has -of its objects. And as this imperfection is very sensible in every -single instance, it still increases by experience and observation, when -we compare the several instances we may remember, and form a <i>general -rule</i> against the reposing any assurance in those momentary glimpses of -light, which arise in the imagination from a feigned resemblance and -contiguity.</p> - -<p>The relation of cause and effect has all the opposite advantages. The -objects it presents are fixed and unalterable. The impressions of the -memory never change in any considerable degree; and each impression -draws along with it a precise idea, which takes its place in the -imagination, as something solid and real,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> certain and invariable. The -thought is always determined to pass from the impression to the idea, -and from that particular impression to that particular idea, without -any choice or hesitation.</p> - -<p>But not content with removing this objection, I shall endeavour to -extract from it a proof of the present doctrine. Contiguity and -resemblance have an effect much inferior to causation; but still -have some effect, and augment the conviction of any opinion, and the -vivacity of any conception. If this can be proved in several new -instances, beside what we have already observed, 'twill be allowed -no inconsiderable argument, that belief is nothing but a lively idea -related to a present impression.</p> - -<p>To begin with contiguity; it has been remarked among the Mahometans -as well as Christians, that those <i>pilgrims</i>, who have seen Mecca or -the Holy Land are ever after more faithful and zealous believers, than -those who have not had that advantage. A man, whose memory presents -him with a lively image of the Red Sea, and the Desert, and Jerusalem, -and Galilee, can never doubt of any miraculous events, which are -related either by Moses or the Evangelists. The lively idea of the -places passes by an easy transition to the facts, which are supposed -to have been related to them by contiguity, and increases the belief -by increasing the vivacity of the conception. The remembrance of -these fields and rivers has the same influence on the vulgar as a new -argument, and from the same causes.</p> - -<p>We may form a like observation concerning <i>resemblance</i>. We have -remarked, that the conclusion which we draw from a present object to -its absent cause or effect, is never founded on any qualities which -we observe in that object, considered in itself; or, in other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> words, -that 'tis impossible to determine otherwise than by experience, what -will result from any phenomenon, or what has preceded it. But though -this be so evident in itself, that it seemed not to require any proof, -yet some philosophers have imagined that there is an apparent cause -for the communication of motion, and that a reasonable man might -immediately infer the motion of one body from the impulse of another, -without having recourse to any past observation. That this opinion is -false will admit of an easy proof. For if such an inference may be -drawn merely from the ideas of body, of motion, and of impulse, it must -amount to a demonstration, and must imply the absolute impossibility of -any contrary supposition. Every effect, then, beside the communication -of motion, implies a formal contradiction; and 'tis impossible not only -that it can exist, but also that it can be conceived. But we may soon -satisfy ourselves of the contrary, by forming a clear and consistent -idea of one body's moving upon another, and of its rest immediately -upon the contact; or of its returning back in the same line in which -it came; or of its annihilation, or circular or elliptical motion: -and in short, of an infinite number of other changes, which they may -suppose it to undergo. These suppositions are all consistent and -natural; and the reason why we imagine the communication of motion -to be more consistent and natural, not only than those suppositions, -but also than any other natural effect, is founded on the relation of -<i>resemblance</i> betwixt the cause and effect, which is here united to -experience, and binds the objects in the closest and most intimate -manner to each other, so as to make us imagine them to be absolutely -inseparable. Resemblance, then, has the same or a parallel influence -with experience; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> as the only immediate effect of experience is to -associate our ideas together, it follows that all belief arises from -the association of ideas, according to my hypothesis.</p> - -<p>'Tis universally allowed by the writers on optics, that the eye at -all times sees an equal number of physical points, and that a man on -the top of a mountain has no larger an image presented to his senses, -than when he is cooped up in the narrowest court or chamber. 'Tis only -by experience that he infers the greatness of the object from some -peculiar qualities of the image; and this inference of the judgment -he confounds with sensation, as is common on other occasions. Now -'tis evident, that the inference of the judgment is here much more -lively than what is usual in our common reasonings, and that a man -has a more vivid conception of the vast extent of the ocean from the -image he receives by the eye, when he stands on the top of the high -promontory, than merely from hearing the roaring of the waters. He -feels a more sensible pleasure from its magnificence, which is a proof -of a more lively idea; and he confounds his judgment with sensation, -which is another proof of it. But as the inference is equally certain -and immediate in both cases, this superior vivacity of our conception -in one case can proceed from nothing but this, that in drawing an -inference from the sight, beside the customary conjunction, there is -also a resemblance betwixt the image and the object we infer, which -strengthens the relation, and conveys the vivacity of the impression to -the related idea with an easier and more natural movement.</p> - -<p>No weakness of human nature is more universal and conspicuous than what -we commonly call <i>credulity</i>, or a too easy faith in the testimony of -others; and this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> weakness is also very naturally accounted for from -the influence of resemblance. When we receive any matter of fact upon -human testimony, our faith arises from the very same origin as our -inferences from causes to effects, and from effects to causes; nor -is there any thing but our <i>experience</i> of the governing principles -of human nature, which can give us any assurance of the veracity of -men. But though experience be the true standard of this, as well as -of all other judgments, we seldom regulate ourselves entirely by it, -but have a remarkable propensity to believe whatever is reported, -even concerning apparitions, enchantments, and prodigies, however -contrary to daily experience and observation. The words or discourses -of others have an intimate connexion with certain ideas in their mind; -and these ideas have also a connexion with the facts or objects which -they represent. This latter connexion is generally much over-rated, -and commands our assent beyond what experience will justify, which can -proceed from nothing beside the resemblance betwixt the ideas and the -facts. Other effects only point out their causes in an oblique manner; -but the testimony of men does it directly, and is to be considered as -an image as well as an effect. No wonder, therefore, we are so rash in -drawing our inferences from it, and are less guided by experience in -our judgments concerning it, than in those upon any other subject.</p> - -<p>As resemblance, when conjoined with causation, fortifies our -reasonings, so the want of it in any very great degree is able almost -entirely to destroy them. Of this there is a remarkable instance in -the universal carelessness and stupidity of men with regard to a -future state, where they show as obstinate an incredulity, as they -do a blind credulity on other occasions. There is not indeed a more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> -ample matter of wonder to the studious, and of regret to the pious -man, than to observe the negligence of the bulk of mankind concerning -their approaching condition; and 'tis with reason, that many eminent -theologians have not scrupled to affirm, that though the vulgar have -no formal principles of infidelity, yet they are really infidels in -their hearts, and have nothing like what we can call a belief of -the eternal duration of their souls. For let us consider on the one -hand what divines have displayed with such eloquence concerning the -importance of eternity; and at the same time reflect, that though in -matters of rhetoric we ought to lay our account with some exaggeration, -we must in this case allow, that the strongest figures are infinitely -inferior to the subject: and after this, let us view on the other hand -the prodigious security of men in this particular: I ask, if these -people really believe what is inculcated on them, and what they pretend -to affirm; and the answer is obviously in the negative. As belief is -an act of the mind arising from custom, 'tis not strange the want of -resemblance should overthrow what custom has established, and diminish -the force of the idea, as much as that latter principle increases it. -A future state is so far removed from our comprehension, and we have -so obscure an idea of the manner in which we shall exist after the -dissolution of the body, that all the reasons we can invent, however -strong in themselves, and however much assisted by education, are never -able with slow imaginations to surmount this difficulty, or bestow a -sufficient authority and force on the idea. I rather choose to ascribe -this incredulity to the faint idea we form of our future condition, -derived from its want of resemblance to the present life, than to that -derived from its remoteness. For I observe,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> that men are every where -concerned about what may happen after their death, provided it regard -this world; and that there are few to whom their name, their family, -their friends, and their country are in any period of time entirely -indifferent.</p> - -<p>And indeed the want of resemblance in this case so entirely destroys -belief, that except those few who, upon cool reflection on the -importance of the subject, have taken care by repeated meditation -to imprint in their minds the arguments for a future state, there -scarce are any who believe the immortality of the soul with a true -and established judgment; such as is derived from the testimony of -travellers and historians. This appears very conspicuously wherever -men have occasion to compare the pleasures and pains, the rewards and -punishments of this life with those of a future; even though the case -does not concern themselves, and there is no violent passion to disturb -their judgment. The Roman Catholics are certainly the most zealous of -any sect in the Christian world; and yet you'll find few among the -more sensible part of that communion who do not blame the Gunpowder -Treason, and the massacre of St Bartholomew, as cruel and barbarous, -though projected or executed against those very people, whom without -any scruple they condemn to eternal and infinite punishments. All we -can say in excuse for this inconsistency is, that they really do not -believe what they affirm concerning a future state; nor is there any -better proof of it than the very inconsistency.</p> - -<p>We may add to this a remark, that in matters of religion men take a -pleasure in being terrified, and that no preachers are so popular as -those who excite the most dismal and gloomy passions. In the common<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> -affairs of life, where we feel and are with the solidity of the -subject, nothing can be more disagreeable than fear and terror; and -'tis only in dramatic performances and in religious discourses that -they ever give pleasure. In these latter cases the imagination reposes -itself indolently on the idea; and the passion being softened by the -want of belief in the subject, has no more than the agreeable effect of -enlivening the mind and fixing the attention.</p> - -<p>The present hypothesis will receive additional confirmation, if we -examine the effects of other kinds of custom, as well as of other -relations. To understand this we must consider that custom, to which -I attribute all belief and reasoning, may operate upon the mind in -invigorating an idea after two several ways. For supposing that, in -all past experience, we have found two objects to have been always -conjoined together, 'tis evident, that upon the appearance of one of -these objects in an impression, we must, from custom, make an easy -transition to the idea of that object, which usually attends it; and -by means of the present impression and easy transition must conceive -that idea in a stronger and more lively manner than we do any loose -floating image of the fancy. But let us next suppose, that a mere idea -alone, without any of this curious and almost artificial preparation, -should frequently make its appearance in the mind, this idea must, -by degrees, acquire a facility and force; and both by its firm hold -and easy introduction distinguish itself from any new and unusual -idea. This is the only particular in which these two kinds of custom -agree; and if it appear that their effects on the judgment are similar -and proportionable, we may certainly conclude, that the foregoing -explication of that faculty is satisfactory. But can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> we doubt of this -agreement in their influence on the judgment, when we consider the -nature and effects of <i>education</i>?</p> - -<p>All those opinions and notions of things, to which we have been -accustomed from our infancy, take such deep root, that 'tis impossible -for us, by all the powers of reason and experience, to eradicate them; -and this habit not only approaches in its influence, but even on -many occasions prevails over that which arises from the constant and -inseparable union of causes and effects. Here we must not be contented -with saying, that the vividness of the idea produces the belief: -we must maintain that they are individually the same. The frequent -repetition of any idea infixes it in the imagination; but could never -possibly of itself produce belief, if that act of the mind was, by the -original constitution of our natures, annexed only to a reasoning and -comparison of ideas. Custom may lead us into some false comparison -of ideas. This is the utmost effect we can conceive of it; but 'tis -certain it could never supply the place of that comparison, nor produce -any act of the mind which naturally belonged to that principle.</p> - -<p>A person that has lost a leg or an arm by amputation endeavours for -a long time afterwards to serve himself with them. After the death -of any one, 'tis a common remark of the whole family, but especially -the servants, that they can scarce believe him to be dead, but still -imagine him to be in his chamber or in any other place, where they -were accustomed to find him. I have often heard in conversation, after -talking of a person that is any way celebrated, that one, who has no -acquaintance with him, will say, <i>I have never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> seen such a one, but -almost fancy I have, so often have I heard talk of him</i>. All these are -parallel instances.</p> - -<p>If we consider this argument from <i>education</i> in a proper light, 'twill -appear very convincing; and the more so, that 'tis founded on one -of the most common phenomena that is any where to be met with. I am -persuaded that, upon examination, we shall find more than one half of -those opinions that prevail among mankind to be owing to education, and -that the principles which are thus implicitly embraced, overbalance -those, which are owing either to abstract reasoning or experience. -As liars, by the frequent repetition of their lies, come at last to -remember them; so the judgment, or rather the imagination, by the like -means, may have ideas so strongly imprinted on it, and conceive them -in so full a light, that they may operate upon the mind in the same -manner with those which the senses, memory, or reason present to us. -But as education is an artificial and not a natural cause, and as its -maxims are frequently contrary to reason, and even to themselves in -different times and places, it is never upon that account recognised -by philosophers; though in reality it be built almost on the same -foundation of custom and repetition as our reasonings from causes and -effects.<a name="FNanchor_8_67" id="FNanchor_8_67"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_67" class="fnanchor">[8]</a></p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8_67" id="Footnote_8_67"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_67"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> In general we may observe, that as our assent to all -probable reasonings is founded on the vivacity of ideas, it resembles -many of those whimsies and prejudices which are rejected under the -opprobrious character of being the offspring of the imagination. By -this expression it appears, that the word imagination, is commonly used -in two different senses; and though nothing be more contrary to true -philosophy than this inaccuracy, yet, in the following reasonings, I -have often been obliged to fall into it. When I oppose the imagination -to the memory, I mean the faculty by which we form our fainter ideas. -When I oppose it to reason, I mean the same faculty, excluding only our -demonstrative and probable reasonings. When I oppose it to neither, -'tis indifferent whether it be taken in the larger or more limited -sense, or at least the context will sufficiently explain the meaning.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p></div> - - - - -<h5><a name="SECTION_X_cI" id="SECTION_X_cI">SECTION X.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF THE INFLUENCE OF BELIEF.</h5> - - -<p>But though education be disclaimed by philosophy, as a fallacious -ground of assent to any opinion, it prevails nevertheless in the world, -and is the cause why all systems are apt to be rejected at first as -new and unusual. This, perhaps, will be the fate of what I have here -advanced concerning <i>belief</i>; and though the proofs I have produced -appear to me perfectly conclusive, I expect not to make many proselytes -to my opinion. Men will scarce ever be persuaded, that effects of -such consequence can flow from principles which are seemingly so -inconsiderable, and that the far greatest part of our reasonings, with -all our actions and passions, can be derived from nothing but custom -and habit. To obviate this objection, I shall here anticipate a little -what would more properly fall under our consideration afterwards, when -we come to treat of the Passions and the Sense of Beauty.</p> - -<p>There is implanted in the human mind a perception of pain and pleasure, -as the chief spring and moving principle of all its actions. But pain -and pleasure have two ways of making their appearance in the mind; -of which the one has effects very different from the other. They may -either appear an impression to the actual feeling, or only in idea, as -at present when I mention them. 'Tis evident the influence of these -upon our actions is far from being equal. Impressions always<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> actuate -the soul, and that in the highest degree; but 'tis not every idea which -has the same effect. Nature has proceeded with caution in this case, -and seems to have carefully avoided the inconveniences of two extremes. -Did impressions alone influence the will, we should every moment of -our lives be subject to the greatest calamities; because, though we -foresaw their approach, we should not be provided by nature with any -principle of action, which might impel us to avoid them. On the other -hand, did every idea influence our actions, our condition would not be -much mended. For such is the unsteadiness and activity of thought, that -the images of every thing, especially of goods and evils, are always -wandering in the mind; and were it moved by every idle conception of -this kind, it would never enjoy a moment's peace and tranquillity.</p> - -<p>Nature has therefore chosen a medium, and has neither bestowed on -every idea of good and evil the power of actuating the will, nor -yet has entirely excluded them from this influence. Though an idle -fiction has no efficacy, yet we find by experience, that the ideas -of those objects, which we believe either are or will be existent, -produce in a lesser degree the same effect with those impressions, -which are immediately present to the senses and perception. The effect -then of belief is to raise up a simple idea to an equality with our -impressions, and bestow on it a like influence on the passions. This -effect it can only have by making an idea approach an impression in -force and vivacity. For as the different degrees of force make all -the original difference betwixt an impression and an idea, they must -of consequence be the source of all the differences in the effects -of these perceptions, and their removal, in whole or in part, the -cause of every new resemblance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> they acquire. Wherever we can make -an idea approach the impressions in force and vivacity, it will -likewise imitate them in its influence on the mind; and <i>vice versa</i>, -where it imitates them in that influence, as in the present case, -this must proceed from its approaching them in force and vivacity. -Belief, therefore, since it causes an idea to imitate the effects of -the impressions, must make it resemble them in these qualities, and -is nothing but <i>a more vivid and intense conception of any idea</i>. -This then may both serve as an additional argument for the present -system, and may give us a notion after what manner our reasonings from -causation are able to operate on the will and passions.</p> - -<p>As belief is almost absolutely requisite to the exciting our passions, -so the passions, in their turn, are very favourable to belief; and -not only such facts as convey agreeable emotions, but very often such -as give pain, do upon that account become more readily the objects of -faith and opinion. A coward, whose fears are easily awakened, readily -assents to every account of danger he meets with; as a person of a -sorrowful and melancholy disposition is very credulous of every thing -that nourishes his prevailing passion. When any affecting object is -presented, it gives the alarm, and excites immediately a degree of -its proper passion; especially in persons who are naturally inclined -to that passion. This emotion passes by an easy transition to the -imagination; and, diffusing itself over our idea of the affecting -object, makes us form that idea with greater force and vivacity, -and consequently assent to it, according to the precedent system. -Admiration and surprise have the same effect as the other passions; -and accordingly we may observe, that among the vulgar,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> quacks -and projectors meet with a more easy faith upon account of their -magnificent pretensions, than if they kept themselves within the -bounds of moderation. The first astonishment, which naturally attends -their miraculous relations, spreads itself over the whole soul, and so -vivifies and enlivens the idea, that it resembles the inferences we -draw from experience. This is a mystery, with which we may be already a -little acquainted, and which we shall have further occasion to be let -into in the progress of this Treatise.</p> - -<p>After this account of the influence of belief on the passions, we shall -find less difficulty in explaining its effects on the imagination, -however extraordinary they may appear. 'Tis certain we cannot take -pleasure in any discourse, where our judgment gives no assent to those -images which are presented to our fancy. The conversation of those, who -have acquired a habit of lying, though in affairs of no moment, never -gives any satisfaction; and that because those ideas they present to -us, not being attended with belief, make no impression upon the mind. -Poets themselves, though liars by profession, always endeavour to give -an air of truth to their fictions; and where that is totally neglected, -their performances, however ingenious, will never be able to afford -much pleasure. In short, we may observe, that even when ideas have no -manner of influence on the will and passions, truth and reality are -still requisite, in order to make them entertaining to the imagination.</p> - -<p>But if we compare together all the phenomena that occur on this head, -we shall find, that truth, however necessary it may seem in all works -of genius, has no other effect than to procure an easy reception for -the ideas, and to make the mind acquiesce in them with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> satisfaction, -or at least without reluctance. But as this is an effect, which may -easily be supposed to flow from that solidity and force, which, -according to my system, attend those ideas that are established by -reasonings from causation; it follows, that all the influence of -belief upon the fancy may be explained from that system. Accordingly -we may observe, that wherever that influence arises from any other -principles beside truth or reality, they supply its place, and give -an equal entertainment to the imagination. Poets have formed what -they call a poetical system of things, which, though it be believed -neither by themselves nor readers, is commonly esteemed a sufficient -foundation for any fiction. We have been so much accustomed to the -names of Mars, Jupiter, Venus, that in the same manner as education -infixes any opinion, the constant repetition of these ideas makes them -enter into the mind with facility, and prevail upon the fancy, without -influencing the judgment. In like manner tragedians always borrow their -fable, or at least the names of their principal actors, from some known -passage in history; and that not in order to deceive the spectators; -for they will frankly confess, that truth is not in any circumstance -inviolably observed, but in order to procure a more easy reception into -the imagination for those extraordinary events, which they represent. -But this is a precaution which is not required of comic poets, whose -personages and incidents, being of a more familiar kind, enter easily -into the conception, and are received without any such formality, even -though at first sight they be known to be fictitious, and the pure -offspring of the fancy.</p> - -<p>This mixture of truth and falsehood in the fables of tragic poets not -only serves our present purpose, by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> showing that the imagination can -be satisfied without any absolute belief or assurance; but may in -another view be regarded as a very strong confirmation of this system. -'Tis evident, that poets make use of this artifice of borrowing the -names of their persons, and the chief events of their poems, from -history, in order to procure a more easy reception for the whole, and -cause it to make a deeper impression on the fancy and affections. The -several incidents of the piece acquire a kind of relation by being -united into one poem or representation; and if any of these incidents -be an object of belief, it bestows a force and vivacity on the others, -which are related to it. The vividness of the first conception diffuses -itself along the relations, and is conveyed, as by so many pipes or -canals, to every idea that has any communication with the primary one. -This indeed can never amount to a perfect assurance; and that because -the union among the ideas is in a manner accidental: but still it -approaches so near in its influence, as may convince us that they are -derived from the same origin. Belief must please the imagination by -means of the force and vivacity which attends it; since every idea, -which has force and vivacity, is found to be agreeable to that faculty.</p> - -<p>To confirm this we may observe, that the assistance is mutual betwixt -the judgment and fancy, as well as betwixt the judgment and passion; -and that belief not only gives vigour to the imagination, but that a -vigorous and strong imagination is of all talents the most proper to -procure belief and authority. 'Tis difficult for us to withhold our -assent from what is painted out to us in all the colours of eloquence; -and the vivacity produced by the fancy is in many cases greater than -that which arises from custom and experience. We<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> are hurried away by -the lively imagination of our author or companion; and even he himself -is often a victim to his own fire and genius.</p> - -<p>Nor will it be amiss to remark, that as a lively imagination very often -degenerates into madness or folly, and bears it a great resemblance in -its operations; so they influence the judgment after the same manner, -and produce belief from the very same principles. When the imagination, -from any extraordinary ferment of the blood and spirits, acquires such -a vivacity as disorders all its powers and faculties, there is no means -of distinguishing betwixt truth and falsehood; but every loose fiction -or idea, having the same influence as the impressions of the memory, or -the conclusions of the judgment, is received on the same footing, and -operates with equal force on the passions. A present impression and a -customary transition are now no longer necessary to enliven our ideas. -Every chimera of the brain is as vivid and intense as any of those -inferences, which we formerly dignified with the name of conclusions -concerning matters of fact, and sometimes as the present impressions of -the senses.</p> - -<p>We may observe the same effect of poetry in a lesser degree; and -this is common both to poetry and madness, that the vivacity they -bestow on the ideas is not derived from the particular situations or -connexions of the objects of these ideas, but from the present temper -and disposition of the person. But how great soever the pitch may be -to which this vivacity rise, 'tis evident, that in poetry it never -has the same <i>feeling</i> with that which arises in the mind, when we -reason, though even upon the lowest species of probability. The mind -can easily distinguish betwixt the one and the other; and whatever -emotion the poetical<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> enthusiasm may give to the spirits, 'tis still -the mere phantom of belief or persuasion. The case is the same with the -idea as with the passion it occasions. There is no passion of the human -mind but what may arise from poetry; though, at the same time, the -<i>feelings</i> of the passions are very different when excited by poetical -fictions, from what they are when they arise from belief and reality. -A passion which is disagreeable in real life, may afford the highest -entertainment in a tragedy or epic poem. In the latter case it lies -not with that weight upon us: it feels less firm and solid, and has no -other than the agreeable effect of exciting the spirits, and rousing -the attention. The difference in the passions is a clear proof of a -like difference in those ideas from which the passions are derived. -Where the vivacity arises from a customary conjunction with a present -impression, though the imagination may not, in appearance, be so much -moved, yet there is always something more forcible and real in its -actions than in the fervours of poetry and eloquence. The force of our -mental actions in this case, no more than in any other, is not to be -measured by the apparent agitation of the mind. A poetical description -may have a more sensible effect on the fancy than an historical -narration. It may collect more of those circumstances that form a -complete image or picture. It may seem to set the object before us in -more lively colours. But still the ideas it presents are different to -the <i>feeling</i> from those which arise from the memory and the judgment. -There is something weak and imperfect amidst all that seeming vehemence -of thought and sentiment which attends the fictions of poetry.</p> - -<p>We shall afterwards have occasion to remark both<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> the resemblances and -differences betwixt a poetical enthusiasm and a serious conviction. In -the mean time, I cannot forbear observing, that the great difference in -their feeling proceeds, in some measure, from reflection and <i>general -rules</i>. We observe, that the vigour of conception which fictions -receive from poetry and eloquence, is a circumstance merely accidental, -of which every idea is equally susceptible; and that such fictions are -connected with nothing that is real. This observation makes us only -lend ourselves, so to speak, to the fiction, but causes the idea to -feel very different from the eternal established persuasions founded on -memory and custom. They are somewhat of the same kind; but the one is -much inferior to the other, both in its causes and effects.</p> - -<p>A like reflection on <i>general rules</i> keeps us from augmenting our -belief upon every increase of the force and vivacity of our ideas. -Where an opinion admits of no doubt, or opposite probability, we -attribute to it a full conviction; though the want of resemblance, or -contiguity, may render its force inferior to that of other opinions. -'Tis thus the understanding corrects the appearances of the senses, and -makes us imagine, that an object at twenty foot distance seems even to -the eye as large as one of the same dimensions at ten.</p> - -<p>We may observe the same effect of poetry in a lesser degree; only with -this difference, that the least reflection dissipates the illusions -of poetry, and places the objects in their proper light. 'Tis however -certain, that in the warmth of a poetical enthusiasm, a poet has a -counterfeit belief, and even a kind of vision of his objects; and -if there be any shadow of argument to support this belief nothing -contributes more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> to his full conviction than a blaze of poetical -figures and images, which have their effect upon the poet himself, as -well as upon his readers.</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h5><a name="SECTION_XI_cI" id="SECTION_XI_cI">SECTION XI.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF THE PROBABILITY OF CHANCES.</h5> - - -<p>But in order to bestow on this system its full force and evidence, we -must carry our eye from it a moment to consider its consequences, and -explain, from the same principles, some other species of reasoning -which are derived from the same origin.</p> - -<p>Those philosophers who have divided human reason into <i>knowledge and -probability</i>, and have defined the first to be <i>that evidence which -arises from the comparison of ideas</i>, are obliged to comprehend all our -arguments from causes or effects under the general term of probability. -But though every one be free to use his terms in what sense he pleases; -and accordingly, in the precedent part of this discourse, I have -followed this method of expression; 'tis however certain, that in -common discourse we readily affirm, that many arguments from causation -exceed probability, and may be received as a superior kind of evidence. -One would appear ridiculous who would say, that 'tis only probable the -sun will rise to-morrow, or that all men must die; though 'tis plain we -have no further assurance of these facts than what experience affords -us. For this reason t'would perhaps be more convenient, in order at -once to preserve the common signification of words,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> and mark the -several degrees of evidence, to distinguish human reason into three -kinds, viz. <i>that from knowledge, from proofs, and from probabilities</i>. -By knowledge, I mean the assurance arising from the comparison of -ideas. By proofs, those arguments which are derived from the relation -of cause and effect, and which are entirely free from doubt and -uncertainty. By probability, that evidence which is still attended with -uncertainty. 'Tis this last species of reasoning I proceed to examine.</p> - -<p>Probability or reasoning from conjecture may be divided into two kinds, -viz. that which is founded on <i>chance</i>, and that which arises from -<i>causes</i>. We shall consider each of these in order.</p> - -<p>The idea of cause and effect is derived from experience, which, -presenting us with certain objects constantly conjoined with each -other, produces such a habit of surveying them in that relation, that -we cannot, without a sensible violence, survey them in any other. On -the other hand, as chance is nothing real in itself, and, properly -speaking, is merely the negation of a cause, its influence on the mind -is contrary to that of causation; and 'tis essential to it to leave the -imagination perfectly indifferent, either to consider the existence or -non-existence of that object which is regarded as contingent. A cause -traces the way to our thought, and in a manner forces us to survey such -certain objects in such certain relations. Chance can only destroy -this determination of the thought, and leave the mind in its native -situation of indifference; in which, upon the absence of a cause, 'tis -instantly reinstated.</p> - -<p>Since, therefore, an entire indifference is essential to chance, no -one chance can possibly be superior to another, otherwise than as it -is composed of a superior<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> number of equal chances. For if we affirm -that one chance can, after any other manner, be superior to another, -we must at the same time affirm, that there is something which gives -it the superiority, and determines the event rather to that side than -the other; that is, in other words, we must allow of a cause, and -destroy the supposition of chance, which we had before established. A -perfect and total indifference is essential to chance, and one total -indifference can never in itself be either superior or inferior to -another. This truth is not peculiar to my system, but is acknowledged -by every one that forms calculations concerning chances.</p> - -<p>And here 'tis remarkable, that though chance and causation be directly -contrary, yet 'tis impossible for us to conceive this combination of -chances, which is requisite to render one hazard superior to another, -without supposing a mixture of causes among the chances, and a -conjunction of necessity in some particulars, with a total indifference -in others. Where nothing limits the chances, every notion that the -most extravagant fancy can form is upon a footing of equality; nor can -there be any circumstance to give one the advantage above another. -Thus, unless we allow that there are some causes to make the dice fall, -and preserve their form in their fall, and lie upon some one of their -sides, we can form no calculation concerning the laws of hazard. But -supposing these causes to operate, and supposing likewise all the rest -to be indifferent and to be determined by chance, 'tis easy to arrive -at a notion of a superior combination of chances. A dye that has four -sides marked with a certain number of spots, and only two with another, -affords us an obvious and easy instance of this superiority. The mind -is here limited by the causes to such a precise<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> number and quality of -the events; and, at the same time, is undetermined in its choice of any -particular event.</p> - -<p>Proceeding, then, in that reasoning, wherein we have advanced three -steps; <i>that</i> chance is merely the negation of a cause, and produces a -total indifference in the mind; <i>that</i> one negation of a cause and one -total indifference can never be superior or inferior to another; and -<i>that</i> there must always be a mixture of causes among the chances, in -order to be the foundation of any reasoning. We are next to consider -what effect a superior combination of chances can have upon the mind, -and after what manner it influences our judgment and opinion. Here -we may repeat all the same arguments we employed in examining that -belief which arises from causes; and may prove, after the same manner, -that a superior number of chances produces our assent neither by -<i>demonstration</i> nor <i>probability</i>. 'Tis indeed evident, that we can -never, by the comparison of mere ideas, make any discovery which can -be of consequence in this affair, and that 'tis impossible to prove -with certainty that any event must fall on that side were there is a -superior number of chances. To suppose in this case any certainty, were -to overthrow what we have established concerning the opposition of -chances, and their perfect equality and indifference.</p> - -<p>Should it be said, that though in an opposition of chances, 'tis -impossible to determine with <i>certainty</i> on which side the event will -fall, yet we can pronounce with certainty, that 'tis more likely and -probable 'twill be on that side where there is a superior number of -chances, than where there is an inferior: should this be said, I -would ask, what is here meant by <i>likelihood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> and probability</i>? The -likelihood and probability of chances is a superior number of equal -chances; and consequently, when we say 'tis likely the event will fall -on the side which is superior, rather than on the inferior, we do no -more than affirm, that where there is a superior number of chances -there is actually a superior, and where there is an inferior there is -an inferior, which are identical propositions, and of no consequence. -The question is, by what means a superior number of equal chances -operates upon the mind, and produces belief or assent, since it appears -that 'tis neither by arguments derived from demonstration, nor from -probability.</p> - -<p>In order to clear up this difficulty, we shall suppose a person to take -a dye, formed after such a manner as that four of its sides are marked -with one figure, or one number of spots, and two with another; and to -put this dye into the box with an intention of throwing it: 'tis plain, -he must conclude the one figure to be more probable than the other, -and give the preference to that which is inscribed on the greatest -number of sides. He in a manner believes that this will lie uppermost; -though still with hesitation and doubt, in proportion to the number of -chances which are contrary: and according as these contrary chances -diminish, and the superiority increases on the other side, his belief -acquires new degrees of stability and assurance. This belief arises -from an operation of the mind upon the simple and limited object before -us; and therefore its nature will be the more easily discovered and -explained. We have nothing but one single dye to contemplate, in order -to comprehend one of the most curious operations of the understanding.</p> - -<p>This dye formed as above, contains three circumstances<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> worthy of our -attention. First, certain causes, such as gravity, solidity, a cubical -figure, &c. which determine it to fall, to preserve its form in its -fall, and to turn up one of its sides. Secondly, a certain number -of sides, which are supposed indifferent. Thirdly, a certain figure -inscribed on each side. These three particulars, form the whole nature -of the dye, so far as relates to our present purpose; and consequently -are the only circumstances regarded by the mind in its forming a -judgment concerning the result of such a throw. Let us therefore -consider gradually and carefully what must be the influence of these -circumstances on the thought and imagination.</p> - -<p>First, we have already observed, that the mind is determined by custom -to pass from any cause to its effect, and that upon the appearance -of the one, 'tis almost impossible for it not to form an idea of the -other. Their constant conjunction in past instances has produced such -a habit in the mind, that it always conjoins them in its thought, and -infers the existence of the one from that of its usual attendant. When -it considers the dye as no longer supported by the box, it cannot -without violence regard it as suspended in the air; but naturally -places it on the table, and views it as turning up one of its sides. -This is the effect of the intermingled causes, which are requisite to -our forming any calculation concerning chances.</p> - -<p>Secondly, 'tis supposed, that though the dye be necessarily determined -to fall, and turn up one of its sides, yet there is nothing to fix the -particular side, but that this is determined entirely by chance. The -very nature and essence of chance is a negation of causes, and the -leaving the mind in a perfect indifference among those events which -are supposed contingent. When, therefore,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> the thought is determined -by the causes to consider the dye as falling and turning up one of -its sides, the chances present all these sides as equal, and make us -consider every one of them, one after another, as alike probable and -possible. The imagination passes from the cause, viz. the throwing of -the dye, to the effect, viz. the turning up one of the six sides; and -feels a kind of impossibility both of stopping short in the way, and of -forming any other idea. But as all these six sides are incompatible, -and the dye cannot turn up above one at once, this principle directs us -not to consider all of them at once as lying uppermost, which we look -upon as impossible: neither does it direct us with its entire force to -any particular side; for in that case this side would be considered -as certain and inevitable; but it directs us to the whole six sides -after such a manner as to divide its force equally among them. We -conclude in general, that some one of them must result from the throw: -we run all of them over in our minds: the determination of the thought -is common to all; but no more of its force falls to the share of any -one, than what is suitable to its proportion with the rest. 'Tis after -this manner the original impulse, and consequently the vivacity of -thought arising from the causes, is divided and split in pieces by the -intermingled chances.</p> - -<p>We have already seen the influence of the two first qualities of the -dye, viz. the <i>causes</i>, and the <i>number</i>, and <i>indifference</i> of the -sides, and have learned how they give an impulse to the thought, and -divide that impulse into as many parts as there are units in the number -of sides. We must now consider the effects of the third particular, -viz. the <i>figures</i> inscribed on each side. 'Tis evident, that where -several sides have the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> same figure inscribed on them, they must concur -in their influence on the mind, and must unite upon one image or idea -of a figure all those divided impulses, that were dispersed over the -several sides, upon which that figure is inscribed. Were the question -only what side will be turned up, these are all perfectly equal, and no -one could ever have any advantage above another. But as the question -is concerning the figure, and as the same figure is presented by more -than one side, 'tis evident that the impulses belonging to all these -sides must re-unite in that one figure, and become stronger and more -forcible by the union. Four sides are supposed in the present case -to have the same figure inscribed on them, and two to have another -figure. The impulses of the former are therefore superior to those of -the latter. But as the events are contrary, and 'tis impossible both -these figures can be turned up; the impulses likewise become contrary, -and the inferior destroys the superior, as far as its strength goes. -The vivacity of the idea is always proportionable to the degrees of the -impulse or tendency to the transition; and belief is the same with the -vivacity of the idea, according to the precedent doctrine.</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h5><a name="SECTION_XII_cI" id="SECTION_XII_cI">SECTION XII.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF THE PROBABILITY OF CAUSES.</h5> - - -<p>What I have said concerning the probability of chances, can serve to -no other purpose than to assist us in explaining the probability of -causes; since 'tis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> commonly allowed by philosophers, that what the -vulgar call chance is nothing but a secret and concealed cause. That -species of probability, therefore, is what we must chiefly examine.</p> - -<p>The probabilities of causes are of several kinds; but are all derived -from the same origin, viz. <i>the association of ideas to a present -impression</i>. As the habit which produces the association, arises from -the frequent conjunction of objects, it must arrive at its perfection -by degrees, and must acquire new force from each instance that falls -under our observation. The first instance has little or no force: -the second makes some addition to it: the third becomes still more -sensible; and 'tis by these slow steps that our judgment arrives at -a full assurance. But before it attains this pitch of perfection, it -passes through several inferior degrees, and in all of them is only to -be esteemed a presumption or probability. The gradation therefore from -probabilities to proofs is in many cases insensible; and the difference -betwixt these kinds of evidence is more easily perceived in the remote -degrees, than in the near and contiguous.</p> - -<p>'Tis worthy of remark on this occasion, that though the species of -probability here explained be the first in order, and naturally takes -place before any entire proof can exist, yet no one, who is arrived -at the age of maturity, can any longer be acquainted with it. 'Tis -true, nothing is more common than for people of the most advanced -knowledge to have attained only an imperfect experience of many -particular events; which naturally produces only an imperfect habit -and transition: but then we must consider, that the mind, having -formed another observation concerning the connexion of causes and -effects, gives new force to its reasoning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> from that observation; and -by means of it can build an argument on one single experiment, when -duly prepared and examined. What we have found once to follow from any -object, we conclude will for ever follow from it; and if this maxim be -not always built upon as certain, 'tis not for want of a sufficient -number of experiments, but because we frequently meet with instances -to the contrary; which leads us to the second species of probability, -where there is a <i>contrariety</i> in our experience and observation.</p> - -<p>'Twould be very happy for men in the conduct of their lives and -actions, were the same objects always conjoined together, and we -had nothing to fear but the mistakes of our own judgment, without -having any reason to apprehend the uncertainty of nature. But as 'tis -frequently found, that one observation is contrary to another, and that -causes and effects follow not in the same order, of which we have had -experience, we are obliged to vary our reasoning on account of this -uncertainty, and take into consideration the contrariety of events. The -first question that occurs on this head, is concerning the nature and -causes of the contrariety.</p> - -<p>The vulgar, who take things according to their first appearance, -attribute the uncertainty of events to such an uncertainty in the -causes, as makes them often fail of their usual influence, though -they meet with no obstacle nor 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 'tis at least -possible the contrariety of events may not proceed from any contingency -in the cause, but from the secret operation of contrary<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> 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 -hinderance and opposition. A peasant can give no better reason for -the stopping of any clock or watch than to say, that commonly it -does not go right: but an artisan easily perceives, that the same -force in the spring or pendulum has always the same influence on the -wheels; but fails of its usual effect, 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 betwixt all causes and effects is equally necessary, and that -its seeming uncertainty in some instances proceeds from the secret -opposition of contrary causes.</p> - -<p>But however philosophers and the vulgar may differ in their explication -of the contrariety of events, their inferences from it are always of -the same kind, and founded on the same principles. A contrariety of -events in the past may give us a kind of hesitating belief for the -future, after two several ways. First, by producing an imperfect habit -and transition from the present impression to the related idea. When -the conjunction of any two objects is frequent, without being entirely -constant, the mind is determined to pass from one object to the other; -but not with so entire a habit, as when the union is uninterrupted, and -all the instances we have ever met with are uniform and of a piece. -We find from common experience, in our actions as well as reasonings, -that a constant perseverance in any course of life produces a strong -inclination and tendency to continue for the future; though there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> -are habits of inferior degrees of force, proportioned to the inferior -degrees of steadiness and uniformity in our conduct.</p> - -<p>There is no doubt but this principle sometimes takes place, and -produces those inferences we draw from contrary phenomena; though I -am persuaded that, upon examination, we shall not find it to be the -principle that most commonly influences the mind in this species of -reasoning. When we follow only the habitual determination of the mind, -we make the transition without any reflection, and interpose not a -moment's delay betwixt the view of one object, and the belief of that -which is often found to attend it. As the custom depends not upon any -deliberation, it operates immediately, without allowing any time for -reflection. But this method of proceeding we have but few instances of -in our probable reasonings; and even fewer than in those, which are -derived from the uninterrupted conjunction of objects. In the former -species of reasoning we commonly take knowingly into consideration -the contrariety of past events; we compare the different sides of the -contrariety, and carefully weigh the experiments, which we have on each -side: whence we may conclude, that our reasonings of this kind arise -not <i>directly</i> from the habit, but in an <i>oblique</i> manner; which we -must now endeavour to explain.</p> - -<p>'Tis evident, that when an object is attended with contrary effects, -we judge of them only by our past experience, and always consider -those as possible, which we have observed to follow from it. And as -past experience regulates our judgment concerning the possibility of -these effects, so it does that concerning their probability; and that -effect, which has been the most common, we always esteem the most -likely.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> Here then are two things to be considered, viz. the <i>reasons</i> -which determine us to make the past a standard for the future, and the -<i>manner</i> how we extract a single judgment from a contrariety of past -events.</p> - -<p>First we may observe, that the supposition, <i>that the future resembles -the past</i>, is not founded on arguments of any kind, but is derived -entirely from habit, by which we are determined to expect for the -future the same train of objects to which we have been accustomed. This -habit or determination to transfer the past to the future is full and -perfect; and consequently the first impulse of the imagination in this -species of reasoning is endowed with the same qualities.</p> - -<p>But, <i>secondly</i>, when in considering past experiments we find them -of a contrary nature, this determination, though full and perfect in -itself, presents us with no steady object, but offers us a number of -disagreeing images in a certain order and proportion. The first impulse -therefore is here broke into pieces, and diffuses itself over all -those images, of which each partakes an equal share of that force and -vivacity that is derived from the impulse. Any of these past events -may again happen; and we judge, that when they do happen, they will be -mixed in the same proportion as in the past.</p> - -<p>If our intention, therefore, be to consider the proportions of contrary -events in a great number of instances, the images presented by our past -experience must remain in their <i>first form</i>, and preserve their first -proportions. Suppose, for instance, I have found, by long observation, -that of twenty ships which go to sea, only nineteen return. Suppose I -see at present twenty ships that leave the port: I transfer my past -experience to the future, and represent to myself nineteen of these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> -ships as returning in safety, and one as perishing. Concerning this -there can be no difficulty. But as we frequently run over those several -ideas of past events, in order to form a judgment concerning one -single event, which appears uncertain; this consideration must change -the <i>first form</i> of our ideas, and draw together the divided images -presented by experience; since 'tis to <i>it</i> we refer the determination -of that particular event, upon which we reason. Many of these images -are supposed to concur, and a superior number to concur on one side. -These agreeing images unite together, and render the idea more strong -and lively, not only than a mere fiction of the imagination, but also -than any idea, which is supported by a lesser number of experiments. -Each new experiment is as a new stroke of the pencil, which bestows -an additional vivacity on the colours, without either multiplying or -enlarging the figure. This operation of the mind has been so fully -explained in treating of the probability of chance, that I need not -here endeavour to render it more intelligible. Every past experiment -may be considered as a kind of chance; it being uncertain to us, -whether the object will exist conformable to one experiment or another: -and for this reason every thing that has been said on the one subject -is applicable to both.</p> - -<p>Thus, upon the whole, contrary experiments produce an imperfect belief, -either by weakening the habit, or by dividing and afterwards joining -in different parts, that <i>perfect</i> habit, which makes us conclude -in general, that instances, of which we have no experience, must -necessarily resemble those of which we have.</p> - -<p>To justify still farther this account of the second species of -probability, where we reason with knowledge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> and reflection from -a contrariety of past experiments, I shall propose the following -considerations, without fearing to give offence by that air of -subtilty, which attends them. Just reasoning ought still, perhaps, -to retain its force, however subtile; in the same manner as matter -preserves its solidity in the air, and fire, and animal spirits, as -well as in the grosser and more sensible forms.</p> - -<p>First, we may observe, that there is no probability so great as not -to allow of a contrary possibility; because otherwise 'twould cease -to be a probability, and would become a certainty. That probability -of causes, which is most extensive, and which we at present examine, -depends on a contrariety of experiments; and 'tis evident an experiment -in the past proves at least a possibility for the future.</p> - -<p>Secondly, the component parts of this possibility and probability are -of the same nature, and differ in number only, but not in kind. It has -been observed, that all single chances are entirely equal, and that -the only circumstance, which can give any event that is contingent a -superiority over another, is a superior number of chances. In like -manner, as the uncertainty of causes is discovered by experience, which -presents us with a view of contrary events, 'tis plain that, when we -transfer the past to the future, the known to the unknown, every past -experiment has the same weight, and that 'tis only a superior number -of them, which can throw the balance on any side. The possibility, -therefore, which enters into every reasoning of this kind, is composed -of parts, which are of the same nature both among themselves, and with -those that compose the opposite probability.</p> - -<p>Thirdly, we may establish it as a certain maxim,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> that in all moral -as well as natural phenomena, wherever any cause consists of a -number of parts, and the effect increases or diminishes, according -to the variation of that number, the effect, properly speaking, is -a compounded one, and arises from the union of the several effects, -that proceed from each part of the cause. Thus, because the gravity -of a body increases or diminishes by the increase or diminution of -its parts, we conclude that each part contains this quality, and -contributes to the gravity of the whole. The absence or presence of a -part of the cause is attended with that of a proportionable part of the -effect. This connexion or constant conjunction sufficiently proves the -one part to be the cause of the other. As the belief, which we have of -any event, increases or diminishes according to the number of chances -or past experiments, 'tis to be considered as a compounded effect, -of which each part arises from a proportionable number of chances or -experiments.</p> - -<p>Let us now join these three observations, and see what conclusion -we can draw from them. To every probability there is an opposite -possibility. This possibility is composed of parts that are entirely of -the same nature with those of the probability; and consequently have -the same influence on the mind and understanding. The belief which -attends the probability, is a compounded effect, and is formed by the -concurrence of the several effects, which proceed from each part of the -probability. Since, therefore, each part of the probability contributes -to the production of the belief, each part of the possibility must have -the same influence on the opposite side; the nature of these parts -being entirely the same. The contrary belief attending the possibility, -implies a view of a certain object,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> as well as the probability does -an opposite view. In this particular, both these degrees of belief are -alike. The only manner then, in which the superior number of similar -component parts in the one can exert its influence, and prevail above -the inferior in the other, is by producing a stronger and more lively -view of its object. Each part presents a particular view; and all these -views uniting together produce one general view, which is fuller and -more distinct by the greater number of causes or principles from which -it is derived.</p> - -<p>The component parts of the probability and possibility being alike in -their nature, must produce like effects; and the likeness of their -effects consists in this, that each of them presents a view of a -particular object. But though these parts be alike in their nature, -they are very different in their quantity and number; and this -difference must appear in the effect as well as the similarity. Now, as -the view they present is in both cases full and entire, and comprehends -the object in all its parts, 'tis impossible that, in this particular, -there can be any difference; nor is there any thing but a superior -vivacity in the probability, arising from the concurrence of a superior -number of views, which can distinguish these effects.</p> - -<p>Here is almost the same argument in a different light. All our -reasonings concerning the probability of causes are founded on the -transferring of past to future. The transferring of any past experiment -to the future is sufficient to give us a view of the object; whether -that experiment be single or combined with others of the same kind; -whether it be entire, or opposed by others of a contrary kind. Suppose -then it acquires both these qualities of combination and opposition,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> -it loses not, upon that account, its former power of presenting a view -of the object, but only concurs with and opposes other experiments that -have a like influence. A question, therefore, may arise concerning the -manner both of the concurrence and opposition. As to the <i>concurrence</i> -there is only the choice left betwixt these two hypotheses. <i>First</i>, -that the view of the object, occasioned by the transference of each -past experiment, preserves itself entire, and only multiplies the -number of views. Or, <i>secondly</i>, that it runs into the other similar -and correspondent views, and gives them a superior degree of force and -vivacity. But that the first hypothesis is erroneous, is evident from -experience, which informs us, that the belief attending any reasoning -consists in one conclusion, not in a multitude of similar ones, which -would only distract the mind, and, in many cases, would be too numerous -to be comprehended distinctly by any finite capacity. It remains, -therefore, as the only reasonable opinion, that these similar views run -into each other and unite their forces; so as to produce a stronger and -clearer view than what arises from any one alone. This is the manner in -which past experiments concur when they are transferred to any future -event. As to the manner of their <i>opposition</i>,'tis evident that, as the -contrary views are incompatible with each other, and 'tis impossible -the object can at once exist conformable to both of them, their -influence becomes mutually destructive, and the mind is determined to -the superior only with that force which remains after subtracting the -inferior.</p> - -<p>I am sensible how abstruse all this reasoning must appear to the -generality of readers, who, not being accustomed to such profound -reflections on the intellectual<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> faculties of the mind, will be apt -to reject as chimerical whatever strikes not in with the common -received notions, and with the easiest and most obvious principles of -philosophy. And, no doubt, there are some pains required to enter into -these arguments; though perhaps very little are necessary to perceive -the imperfection of every vulgar hypothesis on this subject, and the -little light, which philosophy can yet afford us in such sublime and -such curious speculations. Let men be once fully persuaded of these -two principles, <i>that there is nothing in any object, considered in -itself, which can afford us a reason for drawing a conclusion beyond -it</i>; and, <i>that even after the observation of the frequent or constant -conjunction of objects, we have no reason to draw any inference -concerning any object beyond those of which we have had experience</i>; -I say, let men be once fully convinced of these two principles, and -this will throw them so loose from all common systems, that they -will make no difficulty of receiving any, which may appear the most -extraordinary. These principles we have found to be sufficiently -convincing, even with regard to our most certain reasonings from -causation: but I shall venture to affirm, that with regard to these -conjectural or probable reasonings they still acquire a new degree of -evidence.</p> - -<p><i>First</i>,'tis obvious that, in reasonings of this kind, 'tis not the -object presented to us, which, considered in itself, affords us any -reason to draw a conclusion concerning any other object or event. For -as this latter object is supposed uncertain, and as the uncertainty is -derived from a concealed contrariety of causes in the former, were any -of the causes placed in the known qualities of that object, they would -no longer be concealed, nor would our conclusion be uncertain.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> - -<p>But, <i>secondly</i>,'tis equally obvious in this species of reasoning, that -if the transference of the past to the future were founded merely on -a conclusion of the understanding, it could never occasion any belief -or assurance. When we transfer contrary experiments to the future, -we can only repeat these contrary experiments with their particular -proportions; which could not produce assurance in any single event upon -which we reason, unless the fancy melted together all those images -that concur, and extracted from them one single idea or image, which -is intense and lively in proportion to the number of experiments from -which it is derived, and their superiority above their antagonists. -Our past experience presents no determinate object; and as our belief, -however faint, fixes itself on a determinate object, 'tis evident that -the belief arises not merely from the transference of past to future, -but from some operation of the <i>fancy</i> conjoined with it. This may lead -us to conceive the manner in which that faculty enters into all our -reasonings.</p> - -<p>I shall conclude this subject with two reflections which may deserve -our attention. The <i>first</i> may be explained after this manner: When -the mind forms a reasoning concerning any matter of fact, which is -only probable, it casts its eye backward upon past experience, and, -transferring it to the future, is presented with so many contrary -views of its object, of which those that are of the same kind uniting -together and running into one act of the mind, serve to fortify and -enliven it. But suppose that this multitude of views or glimpses of an -object proceeds not from experience, but from a voluntary act of the -imagination; this effect does not follow, or, at least, follows not in -the same degree. For though custom and education produce<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> belief by -such a repetition as is not derived from experience, yet this requires -a long tract of time, along with a very frequent and <i>undesigned</i> -repetition. In general we may pronounce, that a person, who would -<i>voluntarily</i> repeat any idea in his mind, though supported by one -past experience, would be no more inclined to believe the existence of -its object, than if he had contented himself with one survey of it. -Beside the effect of design, each act of the mind, being separate and -independent, has a separate influence, and joins not its force with -that of its fellows. Not being united by any common object producing -them, they have no relation to each other; and consequently make no -transition or union of forces. This phenomenon we shall understand -better afterwards.</p> - -<p>My <i>second</i> reflection is founded on those large probabilities which -the mind can judge of, and the minute differences it can observe -betwixt them. When the chances or experiments on one side amount to ten -thousand, and on the other to ten thousand and one, the judgment gives -the preference to the latter upon account of that superiority; though -'tis plainly impossible for the mind to run over every particular view, -and distinguish the superior vivacity of the image arising from the -superior number, where the difference is so inconsiderable. We have a -parallel instance in the affections. 'Tis evident, according to the -principles above mentioned, that when an object produces any passion in -us, which varies according to the different quantity of the object; I -say, 'tis evident, that the passion, properly speaking, is not a simple -emotion, but a compounded one, of a great number of weaker passions, -derived from a view of each part of the object; for otherwise 'twere -impossible the passion should increase<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> by the increase of these parts. -Thus, a man who desires a thousand pounds has, in reality, a thousand -or more desires which, uniting together, seem to make only one passion; -though the composition evidently betrays itself upon every alteration -of the object, by the preference he gives to the larger number, if -superior only by an unit. Yet nothing can be more certain, than that -so small a difference would not be discernible in the passions, nor -could render them distinguishable from each other. The difference, -therefore, of our conduct in preferring the greater number depends not -upon our passions, but upon custom and <i>general rules</i>. We have found -in a multitude of instances that the augmenting the numbers of any sum -augments the passion, where the numbers are precise and the difference -sensible. The mind can perceive, from its immediate feeling, that three -guineas produce a greater passion than two; and <i>this</i> it transfers -to larger numbers, because of the resemblance; and by a general rule -assigns to a thousand guineas a stronger passion than to nine hundred -and ninety-nine. These general rules we shall explain presently.</p> - -<p>But beside these two species of probability, which are derived -from an <i>imperfect</i> experience and from <i>contrary</i> causes, there -is a third arising from <i>analogy</i>, which differs from them in some -material circumstances. According to the hypothesis above explained, -all kinds of reasoning from causes or effects are founded on two -particulars, viz. the constant conjunction of any two objects in all -past experience, and the resemblance of a present object to any one -of them. The effect of these two particulars is, that the present -object invigorates and enlivens the imagination; and the resemblance, -along with the constant union,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> conveys this force and vivacity to -the related idea; which we are therefore said to believe or assent -to. If you weaken either the union or resemblance, you weaken the -principle of transition, and of consequence that belief which arises -from it. The vivacity of the first impression cannot be fully conveyed -to the related idea, either where the conjunction of their objects -is not constant, or where the present impression does not perfectly -resemble any of those whose union we are accustomed to observe. In -those probabilities of chance and causes above explained, 'tis the -constancy of the union which is diminished; and in the probability -derived from analogy, 'tis the resemblance only which is affected. -Without some degree of resemblance, as well as union, 'tis impossible -there can be any reasoning. But as this resemblance admits of many -different degrees, the reasoning becomes proportionably more or less -firm and certain. An experiment loses of its force, when transferred to -instances which are not exactly resembling; though 'tis evident it may -still retain as much as may be the foundation of probability, as long -as there is any resemblance remaining.</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h5><a name="SECTION_XIII_cI" id="SECTION_XIII_cI">SECTION XIII.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF UNPHILOSOPHICAL PROBABILITY.</h5> - - -<p>All these kinds of probability are received by philosophers, and -allowed to be reasonable foundations of belief and opinion. But there -are others that are derived<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> from the same principles, though they -have not had the good fortune to obtain the same sanction. The <i>first</i> -probability of this kind may be accounted for thus. The diminution of -the union and of the resemblance, as above explained, diminishes the -facility of the transition, and by that means weakens the evidence; -and we may farther observe, that the same diminution of the evidence -will follow from a diminution of the impression, and from the shading -of those colours under which it appears to the memory or senses. The -argument which we found on any matter of fact we remember is more -or less convincing, according as the fact is recent or remote; and -though the difference in these degrees of evidence be not received by -philosophy as solid and legitimate; because in that case an argument -must have a different force to-day from what it shall have a month -hence; yet, notwithstanding the opposition of philosophy, 'tis certain -this circumstance has a considerable influence on the understanding, -and secretly changes the authority of the same argument, according to -the different times in which it is proposed to us. A greater force and -vivacity in the impression naturally conveys a greater to the related -idea; and 'tis on the degrees of force and vivacity that the belief -depends, according to the foregoing system.</p> - -<p>There is a <i>second</i> difference which we may frequently observe in our -degrees of belief and assurance, and which never fails to take place, -though disclaimed by philosophers. An experiment that is recent and -fresh in the memory, affects us more than one that is in some measure -obliterated; and has a superior influence on the judgment as well as -on the passions. A lively impression produces more assurance than a -faint<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> one, because it has more original force to communicate to the -related idea, which thereby acquires a greater force and vivacity. A -recent observation has a like effect; because the custom and transition -is there more entire, and preserves better the original force in the -communication. Thus a drunkard, who has seen his companion die of a -debauch, is struck with that instance for some time, and dreads a like -accident for himself; but as the memory of it decays away by degrees, -his former security returns, and the danger seems less certain and real.</p> - -<p>I add, as a <i>third</i> instance of this kind, that though our reasonings -from proofs and from probabilities be considerably different from each -other, yet the former species of reasoning often degenerates insensibly -into the latter, by nothing but the multitude of connected arguments. -'Tis certain, that when an inference is drawn immediately from an -object, without any intermediate cause or effect, the conviction -is much stronger, and the persuasion more lively, than when the -imagination is carried through a long chain of connected arguments, -however infallible the connexion of each link may be esteemed. 'Tis -from the original impression that the vivacity of all the ideas is -derived, by means of the customary transition of the imagination; and -'tis evident this vivacity must gradually decay in proportion to the -distance, and must lose somewhat in each transition. Sometimes this -distance has a greater influence than even contrary experiments would -have; and a man may receive a more lively conviction from a probable -reasoning which is close and immediate, than from a long chain of -consequences, though just and conclusive in each part. Nay, 'tis seldom -such reasonings produce any conviction; and one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> must have a very -strong and firm imagination to preserve the evidence to the end, where -it passes through so many stages.</p> - -<p>But here it may not be amiss to remark a very curious phenomenon which -the present subject suggests to us. 'Tis evident there is no point of -ancient history, of which we can have any assurance, but by passing -through many millions of causes and effects, and through a chain of -arguments of almost an immeasurable length. Before the knowledge of the -fact could come to the first historian, it must be conveyed through -many mouths; and after it is committed to writing, each new copy is a -new object, of which the connexion with the foregoing is known only by -experience and observation. Perhaps therefore it may be concluded, from -the precedent reasoning, that the evidence of all ancient history must -now be lost, or at least will be lost in time, as the chain of causes -increases, and runs on to a greater length. But as it seems contrary -to common sense to think, that if the republic of letters and the art -of printing continue on the same footing as at present, our posterity, -even after a thousand ages, can ever doubt if there has been such a man -as Julius Cĉsar; this may be considered as an objection to the present -system. If belief consisted only in a certain vivacity, conveyed from -an original impression, it would decay by the length of the transition, -and must at last be utterly extinguished. And, <i>vice versa</i>, if belief, -on some occasions, be not capable of such an extinction, it must be -something different from that vivacity.</p> - -<p>Before I answer this objection I shall observe, that from this topic -there has been borrowed a very celebrated argument against the -<i>Christian Religion</i>; but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> with this difference, that the connexion -betwixt each link of the chain in human testimony has been there -supposed not to go beyond probability, and to be liable to a degree of -doubt and uncertainty. And indeed it must be confessed, that in this -manner of considering the subject (which, however, is not a true one), -there is no history or tradition but what must in the end lose all -its force and evidence. Every new probability diminishes the original -conviction; and, however great that conviction may be supposed, 'tis -impossible it can subsist under such reiterated diminutions. This is -true in general, though we shall find afterwards,<a name="FNanchor_9_68" id="FNanchor_9_68"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_68" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> that there is one -very memorable exception, which is of vast consequence in the present -subject of the understanding.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, to give a solution of the preceding objection upon the -supposition that historical evidence amounts at first to an entire -proof, let us consider, that, though the links are innumerable that -connect any original fact with the present impression, which is the -foundation of belief, yet they are all of the same kind, and depend -on the fidelity of printers and copyists. One edition passes into -another, and that into a third, and so on, till we come to that volume -we peruse at present. There is no variation in the steps. After we know -one, we know all of them; and after we have made one, we can have no -scruple as to the rest. This circumstance alone preserves the evidence -of history, and will perpetuate the memory of the present age to the -latest posterity. If all the long chain of causes and effects, which -connect any past event with any volume of history, were composed of -parts different<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> from each other, and which 'twere necessary for the -mind distinctly to conceive, 'tis impossible we should preserve to the -end any belief or evidence. But as most of these proofs are perfectly -resembling, the mind runs easily along them, jumps from one part to -another with facility, and forms but a confused and general notion of -each link. By this means, a long chain of argument has as little effect -in diminishing the original vivacity, as a much shorter would have if -composed of parts which were different from each other, and of which -each required a distinct consideration.</p> - -<p>A fourth unphilosophical species of probability is that derived from -<i>general rules</i>, which we rashly form to ourselves, and which are the -source of what we properly call <i>prejudice</i>. An Irishman cannot have -wit, and a Frenchman cannot have solidity; for which reason, though the -conversation of the former in any instance be visibly very agreeable, -and of the latter very judicious, we have entertained such a prejudice -against them, that they must be dunces or fops in spite of sense and -reason. Human nature is very subject to errors of this kind, and -perhaps this nation as much as any other.</p> - -<p>Should it be demanded why men form general rules, and allow them to -influence their judgment, even contrary to present observation and -experience, I should reply, that in my opinion it proceeds from those -very principles on which all judgments concerning causes and effects -depend. Our judgments concerning cause and effect are derived from -habit and experience; and when we have been accustomed to see one -object united to another, our imagination passes from the first to the -second by a natural transition, which precedes reflection,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> and which -cannot be prevented by it. Now, 'tis the nature of custom not only -to operate with its full force, when objects are presented that are -exactly the same with those to which we have been accustomed, but also -to operate in an inferior degree when we discover such as are similar; -and though the habit loses somewhat of its force by every difference, -yet 'tis seldom entirely destroyed where any considerable circumstances -remain the same. A man who has contracted a custom of eating fruit by -the use of pears or peaches, will satisfy himself with melons where he -cannot find his favourite fruit; as one, who has become a drunkard by -the use of red wines, will be carried almost with the same violence to -white, if presented to him. From this principle I have accounted for -that species of probability, derived from analogy, where we transfer -our experience in past instances to objects which are resembling, -but are not exactly the same with those concerning which we have had -experience. In proportion as the resemblance decays, the probability -diminishes, but still has some force as long as there remain any traces -of the resemblance.</p> - -<p>This observation we may carry farther, and may remark, that though -custom be the foundation of all our judgments, yet sometimes it has an -effect on the imagination in opposition to the judgment, and produces -a contrariety in our sentiments concerning the same object. I explain -myself. In almost all kinds of causes there is a complication of -circumstances, of which some are essential, and others superfluous; -some are absolutely requisite to the production of the effect, and -others are only conjoined by accident. Now we may observe, that when -these superfluous circumstances are numerous and remarkable, and -frequently conjoined<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> with the essential, they have such an influence -on the imagination, that even in the absence of the latter they -carry us on to the conception of the usual effect, and give to that -conception a force and vivacity which make it superior to the mere -fictions of the fancy. We may correct this propensity by a reflection -on the nature of those circumstances; but 'tis still certain, that -custom takes the start, and gives a bias to the imagination.</p> - -<p>To illustrate this by a familiar instance, let us consider the case of -a man, who, being hung out from a high tower in a cage of iron, cannot -forbear trembling when he surveys the precipice below him, though he -knows himself to be perfectly secure from falling, by his experience -of the solidity of the iron which supports him, and though the ideas -of fall and descent, and harm and death, be derived solely from custom -and experience. The same custom goes beyond the instances from which it -is derived, and to which it perfectly corresponds; and influences his -ideas of such objects as are in some respect resembling, but fall not -precisely under the same rule. The circumstances of depth and descent -strike so strongly upon him, that their influence cannot be destroyed -by the contrary circumstances of support and solidity, which ought to -give him a perfect security. His imagination runs away with its object, -and excites a passion proportioned to it. That passion returns back -upon the imagination, and enlivens the idea; which lively idea has a -new influence on the passion, and in its turn augments its force and -violence: and both his fancy and affections, thus mutually supporting -each other, cause the whole to have a very great influence upon him.</p> - -<p>But why need we seek for other instances, while the present subject -of philosophical probabilities offers us<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> so obvious an one, in -the opposition betwixt the judgment and imagination, arising from -these effects of custom? According to my system, all reasonings are -nothing but the effects of custom, and custom has no influence, but -by enlivening the imagination, and giving us a strong conception of -any object. It may therefore be concluded, that our judgment and -imagination can never be contrary, and that custom cannot operate on -the latter faculty after such a manner, as to render it opposite to -the former. This difficulty we can remove after no other manner, than -by supposing the influence of general rules. We shall afterwards<a name="FNanchor_10_69" id="FNanchor_10_69"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_69" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> -take notice of some general rules, by which we ought to regulate -our judgment concerning causes and effects; and these rules are -formed on the nature of our understanding, and on our experience -of its operations in the judgments we form concerning objects. By -them we learn to distinguish the accidental circumstances from the -efficacious causes; and when we find that an effect can be produced -without the concurrence of any particular circumstance, we conclude -that that circumstance makes not a part of the efficacious cause, -however frequently conjoined with it. But as this frequent conjunction -necessarily makes it have some effect on the imagination, in spite of -the opposite conclusion from general rules, the opposition of these -two principles produces a contrariety in our thoughts, and causes us -to ascribe the one inference to our judgment, and the other to our -imagination. The general rule is attributed to our judgment, as being -more extensive and constant; the exception to the imagination, as being -more capricious and uncertain.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> - -<p>Thus, our general rules are in a manner set in opposition to each -other. When an object appears, that resembles any cause in very -considerable circumstances, the imagination naturally carries us to a -lively conception of the usual effect, though the object be different -in the most material and most efficacious circumstances from that -cause. Here is the first influence of general rules. But when we -take a review of this act of the mind, and compare it with the more -general and authentic operations of the understanding, we find it to -be of an irregular nature, and destructive of all the most established -principles of reasonings, which is the cause of our rejecting it. This -is a second influence of general rules, and implies the condemnation -of the former. Sometimes the one, sometimes the other prevails, -according to the disposition and character of the person. The vulgar -are commonly guided by the first, and wise men by the second. Meanwhile -the sceptics may here have the pleasure of observing a new and signal -contradiction in our reason, and of seeing all philosophy ready to be -subverted by a principle of human nature, and again saved by a new -direction of the very same principle. The following of general rules -is a very unphilosophical species of probability; and yet 'tis only by -following them that we can correct this, and all other unphilosophical -probabilities.</p> - -<p>Since we have instances where general rules operate on the imagination, -even contrary to the judgment, we need not be surprised to see their -effects increase, when conjoined with that latter faculty, and to -observe that they bestow on the ideas they present to us a force -superior to what attends any other. Every one knows there is an -indirect manner of insinuating praise or blame, which is much less -shocking than the open<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> flattery or censure of any person. However he -may communicate his sentiments by such secret insinuations, and make -them known with equal certainty as by the open discovery of them, -'tis certain that their influence is not equally strong and powerful. -One who lashes me with concealed strokes of satire, moves not my -indignation to such a degree, as if he flatly told me I was a fool and -a coxcomb; though I equally understand his meaning, as if he did. This -difference is to be attributed to the influence of general rules.</p> - -<p>Whether a person openly abuses me, or slily intimates his contempt, -in neither case do I immediately perceive his sentiment or opinion; -and 'tis only by signs, that is, by its effects, I become sensible of -it. The only difference then, betwixt these two cases, consists in -this, that in the open discovery of his sentiments he makes use of -signs, which are general and universal; and in the secret intimation -employs such as are more singular and uncommon. The effect of this -circumstance is, that the imagination, in running from the present -impression to the absent idea, makes the transition with greater -facility, and consequently conceives the object with greater force, -where the connexion is common and universal, than where it is more rare -and particular. Accordingly, we may observe, that the open declaration -of our sentiments is called the taking off the mask, as the secret -intimation of our opinions is said to be the veiling of them. The -difference betwixt an idea produced by a general connexion, and that -arising from a particular one, is here compared to the difference -betwixt an impression and an idea. This difference in the imagination -has a suitable effect on the passions, and this effect is augmented by -another circumstance. A secret intimation of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> anger or contempt shows -that we still have some consideration for the person, and avoid the -directly abusing him. This makes a concealed satire less disagreeable, -but still this depends on the same principle. For if an idea were not -more feeble, when only intimated, it would never be esteemed a mark of -greater respect to proceed in this method than in the other.</p> - -<p>Sometimes scurrility is less displeasing than delicate satire, because -it revenges us in a manner for the injury at the very time it is -committed, by affording us a just reason to blame and contemn the -person who injures us. But this phenomenon likewise depends upon the -same principle. For why do we blame all gross and injurious language, -unless it be, because we esteem it contrary to good breeding and -humanity? And why is it contrary, unless it be more shocking than any -delicate satire? The rules of good breeding condemn whatever is openly -disobliging, and gives a sensible pain and confusion to those with -whom we converse. After this is once established, abusive language is -universally blamed, and gives less pain upon account of its coarseness -and incivility, which render the person despicable that employs it. It -becomes less disagreeable, merely because originally it is more so; and -'tis more disagreeable, because it affords an inference by general and -common rules that are palpable and undeniable.</p> - -<p>To this explication of the different influence of open and concealed -flattery or satire, I shall add the consideration of another -phenomenon, which is analogous to it. There are many particulars in -the point of honour, both of men and women, whose violations, when -open and avowed, the world never excuses, but which it is more apt to -overlook, when the appearances are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> saved, and the transgression is -secret and concealed. Even those who know with equal certainty that -the fault is committed, pardon it more easily, when the proofs seem -in some measure oblique and equivocal, than when they are direct and -undeniable. The same idea is presented in both cases, and, properly -speaking, is equally assented to by the judgment; and yet its influence -is different, because of the different manner in which it is presented.</p> - -<p>Now, if we compare these two cases, of the <i>open</i> and <i>concealed</i> -violations of the laws of honour, we shall find, that the difference -betwixt them consists in this, that in the first case the sign, from -which we infer the blameable action, is single, and suffices alone -to be the foundation of our reasoning and judgment; whereas in the -latter the signs are numerous, and decide little or nothing when alone -and unaccompanied with many minute circumstances, which are almost -imperceptible. But 'tis certainly true, that any reasoning is always -the more convincing, the more single and united it is to the eye, -and the less exercise it gives to the imagination to collect all its -parts, and run from them to the correlative idea, which forms the -conclusion. The labour of the thought disturbs the regular progress of -the sentiments, as we shall observe presently.<a name="FNanchor_11_70" id="FNanchor_11_70"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_70" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> The idea strikes not -on us with such vivacity, and consequently has no such influence on the -passion and imagination.</p> - -<p>From the same principles we may account for those observations of -the Cardinal de Retz, <i>that there are many things in which the world -wishes to be deceived</i>, and <i>that it more easily excuses a person in -acting than in talking contrary to the decorum of his profession and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> -character</i>. A fault in words is commonly more open and distinct than -one in actions, which admit of many palliating excuses, and decide not -so clearly concerning the intention and views of the actor.</p> - -<p>Thus it appears, upon the whole, that every kind of opinion or -judgment which amounts not to knowledge, is derived entirely from -the force and vivacity of the perception, and that these qualities -constitute in the mind what we call the <i>belief</i> of the existence -of any object. This force and this vivacity are most conspicuous in -the memory; and therefore our confidence in the veracity of that -faculty is the greatest imaginable, and equals in many respects the -assurance of a demonstration. The next degree of these qualities is -that derived from the relation of cause and effect; and this too is -very great, especially when the conjunction is found by experience -to be perfectly constant, and when the object, which is present to -us, exactly resembles those, of which we have had experience. But -below this degree of evidence there are many others, which have an -influence on the passions and imagination, proportioned to that degree -of force and vivacity, which they communicate to the ideas. 'Tis by -habit we make the transition from cause to effect; and 'tis from some -present impression we borrow that vivacity, which we diffuse over the -correlative idea. But when we have not observed a sufficient number -of instances to produce a strong habit; or when these instances are -contrary to each other; or when the resemblance is not exact; or the -present impression is faint and obscure; or the experience in some -measure obliterated from the memory; or the connexion dependent on a -long chain of objects; or the inference derived from general rules, -and yet not conformable to them: in all these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> cases the evidence -diminishes by the diminution of the force and intenseness of the idea. -This therefore is the nature of the judgment and probability.</p> - -<p>What principally gives authority to this system is, beside the -undoubted arguments, upon which each part is founded, the agreement of -these parts, and the necessity of one to explain another. The belief -which attends our memory is of the same nature with that which is -derived from our judgments: nor is there any difference betwixt that -judgment which is derived from a constant and uniform connexion of -causes and effects, and that which depends upon an interrupted and -uncertain. 'Tis indeed evident, that in all determinations where the -mind decides from contrary experiments, 'tis first divided within -itself, and has an inclination to either side in proportion to the -number of experiments we have seen and remember. This contest is at -last determined to the advantage of that side where we observe a -superior number of these experiments; but still with a diminution of -force in the evidence correspondent to the number of the opposite -experiments. Each possibility, of which the probability is composed, -operates separately upon the imagination; and 'tis the larger -collection of possibilities, which at last prevails, and that with -a force proportionable to its superiority. All these phenomena lead -directly to the precedent system; nor will it ever be possible upon any -other principles to give a satisfactory and consistent explication of -them. Without considering these judgments as the effects of custom on -the imagination, we shall lose ourselves in perpetual contradiction and -absurdity.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_9_68" id="Footnote_9_68"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_68"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Part IV. Sect. 1.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_10_69" id="Footnote_10_69"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_69"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> Sect. 15.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_11_70" id="Footnote_11_70"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_70"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> Part IV. Sect. 1.</p> -</div> -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="SECTION_XIV_cI" id="SECTION_XIV_cI">SECTION XIV.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNEXION.</h5> - - -<p>Having thus explained the manner <i>in which we reason beyond our -immediate impressions, and conclude that such particular causes must -have such particular effects</i>; we must now return upon our footsteps -to examine that question<a name="FNanchor_12_71" id="FNanchor_12_71"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_71" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> which first occurred to us, and which we -dropped in our way, viz. <i>What is our idea of necessity, when we say -that two objects are necessarily connected together</i>? Upon this head -I repeat, what I have often had occasion to observe, that as we have -no idea that is not derived from an impression, we must find some -impression that gives rise to this idea of necessity, if we assert -we have really such an idea. In order to this, I consider in what -objects necessity is commonly supposed to lie; and, finding that it is -always ascribed to causes and effects, I turn my eye to two objects -supposed to be placed in that relation, and examine them in all the -situations of which they are susceptible. I immediately perceive that -they are <i>contiguous</i> in time and place, and that the object we call -cause <i>precedes</i> the other we call effect. In no one instance can I go -any farther, nor is it possible for me to discover any third relation -betwixt these objects. I therefore enlarge my view to comprehend -several instances, where I find like objects always existing in like -relations of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> contiguity and succession. At first sight this seems to -serve but little to my purpose. The reflection on several instances -only repeats the same objects; and therefore can never give rise to a -new idea. But upon farther inquiry I find, that the repetition is not -in every particular the same, but produces a new impression, and by -that means the idea which I at present examine. For after a frequent -repetition I find, that upon the appearance of one of the objects, the -mind is <i>determined</i> by custom to consider its usual attendant, and to -consider it in a stronger light upon account of its relation to the -first object. 'Tis this impression, then, or <i>determination</i>, which -affords me the idea of necessity.</p> - -<p>I doubt not but these consequences will at first sight be received -without difficulty, as being evident deductions from principles which -we have already established, and which we have often employed in our -reasonings. This evidence, both in the first principles and in the -deductions, may seduce us unwarily into the conclusion, and make us -imagine it contains nothing extraordinary, nor worthy of our curiosity. -But though such an inadvertence may facilitate the reception of this -reasoning, 'twill make it be the more easily forgot; for which reason -I think it proper to give warning, that I have just now examined one -of the most sublime questions in philosophy, viz. <i>that concerning the -power and efficacy of causes</i>, where all the sciences seem so much -interested. Such a warning will naturally rouse up the attention of -the reader, and make him desire a more full account of my doctrine, -as well as of the arguments on which it is founded. This request is -so reasonable, that I cannot refuse complying with it; especially as -I am hopeful that these principles, the more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> they are examined, will -acquire the more force and evidence.</p> - -<p>There is no question which, on account of its importance, as well as -difficulty, has caused more disputes both among ancient and modern -philosophers, than this concerning the efficacy of causes, or that -quality which makes them be followed by their effects. But before they -entered upon these disputes, methinks it would not have been improper -to have examined what idea we have of that efficacy, which is the -subject of the controversy. This is what I find principally wanting in -their reasonings, and what I shall here endeavour to supply.</p> - -<p>I begin with observing, that the terms of <i>efficacy, agency, power, -force, energy, necessity, connexion</i>, and <i>productive quality</i>, are -all nearly synonymous; and therefore 'tis an absurdity to employ any -of them in defining the rest. By this observation we reject at once -all the vulgar definitions which philosophers have given of power and -efficacy; and instead of searching for the idea in these definitions, -must look for it in the impressions from which it is originally -derived. If it be a compound idea, it must arise from compound -impressions. If simple, from simple impressions.</p> - -<p>I believe the most general and most popular explication of this -matter, is to say,<a name="FNanchor_13_72" id="FNanchor_13_72"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_72" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> that finding from experience that there are -several new productions in matter, such as the motions and variations -of body, 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 and efficacy. But to be convinced that this explication is -more popular than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> philosophical, we need but reflect on two very -obvious principles. <i>First</i>, that reason alone can never give rise -to any original idea; and, <i>secondly</i>, that reason, as distinguished -from experience, can never make us conclude that a cause or productive -quality is absolutely requisite to every beginning of existence. Both -these considerations have been sufficiently explained; and therefore -shall not at present be any farther insisted on.</p> - -<p>I shall only infer from them, that since reason can never give rise -to the idea of efficacy, that idea must be derived from experience, -and from some particular instances of this efficacy, which make -their passage into the mind by the common channels of sensation or -reflection. Ideas always represent their objects or impressions; -and <i>vice versa</i>, there are some objects necessary to give rise to -every idea. If we pretend, therefore, to have any just idea of this -efficacy, we must produce some instance wherein the efficacy is -plainly discoverable to the mind, and its operations obvious to our -consciousness or sensation. By the refusal of this, we acknowledge, -that the idea is impossible and imaginary; since the principle of -innate ideas, which alone can save us from this dilemma, has been -already refuted, and is now almost universally rejected in the learned -world. Our present business, then, must be to find some natural -production, where the operation and efficacy of a cause can be clearly -conceived and comprehended by the mind, without any danger of obscurity -or mistake.</p> - -<p>In this research, we meet with very little encouragement from -that prodigious diversity which is found in the opinions of those -philosophers who have pretended<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> to explain the secret force and -energy of causes.<a name="FNanchor_14_73" id="FNanchor_14_73"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_73" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> There are some who maintain, that bodies operate -by their substantial form; others, by their accidents or qualities; -several, by their matter and form; some, by their form and accidents; -others, by certain virtues and faculties distinct from all this. -All these sentiments, again, are mixed and varied in a thousand -different ways, and form a strong presumption that none of them have -any solidity or evidence, and that the supposition of an efficacy in -any of the known qualities of matter is entirely without foundation. -This presumption must increase upon us, when we consider, that these -principles of substantial forms, and accidents, and faculties, are not -in reality any of the known properties of bodies, but are perfectly -unintelligible and inexplicable. For 'tis evident philosophers would -never have had recourse to such obscure and uncertain principles, had -they met with any satisfaction in such as are clear and intelligible; -especially in such an affair as this, which must be an object of the -simplest understanding, if not of the senses. Upon the whole, we may -conclude, that 'tis impossible, in any one instance, to show the -principle in which the force and agency of a cause is placed; and -that the most refined and most vulgar understandings are equally at -a loss in this particular. If any one think proper to refute this -assertion, he need not put himself to the trouble of inventing any long -reasonings, but may at once show us an instance of a cause, where we -discover the power or operating principle. This defiance we are obliged -frequently to make use of, as being almost the only means of proving a -negative in philosophy.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p> - -<p>The small success which has been met with in all the attempts to fix -this power, has at last obliged philosophers to conclude, that the -ultimate force and efficacy of nature is perfectly unknown to us, -and that 'tis in vain we search for it in all the known qualities of -matter. In this opinion they are almost unanimous; and 'tis only in -the inference they draw from it, that they discover any difference in -their sentiments. For some of them, as the Cartesians in particular, -having established it as a principle, that we are perfectly acquainted -with the essence of matter, have very naturally inferred, that it is -endowed with no efficacy, and that 'tis impossible for it of itself to -communicate motion, or produce any of those effects, which we ascribe -to it. As the essence of matter consists in extension, and as extension -implies not actual motion, but only mobility; they conclude, that the -energy, which produces the motion, cannot lie in the extension.</p> - -<p>This conclusion leads them into another, which they regard as perfectly -unavoidable. Matter, say they, is in itself entirely unactive, and -deprived of any power, by which it may produce, or continue, or -communicate motion: but since these effects are evident to our senses, -and since the power that produces them must be placed somewhere, it -must lie in the Deity, or that Divine Being who contains in his nature -all excellency and perfection. 'Tis the Deity, therefore, who is the -prime mover of the universe, and who not only first created matter, and -gave it its original impulse, but likewise, by a continued exertion of -omnipotence, supports its existence, and successively bestows on it -all those motions, and configurations, and qualities, with which it is -endowed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> - -<p>This opinion is certainly very curious, and well worth our attention; -but 'twill appear superfluous to examine it in this place, if we -reflect a moment on our present purpose in taking notice of it. We -have established it as a principle, that as all ideas are derived -from impressions, or some precedent <i>perceptions</i>,'tis impossible we -can have any idea of power and efficacy, unless some instances can -be produced, wherein this power <i>is perceived</i> to exert itself. Now, -as these instances can never be discovered in body, the Cartesians, -proceeding upon their principle of innate ideas, have had recourse -to a Supreme Spirit or Deity, whom they consider as the only active -being in the universe, and as the immediate cause of every alteration -in matter. But the principle of innate ideas being allowed to be -false, it follows, that the supposition of a Deity can serve us in no -stead, in accounting for that idea of agency, which we search for in -vain in all the objects which are presented to our senses, or which -we are internally conscious of in our own minds. For if every idea -be derived from an impression, the idea of a Deity proceeds from the -same origin; and if no impression, either of sensation or reflection, -implies any force or efficacy, 'tis equally impossible to discover -or even imagine any such active principle in the Deity. Since these -philosophers, therefore, have concluded that matter cannot be endowed -with any efficacious principle, because 'tis impossible to discover -in it such a principle, the same course of reasoning should determine -them to exclude it from the Supreme Being, or, if they esteem that -opinion absurd and impious, as it really is, I shall tell them how they -may avoid it; and that is, by concluding from the very first, that -they have no adequate idea of power or efficacy in any object; since<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> -neither in body nor spirit, neither in superior nor inferior natures, -are they able to discover one single instance of it.</p> - -<p>The same conclusion is unavoidable upon the hypothesis of those, who -maintain the efficacy of second causes, and attribute a derivative, but -a real power and energy to matter. For as they confess that this energy -lies not in any of the known qualities of matter, the difficulty still -remains concerning the origin of its idea. If we have really an idea -of power, we may attribute power to an unknown quality: but as 'tis -impossible that that idea can be derived from such a quality, and as -there is nothing in known qualities which can produce it, it follows -that we deceive ourselves, when we imagine we are possessed of any idea -of this kind, after the manner we commonly understand it. All ideas are -derived from, and represent impressions. We never have any impression -that contains any power or efficacy. We never, therefore, have any idea -of power.</p> - -<p>Some have asserted, that we feel an energy or power in our own mind; -and that, having in this manner acquired the idea of power, we transfer -that quality to matter, where we are not able immediately to discover -it. The motions of our body, and the thoughts and sentiments of our -mind (say they) obey the will; nor do we seek any farther to acquire -a just notion of force or power. But to convince us how fallacious -this reasoning is, we need only consider, that the will being here -considered as a cause, has no more a discoverable connexion with its -effects, than any material cause has with its proper effect. So far -from perceiving the connexion betwixt an act of volition and a motion -of the body, 'tis allowed that no effect is more inexplicable from -the powers and essence of thought and matter.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> Nor is the empire -of the will over our mind more intelligible. The effect is there -distinguishable and separable from the cause, and could be foreseen -without the experience of their constant conjunction. We have command -over our mind to a certain degree, but beyond <i>that</i> lose all empire -over it: and 'tis evidently impossible to fix any precise bounds to -our authority, where we consult not experience. In short, the actions -of the mind are, in this respect, the same with those of matter. We -perceive only their constant conjunction; nor can we ever reason beyond -it. No internal impression has an apparent energy, more than external -objects have. Since, therefore, matter is confessed by philosophers to -operate by an unknown force, we should in vain hope to attain an idea -of force by consulting our own minds.<a name="FNanchor_15_74" id="FNanchor_15_74"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_74" class="fnanchor">[15]</a></p> - -<p>It has been established as a certain principle, that general or -abstract ideas are nothing but individual ones taken in a certain -light, and that, in reflecting on any object, 'tis as impossible to -exclude from our thought all particular degrees of quantity and quality -as from the real nature of things. If we be possessed, therefore, of -any idea of power in general, we must also be able to conceive some -particular species of it; and as power cannot subsist alone, but is -always regarded as an attribute of some being or existence, we must -be able to place this power in some particular<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> being, and conceive -that being as endowed with a real force and energy, by which such a -particular effect necessarily results from its operation. We must -distinctly and particularly conceive the connexion betwixt the cause -and effect, and be able to pronounce, from a simple view of the one, -that it must be followed or preceded by the other. This is the true -manner of conceiving a particular power in a particular body: and a -general idea being impossible without an individual; where the latter -is impossible, 'tis certain the former can never exist. Now nothing -is more evident, than that the human mind cannot form such an idea of -two objects, as to conceive any connexion betwixt them, or comprehend -distinctly that power or efficacy, by which they are united. Such a -connexion would amount to a demonstration, and would imply the absolute -impossibility for the one object not to follow, or to be conceived not -to follow upon the other: which kind of connexion has already been -rejected in all cases. If any one is of a contrary opinion, and thinks -he has attained a notion of power in any particular object, I desire he -may point out to me that object. But till I meet with such a one, which -I despair of, I cannot forbear concluding, that since we can never -distinctly conceive how any particular power can possibly reside in any -particular object, we deceive ourselves in imagining we can form any -such general idea.</p> - -<p>Thus, upon the whole, we may infer, that when we talk of any being, -whether of a superior or inferior nature, as endowed with a power -or force, proportioned to any effect; when we speak of a necessary -connexion betwixt objects, and suppose that this connexion depends upon -an efficacy or energy, with which any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> of these objects are endowed; in -all the expressions, <i>so applied</i>, we have really no distinct meaning, -and make use only of common words, without any clear and determinate -ideas. But as 'tis more probable, that these expressions do here lose -their true meaning by being <i>wrong applied</i>, than that they never have -any meaning; 'twill be proper to bestow another consideration on this -subject, to see if possibly we can discover the nature and origin of -those ideas we annex to them.</p> - -<p>Suppose two objects to be presented to us, of which the one is the -cause and the other the effect; 'tis plain that, from the simple -consideration of one, or both these objects, we never shall perceive -the tie by which they are united, or be able certainly to pronounce, -that there is a connexion betwixt them. 'Tis not, therefore, from any -one instance, that we arrive at the idea of cause and effect, of a -necessary connexion of power, of force, of energy, and of efficacy. -Did we never see any but particular conjunctions of objects, entirely -different from each other, we should never be able to form any such -ideas.</p> - -<p>But, again, suppose we observe several instances in which the same -objects are always conjoined together, we immediately conceive a -connexion betwixt them, and begin to draw an inference from one -to another. This multiplicity of resembling instances, therefore, -constitutes the very essence of power or connexion, and is the source -from which the idea of it arises. In order, then, to understand the -idea of power, we must consider that multiplicity; nor do I ask more -to give a solution of that difficulty, which has so long perplexed -us. For thus I reason. The repetition of perfectly similar instances -can never <i>alone</i> give rise to an original<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> idea, different from what -is to be found in any particular instance, as has been observed, and -as evidently follows from our fundamental principle, <i>that all ideas -are copied from impressions</i>. Since, therefore, the idea of power is -a new original idea, not to be found in any one instance, and which -yet arises from the repetition of several instances, it follows, that -the repetition <i>alone</i> has not that effect, but must either <i>discover</i> -or <i>produce</i> something new, which is the source of that idea. Did the -repetition neither discover nor produce any thing new, our ideas might -be multiplied by it, but would not be enlarged above what they are upon -the observation of one single instance. Every enlargement, therefore, -(such as the idea of power or connexion) which arises from the -multiplicity of similar instances, is copied from some effects of the -multiplicity, and will be perfectly understood by understanding these -effects. Wherever we find any thing new to be discovered or produced by -the repetition, there we must place the power, and must never look for -it in any other object.</p> - -<p>But 'tis evident, in the first place, that the repetition of like -objects in like relations of succession and contiguity, <i>discovers</i> -nothing new in any one of them; since we can draw no inference from -it, nor make it a subject either of our demonstrative or probable -reasonings; as has been already proved.<a name="FNanchor_16_75" id="FNanchor_16_75"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_75" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> Nay, suppose we could draw -an inference, 'twould be of no consequence in the present case; since -no kind of reasoning can give rise to a new idea, such as this of power -is; but wherever we reason, we must antecedently be possessed of clear -ideas, which may be the objects of our reasoning. The conception always -precedes the understanding;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> and where the one is obscure, the other is -uncertain; where the one fails, the other must fail also.</p> - -<p>Secondly, 'tis certain that this repetition of similar objects in -similar situations, <i>produces</i> nothing new either in these objects, or -in any external body. For 'twill readily be allowed, that the several -instances we have of the conjunction of resembling causes and effects, -are in themselves entirely independent, and that the communication of -motion, which I see result at present from the shock of two billiard -balls, is totally distinct from that which I saw result from such an -impulse a twelvemonth ago. These impulses have no influence on each -other. They are entirely divided by time and place; and the one might -have existed and communicated motion, though the other never had been -in being.</p> - -<p>There is, then, nothing new either discovered or produced in any -objects by their constant conjunction, and by the uninterrupted -resemblance of their relations of succession and contiguity. But 'tis -from this resemblance, that the ideas of necessity, of power, and of -efficacy, are derived. These ideas therefore represent not any thing, -that does or can belong to the objects, which are constantly conjoined. -This is an argument, which, in every view we can examine it, will be -found perfectly unanswerable. Similar instances are still the first -source of our idea of power or necessity; at the same time that they -have no influence by their similarity either on each other, or on any -external object. We must therefore turn ourselves to some other quarter -to seek the origin of that idea.</p> - -<p>Though the several resembling instances, which give rise to the idea -of power, have no influence on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> each other, and can never produce any -new quality <i>in the object</i>, which can be the model of that idea, -yet the <i>observation</i> of this resemblance produces a new impression -<i>in the mind</i>, which is its real model. For after we have observed -the resemblance in a sufficient number of instances, we immediately -feel a determination of the mind to pass from one object to its usual -attendant, and to conceive it in a stronger light upon account of that -relation. This determination is the only effect of the resemblance; -and therefore must be the same with power or efficacy, whose idea is -derived from the resemblance. The several instances of resembling -conjunctions lead us into the notion of power and necessity. These -instances are in themselves totally distinct from each other, and have -no union but in the mind, which observes them, and collects their -ideas. Necessity, then, is the effect of this observation, and as -nothing but an internal impression of the mind, or a determination to -carry our thoughts from one object to another. Without considering it -in this view, we can never arrive at the most distant notion of it, -or be able to attribute it either to external or internal objects, to -spirit or body, to causes or effects.</p> - -<p>The necessary connexion betwixt causes and effects is the foundation of -our inference from one to the other. The foundation of our inference is -the transition arising from the accustomed union. These are therefore -the same.</p> - -<p>The idea of necessity arises from some impression. There is no -impression conveyed by our senses, which can give rise to that idea. -It must, therefore, be derived from some internal impression, or -impression of reflection. There is no internal impression which has any -relation to the present business, but that propensity,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> which custom -produces, to pass from an object to the idea of its usual attendant. -This, therefore, is the essence of necessity. Upon the whole, necessity -is something that exists in the mind, not in objects; nor is it -possible for us ever to form the most distant idea of it, considered as -a quality in bodies. Either we have no idea of necessity, or necessity -is nothing but that determination of the thought to pass from causes -to effects, and from effects to causes, according to their experienced -union.</p> - -<p>Thus, as the necessity, which makes two times two equal to four, or -three angles of a triangle equal to two right ones, lies only in the -act of the understanding, by which we consider and compare these -ideas; in like manner, the necessity of power, which unites causes and -effects, lies in the determination of the mind to pass from the one to -the other. The efficacy or energy of causes is neither placed in the -causes themselves, nor in the Deity, nor in the concurrence of these -two principles; but belongs entirely to the soul, which considers the -union of two or more objects in all past instances. 'Tis here that -the real power of causes is placed, along with their connexion and -necessity.</p> - -<p>I am sensible, that of all the paradoxes which I have had, or shall -hereafter have occasion to advance in the course of this Treatise, -the present one is the most violent, and that 'tis merely by dint of -solid proof and reasoning I can ever hope it will have admission, and -overcome the inveterate prejudices of mankind. Before we are reconciled -to this doctrine, how often must we repeat to ourselves, <i>that</i> the -simple view of any two objects or actions, however related, can never -give us any idea of power, or of a connexion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> betwixt them: <i>that</i> this -idea arises from the repetition of their union: <i>that</i> the repetition -neither discovers nor causes any thing in the objects, but has an -influence only on the mind, by that customary transition it produces: -<i>that</i> this customary transition is therefore the same with the power -and necessity; which are consequently qualities of perceptions, not -of objects, and are internally felt by the soul, and not perceived -externally in bodies? There is commonly an astonishment attending every -thing extraordinary; and this astonishment changes immediately into -the highest degree of esteem or contempt, according as we approve or -disapprove of the subject. I am much afraid, that though the foregoing -reasoning appears to me the shortest and most decisive imaginable, yet, -with the generality of readers, the bias of the mind will prevail, and -give them a prejudice against the present doctrine.</p> - -<p>This contrary bias is easily accounted for. 'Tis a common observation, -that the mind has a great propensity to spread itself on external -objects, and to conjoin with them any internal impressions which they -occasion, and which always make their appearance at the same time that -these objects discover themselves to the senses. Thus, as certain -sounds and smells are always found to attend certain Visible objects, -we naturally imagine a conjunction, even in place, betwixt the objects -and qualities, though the qualities be of such a nature as to admit -of no such conjunction, and really exist no where. But of this more -fully hereafter.<a name="FNanchor_17_76" id="FNanchor_17_76"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_76" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> Meanwhile, 'tis sufficient to observe, that the -same propensity is the reason why we suppose necessity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> and power to -lie in the objects we consider, not in our mind, that considers them; -notwithstanding it is not possible for us to form the most distant idea -of that quality, when it is not taken for the determination of the mind -to pass from the idea of an object to that of its usual attendant.</p> - -<p>But though this be the only reasonable account we can give of -necessity, the contrary notion is so riveted in the mind from the -principles above-mentioned, that I doubt not but my sentiments will -be treated by many as extravagant and ridiculous. What! the efficacy -of causes lie in the determination of the mind! As if causes did not -operate entirely independent of the mind, and would not continue their -operation, even though there was no mind existent to contemplate them, -or reason concerning them. Thought may well depend on causes for its -operation, but not causes on thought. This is to reverse the order of -nature, and make that secondary, which is really primary. To every -operation there is a power proportioned; and this power must be placed -on the body that operates. If we remove the power from one cause, we -must ascribe it to another: but to remove it from all causes, and -bestow it on a being that is no ways related to the cause or effect, -but by perceiving them, is a gross absurdity, and contrary to the most -certain principles of human reason.</p> - -<p>I can only reply to all these arguments, that the case is here much the -same, as if a blind man should pretend to find a great many absurdities -in the supposition, that the colour of scarlet is not the same with the -sound of a trumpet, nor light the same with solidity. If we have really -no idea of a power or efficacy in any object, or of any real connexion -betwixt causes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> and effects, 'twill be to little purpose to prove, -that an efficacy is necessary in all operations. We do not understand -our own meaning in talking so, but ignorantly confound ideas which -are entirely distinct from each other. I am, indeed, ready to allow, -that there may be several qualities, both in material and immaterial -objects, with which we are utterly unacquainted; and if we please to -call these <i>power</i> or <i>efficacy</i>,'twill be of little consequence to the -world. But when, instead of meaning these unknown qualities, we make -the terms of power and efficacy signify something, of which we have a -clear idea, and which is incompatible with those objects to which we -apply it, obscurity and error begin then to take place, and we are led -astray by a false philosophy. This is the case when we transfer the -determination of the thought to external objects, and suppose any real -intelligible connexion betwixt them; that being a quality which can -only belong to the mind that considers them.</p> - -<p>As to what may be said, that the operations of nature are independent -of our thought and reasoning, I allow it; and accordingly have -observed, that objects bear to each other the relations of contiguity -and succession; that like objects may be observed, in several -instances, to have like relations; and that all this is independent -of, and antecedent to, the operations of the understanding. But if we -go any farther, and ascribe a power or necessary connexion to these -objects, this is what we can never observe in them, but must draw the -idea of it from what we feel internally in contemplating them. And this -I carry so far, that I am ready to convert my present reasoning into -an instance of it, by a subtility which it will not be difficult to -comprehend.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p> - -<p>When any object is presented to us, it immediately conveys to the mind -a lively idea of that object which is usually found to attend it; and -this determination of the mind forms the necessary connexion of these -objects. But when we change the point of view from the objects to the -perceptions, in that case the impression is to be considered as the -cause, and the lively idea as the effect; and their necessary connexion -is that new determination, which we feel to pass from the idea of the -one to that of the other. The uniting principle among our internal -perceptions is as unintelligible as that among external objects, and -is not known to us any other way than by experience. Now, the nature -and effects of experience have been already sufficiently examined and -explained. It never gives us any insight into the internal structure -or operating principle of objects, but only accustoms the mind to pass -from one to another.</p> - -<p>'Tis now time to collect all the different parts of this reasoning, -and, by joining them together, form an exact definition of the -relation of cause and effect, which makes the subject of the present -inquiry. This order would not have been excusable, of first examining -our inference from the relation before we had explained the relation -itself, had it been possible to proceed in a different method. But as -the nature of the relation depends so much on that of the inference, -we have been obliged to advance in this seemingly preposterous manner, -and make use of terms before we were able exactly to define them, or -fix their meaning. We shall now correct this fault by giving a precise -definition of cause and effect.</p> - -<p>There may two definitions be given of this relation, which are only -different by their presenting a different<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> view of the same object, and -making us consider it either as a <i>philosophical</i> or as a <i>natural</i> -relation; either as a comparison of two ideas, or as an association -betwixt them. We may define a <i>cause</i> to be "An object precedent and -contiguous to another, and where all the objects resembling the former -are placed in like relations of precedency and contiguity to those -objects that resemble the latter." If this definition be esteemed -defective, because drawn from objects foreign to the cause, we may -substitute this other definition in its place, viz. "A <i>cause</i> is an -object precedent and contiguous to another, and so united with it that -the idea of the one determines the mind to form the idea of the other, -and the impression of the one to form a more lively idea of the other." -Should this definition also be rejected for the same reason, I know no -other remedy, than that the persons who express this delicacy should -substitute a juster definition in its place. But, for my part, I must -own my incapacity for such an undertaking. When I examine, with the -utmost accuracy, those objects which are commonly denominated causes -and effects, I find, in considering a single instance, that the one -object is precedent and contiguous to the other; and in enlarging my -view to consider several instances, I find only that like objects are -constantly placed in like relations of succession and contiguity. -Again, when I consider the influence of this constant conjunction, I -perceive that such a relation can never be an object of reasoning, -and can never operate upon the mind but by means of custom, which -determines the imagination to make a transition from the idea of one -object to that of its usual attendant, and from the impression of -one to a more lively idea of the other. However extraordinary these -sentiments<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> may appear, I think it fruitless to trouble myself with any -farther inquiry or reasoning upon the subject, but shall repose myself -on them as on established maxims.</p> - -<p>'Twill only be proper, before we leave this subject, to draw some -corollaries from it, by which we may remove several prejudices and -popular errors that have very much prevailed in philosophy. First, -we may learn, from the foregoing doctrine, that all causes are of -the same kind, and that, in particular, there is no foundation for -that distinction which we sometimes make betwixt efficient causes, -and causes <i>sine qua non</i>; or betwixt efficient causes, and formal, -and material, and exemplary, and final causes. For as our idea of -efficiency is derived from the constant conjunction of two objects, -wherever this is observed, the cause is efficient; and where it is not, -there can never be a cause of any kind. For the same reason we must -reject the distinction betwixt <i>cause</i> and <i>occasion</i>, when supposed to -signify any thing essentially different from each other. If constant -conjunction be implied in what we call occasion, 'tis a real cause; if -not, 'tis no relation at all, and cannot give rise to any argument or -reasoning.</p> - -<p>Secondly, the same course of reasoning will make us conclude, that -there is but one kind of <i>necessity</i>, as there is but one kind of -cause, and that the common distinction betwixt <i>moral</i> and <i>physical</i> -necessity is without any foundation in nature. This clearly appears -from the precedent explication of necessity. 'Tis the constant -conjunction of objects, along with the determination of the mind, which -constitutes a physical necessity: and the removal of these is the same -thing with <i>chance</i>. As objects must either be conjoined or not, and as -the mind must either be determined or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> not to pass from one object to -another, 'tis impossible to admit of any medium betwixt chance and an -absolute necessity. In weakening this conjunction and determination you -do not change the nature of the necessity; since even in the operation -of bodies, these have different degrees of constancy and force, without -producing a different species of that relation.</p> - -<p>The distinction, which we often make betwixt <i>power</i> and the <i>exercise</i> -of it, is equally without foundation.</p> - -<p>Thirdly, we may now be able fully to overcome all that repugnance, -which 'tis so natural for us to entertain against the foregoing -reasoning, by which we endeavoured to prove, that the necessity of a -cause to every beginning of existence is not founded on any arguments -either demonstrative or intuitive. Such an opinion will not appear -strange after the foregoing definitions. If we define a cause to be <i>an -object precedent and contiguous to another, and where all the objects -resembling the former are placed in a like relation of priority and -contiguity to those objects that resemble the latter</i>; we may easily -conceive that there is no absolute nor metaphysical necessity, that -every beginning of existence should be attended with such an object. -If we define a cause to be, <i>an object precedent and contiguous to -another, and so united with it in the imagination, that the idea of -the one determines the mind to form the idea of the other, and the -impression of the one to form a more lively idea of the other</i>; we -shall make still less difficulty of assenting to this opinion. Such -an influence on the mind is in itself perfectly extraordinary and -incomprehensible; nor can we be certain of its reality, but from -experience and observation.</p> - -<p>I shall add as a fourth corollary, that we can never have reason to -believe that any object exists, of which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> we cannot form an idea. -For, as all our reasonings concerning existence are derived from -causation, and as all our reasonings concerning causation are derived -from the experienced conjunction of objects, not from any reasoning or -reflection, the same experience must give us a notion of these objects, -and must remove all mystery from our conclusions. This is so evident -that 'twould scarce have merited our attention, were it not to obviate -certain objections of this kind which might arise against the following -reasonings concerning <i>matter</i> and <i>substance</i>. I need not observe, -that a full knowledge of the object is not requisite, but only of those -qualities of it which we believe to exist.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_12_71" id="Footnote_12_71"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_71"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> Sect. 2.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_13_72" id="Footnote_13_72"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_72"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> See Mr Locke; chapter of Power.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_14_73" id="Footnote_14_73"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_73"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> See Father Malebranche, Book VI. Part II. Chap. 3, and -the illustrations upon it.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_15_74" id="Footnote_15_74"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_74"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> The same imperfection attends our ideas of the Deity; -but this can have no effect either on religion or morals. The order of -the universe proves an omnipotent mind; that is, a mind whose will is -<i>constantly attended</i> with the obedience of every creature and being. -Nothing more is requisite to give a foundation to all the articles of -religion; nor is it necessary we should form a distinct idea of the -force and energy of the Supreme Being.</p></div> -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_16_75" id="Footnote_16_75"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_75"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> Section 6.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_17_76" id="Footnote_17_76"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_76"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> Part IV. sect 5.</p></div> - - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h5><a name="SECTION_XV_cI" id="SECTION_XV_cI">SECTION XV.</a></h5> - -<h5>RULES BY WHICH TO JUDGE OF CAUSES AND EFFECTS.</h5> - - -<p>According to the precedent doctrine, there are no objects which, by the -mere survey, without consulting experience, we can determine to be the -causes of any other; and no objects which we can certainly determine in -the same manner not to be the causes. Any thing may produce any thing. -Creation, annihilation, motion, reason, volition; all these may arise -from one another, or from any other object we can imagine. Nor will -this appear strange if we compare two principles explained above, <i>that -the constant conjunction of objects determines their causation</i>,<a name="FNanchor_18_77" id="FNanchor_18_77"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_77" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> -and <i>that, properly speaking, no objects are contrary to each other -but existence<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> and non-existence</i>. Where objects are not contrary, -nothing hinders them from having that constant conjunction on which the -relation of cause and effect totally depends.</p> - -<p>Since, therefore, 'tis possible for all objects to become causes or -effects to each other, it may be proper to fix some general rules by -which we may know when they really are so.</p> - -<p>1. The cause and effect must be contiguous in space and time.</p> - -<p>2. The cause must be prior to the effect.</p> - -<p>3. There must be a constant union betwixt the cause and effect. 'Tis -chiefly this quality that constitutes the relation.</p> - -<p>4. The same cause always produces the same effect, and the same effect -never arises but from the same cause. This principle we derive from -experience, and is the source of most of our philosophical reasonings. -For when by any clear experiment we have discovered the causes or -effects of any phenomenon, we immediately extend our observation to -every phenomenon of the same kind, without waiting for that constant -repetition, from which the first idea of this relation is derived.</p> - -<p>5. There is another principle which hangs upon this, viz. that where -several different objects produce the same effect, it must be by means -of some quality which we discover to be common amongst them. For as -like effects imply like causes, we must always ascribe the causation to -the circumstance wherein we discover the resemblance.</p> - -<p>6. The following principle is founded on the same reason. The -difference in the effects of two resembling objects must proceed from -that particular in which they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> differ. For as like causes always -produce like effects, when in any instance we find our expectation to -be disappointed, we must conclude that this irregularity proceeds from -some difference in the causes.</p> - -<p>7. When any object increases or diminishes with the increase or -diminution of its cause, 'tis to be regarded as a compounded effect, -derived from the union of the several different effects which arise -from the several different parts of the cause. The absence or presence -of one part of the cause is here supposed to be always attended with -the absence or presence of a proportionable part of the effect. This -constant conjunction sufficiently proves that the one part is the cause -of the other. We must, however, beware not to draw such a conclusion -from a few experiments. A certain degree of heat gives pleasure; if you -diminish that heat, the pleasure diminishes; but it does not follow, -that if you augment it beyond a certain degree, the pleasure will -likewise augment; for we find that it degenerates into pain.</p> - -<p>8. The eighth and last rule I shall take notice of is, that an object, -which exists for any time in its full perfection without any effect, is -not the sole cause of that effect, but requires to be assisted by some -other principle, which may forward its influence and operation. For as -like effects necessarily follow from like causes, and in a contiguous -time and place, their separation for a moment shows that these causes -are not complete ones.</p> - -<p>Here is all the <i>logic</i> I think proper to employ in my reasoning; -and perhaps even this was not very necessary, but might have been -supplied by the natural principles of our understanding. Our scholastic -headpieces and logicians show no such superiority above<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> the mere -vulgar in their reason and ability, as to give us any inclination -to imitate them in delivering a long system of rules and precepts -to direct our judgment in philosophy. All the rules of this nature -are very easy in their invention, but extremely difficult in their -application; and even experimental philosophy, which seems the most -natural and simple of any, requires the utmost stretch of human -judgment. There is no phenomenon in nature but what is compounded -and modified by so many different circumstances, that, in order to -arrive at the decisive point, we must carefully separate whatever is -superfluous, and inquire, by new experiments, if every particular -circumstance of the first experiment was essential to it. These new -experiments are liable to a discussion of the same kind; so that the -utmost constancy is required to make us persevere in our inquiry, -and the utmost sagacity to chuse the right way among so many that -present themselves. If this be the case even in natural philosophy, -how much more in moral, where there is a much greater complication -of circumstances, and where those views and sentiments, which are -essential to any action of the mind, are so implicit and obscure, -that they often escape our strictest attention, and are not only -unaccountable in their causes, but even unknown in their existence? I -am much afraid, lest the small success I meet with in my inquiries, -will make this observation bear the air of an apology rather than of -boasting.</p> - -<p>If any thing can give me security in this particular, 'twill be the -enlarging the sphere of my experiments as much as possible; for which -reason, it may be proper, in this place, to examine the reasoning -faculty of brutes, as well as that of human creatures.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_18_77" id="Footnote_18_77"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_77"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> Part I. Sect 5.</p> -</div> -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p> - - - -<h5><a name="SECTION_XVI_cI" id="SECTION_XVI_cI">SECTION XVI.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF THE REASON OF ANIMALS.</h5> - - -<p>Next to the ridicule of denying an evident truth, is that of taking -much pains to defend it; and no truth appears to me more evident, than -that the beasts are endowed with thought and reason as well as men. The -arguments are in this case so obvious, that they never escape the most -stupid and ignorant.</p> - -<p>We are conscious, that we ourselves, in adapting means to ends, are -guided by reason and design, and that 'tis not ignorantly nor casually -we perform those actions which tend to self-preservation, to the -obtaining pleasure, and avoiding pain. When, therefore, we see other -creatures, in millions of instances, perform like actions, and direct -them to like ends, all our principles of reason and probability carry -us with an invincible force to believe the existence of a like cause. -'Tis needless, in my opinion, to illustrate this argument by the -enumeration of particulars. The smallest attention will supply us with -more than are requisite. The resemblance betwixt the actions of animals -and those of men is so entire, in this respect, that the very first -action of the first animal we shall please to pitch on, will afford us -an incontestable argument for the present doctrine.</p> - -<p>This doctrine is as useful as it is obvious, and furnishes us with a -kind of touchstone, by which we may try every system in this species -of philosophy. 'Tis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> from the resemblance of the external actions of -animals to those we ourselves perform, that we judge their internal -likewise to resemble ours; and the same principle of reasoning, carried -one step farther, will make us conclude, that, since our internal -actions resemble each other, the causes, from which they are derived, -must also be resembling. When any hypothesis, therefore, is advanced to -explain a mental operation, which is common to men and beasts, we must -apply the same hypothesis to both; and as every true hypothesis will -abide this trial, so I may venture to affirm, that no false one will -ever be able to endure it. The common defect of those systems, which -philosophers have employed to account for the actions of the mind, is, -that they suppose such a subtility and refinement of thought, as not -only exceeds the capacity of mere animals, but even of children and the -common people in our own species; who are, notwithstanding, susceptible -of the same emotions and affections as persons of the most accomplished -genius and understanding. Such a subtility is a clear proof of the -falsehood, as the contrary simplicity of the truth, of any system.</p> - -<p>Let us, therefore, put our present system, concerning the nature of the -understanding, to this decisive trial, and see whether it will equally -account for the reasonings of beasts as for those of the human species.</p> - -<p>Here we must make a distinction betwixt those actions of animals, which -are of a vulgar nature, and seem to be on a level with their common -capacities, and those more extraordinary instances of sagacity, which -they sometimes discover for their own preservation, and the propagation -of their species. A dog that avoids fire and precipices, that shuns -strangers, and caresses his master, affords us an instance of the -first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> kind. A bird, that chuses with such care and nicety the place -and materials of her nest, and sits upon her eggs for a due time, and -in a suitable season, with all the precaution that a chemist is capable -of in the most delicate projection, furnishes us with a lively instance -of the second.</p> - -<p>As to the former actions, I assert they proceed from a reasoning, that -is not in itself different, nor founded on different principles, from -that which appears in human nature. 'Tis necessary, in the first place, -that there be some impression immediately present to their memory or -senses, in order to be the foundation of their judgment. From the -tone of voice the dog infers his master's anger, and foresees his own -punishment. From a certain sensation affecting his smell, he judges his -game not to be far distant from him.</p> - -<p>Secondly, the inference he draws from the present impression is built -on experience, and on his observation of the conjunction of objects in -past instances. As you vary this experience, he varies his reasoning. -Make a beating follow upon one sign or motion for some time, and -afterwards upon another; and he will successively draw different -conclusions, according to his most recent experience.</p> - -<p>Now, let any philosopher make a trial, and endeavour to explain that -act of the mind which we call <i>belief</i>, and give an account of the -principles from which it is derived, independent of the influence of -custom on the imagination, and let his hypothesis be equally applicable -to beasts as to the human species; and, after he has done this, I -promise to embrace his opinion. But, at the same time I demand as an -equitable condition, that if my system be the only one, which can -answer to all these terms, it may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> be received as entirely satisfactory -and convincing. And that 'tis the only one, is evident almost without -any reasoning. Beasts certainly never perceive any real connexion among -objects. 'Tis therefore by experience they infer one from another. -They can never by any arguments form a general conclusion, that those -objects of which they have had no experience, resemble those of which -they have. 'Tis therefore by means of custom alone that experience -operates upon them. All this was sufficiently evident with respect to -man. But with respect to beasts there cannot be the least suspicion of -mistake; which must be owned to be a strong confirmation, or rather an -invincible proof of my system.</p> - -<p>Nothing shows more the force of habit in reconciling us to any -phenomenon, than this, that men are not astonished at the operations -of their own reason, at the same time that they admire the <i>instinct</i> -of animals, and find a difficulty in explaining it, merely because it -cannot be reduced to the very same principles. To consider the matter -aright, reason is nothing but a wonderful and unintelligible instinct -in our souls, which carries us along a certain train of ideas, and -endows them with particular qualities, according to their particular -situations and relations. This instinct, 'tis true, arises from past -observation and experience; but can any one give the ultimate reason, -why past experience and observation produces such an effect, any more -than why nature alone should produce it? Nature may certainly produce -whatever can arise from habit: nay, habit is nothing but one of the -principles of nature, and derives all its force from that origin.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="PART_IV_I" id="PART_IV_I">PART IV.</a></h5> - -<h4>OF THE SCEPTICAL AND OTHER SYSTEMS OF PHILOSOPHY.</h4> - - - -<hr class="r5" /> -<h5><a name="SECTION_I_dI" id="SECTION_I_dI">SECTION I.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF SCEPTICISM WITH REGARD TO REASON.</h5> - - -<p>In all demonstrative sciences the rules are certain and infallible; -but when we apply them, our fallible and uncertain faculties are very -apt to depart from them, and fall into error. We must therefore in -every reasoning form a new judgment, as a check or control on our -first judgment or belief; and must enlarge our view to comprehend a -kind of history of all the instances, wherein our understanding has -deceived us, compared with those wherein its testimony was just and -true. Our reason must be considered as a kind of cause, of which truth -is the natural effect; but such a one as, by the irruption of other -causes, and by the inconstancy of our mental powers, may frequently be -prevented. By this means all knowledge degenerates into probability; -and this probability is greater or less, according to our experience of -the veracity or deceitfulness of our understanding, and according to -the simplicity or intricacy of the question.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p> - -<p>There is no algebraist nor mathematician so expert in his science, as -to place entire confidence in any truth immediately upon his discovery -of it, or regard it as any thing but a mere probability. Every time -he runs over his proofs, his confidence increases; but still more by -the approbation of his friends; and is raised to its utmost perfection -by the universal assent and applauses of the learned world. Now, 'tis -evident that this gradual increase of assurance is nothing but the -addition of new probabilities, and is derived from the constant union -of causes and effects, according to past experience and observation.</p> - -<p>In accounts of any length or importance, merchants seldom trust to -the infallible certainty of numbers for their security; but by the -artificial structure of the accounts, produce a probability beyond -what is derived from the skill and experience of the accountant. For -that is plainly of itself some degree of probability; though uncertain -and variable, according to the degrees of his experience and length -of the account. Now as none will maintain, that our assurance in a -long numeration exceeds probability, I may safely affirm, that there -scarce is any proposition concerning numbers, of which we can have a -fuller security. For 'tis easily possible, by gradually diminishing -the numbers, to reduce the longest series of addition to the most -simple question which can be formed, to an addition of two single -numbers; and upon this supposition we shall find it impracticable to -show the precise limits of knowledge and of probability, or discover -that particular number at which the one ends and the other begins. But -knowledge and probability are of such contrary and disagreeing natures, -that they cannot well run insensibly into each other, and that because<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> -they will not divide, but must be either entirely present, or entirely -absent. Besides, if any single addition were certain, every one would -be so, and consequently the whole or total sum; unless the whole can be -different from all its parts. I had almost said, that this was certain; -but I reflect that it must reduce <i>itself</i>, as well as every other -reasoning, and from knowledge degenerate into probability.</p> - -<p>Since, therefore, all knowledge resolves itself into probability, and -becomes at last of the same nature with that evidence which we employ -in common life, we must now examine this latter species of reasoning, -and see on what foundation it stands.</p> - -<p>In every judgment which we can form concerning probability, as well as -concerning knowledge, we ought always to correct the first judgment, -derived from the nature of the object, by another judgment, derived -from the nature of the understanding. 'Tis certain a man of solid sense -and long experience ought to have, and usually has, a greater assurance -in his opinions, than one that is foolish and ignorant, and that our -sentiments have different degrees of authority, even with ourselves, -in proportion to the degrees of our reason and experience. In the man -of the best sense and longest experience, this authority is never -entire; since even such a one must be conscious of many errors in the -past, and must still dread the like for the future. Here then arises a -new species of probability to correct and regulate the first, and fix -its just standard and proportion. As demonstration is subject to the -control of probability, so is probability liable to a new correction by -a reflex act of the mind, wherein the nature of our understanding, and -our reasoning from the first probability, become our objects.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> - -<p>Having thus found in every probability, beside the original uncertainty -inherent in the subject, a new uncertainty, derived from the -weakness of that faculty which judges, and having adjusted these two -together, we are obliged by our reason to add a new doubt, derived -from the possibility of error in the estimation we make of the truth -and fidelity of our faculties. This is a doubt which immediately -occurs to us, and of which, if we would closely pursue our reason, -we cannot avoid giving a decision. But this decision, though it -should be favourable to our preceding judgment, being founded only -on probability, must weaken still further our first evidence, and -must itself be weakened by a fourth doubt of the same kind, and so -on <i>in infinitum</i>; till at last there remain nothing of the original -probability, however great we may suppose it to have been, and however -small the diminution by every new uncertainty. No finite object can -subsist under a decrease repeated <i>in infinitum</i>; and even the vastest -quantity, which can enter into human imagination, must in this manner -be reduced to nothing. Let our first belief be never so strong, it must -infallibly perish, by passing through so many new examinations, of -which each diminishes somewhat of its force and vigour. When I reflect -on the natural fallibility of my judgment, I have less confidence in -my opinions, than when I only consider the objects concerning which I -reason; and when I proceed still farther, to turn the scrutiny against -every successive estimation I make of my faculties, all the rules of -logic require a continual diminution, and at last a total extinction of -belief and evidence.</p> - -<p>Should it here be asked me, whether I sincerely assent to this -argument, which I seem to take such pains<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> to inculcate, and whether I -be really one of those sceptics, who hold that all is uncertain, and -that our judgment is not in <i>any</i> thing possessed of <i>any</i> measures of -truth and falsehood; I should reply, that this question is entirely -superfluous, and that neither I, nor any other person, was ever -sincerely and constantly of that opinion. Nature, by an absolute and -uncontrollable necessity, has determined us to judge as well as to -breathe and feel; nor can we any more forbear viewing certain objects -in a stronger and fuller light, upon account of their customary -connexion with a present impression, than we can hinder ourselves from -thinking, as long as we are awake, or seeing the surrounding bodies, -when we turn our eyes towards them in broad sunshine. Whoever has -taken the pains to refute the cavils of this <i>total</i> scepticism, has -really disputed without an antagonist, and endeavoured by arguments to -establish a faculty, which nature has antecedently implanted in the -mind, and rendered unavoidable.</p> - -<p>My intention then in displaying so carefully the arguments of that -fantastic sect, is only to make the reader sensible of the truth of my -hypothesis, <i>that all our reasonings concerning causes and effects, -are derived from nothing but custom; and that belief is more properly -an act of the sensitive, than of the cogitative part of our natures</i>. -I have here proved, that the very same principles, which make us -form a decision upon any subject, and correct that decision by the -consideration of our genius and capacity, and of the situation of our -mind, when we examined that subject; I say, I have proved, that these -same principles, when carried farther, and applied to every new reflex -judgment, must, by continually diminishing the original evidence, at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> -last reduce it to nothing, and utterly subvert all belief and opinion. -If belief, therefore, were a simple act of the thought, without any -peculiar manner of conception, or the addition or a force and vivacity, -it must infallibly destroy itself, and in every case terminate in -a total suspense of judgment. But as experience will sufficiently -convince any one, who thinks it worth while to try, that though he -can find no error in the foregoing arguments, yet he still continues -to believe, and think, and reason, as usual, he may safely conclude, -that his reasoning and belief is some sensation or peculiar manner of -conception, which 'tis impossible for mere ideas and reflections to -destroy.</p> - -<p>But here, perhaps, it may be demanded, how it happens, even upon my -hypothesis, that these arguments above explained produce not a total -suspense of judgment, and after what manner the mind ever retains a -degree of assurance in any subject? For as these new probabilities, -which, by their repetition, perpetually diminish the original -evidence, are founded on the very same principles, whether of thought -or sensation, as the primary judgment, it may seem unavoidable, that -in either case they must equally subvert it, and by the opposition, -either of contrary thoughts or sensations, reduce the mind to a total -uncertainty. I suppose there is some question proposed to me, and -that, after revolving over the impressions of my memory and senses, -and carrying my thoughts from them to such objects as are commonly -conjoined with them, I feel a stronger and more forcible conception -on the one side than on the other. This strong conception forms my -first decision. I suppose, that afterwards I examine my judgment -itself, and observing, from experience, that 'tis sometimes just and -sometimes erroneous,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> I consider it as regulated by contrary principles -or causes, of which some lead to truth, and some to error; and in -balancing these contrary causes, I diminish, by a new probability, -the assurance of my first decision. This new probability is liable to -the same diminution as the foregoing, and so on, <i>in infinitum</i>. 'Tis -therefore demanded, <i>how it happens, that, even after all, we retain -a degree of belief, which is sufficient for our purpose, either in -philosophy or common life?</i></p> - -<p>I answer, that after the first and second decision, as the action of -the mind becomes forced and unnatural, and the ideas faint and obscure, -though the principles of judgment, and the balancing of opposite causes -be the same as at the very beginning, yet their influence on the -imagination, and the vigour they add to, or diminish from, the thought, -is by no means equal. Where the mind reaches not its objects with -easiness and facility, the same principles have not the same effect as -in a more natural conception of the ideas; nor does the imagination -feel a sensation, which holds any proportion with that which arises -from its common judgments and opinions. The attention is on the -stretch; the posture of the mind is uneasy; and the spirits being -diverted from their natural course, are not governed in their movements -by the same laws, at least not to the same degree, as when they flow in -their usual channel.</p> - -<p>If we desire similar instances, 'twill not be very difficult to find -them. The present subject of metaphysics will supply us abundantly. The -same argument, which would have been esteemed convincing in a reasoning -concerning history or politics, has little or no influence in these -abstruser subjects, even though it be perfectly comprehended; and that -because there is required<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> a study and an effort of thought, in order -to its being comprehended: and this effort of thought disturbs the -operation of our sentiments, on which the belief depends. The case is -the same in other subjects. The straining of the imagination always -hinders the regular flowing of the passions and sentiments. A tragic -poet, that would represent his heroes as very ingenious and witty in -their misfortunes, would never touch the passions. As the emotions of -the soul prevent any subtile reasoning and reflection, so these latter -actions of the mind are equally prejudicial to the former. The mind, -as well as the body, seems to be endowed with a certain precise degree -of force and activity, which it never employs in one action, but at -the expense of all the rest. This is more evidently true, where the -actions are of quite different natures; since in that case the force -of the mind is not only diverted, but even the disposition changed, so -as to render us incapable of a sudden transition from one action to -the other, and still more of performing both at once. No wonder, then, -the conviction, which arises from a subtile reasoning, diminishes in -proportion to the efforts which the imagination makes to enter into the -reasoning, and to conceive it in all its parts. Belief, being a lively -conception, can never be entire, where it is not founded on something -natural and easy.</p> - -<p>This I take to be the true state of the question, and cannot approve -of that expeditious way, which some take with the sceptics, to reject -at once all their arguments without inquiry or examination. If the -sceptical reasonings be strong, say they, 'tis a proof that reason may -have some force and authority: if weak, they can never be sufficient -to invalidate all the conclusions of our understanding. This argument -is not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> just; because the sceptical reasonings, were it possible for -them to exist, and were they not destroyed by their subtilty, would -be successively both strong and weak, according to the successive -dispositions of the mind. Reason first appears in possession of the -throne, prescribing laws, and imposing maxims, with an absolute sway -and authority. Her enemy, therefore, is obliged to take shelter under -her protection, and by making use of rational arguments to prove the -fallaciousness and imbecility of reason, produces, in a manner, a -patent under her hand and seal. This patent has at first an authority, -proportioned to the present and immediate authority of reason, from -which it is derived. But as it is supposed to be contradictory to -reason, it gradually diminishes the force of that governing power and -its own at the same time; till at last they both vanish away into -nothing, by a regular and just diminution. The sceptical and dogmatical -reasons are of the same kind, though contrary in their operation and -tendency; so that where the latter is strong, it has an enemy of equal -force in the former to encounter; and as their forces were at first -equal, they still continue so, as long as either of them subsists; nor -does one of them lose any force in the contest, without taking as much -from its antagonist. 'Tis happy, therefore, that nature breaks the -force of all sceptical arguments in time, and keeps them from having -any considerable influence on the understanding. Were we to trust -entirely to their self-destruction, that can never take place, 'till -they have first subverted all conviction, and have totally destroyed -human reason.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h5><a name="SECTION_II_dI" id="SECTION_II_dI">SECTION II.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF SCEPTICISM WITH REGARD TO THE SENSES.</h5> - - -<p>Thus the sceptic still continues to reason and believe, even though he -asserts that he cannot defend his reason by reason; and by the same -rule he must assent to the principle concerning the existence of body, -though he cannot pretend, by any arguments of philosophy, to maintain -its veracity. Nature has not left this to his choice, and has doubtless -esteemed it an affair of too great importance, to be trusted to our -uncertain reasonings and speculations. We may well ask, <i>What causes -induce us to believe in the existence of body</i>? but 'tis in vain to -ask, <i>Whether there be body or not</i>? That is a point, which we must -take for granted in all our reasonings.</p> - -<p>The subject, then, of our present inquiry, is concerning the <i>causes</i> -which induce us to believe in the existence of body: and my reasonings -on this head I shall begin with a distinction, which at first sight -may seem superfluous, but which will contribute very much to the -perfect understanding of what follows. We ought to examine apart those -two questions, which are commonly confounded together, viz. Why we -attribute a <i>continued</i> existence to objects, even when they are not -present to the senses; and why we suppose them to have an existence -<i>distinct</i> from the mind and perception? Under this last head I -comprehend their situation as well as relations, their <i>external</i> -position as well as the <i>independence</i> of their existence and -operation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> These two questions concerning the continued and distinct -existence of body are intimately connected together. For if the objects -of our senses continue to exist, even when they are not perceived, -their existence is of course independent of and distinct from the -perception; and <i>vice versa</i>, if their existence be independent of -the perception, and distinct from it, they must continue to exist, -even though they be not perceived. But though the decision of the one -question decides the other; yet that we may the more easily discover -the principles of human nature, from whence the decision arises, we -shall carry along with us this distinction, and shall consider, whether -it be the <i>senses, reason</i>, or the <i>imagination</i>, that produces the -opinion of a <i>continued</i> or of a <i>distinct</i> existence. These are the -only questions that are intelligible on the present subject. For as to -the notion of external existence, when taken for something specifically -different from our perceptions, we have already shown its absurdity.<a name="FNanchor_1_78" id="FNanchor_1_78"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_78" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<p>To begin with the <i>senses</i>,'tis evident these faculties are incapable -of giving rise to the notion of the <i>continued</i> existence of their -objects, after they no longer appear to the senses. For that is a -contradiction in terms, and supposes that the senses continue to -operate, even after they have ceased all manner of operation. These -faculties, therefore, if they have any influence in the present case, -must produce the opinion of a distinct, not of a continued existence; -and in order to that, must present their impressions either as images -and representations, or as these very distinct and external existences.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p> - -<p>That our senses offer not their impressions as the images of something -<i>distinct</i>, or <i>independent</i>, and <i>external</i>, is evident; because -they convey to us nothing but a single perception, and never give us -the least intimation of any thing beyond. A single perception can -never produce the idea of a double existence, but by some inference -either of the reason or imagination. When the mind looks farther than -what immediately appears to it, its conclusions can never be put to -the account of the senses; and it certainly looks farther, when from -a single perception it infers a double existence, and supposes the -relations of resemblance and causation betwixt them.</p> - -<p>If our senses, therefore, suggest any idea of distinct existences, -they must convey the impressions as those very existences, by a kind -of fallacy and illusion. Upon this head we may observe, that all -sensations are felt by the mind, such as they really are, and that, -when we doubt whether they present themselves as distinct objects, or -as mere impressions, the difficulty is not concerning their nature, but -concerning their relations and situation. Now, if the senses presented -our impressions as external to, and independent of ourselves, both the -objects and ourselves must be obvious to our senses, otherwise they -could not be compared by these faculties. The difficulty then, is, how -far we are <i>ourselves</i> the objects of our senses.</p> - -<p>'Tis certain there is no question in philosophy more abstruse than that -concerning identity, and the nature of the uniting principle, which -constitutes a person. So far from being able by our senses merely to -determine this question, we must have recourse to the most profound -metaphysics to give a satisfactory answer to it; and in common life -'tis evident these ideas of self<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> and person are never very fixed nor -determinate. 'Tis absurd therefore to imagine the senses can ever -distinguish betwixt ourselves and external objects.</p> - -<p>Add to this, that every impression, external and internal, passions, -affections, sensations, pains and pleasures, are originally on the -same footing; and that whatever other differences we may observe among -them, they appear, all of them, in their true colours, as impressions -or perceptions. And indeed, if we consider the matter aright, 'tis -scarce possible it should be otherwise; nor is it conceivable that -our senses should be more capable of deceiving us in the situation -and relations, than in the nature of our impressions. For since all -actions and sensations of the mind are known to us by consciousness, -they must necessarily appear in every particular what they are, and be -what they appear. Every thing that enters the mind, being in <i>reality</i> -as the perception, 'tis impossible any thing should to <i>feeling</i> appear -different. This were to suppose, that even where we are most intimately -conscious, we might be mistaken.</p> - -<p>But not to lose time in examining, whether 'tis possible for our -senses to deceive us, and represent our perceptions as distinct from -ourselves, that is, as <i>external</i> to and <i>independent</i> of us; let us -consider whether they really do so, and whether this error proceeds -from an immediate sensation, or from some other causes.</p> - -<p>To begin with the question concerning <i>external</i> existence, it may -perhaps be said, that setting aside the metaphysical question of the -identity of a thinking substance, our own body evidently belongs -to us; and as several impressions appear exterior to the body, we -suppose them also exterior to ourselves. The paper, on which I write -at present, is beyond my hand. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> table is beyond the paper. The -walls of the chamber beyond the table. And in casting my eye towards -the window, I perceive a great extent of fields and buildings beyond -my chamber. From all this it may be inferred, that no other faculty is -required, beside the senses, to convince us of the external existence -of body. But to prevent this inference, we need only weigh the three -following considerations. <i>First</i>, that, properly speaking, 'tis not -our body we perceive, when we regard our limbs and members, but certain -impressions, which enter by the senses; so that the ascribing a real -and corporeal existence to these impressions, or to their objects, is -an act of the mind as difficult to explain as that which we examine at -present. <i>Secondly</i>, sounds, and tastes, and smells, though commonly -regarded by the mind as continued independent qualities, appear not to -have any existence in extension, and consequently cannot appear to the -senses as situated externally to the body. The reason why we ascribe a -place to them, shall be considered afterwards.<a name="FNanchor_2_79" id="FNanchor_2_79"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_79" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> <i>Thirdly</i>, even our -sight informs us not of distance or outness (so to speak) immediately -and without a certain reasoning and experience, as is acknowledged by -the most rational philosophers.</p> - -<p>As to the <i>independency</i> of our perceptions on ourselves, this can -never be an object of the senses; but any opinion we form concerning -it, must be derived from experience and observation: and we shall see -afterwards, that our conclusions from experience are far from being -favourable to the doctrine of the independency of our perceptions. -Meanwhile we may observe, that when we talk of real distinct -existences, we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> have commonly more in our eye their independency than -external situation in place, and think an object has a sufficient -reality, when its being is uninterrupted, and independent of the -incessant revolutions, which we are conscious of in ourselves.</p> - -<p>Thus to resume what I have said concerning the senses; they give us -no notion of continued existence, because they cannot operate beyond -the extent, in which they really operate. They as little produce the -opinion of a distinct existence, because they neither can offer it to -the mind as represented, nor as original. To offer it as represented, -they must present both an object and an image. To make it appear as -original, they must convey a falsehood; and this falsehood must lie in -the relations and situation: in order to which, they must be able to -compare the object with ourselves; and even in that case they do not, -nor is it possible they should deceive us. We may therefore conclude -with certainty, that the opinion of a continued and of a distinct -existence never arises from the senses.</p> - -<p>To confirm this, we may observe, that there are three different kinds -of impressions conveyed by the senses. The first are those of the -figure, bulk, motion, and solidity of bodies. The second, those of -colours, tastes, smells, sounds, heat and cold. The third are the -pains and pleasures that arise from the application of objects to our -bodies, as by the cutting of our flesh with steel, and such like. -Both philosophers and the vulgar suppose the first of these to have -a distinct continued existence. The vulgar only regard the second as -on the same footing. Both philosophers and the vulgar, again, esteem -the third to be merely perceptions; and, consequently, interrupted and -dependent beings.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p> - -<p>Now, 'tis evident, that, whatever may be our philosophical opinion, -colour, sounds, heat and cold, as far as appears to the senses, -exist after the same manner with motion and solidity; and that the -difference we make betwixt them, in this respect, arises not from the -mere perception. So strong is the prejudice for the distinct continued -existence of the former qualities, that when the contrary opinion is -advanced by modern philosophers, people imagine they can almost refute -it from their feeling and experience, and that their very senses -contradict this philosophy. 'Tis also evident, that colours, sounds, -&c. are originally on the same footing with the pain that arises from -steel, and pleasure that proceeds from a fire; and that the difference -betwixt them is founded neither on perception nor reason, but on the -imagination. For as they are confessed to be, both of them, nothing -but perceptions arising from the particular configurations and motions -of the parts of body, wherein possibly can their difference consist? -Upon the whole, then, we may conclude, that, as far as the senses are -judges, all perceptions are the same in the manner of their existence.</p> - -<p>We may also observe, in this instance of sounds and colours, that we -can attribute a distinct continued existence to objects without ever -consulting <i>reason</i>, or weighing our opinions by any philosophical -principles. And, indeed, whatever convincing arguments philosophers may -fancy they can produce to establish the belief of objects independent -of the mind, 'tis obvious these arguments are known but to very few; -and that 'tis not by them that children, peasants, and the greatest -part of mankind, are induced to attribute objects to some impressions, -and deny them to others. Accordingly, we find, that all the conclusions -which the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> vulgar form on this head, are directly contrary to those -which are confirmed by philosophy. For philosophy informs us, that -every thing which appears to the mind, is nothing but a perception, -and is interrupted and dependent on the mind; whereas the vulgar -confound perceptions and objects, and attribute a distinct continued -existence to the very things they feel or see. This sentiment, then, -as it is entirely unreasonable, must proceed from some other faculty -than the understanding. To which we may add, that, as long as we take -our perceptions and objects to be the same, we can never infer the -existence of the one from that of the other, nor form any argument -from the relation of cause and effect; which is the only one that can -assure us of matter of fact. Even after we distinguish our perceptions -from our objects, 'twill appear presently that we are still incapable -of reasoning from the existence of one to that of the other: so that, -upon the whole, our reason neither does, nor is it possible it ever -should, upon any supposition, give us an assurance of the continued and -distinct existence of body. That opinion must be entirely owing to the -<i>imagination</i>: which must now be the subject of our inquiry.</p> - -<p>Since all impressions are internal and perishing existences, and -appear as such, the notion of their distinct and continued existence -must arise from a concurrence of some of their qualities with the -qualities of the imagination; and since this notion does not extend -to all of them, it must arise from certain qualities peculiar to some -impressions. 'Twill, therefore, be easy for us to discover these -qualities by a comparison of the impressions, to which we attribute -a distinct and continued existence, with those which we regard as -internal and perishing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p> - -<p>We may observe, then, that 'tis neither upon account of the -involuntariness of certain impressions, as is commonly supposed, nor of -their superior force and violence, that we attribute to them a reality -and continued existence, which we refuse to others that are voluntary -or feeble. For 'tis evident, our pains and pleasures, our passions and -affections, which we never suppose to have any existence beyond our -perception, operate with greater violence, and are equally involuntary, -as the impressions of figure and extension, colour and sound, which we -suppose to be permanent beings. The heat of a fire, when moderate, is -supposed to exist in the fire; but the pain which it causes upon a near -approach is not taken to have any being except in the perception.</p> - -<p>These vulgar opinions, then, being rejected, we must search for some -other hypothesis, by which we may discover those peculiar qualities -in our impressions, which makes us attribute to them a distinct and -continued existence.</p> - -<p>After a little examination, we shall find, that all those objects, to -which we attribute a continued existence, have a peculiar <i>constancy</i>, -which distinguishes them from the impressions whose existence depends -upon our perception. Those mountains, and houses, and trees, which lie -at present under my eye, have always appeared to me in the same order; -and when I lose sight of them by shutting my eyes or turning my head, -I soon after find them return upon me without the least alteration. -My bed and table, my books and papers, present themselves in the same -uniform manner, and change not upon account of any interruption in my -seeing or perceiving them. This is the case with all the impressions, -whose objects are supposed to have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span> an external existence; and is the -case with no other impressions, whether gentle or violent, voluntary or -involuntary.</p> - -<p>This constancy, however, is not so perfect as not to admit of very -considerable exceptions. Bodies often change their position and -qualities, and, after a little absence or interruption, may become -hardly knowable. But here 'tis observable, that even in these changes -they preserve a <i>coherence</i>, and have a regular dependence on each -other; which is the foundation of a kind of reasoning from causation, -and produces the opinion of their continued existence. When I return -to my chamber after an hour's absence, I find not my fire in the same -situation in which I left it; but then I am accustomed, in other -instances, to see a like alteration produced in a like time, whether -I am present or absent, near or remote. This coherence, therefore, in -their changes, is one of the characteristics of external objects, as -well as their constancy.</p> - -<p>Having found that the opinion of the continued existence of body -depends on the <i>coherence</i> and <i>constancy</i> of certain impressions, I -now proceed to examine after what manner these qualities give rise -to so extraordinary an opinion. To begin with the coherence; we may -observe, that though those internal impressions, which we regard as -fleeting and perishing, have also a certain coherence or regularity -in their appearances, yet 'tis of somewhat a different nature from -that which we discover in bodies. Our passions are found by experience -to have a mutual connexion with, and dependence on each other; but -on no occasion is it necessary to suppose that they have existed and -operated, when they were not perceived, in order to preserve the same -dependence and connexion, of which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> we have had experience. The case -is not the same with relation to external objects. Those require -a continued existence, or otherwise lose, in a great measure, the -regularity of their operation. I am here seated in my chamber, with -my face to the fire; and all the objects that strike my senses are -contained in a few yards around me. My memory, indeed, informs me of -the existence of many objects; but, then, this information extends not -beyond their past existence, nor do either my senses or memory give any -testimony to the continuance of their being. When, therefore, I am thus -seated, and revolve over these thoughts, I hear on a sudden a noise as -of a door turning upon its hinges; and a little after see a porter, who -advances towards me. This gives occasion to many new reflections and -reasonings. First, I never have observed that this noise could proceed -from any thing but the motion of a door; and therefore conclude, that -the present phenomenon is a contradiction to all past experience, -unless the door, which I remember on t'other side the chamber, be still -in being. Again, I have always found, that a human body was possessed -of a quality which I call gravity, and which hinders it from mounting -in the air, as this porter must have done to arrive at my chamber, -unless the stairs I remember be not annihilated by my absence. But this -is not all. I receive a letter, which, upon opening it, I perceive by -the handwriting and subscription to have come from a friend, who says -he is two hundred leagues distant. 'Tis evident I can never account -for this phenomenon, conformable to my experience in other instances, -without spreading out in my mind the whole sea and continent between -us, and supposing the effects and continued existence of posts and -ferries, according to my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> memory and observation. To consider these -phenomena of the porter and letter in a certain light, they are -contradictions to common experience, and may be regarded as objections -to those maxims which we form concerning the connexions of causes and -effects. I am accustomed to hear such a sound, and see such an object -in motion at the same time. I have not received, in this particular -instance, both these perceptions. These observations are contrary, -unless I suppose that the door still remains, and that it was opened -without my perceiving it: and this supposition, which was at first -entirely arbitrary and hypothetical, acquires a force and evidence by -its being the only one upon which I can reconcile these contradictions. -There is scarce a moment of my life, wherein there is not a similar -instance presented to me, and I have not occasion to suppose the -continued existence of objects, in order to connect their past and -present appearances, and give them such an union with each other, as I -have found, by experience, to be suitable to their particular natures -and circumstances. Here, then, I am naturally led to regard the world -as something real and durable, and as preserving its existence, even -when it is no longer present to my perception.</p> - -<p>But, though this conclusion, from the coherence of appearances, may -seem to be of the same nature with our reasonings concerning causes -and effects, as being derived from custom, and regulated by past -experience, we shall find, upon examination, that they are at the -bottom considerably different from each other, and that this inference -arises from the understanding and from custom, in an indirect and -oblique manner. For 'twill readily be allowed, that since nothing is -ever really present to the mind, besides its own perceptions,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> 'tis -not only impossible that any habit should ever be acquired otherwise -than by the regular succession of these perceptions, but also that -any habit should ever exceed that degree of regularity. Any degree, -therefore, of regularity in our perceptions, can never be a foundation -for us to infer a greater degree of regularity in some objects which -are not perceived, since this supposes a contradiction, viz. a habit -acquired by what was never present to the mind. But, 'tis evident that, -whenever we infer the continued existence of the objects of sense from -their coherence, and the frequency of their union, 'tis in order to -bestow on the objects a greater regularity than what is observed in our -mere perceptions. We remark a connexion betwixt two kinds of objects -in their past appearance to the senses, but are not able to observe -this connexion to be perfectly constant, since the turning about of our -head, or the shutting of our eyes, is able to break it. What, then, do -we suppose in this case, but that these objects still continue their -usual connexion, notwithstanding their apparent interruption, and that -the irregular appearances are joined by something of which we are -insensible? But as all reasoning concerning matters of fact arises only -from custom, and custom can only be the effect of repeated perceptions, -the extending of custom and reasoning beyond the perceptions can -never be the direct and natural effect of the constant repetition and -connexion, but must arise from the cooperation of some other principles.</p> - -<p>I have already observed,<a name="FNanchor_3_80" id="FNanchor_3_80"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_80" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> in examining the foundation of mathematics, -that the imagination, when set into any train of thinking, is apt to -continue even when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> its object fails it, and, like a galley put in -motion by the oars, carries on its course without any new impulse. This -I have assigned for the reason, why, after considering several loose -standards of equality, and correcting them by each other, we proceed -to imagine so correct and exact a standard of that relation as is -not liable to the least error or variation. The same principle makes -us easily entertain this opinion of the continued existence of body. -Objects have a certain coherence even as they appear to our senses; -but this coherence is much greater and more uniform if we suppose the -objects to have a continued existence; and as the mind is once in the -train of observing an uniformity among objects, it naturally continues -till it renders the uniformity as complete as possible. The simple -supposition of their continued existence suffices for this purpose, and -gives us a notion of a much greater regularity among objects, than what -they have when we look no farther than our senses.</p> - -<p>But whatever force we may ascribe to this principle, I am afraid -'tis too weak to support alone so vast an edifice as is that of the -continued existence of all external bodies; and that we must join the -<i>constancy</i> of their appearance to the <i>coherence</i>, in order to give -a satisfactory account of that opinion. As the explication of this -will lead me into a considerable compass of very profound reasoning, I -think it proper, in order to avoid confusion, to give a short sketch or -abridgment of my system, and afterwards draw out all its parts in their -full compass. This inference from the constancy of our perceptions, -like the precedent from their coherence, gives rise to the opinion -of the <i>continued</i> existence of body, which is prior to that of its -<i>distinct</i> existence, and produces that latter principle.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p> - -<p>When we have been accustomed to observe a constancy in certain -impressions, and have found that the perception of the sun or ocean, -for instance, returns upon us, after an absence or annihilation, with -like parts and in a like order as at its first appearance, we are not -apt to regard these interrupted perceptions as different (which they -really are), but on the contrary consider them as individually the -same, upon account of their resemblance. But as this interruption of -their existence is contrary to their perfect identity, and makes us -regard the first impression as annihilated, and the second as newly -created, we find ourselves somewhat at a loss, and are involved in a -kind of contradiction. In order to free ourselves from this difficulty, -we disguise, as much as possible, the interruption, or rather remove it -entirely, by supposing that these interrupted perceptions are connected -by a real existence, of which we are insensible. This supposition, or -idea of continued existence, acquires a force and vivacity from the -memory of these broken impressions, and from that propensity which -they give us to suppose them the same; and according to the precedent -reasoning, the very essence of belief consists in the force and -vivacity of the conception.</p> - -<p>In order to justify this system, there are four things requisite. -<i>First</i>, to explain the <i>principium individuations</i>, or principle of -identity. <i>Secondly</i>, give a reason why the resemblance of our broken -and interrupted perceptions induces us to attribute an identity to -them. <i>Thirdly</i>, account for that propensity, which this allusion -gives, to unite these broken appearances by a continued existence. -<i>Fourthly</i>, and lastly, explain that force and vivacity of conception -which arises from the propensity.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p> - -<p>First, as to the principle of individuation, we may observe, that -the view of any one object is not sufficient to convey the idea of -identity. For in that proposition, <i>an object is the same with itself</i>, -if the idea expressed by the word <i>object</i> were no ways distinguished -from that meant by <i>itself</i>; we really should mean nothing, nor would -the proposition contain a predicate and a subject, which, however, are -implied in this affirmation. One single object conveys the idea of -unity, not that of identity.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, a multiplicity of objects can never convey this -idea, however resembling they may be supposed. The mind always -pronounces the one not to be the other, and considers them as forming -two, three, or any determinate number of objects, whose existences are -entirely distinct and independent.</p> - -<p>Since then both number and unity are incompatible with the relation -of identity, it must lie in something that is neither of them. But to -tell the truth, at first sight this seems utterly impossible. Betwixt -unity and number there can be no medium; no more than betwixt existence -and non-existence. After one object is supposed to exist, we must -either suppose another also to exist; in which case we have the idea -of number: or we must suppose it not to exist; in which case the first -object remains at unity.</p> - -<p>To remove this difficulty, let us have recourse to the idea of time -or duration. I have already observed,<a name="FNanchor_4_81" id="FNanchor_4_81"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_81" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> that time, in a strict -sense, implies succession, and that, when we apply its idea to any -unchangeable object, 'tis only by a fiction of the imagination by -which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> the unchangeable object is supposed to participate of the -changes of the co-existent objects, and in particular of that of our -perceptions. This fiction of the imagination almost universally takes -place; and 'tis by means of it that a single object, placed before -us, and surveyed for any time without our discovering in it any -interruption or variation, is able to give us a notion of identity. -For when we consider any two points of this time, we may place them in -different lights: we may either survey them at the very same instant; -in which case they give us the idea of number, both by themselves and -by the object; which must be multiplied in order to be conceived at -once, as existent in these two different points of time: or, on the -other hand, we may trace the succession of time by a like succession -of ideas, and conceiving first one moment, along with the object -then existent, imagine afterwards a change in the time without any -<i>variation</i> or <i>interruption</i> in the object; in which case it gives -us the idea of unity. Here then is an idea, which is a medium betwixt -unity and number; or, more properly speaking, is either of them, -according to the view in which we take it: and this idea we call that -of identity. We cannot, in any propriety of speech, say that an object -is the same with itself, unless we mean that the object existent at -one time is the same with itself existent at another. By this means we -make a difference betwixt the idea meant by the word <i>object</i>, and that -meant by <i>itself</i>, without going the length of number, and at the same -time without restraining ourselves to a strict and absolute unity.</p> - -<p>Thus the principle of individuation is nothing but the <i>invariableness</i> -and <i>uninterruptedness</i> of any object, through a supposed variation of -time, by which the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> mind can trace it in the different periods of its -existence, without any break of the view, and without being obliged to -form the idea of multiplicity or number.</p> - -<p>I now proceed to explain the <i>second</i> part of my system, and show why -the constancy of our perceptions makes us ascribe to them a perfect -numerical identity, though there be very long intervals betwixt their -appearance, and they have only one of the essential qualities of -identity, viz. <i>invariableness</i>. That I may avoid all ambiguity and -confusion on this head, I shall observe, that I here account for the -opinions and belief of the vulgar with regard to the existence of -body; and therefore must entirely conform myself to their manner of -thinking and of expressing themselves. Now, we have already observed, -that however philosophers may distinguish betwixt the objects and -perceptions of the senses; which they suppose co-existent and -resembling; yet this is a distinction which is not comprehended by -the generality of mankind, who, as they perceive only one being, can -never assent to the opinion of a double existence and representation. -Those very sensations which enter by the eye or ear are with them the -true objects, nor can they readily conceive that this pen or paper, -which is immediately perceived, represents another which is different -from, but resembling it. In order, therefore, to accommodate myself to -their notions, I shall at first suppose that there is only a single -existence, which I shall call indifferently <i>object</i> or <i>perception</i>, -according as it shall seem best to suit my purpose, understanding by -both of them what any common man means by a hat, or shoe, or stone, or -any other impression conveyed to him by his senses. I shall be sure to -give warning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> when I return to a more philosophical way of speaking and -thinking.</p> - -<p>To enter therefore upon the question concerning the source of the -error and deception with regard to identity, when we attribute it -to our resembling perceptions, notwithstanding their interruption, -I must here recal an observation which I have already proved and -explained.<a name="FNanchor_5_82" id="FNanchor_5_82"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_82" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> Nothing is more apt to make us mistake one idea for -another, than any relation betwixt them, which associates them together -in the imagination, and makes it pass with facility from one to the -other. Of all relations, that of resemblance is in this respect the -most efficacious; and that because it not only causes an association -of ideas, but also of dispositions, and makes us conceive the one -idea by an act or operation of the mind, similar to that by which we -conceive the other. This circumstance I have observed to be of great -moment; and we may establish it for a general rule, that whatever ideas -place the mind in the same disposition or in similar ones, are very -apt to be confounded. The mind readily passes from one to the other, -and perceives not the change without a strict attention, of which, -generally speaking, 'tis wholly incapable.</p> - -<p>In order to apply this general maxim, we must first examine the -disposition of the mind in viewing any object which preserves a -perfect identity, and then find some other object that is confounded -with it, by causing a similar disposition. When we fix our thought -on any object, and suppose it to continue the same for some time, -'tis evident we suppose the change to lie only in the time, and never -exert ourselves to produce<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> any new image or idea of the object. The -faculties of the mind repose themselves in a manner, and take no -more exercise than what is necessary to continue that idea of which -we were formerly possessed, and which subsists without variation or -interruption. The passage from one moment to another is scarce felt, -and distinguishes not itself by a different perception or idea, which -may require a different direction of the spirits, in order to its -conception.</p> - -<p>Now, what other objects, beside identical ones, are capable of placing -the mind in the same disposition, when it considers them, and of -causing the same uninterrupted passage of the imagination from one idea -to another? This question is of the last importance. For if we can -find any such objects, we may certainly conclude, from the foregoing -principle, that they are very naturally confounded with identical -ones, and are taken for them in most of our reasonings. But though -this question be very important, 'tis not very difficult nor doubtful. -For I immediately reply, that a succession of related objects places -the mind in this disposition, and is considered with the same smooth -and uninterrupted progress of the imagination, as attends the view of -the same invariable object. The very nature and essence of relation is -to connect our ideas with each other, and upon the appearance of one, -to facilitate the transition to its correlative. The passage betwixt -related ideas, is therefore so smooth and easy, that it produces little -alteration on the mind, and seems like the continuation of the same -action; and as the continuation of the same action is an effect of the -continued view of the same object, 'tis for this reason we attribute -sameness to every succession of related objects. The thought slides -along the succession with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> equal facility, as if it considered only one -object; and therefore confounds the succession with the identity.</p> - -<p>We shall afterwards see many instances of this tendency of relation -to make us ascribe an <i>identity</i> to <i>different</i> objects; but shall -here confine ourselves to the present subject. We find by experience, -that there is such a <i>constancy</i> in almost all the impressions of the -senses, that their interruption produces no alteration on them, and -hinders them not from returning the same in appearance and in situation -as at their first existence. I survey the furniture of my chamber; I -shut my eyes, and afterwards open them; and find the new perceptions -to resemble perfectly those which formerly struck my senses. This -resemblance is observed in a thousand instances, and naturally connects -together our ideas of these interrupted perceptions by the strongest -relation, and conveys the mind with an easy transition from one to -another. An easy transition or passage of the imagination, along the -ideas of these different and interrupted perceptions, is almost the -same disposition of mind with that in which we consider one constant -and uninterrupted perception. 'Tis therefore very natural for us to -mistake the one for the other.<a name="FNanchor_6_83" id="FNanchor_6_83"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_83" class="fnanchor">[6]</a></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p> - -<p>The persons who entertain this opinion concerning the identity of -our resembling perceptions, are in general all the unthinking and -unphilosophical part of mankind, (that is, all of us at one time or -other), and, consequently, such as suppose their perceptions to be -their only objects, and never think of a double existence internal and -external, representing and represented. The very image which is present -to the senses is with us the real body; and 'tis to these interrupted -images we ascribe a perfect identity. But as the interruption of the -appearance seems contrary to the identity, and naturally leads us to -regard these resembling perceptions as different from each other, -we here find ourselves at a loss how to reconcile such opposite -opinions. The smooth passage of the imagination along the ideas of the -resembling perceptions makes us ascribe to them a perfect identity. The -interrupted manner of their appearance makes us consider them as so -many resembling, but still distinct beings, which appear after certain -intervals. The perplexity arising from this contradiction produces -a propension to unite these broken appearances by the fiction of a -continued existence, which is the <i>third</i> part of that hypothesis I -proposed to explain.</p> - -<p>Nothing is more certain from experience than that any contradiction -either to the sentiments or passions gives a sensible uneasiness, -whether it proceeds from without or from within; from the opposition -of external objects, or from the combat of internal principles. On -the contrary, whatever strikes in with the natural propensities, and -either externally forwards their satisfaction, or internally concurs -with their movements, is sure to give a sensible pleasure. Now, there -being here an opposition betwixt the notion of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> the identity of -resembling perceptions, and the interruption of their appearance, the -mind must be uneasy in that situation, and will naturally seek relief -from the uneasiness. Since the uneasiness arises from the opposition -of two contrary principles, it must look for relief by sacrificing -the one to the other. But as the smooth passage of our thought along -our resembling perceptions makes us ascribe to them an identity, -we can never, without reluctance, yield up that opinion. We must -therefore turn to the other side, and suppose that our perceptions -are no longer interrupted, but preserve a continued as well as an -invariable existence, and are by that means entirely the same. But -here the interruptions in the appearance of these perceptions are so -long and frequent, that 'tis impossible to overlook them; and as the -<i>appearance</i> of a perception in the mind and its <i>existence</i> seem -at first sight entirely the same, it may be doubted whether we can -ever assent to so palpable a contradiction, and suppose a perception -to exist without being present to the mind. In order to clear up -this matter, and learn how the interruption in the appearance of a -perception implies not necessarily an interruption in its existence, -'twill be proper to touch upon some principles which we shall have -occasion to explain more fully afterwards.<a name="FNanchor_7_84" id="FNanchor_7_84"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_84" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></p> - -<p>We may begin with observing, that the difficulty in the present case -is not concerning the matter of fact, or whether the mind forms such -a conclusion concerning the continued existence of its perceptions, -but only concerning the manner in which the conclusion is formed, and -principles from which it is derived. 'Tis certain that almost all -mankind, and even philosophers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> themselves, for the greatest part of -their lives, take their perceptions to be their only objects, and -suppose that the very being which is intimately present to the mind, -is the real body or material existence. 'Tis also certain that this -very perception or object is supposed to have a continued uninterrupted -being, and neither to be annihilated by our absence, nor to be brought -into existence by our presence. When we are absent from it, we say it -still exists, but that we do not feel, we do not see it. When we are -present, we say we feel or see it. Here then may arise two questions; -<i>first</i>, how we can satisfy ourselves in supposing a perception to be -absent from the mind without being annihilated. <i>Secondly</i>, after what -manner we conceive an object to become present to the mind, without -some new creation of a perception or image; and what we mean by this -<i>seeing</i>, and <i>feeling</i>, and <i>perceiving</i>.</p> - -<p>As to the first question, we may observe, that what we call a <i>mind</i>, -is nothing but a heap or collection of different perceptions, united -together by certain relations, and supposed, though falsely, to -be endowed with a perfect simplicity and identity. Now, as every -perception is distinguishable from another, and may be considered as -separately existent; it evidently follows, that there is no absurdity -in separating any particular perception from the mind; that is, in -breaking off all its relations with that connected mass of perceptions -which constitute a thinking being.</p> - -<p>The same reasoning affords us an answer to the second question. If the -name of <i>perception</i> renders not this separation from a mind absurd -and contradictory, the name of <i>object</i>, standing for the same thing, -can never render their conjunction impossible. External objects are -seen and felt, and become present to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> mind; that is, they acquire -such a relation to a connected heap of perceptions as to influence them -very considerably in augmenting their number by present reflections -and passions, and in storing the memory with ideas. The same continued -and uninterrupted being may, therefore, be sometimes present to the -mind and sometimes absent from it without any real or essential change -in the being itself. An interrupted appearance to the senses implies -not necessarily an interruption in the existence. The supposition of -the continued existence of sensible objects or perceptions involves -no contradiction. We may easily indulge our inclination to that -supposition. When the exact resemblance of our perceptions makes us -ascribe to them an identity, we may remove the seeming interruption -by feigning a continued being, which may fill those intervals, and -preserve a perfect and entire identity to our perceptions.</p> - -<p>But as we here not only <i>feign</i> but <i>believe</i> this continued existence, -the question is, <i>from whence arises such a belief</i>? and this question -leads us to the <i>fourth</i> member of this system. It has been proved -already, that belief, in general, consists in nothing but the vivacity -of an idea; and that an idea may acquire this vivacity by its relation -to some present impression. Impressions are naturally the most vivid -perceptions of the mind; and this quality is in part conveyed by the -relation to every connected idea. The relation causes a smooth passage -from the impression to the idea, and even gives a propensity to that -passage. The mind falls so easily from the one perception to the other, -that it scarce perceives the change, but retains in the second a -considerable share of the vivacity of the first. It is excited by the -lively impression, and this vivacity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span> is conveyed to the related idea, -without any great diminution in the passage, by reason of the smooth -transition and the propensity of the imagination.</p> - -<p>But suppose that this propensity arises from some other principle, -besides that of relation; 'tis evident, it must still have the same -effect, and convey the vivacity from the impression to the idea. Now, -this is exactly the present case. Our memory presents us with a vast -number of instances of perceptions perfectly resembling each other, -that return at different distances of time, and after considerable -interruptions. This resemblance gives us a propension to consider these -interrupted perceptions as the same; and also a propension to connect -them by a continued existence, in order to justify this identity, and -avoid the contradiction in which the interrupted appearance of these -perceptions seems necessarily to involve us. Here then we have a -propensity to feign the continued existence of all sensible objects; -and as this propensity arises from some lively impressions of the -memory, it bestows a vivacity on that fiction; or, in other words, -makes us believe the continued existence of body. If, sometimes we -ascribe a continued existence to objects, which are perfectly new to -us, and of whose constancy and coherence we have no experience, 'tis -because the manner, in which they present themselves to our senses, -resembles that of constant and coherent objects; and this resemblance -is a source of reasoning and analogy, and leads us to attribute the -same qualities to the similar objects.</p> - -<p>I believe an intelligent reader will find less difficulty to assent -to this system, than to comprehend it fully and distinctly, and will -allow, after a little reflection, that every part carries its own proof -along with it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> 'Tis indeed evident, that as the vulgar <i>suppose</i> their -perceptions to be their only objects, and at the same time <i>believe</i> -the continued existence of matter, we must account for the origin of -the belief upon that supposition. Now, upon that supposition, 'tis a -false opinion that any of our objects, or perceptions, are identically -the same after an interruption; and consequently the opinion of -their identity can never arise from reason, but must arise from the -imagination. The imagination is seduced into such an opinion only by -means of the resemblance of certain perceptions; since we find they are -only our resembling perceptions, which we have a propension to suppose -the same. This propension to bestow an identity on our resembling -perceptions, produces the fiction of a continued existence; since that -fiction, as well as the identity, is really false, as is acknowledged -by all philosophers, and has no other effect than to remedy the -interruption of our perceptions, which is the only circumstance that -is contrary to their identity. In the last place, this propension -causes belief by means of the present impressions of the memory; since, -without the remembrance of former sensations, 'tis plain we never -should have any belief of the continued existence of body. Thus, in -examining all these parts, we find that each of them is supported by -the strongest proofs; and that all of them together form a consistent -system, which is perfectly convincing. A strong propensity or -inclination alone, without any present impression, will sometimes cause -a belief or opinion. How much more when aided by that circumstance!</p> - -<p>But though we are led after this manner, by the natural propensity of -the imagination, to ascribe a continued existence to those sensible -objects or perceptions,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> which we find to resemble each other in their -interrupted appearance; yet a very little reflection and philosophy -is sufficient to make us perceive the fallacy of that opinion. I have -already observed, that there is an intimate connexion betwixt those -two principles, of a <i>continued</i> and of a <i>distinct</i> or <i>independent</i> -existence, and that we no sooner establish the one than the other -follows, as a necessary consequence. 'Tis the opinion of a continued -existence, which first takes place, and without much study or -reflection draws the other along with it, wherever the mind follows -its first and most natural tendency. But when we compare experiments, -and reason a little upon them, we quickly perceive, that the doctrine -of the independent existence of our sensible perceptions is contrary -to the plainest experience. This leads us backward upon our footsteps -to perceive our error in attributing a continued existence to our -perceptions, and is the origin of many very curious opinions, which we -shall here endeavour to account for.</p> - -<p>'Twill first be proper to observe a few of those experiments, which -convince us, that our perceptions are not possessed of any independent -existence. When we press one eye with a finger, we immediately perceive -all the objects to become double, and one half of them to be removed -from their common and natural position. But as we do not attribute a -continued existence to both these perceptions, and as they are both -of the same nature, we clearly perceive, that all our perceptions -are dependent on our organs, and the disposition of our nerves and -animal spirits. This opinion is confirmed by the seeming increase and -diminution of objects according to their distance; by the apparent -alterations in their figure; by the changes in their colour<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> and -other qualities, from our sickness and distempers, and by an infinite -number of other experiments of the same kind; from all which we learn, -that our sensible perceptions are not possessed of any distinct or -independent existence.</p> - -<p>The natural consequence of this reasoning should be, that our -perceptions have no more a continued than an independent existence; -and, indeed, philosophers have so far run into this opinion, that they -change their system, and distinguish (as we shall do for the future) -betwixt perceptions and objects, of which the former are supposed to be -interrupted and perishing, and different at every different return; the -latter to be uninterrupted, and to preserve a continued existence and -identity. But however philosophical this new system may be esteemed, -I assert that 'tis only a palliative remedy, and that it contains -all the difficulties of the vulgar system, with some others that are -peculiar to itself. There are no principles either of the understanding -or fancy, which lead us directly to embrace this opinion of the double -existence of perceptions and objects, nor can we arrive at it but by -passing through the common hypothesis of the identity and continuance -of our interrupted perceptions. Were we not first persuaded that our -perceptions are our only objects, and continue to exist even when they -no longer make their appearance to the senses, we should never be led -to think that our perceptions and objects are different, and that our -objects alone preserve a continued existence. "The latter hypothesis -has no primary recommendation either to reason or the imagination, but -acquires all its influence on the imagination from the former." This -proposition contains two parts, which we shall endeavour<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> to prove as -distinctly and clearly as such abstruse subjects will permit.</p> - -<p>As to the first part of the proposition, <i>that this philosophical -hypothesis has no primary recommendation, either to reason or the -imagination</i>, we may soon satisfy ourselves with regard to <i>reason</i>, -by the following reflections. The only existences, of which we are -certain, are perceptions, which, being immediately present to us -by consciousness, command our strongest assent, and are the first -foundation of all our conclusions. The only conclusion we can draw -from the existence of one thing to that of another, is by means of the -relation of cause and effect, which shows, that there is a connexion -betwixt them, and that the existence of one is dependent on that of -the other. The idea of this relation is derived from past experience, -by which we find, that two beings are constantly conjoined together, -and are always present at once to the mind. But as no beings are ever -present to the mind but perceptions, it follows, that we may observe -a conjunction or a relation of cause and effect between different -perceptions, but can never observe it between perceptions and objects. -'Tis impossible, therefore, that from the existence or any of the -qualities of the former, we can ever form any conclusion concerning the -existence of the latter, or ever satisfy our reason in this particular.</p> - -<p>'Tis no less certain, that this philosophical system has no primary -recommendation to the <i>imagination</i>, and that that faculty would never, -of itself, and by its original tendency, have fallen upon such a -principle. I confess it will be somewhat difficult to prove this to the -full satisfaction of the reader; because it implies a negative, which -in many cases will not admit of any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> positive proof. If any one would -take the pains to examine this question, and would invent a system, to -account for the direct origin of this opinion from the imagination, -we should be able, by the examination of that system, to pronounce a -certain judgment in the present subject. Let it be taken for granted, -that our perceptions are broken and interrupted, and, however like, -are still different from each other; and let any one, upon this -supposition, show why the fancy, directly and immediately, proceeds -to the belief of another existence, resembling these perceptions in -their nature, but yet continued, and uninterrupted, and identical; and -after he has done this to my satisfaction, I promise to renounce my -present opinion. Meanwhile I cannot forbear concluding, from the very -abstractedness and difficulty of the first supposition, that 'tis an -improper subject for the fancy to work upon. Whoever would explain the -origin of the <i>common</i> opinion concerning the continued and distinct -existence of body, must take the mind in its <i>common</i> situation, and -must proceed upon the supposition, that our perceptions are our only -objects, and continue to exist even when they are not perceived. Though -this opinion be false, 'tis the most natural of any, and has alone any -primary recommendation to the fancy.</p> - -<p>As to the second part of the proposition, <i>that the philosophical -system acquires all its influence on the imagination from the -vulgar one</i>; we may observe, that this is a natural and unavoidable -consequence of the foregoing conclusion, <i>that it has no primary -recommendation to reason or the imagination</i>. For as the philosophical -system is found by experience to take hold of many minds, and, in -particular, of all those who reflect ever so little on this subject, it -must derive all its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> authority from the vulgar system, since it has no -original authority of its own. The manner in which these two systems, -though directly contrary, are connected together, may be explained as -follows.</p> - -<p>The imagination naturally runs on in this train of thinking. Our -perceptions are our only objects: resembling perceptions are the -same, however broken or uninterrupted in their appearance: this -appearing interruption is contrary to the identity: the interruption -consequently extends not beyond the appearance, and the perception -or object really continues to exist, even when absent from us: our -sensible perceptions have, therefore, a continued and uninterrupted -existence. But as a little reflection destroys this conclusion, that -our perceptions have a continued existence, by showing that they have a -dependent one, 'twould naturally be expected, that we must altogether -reject the opinion, that there is such a thing in nature as a continued -existence, which is preserved even when it no longer appears to the -senses. The case, however, is otherwise. Philosophers are so far from -rejecting the opinion of a continued existence upon rejecting that of -the independence and continuance of our sensible perceptions, that -though all sects agree in the latter sentiment, the former, which is -in a manner its necessary consequence, has been peculiar to a few -extravagant sceptics; who, after all, maintained that opinion in words -only, and were never able to bring themselves sincerely to believe it.</p> - -<p>There is a great difference betwixt such opinions as we form after -a calm and profound reflection, and such as we embrace by a kind of -instinct or natural impulse, on account of their suitableness and -conformity to the mind. If these opinions become contrary, 'tis not -difficult<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> to foresee which of them will have the advantage. As long as -our attention is bent upon the subject, the philosophical and studied -principle may prevail; but the moment we relax our thoughts, nature -will display herself, and draw us back to our former opinion. Nay she -has sometimes such an influence, that she can stop our progress, even -in the midst of our most profound reflections, and keep us from running -on with all the consequences of any philosophical opinion. Thus, though -we clearly perceive the dependence and interruption of our perceptions, -we stop short in our career, and never upon that account reject the -notion of an independent and continued existence. That opinion has -taken such deep root in the imagination, that 'tis impossible ever to -eradicate it, nor will any strained metaphysical conviction of the -dependence of our perceptions be sufficient for that purpose.</p> - -<p>But though our natural and obvious principles here prevail above our -studied reflections, 'tis certain there must be some struggle and -opposition in the case; at least so long as these reflections retain -any force or vivacity. In order to set ourselves at ease in this -particular, we contrive a new hypothesis, which seems to comprehend -both these principles of reason and imagination. This hypothesis is the -philosophical one of the double existence of perceptions and objects; -which pleases our reason, in allowing that our dependent perceptions -are interrupted and different, and at the same time is agreeable to -the imagination, in attributing a continued existence to something -else, which we call <i>objects</i>. This philosophical system, therefore, -is the monstrous offspring of two principles, which are contrary to -each other, which are both at once embraced by the mind, and which -are unable mutually to destroy each other. The imagination tells us, -that our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> resembling perceptions have a continued and uninterrupted -existence, and are not annihilated by their absence. Reflection tells -us, that even our resembling perceptions are interrupted in their -existence, and different from each other. The contradiction betwixt -these opinions we elude by a new fiction, which is conformable to the -hypotheses both of reflection and fancy, by ascribing these contrary -qualities to different existences; the <i>interruption</i> to perceptions, -and the <i>continuance</i> to objects. Nature is obstinate, and will not -quit the field, however strongly attacked by reason; and at the same -time reason is so clear in the point, that there is no possibility -of disguising her. Not being able to reconcile these two enemies, we -endeavour to set ourselves at ease as much as possible, by successively -granting to each whatever it demands, and by feigning a double -existence, where each may find something that has all the conditions it -desires. Were we fully convinced that our resembling perceptions are -continued, and identical, and independent, we should never run into -this opinion of a double existence; since we should find satisfaction -in our first supposition, and would not look beyond. Again, were we -fully convinced that our perceptions are dependent, and interrupted, -and different, we should be as little inclined to embrace the opinion -of a double existence; since in that case we should clearly perceive -the error of our first supposition of a continued existence, and would -never regard it any farther. 'Tis therefore from the intermediate -situation of the mind that this opinion arises, and from such an -adherence to these two contrary principles, as makes us seek some -pretext to justify our receiving both; which happily at last is found -in the system of a double existence.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p> - -<p>Another advantage of this philosophical system is its similarity to -the vulgar one, by which means we can humour our reason for a moment, -when it becomes troublesome and solicitous; and yet upon its least -negligence or inattention, can easily return to our vulgar and natural -notions. Accordingly we find, that philosophers neglect not this -advantage, but, immediately upon leaving their closets, mingle with the -rest of mankind in those exploded opinions, that our perceptions are -our only objects, and continue identically and uninterruptedly the same -in all their interrupted appearances.</p> - -<p>There are other particulars of this system, wherein we may remark its -dependence on the fancy, in a very conspicuous manner. Of these, I -shall observe the two following. <i>First</i>, we suppose external objects -to resemble internal perceptions. I have already shown, that the -relation of cause and effect can never afford us any just conclusion -from the existence or qualities of our perceptions to the existence of -external continued objects: and I shall farther add, that even though -they could afford such a conclusion, we should never have any reason -to infer that our objects resemble our perceptions. That opinion, -therefore, is derived from nothing but the quality of the fancy -above explained, <i>that it borrows all its ideas from some precedent -perception</i>. We never can conceive any thing but perceptions, and -therefore must make every thing resemble them.</p> - -<p>Secondly, as we suppose our objects in general to resemble our -perceptions, so we take it for granted, that every particular object -resembles that perception which it causes. The relation of cause and -effect determines us to join the other of resemblance; and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> ideas -of these existences being already united together in the fancy by the -former relation, we naturally add the latter to complete the union. -We have a strong propensity to complete every union by joining new -relations to those which we have before observed betwixt any ideas, as -we shall have occasion to observe presently.<a name="FNanchor_8_85" id="FNanchor_8_85"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_85" class="fnanchor">[8]</a></p> - -<p>Having thus given an account of all the systems, both popular and -philosophical, with regard to external existences, I cannot forbear -giving vent to a certain sentiment which arises upon reviewing those -systems. I begun this subject with premising, that we ought to have an -implicit faith in our senses, and that this would be the conclusion I -should draw from the whole of my reasoning. But to be ingenuous, I feel -myself <i>at present</i> of a quite contrary sentiment, and am more inclined -to repose no faith at all in my senses, or rather imagination, than to -place in it such an implicit confidence. I cannot conceive how such -trivial qualities of the fancy, conducted by such false suppositions, -can ever lead to any solid and rational system. They are the coherence -and constancy of our perceptions, which produce the opinion of their -continued existence; though these qualities of perceptions have no -perceivable connexion with such an existence. The constancy of our -perceptions has the most considerable effect, and yet is attended with -the greatest difficulties. 'Tis a gross illusion to suppose, that -our resembling perceptions are numerically the same; and 'tis this -illusion which leads us into the opinion, that these perceptions are -uninterrupted, and are still existent, even when they are not present -to the senses. This is the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> case with our popular system. And as to -our philosophical one, 'tis liable to the same difficulties; and is, -over and above, loaded with this absurdity, that it at once denies and -establishes the vulgar supposition. Philosophers deny our resembling -perceptions to be identically the same, and uninterrupted; and yet -have so great a propensity to believe them such, that they arbitrarily -invent a new set of perceptions, to which they attribute these -qualities. I say, a new set of perceptions: for we may well suppose in -general, but 'tis impossible for us distinctly to conceive, objects to -be in their nature any thing but exactly the same with perceptions. -What then can we look for from this confusion of groundless and -extraordinary opinions but error and falsehood? And how can we justify -to ourselves any belief we repose in them?</p> - -<p>This sceptical doubt, both with respect to reason and the senses, is -a malady which can never be radically cured, but must return upon us -every moment, however we may chase it away, and sometimes may seem -entirely free from it. 'Tis impossible, upon any system, to defend -either our understanding or senses; and we but expose them farther -when we endeavour to justify them in that manner. As the sceptical -doubt arises naturally from a profound and intense reflection on those -subjects, it always increases the farther we carry our reflections, -whether in opposition or conformity to it. Carelessness and inattention -alone can afford us any remedy. For this reason I rely entirely upon -them; and take it for granted, whatever may be the reader's opinion at -this present moment, that an hour hence he will be persuaded there is -both an external and internal world; and, going upon that supposition, -I intend to examine some general systems,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> both ancient and modern, -which have been proposed of both, before I proceed to a more particular -inquiry concerning our impressions. This will not, perhaps, in the end, -be found foreign to our present purpose.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_78" id="Footnote_1_78"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_78"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Part II. Sect. 6.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_79" id="Footnote_2_79"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_79"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Sect. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_80" id="Footnote_3_80"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_80"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Part II. Sect. 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_81" id="Footnote_4_81"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_81"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Part II. Sect. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_82" id="Footnote_5_82"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_82"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Part. II. Sect. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_83" id="Footnote_6_83"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_83"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> This reasoning, it must be confessed, is somewhat -abstruse, and difficult to be comprehended; but it is remarkable, that -this very difficulty may be converted into a proof of the reasoning. -We may observe, that there are two relations, and both of them -resemblances, which contribute to our mistaking the succession of our -interrupted perceptions for an identical object. The first is, the -resemblance of the perceptions: the second is, the resemblance which -the act of the mind in surveying a succession of resembling objects, -bears to that in surveying an identical object. Now these resemblances -we are apt to confound with each other; and 'tis natural we should, -according to this very reasoning. But let us keep them distinct, and we -shall find no difficulty in conceiving the precedent argument.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7_84" id="Footnote_7_84"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_84"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> Sect. 6.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8_85" id="Footnote_8_85"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_85"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Sect. 5.</p> -</div> - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h5><a name="SECTION_III_dI" id="SECTION_III_dI">SECTION III.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF THE ANCIENT PHILOSOPHY.</h5> - - -<p>Several moralists have recommended it as an excellent method of -becoming acquainted with our own hearts, and knowing our progress in -virtue, to recollect our dreams in a morning, and examine them with the -same rigour that we would our most serious and most deliberate actions. -Our character is the same throughout, say they, and appears best -where artifice, fear and policy, have no place, and men can neither -be hypocrites with themselves nor others. The generosity or baseness -of our temper, our meekness or cruelty, our courage or pusillanimity, -influence the fictions of the imagination with the most unbounded -liberty, and discover themselves in the most glaring colours. In like -manner, I am persuaded, there might be several useful discoveries made -from a criticism of the fictions of the ancient philosophy concerning -<i>substances, and substantial forms, and accidents, and occult -qualities</i>, which, however unreasonable and capricious, have a very -intimate connexion with the principles of human nature.</p> - -<p>'Tis confessed by the most judicious philosophers, that our ideas of -bodies are nothing but collections<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> formed by the mind of the ideas of -the several distinct sensible qualities, of which objects are composed, -and which we find to have a constant union with each other. But however -these qualities may in themselves be entirely distinct, 'tis certain -we commonly regard the compound, which they form, as <i>one</i> thing, -and as continuing the <i>same</i> under very considerable alterations. -The acknowledged composition is evidently contrary to this supposed -<i>simplicity</i>, and the variation to the <i>identity</i>. It may therefore be -worth while to consider the <i>causes</i>, which make us almost universally -fall into such evident contradictions, as well as the <i>means</i> by which -we endeavour to conceal them.</p> - -<p>'Tis evident, that as the ideas of the several distinct <i>successive</i> -qualities of objects are united together by a very close relation, the -mind, in looking along the succession, must be carried from one part -of it to another by an easy transition, and will no more perceive the -change, than if it contemplated the same unchangeable object. This easy -transition is the effect, or rather essence of relation; and as the -imagination readily takes one idea for another, where their influence -on the mind is similar; hence it proceeds, that any such succession -of related qualities is readily considered as one continued object, -existing without any variation. The smooth and uninterrupted progress -of the thought, being alike in both cases, readily deceives the mind, -and makes us ascribe an identity to the changeable succession of -connected qualities.</p> - -<p>But when we alter our method of considering the succession, and, -instead of tracing it gradually through the successive points of time, -survey at once any two distinct periods of its duration, and compare -the different conditions of the successive qualities; in that case<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> -the variations, which were insensible when they arose gradually, do -now appear of consequence, and seem entirely to destroy the identity. -By this means there arises a kind of contrariety in our method of -thinking, from the different points of view, in which we survey the -object, and from the nearness or remoteness of those instants of time, -which we compare together. When we gradually follow an object in its -successive changes, the smooth progress of the thought makes us ascribe -an identity to the succession; because 'tis by a similar act of the -mind we consider an unchangeable object. When we compare its situation -after a considerable change the progress of the thought is broke; and -consequently we are presented with the idea of diversity; in order -to reconcile which contradictions the imagination is apt to feign -something unknown and invisible, which it supposes to continue the same -under all these variations; and this unintelligible something it calls -a <i>substance, or original and first matter</i>.</p> - -<p>We entertain a like notion with regard to the <i>simplicity</i> of -substances, and from like causes. Suppose an object perfectly simple -and indivisible to be presented, along with another object, whose -<i>co-existent</i> parts are connected together by a strong relation, 'tis -evident the actions of the mind, in considering these two objects, are -not very different. The imagination conceives the simple object at -once, with facility, by a single effort of thought, without change or -variation. The connexion of parts in the compound object has almost the -same effect, and so unites the object within itself, that the fancy -feels not the transition in passing from one part to another. Hence the -colour, taste, figure, solidity, and other qualities, combined in a -peach or melon, are conceived to form <i>one thing</i>; and that on account -of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> their close relation, which makes them affect the thought in the -same manner, as if perfectly uncompounded. But the mind rests not here. -Whenever it views the object in another light, it finds that all these -qualities are different, and distinguishable, and separable from each -other; which view of things being destructive of its primary and more -natural notions, obliges the imagination to feign an unknown something, -or <i>original</i> substance and matter, as a principle of union or cohesion -among these qualities, and as what may give the compound object a title -to be called one thing, notwithstanding its diversity and composition.</p> - -<p>The Peripatetic philosophy asserts the <i>original</i> matter to be -perfectly homogeneous in all bodies, and considers fire, water, earth, -and air, as of the very same substance, on account of their gradual -revolutions and changes into each other. At the same time it assigns to -each of these species of objects a distinct <i>substantial form</i>, which -it supposes to be the source of all those different qualities they -possess, and to be a new foundation of simplicity and identity to each -particular species. All depends on our manner of viewing the objects. -When we look along the insensible changes of bodies, we suppose all of -them to be of the same substance or essence. When we consider their -sensible differences, we attribute to each of them a substantial and -essential difference. And in order to indulge ourselves in both these -ways of considering our objects, we suppose all bodies to have at once -a substance and a substantial form.</p> - -<p>The notion of <i>accidents</i> is an unavoidable consequence of this method -of thinking with regard to substances and substantial forms; nor can -we forbear looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> upon colours, sounds, tastes, figures, and other -properties of bodies, as existences, which cannot subsist apart, -but require a subject of inhesion to sustain and support them. For -having never discovered any of these sensible qualities, where, for -the reasons above mentioned, we did not likewise fancy a substance -to exist; the same habit, which makes us infer a connexion betwixt -cause and effect, makes us here infer a dependence of every quality on -the unknown substance. The custom of imagining a dependence has the -same effect as the custom of observing it would have. This conceit, -however, is no more reasonable than any of the foregoing. Every quality -being a distinct thing from another, may be conceived to exist apart, -and may exist apart not only from every other quality, but from that -unintelligible chimera of a substance.</p> - -<p>But these philosophers carry their fictions still farther in their -sentiments concerning <i>occult qualities</i>, and both suppose a substance -supporting, which they do not understand, and an accident supported, -of which they have as imperfect an idea. The whole system, therefore, -is entirely incomprehensible, and yet is derived from principles as -natural as any of these above explained.</p> - -<p>In considering this subject, we may observe a gradation of three -opinions that rise above each other, according as the persons who -form them acquire new degrees of reason and knowledge. These opinions -are that of the vulgar, that of a false philosophy, and that of the -true; where we shall find upon inquiry, that the true philosophy -approaches nearer to the sentiments of the vulgar than to those of a -mistaken knowledge. 'Tis natural for men, in their common and careless -way of thinking, to imagine they perceive a connexion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> betwixt such -objects as they have constantly found united together; and because -custom has rendered it difficult to separate the ideas, they are apt -to fancy such a separation to be in itself impossible and absurd. But -philosophers, who abstract from the effects of custom, and compare -the ideas of objects, immediately perceive the falsehood of these -vulgar sentiments, and discover that there is no known connexion among -objects. Every different object appears to them entirely distinct and -separate; and they perceive that 'tis not from a view of the nature -and qualities of objects we infer one from another, but only when in -several instances we observe them to have been constantly conjoined. -But these philosophers, instead of drawing a just inference from this -observation, and concluding, that we have no idea of power or agency, -separate from the mind and belonging to causes; I say, instead of -drawing this conclusion, they frequently search for the qualities -in which this agency consists, and are displeased with every system -which their reason suggests to them, in order to explain it. They -have sufficient force of genius to free them from the vulgar error, -that there is a natural and perceivable connexion betwixt the several -sensible qualities and actions of matter, but not sufficient to keep -them from ever seeking for this connexion in matter or causes. Had -they fallen upon the just conclusion, they would have returned back -to the situation of the vulgar, and would have regarded all these -disquisitions with indolence and indifference. At present they seem to -be in a very lamentable condition, and such as the poets have given -us but a faint notion of in their descriptions of the punishment of -Sisyphus and Tantalus. For what can be imagined more tormenting than -to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> seek with eagerness what for ever flies us, and seek for it in a -place where 'tis impossible it can ever exist?</p> - -<p>But as Nature seems to have observed a kind of justice and compensation -in every thing, she has not neglected philosophers more than the rest -of the creation, but has reserved them a consolation amid all their -disappointments and afflictions. This consolation principally consists -in their invention of the words <i>faculty</i> and <i>occult quality</i>. For -it being usual, after the frequent use of terms, which are really -significant and intelligible, to omit the idea which we would express -by them, and preserve only the custom by which we recal the idea at -pleasure; so it naturally happens, that after the frequent use of -terms which are wholly insignificant and unintelligible, we fancy them -to be on the same footing with the precedent, and to have a secret -meaning which we might discover by reflection. The resemblance of their -appearance deceives the mind, as is usual, and makes us imagine a -thorough resemblance and conformity. By this means these philosophers -set themselves at ease, and arrive at last, by an illusion, at the -same indifference which the people attain by their stupidity, and true -philosophers by their moderate scepticism. They need only say, that -any phenomenon which puzzles them arises from a faculty or an occult -quality, and there is an end of all dispute and inquiry upon the matter.</p> - -<p>But among all the instances wherein the Peripatetics have shown they -were guided by every trivial propensity of the imagination, no one is -more remarkable than their <i>sympathies, antipathies, and horrors of -a vacuum</i>. There is a very remarkable inclination in human nature to -bestow on external objects the same emotions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> which it observes in -itself, and to find every where those ideas which are most present to -it. This inclination, 'tis true, is suppressed by a little reflection, -and only takes place in children, poets, and the ancient philosophers. -It appears in children, by their desire of beating the stones which -hurt them: in poets by their readiness to personify every thing; and in -the ancient philosophers, by these fictions of sympathy and antipathy. -We must pardon children, because of their age; poets, because they -profess to follow implicitly the suggestions of their fancy; but -what excuse shall we find to justify our philosophers in so signal a -weakness?</p> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h5><a name="SECTION_IV_dI" id="SECTION_IV_dI">SECTION IV.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF THE MODERN PHILOSOPHY.</h5> - - -<p>But here it may be objected, that the imagination, according to my own -confession, being the ultimate judge of all systems of philosophy, I -am unjust in blaming the ancient philosophers for making use of that -faculty, and allowing themselves to be entirely guided by it in their -reasonings. In order to justify myself, I must distinguish in the -imagination betwixt the principles which are permanent, irresistible, -and universal; such as the customary transition from causes to effects, -and from effects to causes: and the principles, which are changeable, -weak and irregular; such as those I have just now taken notice of. The -former are the foundation of all our thoughts and actions, so that -upon their removal, human nature must immediately perish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span> and go to -ruin. The latter are neither unavoidable to mankind, nor necessary, or -so much as useful in the conduct of life; but, on the contrary, are -observed only to take place in weak minds, and being opposite to the -other principles of custom and reasoning, may easily be subverted by a -due contrast and opposition. For this reason, the former are received -by philosophy, and the latter rejected. One who concludes somebody to -be near him, when he hears an articulate voice in the dark, reasons -justly and naturally; though that conclusion be derived from nothing -but custom, which infixes and enlivens the idea of a human creature, on -account of his usual conjunction with the present impression. But one, -who is tormented he knows not why, with the apprehension of spectres -in the dark, may perhaps be said to reason, and to reason naturally -too: but then it must be in the same sense that a malady is said to -be natural; as arising from natural causes, though it be contrary to -health, the most agreeable and most natural situation of man.</p> - -<p>The opinions of the ancient philosophers, their fictions of substance -and accident, and their reasonings concerning substantial forms and -occult qualities, are like the spectres in the dark, and are derived -from principles, which, however common, are neither universal nor -unavoidable in human nature. The <i>modern philosophy</i> pretends to be -entirely free from this defect, and to arise only from the solid, -permanent, and consistent principles of the imagination. Upon what -grounds this pretension is founded, must now be the subject of our -inquiry.</p> - -<p>The fundamental principle of that philosophy is the opinion concerning -colours, sounds, tastes, smells, heat and cold; which it asserts to -be nothing but impressions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> in the mind, derived from the operation -of external objects, and without any resemblance to the qualities of -the objects. Upon examination, I find only one of the reasons commonly -produced for this opinion to be satisfactory; viz. that derived from -the variations of those impressions, even while the external object, -to all appearance, continues the same. These variations depend upon -several circumstances. Upon the different situations of our health: -a man in a malady feels a disagreeable taste in meats, which before -pleased him the most. Upon the different complexions and constitutions -of men: that seems bitter to one, which is sweet to another. Upon the -difference of their external situation and position: colours reflected -from the clouds change according to the distance of the clouds, and -according to the angle they make with the eye and luminous body. Fire -also communicates the sensation of pleasure at one distance, and that -of pain at another. Instances of this kind are very numerous and -frequent.</p> - -<p>The conclusion drawn from them, is likewise as satisfactory as can -possibly be imagined. 'Tis certain, that when different impressions of -the same sense arise from any object, every one of these impressions -has not a resembling quality existent in the object. For as the same -object cannot, at the same time, be endowed with different qualities -of the same sense, and as the same quality cannot resemble impressions -entirely different; it evidently follows, that many of our impressions -have no external model or archetype. Now, from like effects we -presume like causes. Many of the impressions of colour, sound, &c., -are confessed to be nothing but internal existences, and to arise -from causes, which no ways resemble them. These impressions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> are in -appearance nothing different from the other impressions of colour, -sound, &c. We conclude, therefore, that they are, all of them, derived -from a like origin.</p> - -<p>This principle being once admitted, all the other doctrines of that -philosophy seem to follow by an easy consequence. For, upon the removal -of sounds, colours, heat, cold, and other sensible qualities, from the -rank of continued independent existences, we are reduced merely to -what are called primary qualities, as the only <i>real</i> ones, of which -we have any adequate notion. These primary qualities are extension and -solidity, with their different mixtures and modifications; figure, -motion, gravity and cohesion. The generation, increase, decay and -corruption of animals and vegetables, are nothing but changes of figure -and motion; as also the operations of all bodies on each other; of -fire, of light, water, air, earth, and of all the elements and powers -of nature. One figure and motion produces another figure and motion; -nor does there remain in the material universe any other principle, -either active or passive, of which we can form the most distant idea.</p> - -<p>I believe many objections might be made to this system; but at present -I shall confine myself to one, which is, in my opinion, very decisive. -I assert, that instead of explaining the operations of external objects -by its means, we utterly annihilate all these objects, and reduce -ourselves to the opinions of the most extravagant scepticism concerning -them. If colours, sounds, tastes and smells be merely perceptions, -nothing, we can conceive, is possessed of a real, continued, and -independent existence; not even motion, extension and solidity, which -are the primary qualities chiefly insisted on.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span></p> - -<p>To begin with the examination of motion; 'tis evident this is a quality -altogether inconceivable alone, and without a reference to some other -object. The idea of motion necessarily supposes that of a body moving. -Now, what is our idea of the moving body, without which motion is -incomprehensible? It must resolve itself into the idea of extension or -of solidity; and consequently the reality of motion depends upon that -of these other qualities.</p> - -<p>This opinion, which is universally acknowledged concerning motion, I -have proved to be true with regard to extension; and have shown that -'tis impossible to conceive extension but as composed of parts, endowed -with colour or solidity. The idea of extension is a compound idea; but -as it is not compounded of an infinite number of parts or inferior -ideas, it must at last resolve itself into such as are perfectly simple -and indivisible. These simple and indivisible parts not being ideas of -extension, must be nonentities, unless conceived as coloured or solid. -Colour is excluded from any real existence. The reality therefore of -our idea of extension depends upon the reality of that of solidity; nor -can the former be just while the latter is chimerical. Let us then lend -our attention to the examination of the idea of solidity.</p> - -<p>The idea of solidity is that of two objects, which, being impelled -by the utmost force, cannot penetrate each other, but still maintain -a separate and distinct existence. Solidity therefore is perfectly -incomprehensible alone, and without the conception of some bodies which -are solid, and maintain this separate and distinct existence. Now, -what idea have we of these bodies? The ideas of colours, sounds, and -other secondary qualities, are excluded. The idea of motion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> depends on -that of extension, and the idea of extension on that of solidity. 'Tis -impossible, therefore, that the idea of solidity can depend on either -of them. For that would be to run in a circle, and make one idea depend -on another, while, at the same time, the latter depends on the former. -Our modern philosophy, therefore, leaves us no just nor satisfactory -idea of solidity, nor consequently of matter.</p> - -<p>This argument will appear entirely conclusive to every one that -comprehends it; but because it may seem abstruse and intricate to -the generality of readers, I hope to be excused if I endeavour to -render it more obvious by some variation of the expression. In order -to form an idea of solidity, we must conceive two bodies pressing on -each other without any penetration; and 'tis impossible to arrive at -this idea, when we confine ourselves to one object, much more without -conceiving any. Two nonentities cannot exclude each other from their -places, because they never possess any place, nor can be endowed with -any quality. Now I ask, what idea do we form of these bodies or objects -to which we suppose solidity to belong? To say that we conceive them -merely as solid, is, to run on <i>in infinitum</i>. To affirm that we paint -them out to ourselves as extended, either resolves all into a false -idea, or returns in a circle. Extension must necessarily be considered -either as coloured, which is a false idea, or as solid, which brings us -back to the first question. We may make the same observation concerning -mobility and figure; and, upon the whole, must conclude, that after the -exclusion of colours, sounds, heat and cold, from the rank of external -existences, there remains nothing which can afford us a just and -consistent idea of body.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p> - -<p>Add to this, that, properly speaking, solidity or impenetrability is -nothing but an impossibility of annihilation, as has been already -observed:<a name="FNanchor_8_86" id="FNanchor_8_86"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_86" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> for which reason 'tis the more necessary for us to form -some distinct idea of that object whose annihilation we suppose -impossible. An impossibility of being annihilated cannot exist, and can -never be conceived to exist, by itself, but necessarily requires some -object or real existence to which it may belong. Now, the difficulty -still remains how to form an idea of this object or existence, without -having recourse to the secondary and sensible qualities.</p> - -<p>Nor must we omit, on this occasion, our accustomed method of examining -ideas by considering those impressions from which they are derived. -The impressions which enter by the sight and hearing, the smell and -taste, are affirmed by modern philosophy to be without any resembling -objects; and consequently the idea of solidity, which is supposed to -be real, can never be derived from any of these senses. There remains, -therefore, the feeling as the only sense that can convey the impression -which is original to the idea of solidity; and, indeed, we naturally -imagine that we feel the solidity of bodies, and need but touch any -object in order to perceive this quality. But this method of thinking -is more popular than philosophical, as will appear from the following -reflections.</p> - -<p>First, 'tis easy to observe, that though bodies are felt by means -of their solidity, yet the feeling is a quite different thing from -the solidity, and that they have not the least resemblance to each -other. A man who has the palsy in one hand has as perfect an idea of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> -impenetrability, when he observes that hand to be supported by the -table, as when he feels the same table with the other hand. An object -that presses upon any of our members meets with resistance; and that, -resistance, by the motion it gives to the nerves and animal spirits, -conveys a certain sensation to the mind; but it does not follow that -the sensation, motion and resistance, are any ways resembling.</p> - -<p>Secondly, the impressions of touch are simple impressions, except when -considered with regard to their extension; which makes nothing to the -present purpose: and from this simplicity I infer, that they neither -represent solidity, nor any real object. For let us put two cases, viz. -that of a man who presses a stone or any solid body with his hand, and -that of two stones which press each other; 'twill readily be allowed -that these two cases are not in every respect alike, but that in the -former there is conjoined with the solidity a feeling or sensation of -which there is no appearance in the latter. In order, therefore, to -make these two cases alike, 'tis necessary to remove some part of the -impression which the man feels by his hand, or organ of sensation; and -that being impossible in a simple impression, obliges us to remove the -whole, and proves that this whole impression has no archetype or model -in external objects; to which we may add, that solidity necessarily -supposes two bodies, along with contiguity and impulse; which being a -compound object, can never be represented by a simple impression. Not -to mention, that, though solidity continues always invariably the same, -the impressions of touch change every moment upon us, which is a clear -proof that the latter are not representations of the former.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span></p> - -<p>Thus there is a direct and total opposition betwixt our reason and our -senses; or, more properly speaking, betwixt those conclusions we form -from cause and effect, and those that persuade us of the continued and -independent existence of body. When we reason from cause and effect, we -conclude, that neither colour, sound, taste nor smell, have a continued -and independent existence. When we exclude these sensible qualities, -there remains nothing in the universe which has such an existence.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8_86" id="Footnote_8_86"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_86"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Part II. Sect. 4.</p></div> -<hr class="tb" /> - - - -<h5><a name="SECTION_V_dI" id="SECTION_V_dI">SECTION V.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF THE IMMATERIALITY OF THE SOUL.</h5> - - -<p>Having found such contradictions and difficulties in every system -concerning external objects, and in the idea of matter, which we fancy -so clear and determinate, we shall naturally expect still greater -difficulties and contradictions in every hypothesis concerning our -internal perceptions, and the nature of the mind, which we are apt -to imagine so much more obscure and uncertain. But in this we should -deceive ourselves. The intellectual world, though involved in infinite -obscurities, is not perplexed with any such contradictions as those we -have discovered in the natural. What is known concerning it, agrees -with itself; and what is unknown, we must be contented to leave so.</p> - -<p>'Tis true, would we hearken to certain philosophers, they promise to -diminish our ignorance; but I am afraid 'tis at the hazard of running -us into contradictions, from which the subject is of itself exempted. -These philosophers are the curious reasoners concerning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> the material -or immaterial substances, in which they suppose our perceptions to -inhere. In order to put a stop to these endless cavils on both sides, -I know no better method, than to ask these philosophers in a few -words, <i>What they mean by substance and inhesion?</i> And after they have -answered this question, 'twill then be reasonable, and not till then, -to enter seriously into the dispute.</p> - -<p>This question we have found impossible to be answered with regard to -matter and body; but besides that in the case of the mind it labours -under all the same difficulties, 'tis burthened with some additional -ones, which are peculiar to that subject. As every idea is derived from -a precedent impression, had we any idea of the substance of our minds, -we must also have an impression of it, which is very difficult, if not -impossible, to be conceived. For how can an impression represent a -substance, otherwise than by resembling it? And how can an impression -resemble a substance, since, according to this philosophy, it is not a -substance, and has none of the peculiar qualities or characteristics of -a substance?</p> - -<p>But leaving the question of <i>what may or may not be</i>, for that other -<i>what actually is</i>, I desire those philosophers, who pretend that we -have an idea of the substance of our minds, to point out the impression -that produces it, and tell distinctly after what manner that impression -operates, and from what object it is derived. Is it an impression of -sensation or reflection? Is it pleasant, or painful, or indifferent? -Does it attend us at all times, or does it only return at intervals? -If at intervals, at what times principally does it return, and by what -causes is it produced?</p> - -<p>If, instead of answering these questions, any one should evade -the difficulty, by saying, that the definition<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> of a substance is -<i>something which may exist by itself</i>, and that this definition ought -to satisfy us: should this be said, I should observe, that this -definition agrees to every thing that can possibly be conceived; -and never will serve to distinguish substance from accident, or the -soul from its perceptions. For thus I reason. Whatever is clearly -conceived, may exist; and whatever is clearly conceived, after any -manner, may exist after the same manner. This is one principle which -has been already acknowledged. Again, every thing which is different is -distinguishable, and every thing which is distinguishable is separable -by the imagination. This is another principle. My conclusion from both -is, that since all our perceptions are different from each other, -and from every thing else in the universe, they are also distinct -and separable, and may be considered as separately existent, and may -exist separately, and have no need of any thing else to support their -existence. They are therefore substances, as far as this definition -explains a substance.</p> - -<p>Thus, neither by considering the first origin of ideas, nor by means -of a definition, are we able to arrive at any satisfactory notion -of substance, which seems to me a sufficient reason for abandoning -utterly that dispute concerning the materiality and immateriality of -the soul, and makes me absolutely condemn even the question itself. We -have no perfect idea of any thing but of a perception. A substance is -entirely different from a perception. We have therefore no idea of a -substance. Inhesion in something is supposed to be requisite to support -the existence of our perceptions. Nothing appears requisite to support -the existence of a perception. We have therefore no idea of inhesion. -What possibility then of answering that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> question, <i>Whether perceptions -inhere in a material or immaterial substance</i>, when we do not so much -as understand the meaning of the question?</p> - -<p>There is one argument commonly employed for the immateriality of the -soul, which seems to me remarkable. Whatever is extended consists -of parts; and whatever consists of parts is divisible, if not in -reality, at least in the imagination. But 'tis impossible any thing -divisible can be <i>conjoined</i> to a thought or perception, which is a -being altogether inseparable and indivisible. For, supposing such a -conjunction, would the indivisible thought exist on the left or on -the right hand of this extended divisible body? On the surface or in -the middle? On the back or fore-side of it? If it be conjoined with -the extension, it must exist somewhere within its dimensions. If it -exist within its dimensions, it must either exist in one particular -part; and then that particular part is indivisible, and the perception -is conjoined only with it, not with the extension: or if the thought -exists in every part, it must also be extended, and separable, -and divisible, as well as the body, which is utterly absurd and -contradictory. For can any one conceive a passion of a yard in length, -a foot in breadth, and an inch in thickness? Thought therefore and -extension are qualities wholly incompatible, and never can incorporate -together into one subject.</p> - -<p>This argument affects not the question concerning the <i>substance</i> of -the soul, but only that concerning its <i>local conjunction</i> with matter; -and therefore it may not be improper to consider in general what -objects are, or are not susceptible of a local conjunction. This is a -curious question, and may lead us to some discoveries of considerable -moment.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p> - -<p>The first notion of space and extension is derived solely from the -senses of sight and feeling; nor is there anything, but what is -coloured or tangible, that has parts disposed after such a manner -as to convey that idea. When we diminish or increase a relish, 'tis -not after the same manner that we diminish or increase any visible -object; and when several sounds strike our hearing at once, custom and -reflection alone make us form an idea of the degrees of the distance -and contiguity of those bodies from which they are derived. Whatever -marks the place of its existence, either must be extended, or must be a -mathematical point, without parts or composition. What is extended must -have a particular figure, as square, round, triangular; none of which -will agree to a desire, or indeed to any impression or idea, except -of these two senses above-mentioned. Neither ought a desire, though -indivisible, to be considered as a mathematical point. For in that case -'twould be possible, by the addition of others, to make two, three, -four desires; and these disposed and situated in such a manner, as to -have a determinate length, breadth, and thickness; which is evidently -absurd.</p> - -<p>'Twill not be surprising after this, if I deliver a maxim, which is -condemned by several metaphysicians, and is esteemed contrary to the -most certain principles of human reason. This maxim is, <i>that an object -may exist, and yet be no where</i>: and I assert, that this is not only -possible, but that the greatest part of beings do and must exist after -this manner. An object may be said to be no where, when its parts are -not so situated with respect to each other, as to form any figure or -quantity; nor the whole with respect to other bodies so as to answer -to our notions of contiguity or distance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> Now, this is evidently the -case with all our perceptions and objects, except those of the sight -and feeling. A moral reflection cannot be placed on the right or on -the left hand of a passion; nor can a smell or sound be either of a -circular or a square figure.</p> - -<p>These objects and perceptions, so far from requiring any particular -place, are absolutely incompatible with it, and even the imagination -cannot attribute it to them. And as to the absurdity of supposing them -to be no where, we may consider, that if the passions and sentiments -appear to the perception to have any particular place, the idea of -extension might be derived from them, as well as from the sight and -touch; contrary to what we have already established. If they <i>appear</i> -not to have any particular place, they may possibly <i>exist</i> in the same -manner; since whatever we conceive is possible.</p> - -<p>'Twill not now be necessary to prove, that those perceptions, which -are simple, and exist no where, are incapable of any conjunction in -place with matter or body, which is extended and divisible; since 'tis -impossible to found a relation but on some common quality.<a name="FNanchor_9_87" id="FNanchor_9_87"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_87" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> It may -be better worth our while to remark, that this question of the local -conjunction of objects, does not only occur in metaphysical disputes -concerning the nature of the soul, but that even in common life we have -every moment occasion to examine it. Thus, supposing we consider a -fig at one end of the table, and an olive at the other, 'tis evident, -that, in forming the complex ideas of these substances, one of the most -obvious is that of their different relishes; and 'tis as evident, that -we incorporate and conjoin these<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> qualities with such as are coloured -and tangible. The bitter taste of the one, and sweet of the other, are -supposed to lie in the very visible body, and to be separated from -each other by the whole length of the table. This is so notable and so -natural an illusion, that it may be proper to consider the principles -from which it is derived.</p> - -<p>Though an extended object be incapable of a conjunction in place -with another that exists without any place or extension, yet are -they susceptible of many other relations. Thus the taste and smell -of any fruit are inseparable from its other qualities of colour and -tangibility; and whichever of them be the cause or effect, 'tis certain -they are always coexistent. Nor are they only coexistent in general, -but also cotemporary in their appearance in the mind; and 'tis upon -the application of the extended body to our senses we perceive its -particular taste and smell. These relations, then, of <i>causation, and -contiguity in the time of their appearance</i>, betwixt the extended -object and the quality, which exists without any particular place, -must have such an effect on the mind, that, upon the appearance of -one, it will immediately turn its thought to the conception of the -other. Nor is this all. We not only turn our thought from one to the -other upon account of their relation, but likewise endeavour to give -them a new relation, viz. that of <i>a conjunction in place</i>, that we -may render the transition more easy and natural. For 'tis a quality, -which I shall often have occasion to remark in human nature, and shall -explain more fully in its proper place, that, when objects are united -by any relation, we have a strong propensity to add some new relation -to them, in order to complete the union. In our arrangement of bodies, -we never fail to place<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> such as are resembling in contiguity to each -other, or, at least, in correspondent points of view: why? but because -we feel a satisfaction in joining the relation of contiguity to that -of resemblance, or the resemblance of situation to that of qualities. -The effects of this propensity have been already observed<a name="FNanchor_10_88" id="FNanchor_10_88"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_88" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> in that -resemblance, which we so readily suppose betwixt particular impressions -and their external causes. But we shall not find a more evident effect -of it than in the present instance, where, from the relations of -causation and contiguity in time betwixt two objects, we feign likewise -that of a conjunction in place, in order to strengthen the connexion.</p> - -<p>But whatever confused notions we may form of an union in place betwixt -an extended body, as a fig, and its particular taste, 'tis certain -that, upon reflection, we must observe in this union something -altogether unintelligible and contradictory. For, should we ask -ourselves one obvious question, viz. if the taste, which we conceive to -be contained in the circumference of the body, is in every part of it, -or in one only, we must quickly find ourselves at a loss, and perceive -the impossibility of ever giving a satisfactory answer. We cannot reply -that 'tis only in one part: for experience convinces us that every part -has the same relish. We can as little reply that it exists in every -part: for then we must suppose it figured and extended; which is absurd -and incomprehensible. Here, then, we are influenced by two principles, -directly contrary to each other, viz. that <i>inclination</i> of our fancy -by which we are determined to incorporate the taste with the extended -object, and our <i>reason</i>, which shows us the impossibility of such<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> an -union. Being divided betwixt these opposite principles, we renounce -neither one nor the other, but involve the subject in such confusion -and obscurity, that we no longer perceive the opposition. We suppose -that the taste exists within the circumference of the body, but in -such a manner, that it fills the whole without extension, and exists -entire in every part without separation. In short, we use, in our most -familiar way of thinking, that scholastic principle which, when crudely -proposed, appears so shocking, of <i>totum in toto, et totum in qualibet -parte</i>; which is much the same as if we should say, that a thing is in -a certain place, and yet is not there.</p> - -<p>All this absurdity proceeds from our endeavouring to bestow a place on -what is utterly incapable of it; and that endeavour again arises from -our inclination to complete an union which is founded on causation and -a contiguity of time, by attributing to the objects a conjunction in -place. But if ever reason be of sufficient force to overcome prejudice, -'tis certain that, in the present case, it must prevail. For we have -only this choice left, either to suppose that some beings exist without -any place, or that they are figured and extended; or that when they -are incorporated with extended objects, the whole is in the whole, and -the whole in every part. The absurdity of the two last suppositions -proves sufficiently the veracity of the first. Nor is there any fourth -opinion: For as to the supposition of their existence in the manner of -mathematical points, it resolves itself into the second opinion, and -supposes, that several passions may be placed in a circular figure, -and that a certain number of smells, conjoined with a certain number -of sounds, may make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> a body of twelve cubic inches; which appears -ridiculous upon the bare mentioning of it.</p> - -<p>But though in this view of things we cannot refuse to condemn, the -materialists, who conjoin all thought with extension; yet a little -reflection will show us equal reason for blaming their antagonists, -who conjoin all thought with a simple and indivisible substance. The -most vulgar philosophy informs us, that no external object can make -itself known to the mind immediately, and without the interposition of -an image or perception. That table, which just now appears to me, is -only a perception, and all its qualities are qualities of a perception. -Now, the most obvious of all its qualities is extension. The perception -consists of parts. These parts are so situated as to afford us the -notion of distance and contiguity, of length, breadth and thickness. -The termination of these three dimensions is what we call figure. This -figure is moveable, separable, and divisible. Mobility and separability -are the distinguishing properties of extended objects. And to cut short -all disputes, the very idea of extension is copied from nothing but an -impression, and consequently must perfectly agree to it. To say the -idea of extension agrees to any thing, is to say it is extended.</p> - -<p>The freethinker may now triumph in his turn; and having found there are -impressions and ideas really extended, may ask his antagonists, how -they can incorporate a simple and indivisible subject with an extended -perception? All the arguments of theologians may here be retorted -upon them. Is the indivisible subject or immaterial substance, if you -will, on the left or on the right hand of the perception? Is it in -this particular part, or in that other? Is it in every part without -being extended? Or is it entire in any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> one part without deserting the -rest? 'Tis impossible to give any answer to these questions but what -will both be absurd in itself, and will account for the union of our -indivisible perceptions with an extended substance.</p> - -<p>This gives me an occasion to take anew into consideration the question -concerning the substance of the soul; and though I have condemned that -question as utterly unintelligible, yet I cannot forbear proposing some -farther reflections concerning it. I assert, that the doctrine of the -immateriality, simplicity, and indivisibility of a thinking substance -is a true atheism, and will serve to justify all those sentiments for -which Spinoza is so universally infamous. From this topic I hope at -least to reap one advantage, that my adversaries will not have any -pretext to render the present doctrine odious by their declamations -when they see that they can be so easily retorted on them.</p> - -<p>The fundamental principle of the atheism of Spinoza is the doctrine -of the simplicity of the universe, and the unity of that substance -in which he supposes both thought and matter to inhere. There is -only one substance, says he, in the world, and that substance is -perfectly simple and indivisible, and exists every where without -any local presence. Whatever we discover externally by sensation, -whatever we feel internally by reflection, all these are nothing but -modifications of that one simple and necessarily existent being, and -are not possessed of any separate or distinct existence. Every passion -of the soul, every configuration of matter however different and -various, inhere in the same substance, and preserve in themselves their -characters of distinction, without communicating them to that subject -in which they inhere. The same <i>substratum</i>, if I may so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> speak, -supports the most different modifications without any difference in -itself, and varies them without any variation. Neither time, nor place, -nor all the diversity of nature are able to produce any composition or -change in its perfect simplicity and identity.</p> - -<p>I believe this brief exposition of the principles of that famous -atheist will be sufficient for the present purpose, and that without -entering farther into these gloomy and obscure regions, I shall be able -to show, that this hideous hypothesis is almost the same with that of -the immateriality of the soul, which has become so popular. To make -this evident, let us remember,<a name="FNanchor_11_89" id="FNanchor_11_89"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_89" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> that as every idea is derived from -a preceding perception, 'tis impossible our idea of a perception, and -that of an object or external existence, can ever represent what are -specifically different from each other. Whatever difference we may -suppose betwixt them, 'tis still incomprehensible to us; and we are -obliged, either to conceive an external object merely as a relation -without a relative, or to make it the very same with a perception or -impression.</p> - -<p>The consequence I shall draw from this may, at first sight, appear a -mere sophism; but upon the least examination will be found solid and -satisfactory. I say then, that since we may suppose, but never can -conceive, a specific difference betwixt an object and impression, -any conclusion we form concerning the connexion and repugnance of -impressions, will not be known certainly to be applicable to objects; -but that, on the other hand, whatever conclusions of this kind we form -concerning objects, will most certainly be applicable to impressions. -The reason is not difficult.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span> As an object is supposed to be different -from an impression, we cannot be sure, that the circumstance, upon -which we found our reasoning, is common to both, supposing we form the -reasoning upon the impression. 'Tis still possible, that the object may -differ from it in that particular. But when we first form our reasoning -concerning the object, 'tis beyond doubt, that the same reasoning -must extend to the impression: and that because the quality of the -object, upon which the argument is founded, must at least be conceived -by the mind, and could not be conceived, unless it were common to an -impression; since we have no idea but what is derived from that origin. -Thus we may establish it as a certain maxim, that we can never, by any -principle, but by an irregular kind of reasoning from experience,<a name="FNanchor_12_90" id="FNanchor_12_90"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_90" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> -discover a connexion or repugnance betwixt objects, which extends not -to impressions; though the inverse proposition may not be equally -true, that all the discoverable relations of impressions are common to -objects.</p> - -<p>To apply this to the present case; there are two different systems -of beings presented, to which I suppose myself under a necessity of -assigning some substance, or ground of inhesion. I observe first the -universe of objects or of body: the sun, moon, and stars; the earth, -seas, plants, animals, men, ships, houses, and other productions either -of art or nature. Here Spinoza appears, and tells me, that these -are only modifications and that the subject in which they inhere is -simple, uncompounded, and indivisible. After this I consider the other -system of beings, viz. the universe of thought, or my impressions and -ideas. There I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> observe another sun, moon, and stars; an earth, and -seas, covered and inhabited by plants and animals; towns, houses, -mountains, rivers; and in short every thing I can discover or conceive -in the first system. Upon my inquiring concerning these, theologians -present themselves, and tell me, that these also are modifications, and -modifications of one simple, uncompounded, and indivisible substance. -Immediately upon which I am deafened with the noise of a hundred -voices, that treat the first hypothesis with detestation and scorn, and -the second with applause and veneration. I turn my attention to these -hypotheses to see what may be the reason of so great a partiality; -and find that they have the same fault of being unintelligible, and -that, as far as we can understand them, they are so much alike, that -'tis impossible to discover any absurdity in one, which is not common -to both of them. We have no idea of any quality in an object, which -does not agree to, and may not represent a quality in an impression; -and that because all our ideas are derived from our impressions. We -can never therefore find any repugnance betwixt an extended object as -a modification, and a simple uncompounded essence, as its substance; -unless that repugnance takes place equally betwixt the perception or -impression of that extended object, and the same uncompounded essence. -Every idea of a quality in an object passes through an impression; -and therefore every <i>perceivable</i> relation, whether of connexion or -repugnance, must be common both to objects and impressions.</p> - -<p>But though this argument, considered in general, seems evident beyond -all doubt and contradiction, yet to make it more clear and sensible, -let us survey it in detail; and see whether all the absurdities, -which have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> been found in the system of Spinoza, may not likewise be -discovered in that of theologians.<a name="FNanchor_13_91" id="FNanchor_13_91"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_91" class="fnanchor">[13]</a></p> - -<p>First, it has been said against Spinoza, according to the scholastic -way of talking, rather than thinking, that a mode, not being any -distinct or separate existence, must be the very same with its -substance, and consequently the extension of the universe must be in -a manner identified with that simple, uncompounded essence in which -the universe is supposed to inhere. But this, it may be pretended, is -utterly impossible and inconceivable unless the indivisible substance -expand itself, so as to correspond to the extension, or the extension -contract itself, so as to answer to the indivisible substance. This -argument seems just, as far as we can understand it; and 'tis plain -nothing is required, but a change in the terms, to apply the same -argument to our extended perceptions, and the simple essence of the -soul; the ideas of objects and perceptions being in every respect the -same, only attended with the supposition of a difference, that is -unknown and incomprehensible.</p> - -<p>Secondly, it has been said, that we have no idea of substance, which -is not applicable to matter; nor any idea of a distinct substance, -which is not applicable to every distinct portion of matter. Matter -therefore is not a mode but a substance, and each part of matter is -not a distinct mode, but a distinct substance. I have already proved, -that we have no perfect idea of substance; but that taking it for -<i>something that can exist by itself</i>, 'tis evident every perception -is a substance, and every distinct part of a perception a distinct -substance: and consequently the one hypothesis labours<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span> under the same -difficulties in this respect with the other.</p> - -<p>Thirdly, it has been objected to the system of one simple substance in -the universe, that this substance, being the support or <i>substratum</i> -of every thing, must at the very same instant be modified into forms, -which are contrary and incompatible. The round and square figures -are incompatible in the same substance at the same time. How then is -it possible, that the same substance can at once be modified into -that square table, and into this round one? I ask the same question -concerning the impressions of these tables; and find that the answer is -no more satisfactory in one case than in the other.</p> - -<p>It appears, then, that to whatever side we turn, the same difficulties -follow us, and that we cannot advance one step towards the establishing -the simplicity and immateriality of the soul, without preparing the -way for a dangerous and irrecoverable atheism. 'Tis the same case, -if, instead of calling thought a modification of the soul, we should -give it the more ancient, and yet more modish name of an <i>action</i>. -By an action we mean much the same thing as what is commonly called -an abstract mode; that is, something which, properly speaking, is -neither distinguishable, nor separable from its substance, and is only -conceived by a distinction of reason, or an abstraction. But nothing is -gained by this change of the term of modification for that of action; -nor do we free ourselves from one single difficulty by its means, as -will appear from the two following reflections:</p> - -<p>First, I observe, that the word <i>action</i>, according to this explication -of it, can never justly be applied to any perception, as derived from a -mind or thinking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span> substance. Our perceptions are all really different, -and separable, and distinguishable from each other, and from every -thing else which we can imagine; and therefore, 'tis impossible to -conceive how they can be the action or abstract mode of any substance. -The instance of motion, which is commonly made use of to show after -what manner perception depends as an action upon its substance, rather -confounds than instructs us. Motion, to all appearance, induces no real -nor essential change on the body, but only varies its relation to other -objects. But, betwixt a person in the morning walking in a garden, -with company agreeable to him; and a person in the afternoon enclosed -in a dungeon, and full of terror, despair and resentment, there seems -to be a radical difference, and of quite another kind, than what is -produced on a body by the change of its situation. As we conclude from -the distinction and separability of their ideas, that external objects -have a separate existence from each other; so, when we make these ideas -themselves our objects, we must draw the same conclusion concerning -<i>them</i>, according to the precedent reasoning. At least, it must be -confessed, that having no idea of the substance of the soul, 'tis -impossible for us to tell how it can admit of such differences, and -even contrarieties of perception, without any fundamental change; and, -consequently, can never tell in what sense perceptions are actions of -that substance. The use, therefore, of the word <i>action</i>, unaccompanied -with any meaning, instead of that of modification, makes no addition -to our knowledge, nor is of any advantage to the doctrine of the -immateriality of the soul.</p> - -<p>I add, in the second place, that if it brings any advantage to that -cause, it must bring an equal to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> cause of atheism. For, do our -theologians pretend to make a monopoly of the word <i>action</i>, and may -not the atheists likewise take possession of it, and affirm that -other plants, animals, men, &c., are nothing but particular actions -of one simple universal substance, which exerts itself from a blind -and absolute necessity? This you'll say, is utterly absurd. I own -'tis unintelligible; but, at the same time assert, according to the -principles above explained, that 'tis impossible to discover any -absurdity in the supposition, that all the various objects in nature -are actions of one simple substance, which absurdity will not be -applicable to a like supposition concerning impressions and ideas.</p> - -<p>From these hypotheses concerning the <i>substance</i> and <i>local -conjunction</i> of our perceptions, we may pass to another, which is more -intelligible than the former, and more important than the latter, viz. -concerning the <i>cause</i> of our perceptions. Matter and motion, 'tis -commonly said in the schools, however varied, are still matter and -motion, and produce only a difference in the position and situation of -objects. Divide a body as often as you please, 'tis still body. Place -it in any figure, nothing ever results but figure, or the relation -of parts. Move it in any manner, you still find motion or a change -of relation. 'Tis absurd to imagine, that motion in a circle, for -instance, should be nothing but merely motion in a circle; while motion -in another direction, as in an ellipse, should also be a passion or -moral reflection: that the shocking of two globular particles should -become a sensation of pain, and that the meeting of two triangular ones -should afford a pleasure. Now as these different shocks and variations -and mixtures are the only changes of which matter is susceptible, and -as these never afford us<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> any idea of thought or perception, 'tis -concluded to be impossible, that thought can ever be caused by matter.</p> - -<p>Few have been able to withstand the seeming evidence of this argument; -and yet nothing in the world is more easy than to refute it. We need -only reflect on what has been proved at large, that we are never -sensible of any connexion betwixt causes and effects, and that 'tis -only by our experience of their constant conjunction, we can arrive -at any knowledge of this relation. Now, as all objects, which are not -contrary, are susceptible of a constant conjunction, and as no real -objects are contrary; I have inferred from these principles,<a name="FNanchor_14_92" id="FNanchor_14_92"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_92" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> that -to consider the matter <i>a priori</i>, any thing may produce any thing, -and that we shall never discover a reason, why any object may or may -not be the cause of any other, however great, or however little the -resemblance may be betwixt them. This evidently destroys the precedent -reasoning concerning the cause of thought or perception. For though -there appear no manner of connexion betwixt motion or thought, the -case is the same with all other causes and effects. Place one body -of a pound weight on one end of a lever, and another body of the -same weight on another end; you will never find in these bodies any -principle of motion dependent on their distances from the centre, more -than of thought and perception. If you pretend, therefore, to prove, -<i>a priori</i>, that such a position of bodies can never cause thought; -because, turn it which way you will, 'tis nothing but a position of -bodies; you must, by the same course of reasoning conclude, that it -can never produce motion; since there is no more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> apparent connexion -in the one case than in the other. But as this latter conclusion is -contrary to evident experience, and as 'tis possible we may have a like -experience in the operations of the mind, and may perceive a constant -conjunction of thought and motion; you reason too hastily, when, from -the mere consideration of the ideas, you conclude that 'tis impossible -motion can ever produce thought, or a different position of parts give -rise to a different passion or reflection. Nay, 'tis not only possible -we may have such an experience, but 'tis certain we have it; since -every one may perceive, that the different dispositions of his body -change his thoughts and sentiments. And should it be said, that this -depends on the union of soul and body, I would answer, that we must -separate the question concerning the substance of the mind from that -concerning the cause of its thought; and that, confining ourselves -to the latter question, we find, by the comparing their ideas, that -thought and motion are different from each other, and by experience, -that they are constantly united; which being all the circumstances that -enter into the idea of cause and effect, when applied to the operations -of matter, we may certainly conclude, that motion may be, and actually -is, the cause of thought and perception.</p> - -<p>There seems only this dilemma left us in the present case; either to -assert, that nothing can be the cause of another, but where the mind -can perceive the connexion in its idea of the objects: or to maintain, -that all objects which we find constantly conjoined, are upon that -account to be regarded as causes and effects. If we choose the first -part of the dilemma, these are the consequences. <i>First</i>, we in reality -affirm, that there is no such thing in the universe as a cause or -productive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> principle, not even the Deity himself; since our idea of -that Supreme Being is derived from particular impressions, none of -which contain any efficacy, nor seem to have <i>any</i> connexion with <i>any</i> -other existence. As to what may be said, that the connexion betwixt the -idea of an infinitely powerful Being and that of any effect, which he -wills, is necessary and unavoidable; I answer, that we have no idea of -a Being endowed with any power, much less of one endowed with infinite -power. But if we will change expressions, we can only define power by -connexion; and then in saying, that the idea of an infinitely powerful -Being is connected with that of every effect which he wills, we really -do no more than assert, that a Being, whose volition is connected with -every effect, is connected with every effect; which is an identical -proposition, and gives us no insight into the nature of this power or -connexion. But, <i>secondly</i>, supposing that the Deity were the great and -efficacious principle which supplies the deficiency of all causes, this -leads us into the grossest impieties and absurdities. For upon the same -account that we have recourse to him in natural operations, and assert -that matter cannot of itself communicate motion, or produce thought, -viz. because there is no apparent connexion betwixt these objects; I -say, upon the very same account, we must acknowledge that the Deity -is the author of all our volitions and perceptions; since they have -no more apparent connexion either with one another, or with the -supposed but unknown substance of the soul. This agency of the Supreme -Being we know to have been asserted by several philosophers<a name="FNanchor_15_93" id="FNanchor_15_93"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_93" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> with -relation to all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span> the actions of the mind, except volition, or rather -an inconsiderable part of volition; though 'tis easy to perceive, that -this exception is a mere pretext, to avoid the dangerous consequences -of that doctrine. If nothing be active but what has an apparent -power, thought is in no case any more active than matter; and if this -inactivity must make us have recourse to a Deity, the Supreme Being is -the real cause of all our actions, bad as well as good, vicious as well -as virtuous.</p> - -<p>Thus we are necessarily reduced to the other side of the dilemma, -viz. that all objects, which are found to be constantly conjoined, -are upon that account only to be regarded as causes and effects. Now, -as all objects which are not contrary, are susceptible of a constant -conjunction, and as no real objects are contrary; it follows, that, for -ought we can determine by the mere ideas, any thing may be the cause -or effect of any thing; which evidently gives the advantage to the -materialists above their antagonists.</p> - -<p>To pronounce, then, the final decision upon the whole: the question -concerning the substance of the soul is absolutely unintelligible: -all our perceptions are not susceptible of a local union, either with -what is extended or unextended; there being some of them of the one -kind, and some of the other: and as the constant conjunction of objects -constitutes the very essence of cause and effect, matter and motion -may often be regarded as the causes of thought, as far as we have any -notion of that relation.</p> - -<p>'Tis certainly a kind of indignity to philosophy, whose sovereign -authority ought every where to be acknowledged, to oblige her on every -occasion to make apologies for her conclusions, and justify herself -to every particular art and science, which may be offended<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> at her. -This puts one in mind of a king arraigned for high treason against -his subjects. There is only one occasion when philosophy will think -it necessary and even honourable to justify herself; and that is, -religion may seem to be in the least offended; whose rights are as dear -to her as her own, and are indeed the same. If any one, therefore, -should imagine that the foregoing arguments are any ways dangerous to -religion, I hope the following apology will remove his apprehensions.</p> - -<p>There is no foundation for any conclusion <i>a priori</i>, either concerning -the operations or duration of any object, of which 'tis possible for -the human mind to form a conception. Any object may be imagined to -become entirely inactive, or to be annihilated in a moment; and 'tis -an evident principle, <i>that whatever we can imagine is possible</i>. -Now this is no more true of matter, than of spirit; of an extended -compounded substance, than of a simple and unextended. In both cases -the metaphysical arguments for the immortality of the soul are equally -inconclusive; and in both cases the moral arguments and those derived -from the analogy of nature are equally strong and convincing. If my -philosophy therefore makes no addition to the arguments for religion, I -have at least the satisfaction to think it takes nothing from them, but -that every thing remains precisely as before.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_9_87" id="Footnote_9_87"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_87"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Part I. Sect. 5.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_10_88" id="Footnote_10_88"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_88"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> Sect 2, towards the end.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_11_89" id="Footnote_11_89"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_89"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> Part. II. Sect. 6.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_12_90" id="Footnote_12_90"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_90"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> Such as that of Sect. 2, from the coherence of our -perceptions.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_13_91" id="Footnote_13_91"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_91"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> See Bayle's Dictionary, article of Spinoza.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_14_92" id="Footnote_14_92"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_92"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> Part III. sect. 15.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_15_93" id="Footnote_15_93"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_93"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> As Father Malebranche and other Cartesians.</p></div> - - - -<hr class="tb" /> -<h5><a name="SECTION_VI_dI" id="SECTION_VI_dI">SECTION VI.</a></h5> - -<h5>OF PERSONAL IDENTITY.</h5> - - -<p>There are some philosophers, who imagine we are every moment intimately -conscious of what we call our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> <i>self</i>; that we feel its existence and -its continuance in existence; and are certain, beyond the evidence -of a demonstration, both of its perfect identity and simplicity. The -strongest sensation, the most violent passion, say they, instead of -distracting us from this view, only fix it the more intensely, and make -us consider their influence on <i>self</i> either by their pain or pleasure. -To attempt a farther proof of this were to weaken its evidence; since -no proof can be derived from any fact of which we are so intimately -conscious; nor is there any thing, of which we can be certain, if we -doubt of this.</p> - -<p>Unluckily all these positive assertions are contrary to that very -experience which is pleaded for them; nor have we any idea of <i>self</i>, -after the manner it is here explained. For, from what impression could -this idea be derived? This question 'tis impossible to answer without -a manifest contradiction and absurdity; and yet 'tis a question which -must necessarily be answered, if we would have the idea of self pass -for clear and intelligible. It must be some one impression that gives -rise to every real idea. But self or person is not any one impression, -but that to which our several impressions and ideas are supposed to -have a reference. If any impression gives rise to the idea of self, -that impression must continue invariably the same, through the whole -course of our lives; since self is supposed to exist after that manner. -But there is no impression constant and invariable. Pain and pleasure, -grief and joy, passions and sensations succeed each other, and never -all exist at the same time. It cannot therefore be from any of these -impressions, or from any other, that the idea of self is derived; and -consequently there is no such idea.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span></p> - -<p>But farther, what must become of all our particular perceptions upon -this hypothesis? All these are different, and distinguishable, and -separable from each other, and may be separately considered, and may -exist separately, and have no need of any thing to support their -existence. After what manner therefore do they belong to self, and how -are they connected with it? For my part, when I enter most intimately -into what I call <i>myself</i>, I always stumble on some particular -perception or other, of heat or cold, light or shade, love or hatred, -pain or pleasure. I never can catch <i>myself</i> at any time without a -perception, and never can observe any thing but the perception. When -my perceptions are removed for any time, as by sound sleep, so long am -I insensible of <i>myself</i>, and may truly be said not to exist. And were -all my perceptions removed by death, and could I neither think, nor -feel, nor see, nor love, nor hate, after the dissolution of my body, -I should be entirely annihilated, nor do I conceive what is farther -requisite to make me a perfect nonentity. If any one, upon serious and -unprejudiced reflection, thinks he has a different notion of <i>himself</i>, -I must confess I can reason no longer with him. All I can allow him is, -that he may be in the right as well as I, and that we are essentially -different in this particular. He may, perhaps, perceive something -simple and continued, which he calls <i>himself</i>; though I am certain -there is no such principle in me.</p> - -<p>But setting aside some metaphysicians of this kind, I may venture to -affirm of the rest of mankind, that they are nothing but a bundle or -collection of different perceptions, which succeed each other with an -inconceivable rapidity, and are in a perpetual flux and movement. Our -eyes cannot turn in their sockets without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> varying our perceptions. -Our thought is still more variable than our sight; and all our -other senses and faculties contribute to this change; nor is there -any single power of the soul, which remains unalterably the same, -perhaps for one moment. The mind is a kind of theatre, where several -perceptions successively make their appearance; pass, repass, glide -away, and mingle in an infinite variety of postures and situations. -There is properly no <i>simplicity</i> in it at one time, nor <i>identity</i> -in different, whatever natural propension we may have to imagine that -simplicity and identity. The comparison of the theatre must not mislead -us. They are the successive perceptions only, that constitute the mind; -nor have we the most distant notion of the place where these scenes are -represented, or of the materials of which it is composed.</p> - -<p>What then gives us so great a propension to ascribe an identity to -these successive perceptions, and to suppose ourselves possessed of an -invariable and uninterrupted existence through the whole course of our -lives? In order to answer this question, we must distinguish betwixt -personal identity, as it regards our thought or imagination, and as it -regards our passions or the concern we take in ourselves. The first -is our present subject; and to explain it perfectly we must take the -matter pretty deep, and account for that identity, which we attribute -to plants and animals; there being a great analogy betwixt it and the -identity of a self or person.</p> - -<p>We have a distinct idea of an object that remains invariable and -uninterrupted through a supposed variation of time; and this idea we -call that of <i>identity</i> or <i>sameness</i>. We have also a distinct idea -of several different objects existing in succession, and connected -together by a close relation; and this to an accurate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> view affords -as perfect a notion of <i>diversity</i>, as if there was no manner of -relation among the objects. But though these two ideas of identity, -and a succession of related objects, be in themselves perfectly -distinct, and even contrary, yet 'tis certain that, in our common -way of thinking, they are generally confounded with each other. That -action of the imagination, by which we consider the uninterrupted and -invariable object, and that by which we reflect on the succession of -related objects, are almost the same to the feeling; nor is there much -more effort of thought required in the latter case than in the former. -The relation facilitates the transition of the mind from one object -to another, and renders its passage as smooth as if it contemplated -one continued object. This resemblance is the cause of the confusion -and mistake, and makes us substitute the notion of identity, instead -of that of related objects. However at one instant we may consider -the related succession as variable or interrupted, we are sure the -next to ascribe to it a perfect identity, and regard it as invariable -and uninterrupted. Our propensity to this mistake is so great from -the resemblance above mentioned, that we fall into it before we are -aware; and though we incessantly correct ourselves by reflection, -and return to a more accurate method of thinking, yet we cannot long -sustain our philosophy, or take off this bias from the imagination. -Our last resource is to yield to it, and boldly assert that these -different related objects are in effect the same, however interrupted -and variable. In order to justify to ourselves this absurdity, we often -feign some new and unintelligible principle, that connects the objects -together, and prevents their interruption or variation. Thus, we feign -the continued existence of the perceptions of our senses, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span> remove -the interruption; and run into the notion of a <i>soul</i>, and <i>self</i>, and -<i>substance</i>, to disguise the variation. But, we may farther observe, -that where we do not give rise to such a fiction, our propension to -confound identity with relation is so great, that we are apt to imagine -something unknown and mysterious,<a name="FNanchor_16_94" id="FNanchor_16_94"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_94" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> connecting the parts, beside -their relation; and this I take to be the case with regard to the -identity we ascribe to plants and vegetables. And even when this does -not take place, we still feel a propensity to confound these ideas, -though we are not able fully to satisfy ourselves in that particular, -nor find any thing invariable and uninterrupted to justify our notion -of identity.</p> - -<p>Thus, the controversy concerning identity is not merely a dispute -of words. For, when we attribute identity, in an improper sense, -to variable or interrupted objects, our mistake is not confined to -the expression, but is commonly attended with a fiction, either of -something invariable and uninterrupted, or of something mysterious and -inexplicable, or at least with a propensity to such fictions. What -will suffice to prove this hypothesis to the satisfaction of every -fair inquirer, is to show, from daily experience and observation, that -the objects which are variable or interrupted, and yet are supposed -to continue the same, are such only as consist of a succession of -parts, connected together by resemblance, contiguity, or causation. -For as such a succession answers evidently to our notion of diversity, -it can only be by mistake we ascribe to it an identity;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> and as the -relation of parts, which leads us into this mistake, is really nothing -but a quality, which produces an association of ideas, and an easy -transition of the imagination from one to another, it can only be from -the resemblance, which this act of the mind bears to that by which we -contemplate one continued object, that the error arises. Our chief -business, then, must be to prove, that all objects, to which we ascribe -identity, without observing their invariableness and uninterruptedness, -are such as consist of a succession of related objects.</p> - -<p>In order to this, suppose any mass of matter, of which the parts are -contiguous and connected, to be placed before us; 'tis plain we must -attribute a perfect identity to this mass, provided all the parts -continue uninterruptedly and invariably the same, whatever motion or -change of place we may observe either in the whole or in any of the -parts. But supposing some very <i>small</i> or <i>inconsiderable</i> part to -be added to the mass, or subtracted from it; though this absolutely -destroys the identity of the whole, strictly speaking, yet as we seldom -think so accurately, we scruple not to pronounce a mass of matter -the same, where we find so trivial an alteration. The passage of the -thought from the object before the change to the object after it, is so -smooth and easy, that we scarce perceive the transition, and are apt to -imagine, that 'tis nothing but a continued survey of the same object.</p> - -<p>There is a very remarkable circumstance that attends this experiment; -which is, that though the change of any considerable part in a mass -of matter destroys the identity of the whole, yet we must measure -the greatness of the part, not absolutely, but by its <i>proportion</i> -to the whole. The addition or diminution of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> mountain would not be -sufficient to produce a diversity in a planet; though the change of a -very few inches would be able to destroy the identity of some bodies. -'Twill be impossible to account for this, but by reflecting that -objects operate upon the mind, and break or interrupt the continuity of -its actions, not according to their real greatness, but according to -their proportion to each other; and therefore, since this interruption -makes an object cease to appear the same, it must be the uninterrupted -progress of the thought which constitutes the imperfect identity.</p> - -<p>This may be confirmed by another phenomenon. A change in any -considerable part of a body destroys its identity; but 'tis remarkable, -that where the change is produced <i>gradually</i> and <i>insensibly</i>, we -are less apt to ascribe to it the same effect. The reason can plainly -be no other, than that the mind, in following the successive changes -of the body, feels an easy passage from the surveying its condition -in one moment, to the viewing of it in another, and in no particular -time perceives any interruption in its actions. From which continued -perception, it ascribes a continued existence and identity to the -object.</p> - -<p>But whatever precaution we may use in introducing the changes -gradually, and making them proportionable to the whole, 'tis certain, -that where the changes are at last observed to become considerable, we -make a scruple of ascribing identity to such different objects. There -is, however, another artifice, by which we may induce the imagination -to advance a step farther; and that is, by producing a reference of the -parts to each other, and a combination to some <i>common end</i> or purpose. -A ship, of which a considerable part has been changed by frequent -reparations, is still considered as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> the same; nor does the difference -of the materials hinder us from ascribing an identity to it. The -common end, in which the parts conspire, is the same under all their -variations, and affords an easy transition of the imagination from one -situation of the body to another.</p> - -<p>But this is still more remarkable, when we add a <i>sympathy</i> of parts -to their <i>common end</i>, and suppose that they bear to each other the -reciprocal relation of cause and effect in all their actions and -operations. This is the case with all animals and vegetables; where not -only the several parts have a reference to some general purpose, but -also a mutual dependence on, and connexion with, each other. The effect -of so strong a relation is, that though every one must allow, that in -a very few years both vegetables and animals endure a <i>total</i> change, -yet we still attribute identity to them, while their form, size and -substance, are entirely altered. An oak that grows from a small plant -to a large tree is still the same oak, though there be not one particle -of matter or figure of its parts the same. An infant becomes a man, and -is sometimes fat, sometimes lean, without any change in his identity.</p> - -<p>We may also consider the two following phenomena, which are remarkable -in their kind. The first is, that though we commonly be able to -distinguish pretty exactly betwixt numerical and specific identity, yet -it sometimes happens that we confound them, and in our thinking and -reasoning employ the one for the other. Thus, a man who hears a noise -that is frequently interrupted and renewed, says it is still the same -noise, though 'tis evident the sounds have only a specific identity or -resemblance, and there is nothing numerically the same but the cause -which produced them. In like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> manner it may be said, without breach -of the propriety of language, that such a church, which was formerly -of brick, fell to ruin, and that the parish rebuilt the same church -of freestone, and according to modern architecture. Here neither the -form nor materials are the same, nor is there any thing common to the -two objects but their relation to the inhabitants of the parish; and -yet this alone is sufficient to make us denominate them the same. But -we must observe, that in these cases the first object is in a manner -annihilated before the second comes into existence; by which means, -we are never presented, in any one point of time, with the idea of -difference and multiplicity; and for that reason are less scrupulous in -calling them the same.</p> - -<p>Secondly, we may remark, that though, in a succession of related -objects, it be in a manner requisite that the change of parts be not -sudden nor entire, in order to preserve the identity, yet where the -objects are in their nature changeable and inconstant, we admit of a -more sudden transition than would otherwise be consistent with that -relation. Thus, as the nature of a river consists in the motion and -change of parts, though in less than four-and-twenty hours these be -totally altered, this hinders not the river from continuing the same -during several ages. What is natural and essential to any thing is, -in a manner, expected; and what is expected makes less impression, -and appears of less moment than what is unusual and extraordinary. -A considerable change of the former kind seems really less to the -imagination than the most trivial alteration of the latter; and by -breaking less the continuity of the thought, has less influence in -destroying the identity.</p> - -<p>We now proceed to explain the nature of <i>personal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> identity</i>, which -has become so great a question in philosophy, especially of late -years, in England, where all the abstruser sciences are studied with a -peculiar ardour and application. And here 'tis evident the same method -of reasoning must be continued which has so successfully explained the -identity of plants, and animals, and ships, and houses, and of all the -compounded and changeable productions either of art or nature. The -identity which we ascribe to the mind of man is only a fictitious one, -and of a like kind with that which we ascribe to vegetables and animal -bodies. It cannot therefore have a different origin, but must proceed -from a like operation of the imagination upon like objects.</p> - -<p>But lest this argument should not convince the reader, though in my -opinion perfectly decisive, let him weigh the following reasoning, -which is still closer and more immediate. 'Tis evident that the -identity which we attribute to the human mind, however perfect we may -imagine it to be, is not able to run the several different perceptions -into one, and make them lose their characters of distinction and -difference, which are essential to them. 'Tis still true that every -distinct perception which enters into the composition of the mind, -is a distinct existence, and is different, and distinguishable, -and separable from every other perception, either contemporary or -successive. But as, notwithstanding this distinction and separability, -we [suppose] the whole train of perceptions to be united by identity, -a question naturally arises concerning this relation of identity, -whether it be something that really binds our several perceptions -together, or only associates their ideas in the imagination; that is, -in other words, whether, in pronouncing concerning the identity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> of a -person, we observe some real bond among his perceptions, or only feel -one among the ideas we form of them. This question we might easily -decide, if we would recollect what has been already proved at large, -that the understanding never observes any real connexion among objects, -and that even the union of cause and effect, when strictly examined, -resolves itself into a customary association of ideas. For from thence -it evidently follows, that identity is nothing really belonging to -these different perceptions, and uniting them together, but is merely -a quality which we attribute to them, because of the union of their -ideas in the imagination when we reflect upon them. Now, the only -qualities which can give ideas an union in the imagination, are these -three relations above mentioned. These are the uniting principles in -the ideal world, and without them every distinct object is separable -by the mind, and may be separately considered, and appears not to have -any more connexion with any other object than if disjoined by the -greatest difference and remoteness. 'Tis therefore on some of these -three relations of resemblance, contiguity and causation, that identity -depends; and as the very essence of these relations consists in their -producing an easy transition of ideas, it follows, that our notions of -personal identity proceed entirely from the smooth and uninterrupted -progress of the thought along a train of connected ideas, according to -the principles above explained.</p> - -<p>The only question, therefore, which remains is, by what relations this -uninterrupted progress of our thought is produced, when we consider -the successive existence of a mind or thinking person. And here 'tis -evident we must confine ourselves to resemblance and causation, and -must drop contiguity, which has little or no influence in the present -case.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span></p> - -<p>To begin with <i>resemblance</i>; suppose we could see clearly into the -breast of another, and observe that succession of perceptions which -constitutes his mind or thinking principle, and suppose that he always -preserves the memory of a considerable part of past perceptions, 'tis -evident that nothing could more contribute to the bestowing a relation -on this succession amidst all its variations. For what is the memory -but a faculty, by which we raise up the images of past perceptions? And -as an image necessarily resembles its object, must not the frequent -placing of these resembling perceptions in the chain of thought, convey -the imagination more easily from one link to another, and make the -whole seem like the continuance of one object? In this particular, -then, the memory not only discovers the identity, but also contributes -to its production, by producing the relation of resemblance among the -perceptions. The case is the same, whether we consider ourselves or -others.</p> - -<p>As to <i>causation</i>; we may observe, that the true idea of the human -mind, is to consider it as a system of different perceptions or -different existences, which are linked together by the relation of -cause and effect, and mutually produce, destroy, influence, and -modify each other. Our impressions give rise to their correspondent -ideas; and these ideas, in their turn, produce other impressions. One -thought chases another, and draws after it a third, by which it is -expelled in its turn. In this respect, I cannot compare the soul more -properly to any thing than to a republic or commonwealth, in which -the several members are united by the reciprocal ties of government -and subordination, and give rise to other persons who propagate the -same republic in the incessant changes of its parts. And as the same<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span> -individual republic may not only change its members, but also its -laws and constitutions; in like manner the same person may vary his -character and disposition, as well as his impressions and ideas, -without losing his identity. Whatever changes he endures, his several -parts are still connected by the relation of causation. And in this -view our identity with regard to the passions serves to corroborate -that with regard to the imagination, by the making our distant -perceptions influence each other, and by giving us a present concern -for our past or future pains or pleasures.</p> - -<p>As memory alone acquaints us with the continuance and extent of this -succession of perceptions, 'tis to be considered, upon that account -chiefly, as the source of personal identity. Had we no memory, we never -should have any notion of causation, nor consequently of that chain of -causes and effects, which constitute our self or person. But having -once acquired this notion of causation from the memory, we can extend -the same chain of causes, and consequently the identity of our persons -beyond our memory, and can comprehend times, and circumstances, and -actions, which we have entirely forgot, but suppose in general to have -existed. For how few of our past actions are there, of which we have -any memory? Who can tell me, for instance, what were his thoughts and -actions on the first of January 1715, the eleventh of March 1719, and -the third of August 1733? Or will he affirm, because he has entirely -forgot the incidents of these days, that the present self is not the -same person with the self of that time; and by that means overturn -all the most established notions of personal identity? In this view, -therefore, memory does not so much <i>produce</i> as <i>discover</i> personal -identity, by showing us the relation of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span> cause and effect among our -different perceptions. 'Twill be incumbent on those who affirm that -memory produces entirely our personal identity, to give a reason why we -can thus extend our identity beyond our memory.</p> - -<p>The whole of this doctrine leads us to a conclusion, which is of great -importance in the present affair, viz. that all the nice and subtile -questions concerning personal identity can never possibly be decided, -and are to be regarded rather as grammatical than as philosophical -difficulties. Identity depends on the relations of ideas; and these -relations produce identity, by means of that easy transition they -occasion. But as the relations, and the easiness of the transition may -diminish by insensible degrees, we have no just standard by which we -can decide any dispute concerning the time when they acquire or lose a -title to the name of identity. All the disputes concerning the identity -of connected objects are merely verbal, except so far as the relation -of parts gives rise to some fiction or imaginary principle of union, as -we have already observed.</p> - -<p>What I have said concerning the first origin and uncertainty of our -notion of identity, as applied to the human mind, may be extended -with little or no variation to that of <i>simplicity</i>. An object, whose -different coexistent parts are bound together by a close relation, -operates upon the imagination after much the same manner as one -perfectly simple and indivisible, and requires not a much greater -stretch of thought in order to its conception. From this similarity -of operation we attribute a simplicity to it, and feign a principle -of union as the support of this simplicity, and the centre of all the -different parts and qualities of the object.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span></p> - -<p>Thus we have finished our examination of the several systems of -philosophy, both of the intellectual and moral world; and, in our -miscellaneous way of reasoning, have been led into several topics, -which will either illustrate and confirm some preceding part of this -discourse, or prepare the way for our following opinions. 'Tis now time -to return to a more close examination of our subject, and to proceed in -the accurate anatomy of human nature, having fully explained the nature -of our judgment and understanding.</p> -<hr class="r5" /> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_16_94" id="Footnote_16_94"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_94"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> If the reader is desirous to see how a great genius may -be influenced by these seemingly trivial principles of the imagination, -as well as the mere vulgar, let him read my Lord Shaftsbury's -reasonings concerning the uniting principle of the universe, and the -identity of plants and animals. See his <i>Moralists</i>, or <i>Philosophical -Rhapsody</i>.</p></div> - - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<h5><a name="SECTION_VII_dI" id="SECTION_VII_dI">SECTION VII.</a></h5> - -<h5>CONCLUSION OF THIS BOOK.</h5> - - -<p>But before I launch out into those immense depths of philosophy which -lie before me, I find myself inclined to stop a moment in my present -station, and to ponder that voyage which I have undertaken, and which -undoubtedly requires the utmost art and industry to be brought to a -happy conclusion. Methinks I am like a man, who, having struck on many -shoals, and having narrowly escaped shipwreck in passing a small frith, -has yet the temerity to put out to sea in the same leaky weather-beaten -vessel, and even carries his ambition so far as to think of compassing -the globe under these disadvantageous circumstances. My memory of past -errors and perplexities makes me diffident for the future. The wretched -condition, weakness, and disorder of the faculties, I must employ in -my inquiries, increase my apprehensions. And the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> impossibility of -amending or correcting these faculties, reduces me almost to despair, -and makes me resolve to perish on the barren rock, on which I am at -present, rather than venture myself upon that boundless ocean which -runs out into immensity. This sudden view of my danger strikes me with -melancholy; and, as 'tis usual for that passion, above all others, to -indulge itself, I cannot forbear feeding my despair with all those -desponding reflections which the present subject furnishes me with in -such abundance.</p> - -<p>I am first affrighted and confounded with that forlorn solitude in -which I am placed in my philosophy, and fancy myself some strange -uncouth monster, who, not being able to mingle and unite in society, -has been expelled all human commerce, and left utterly abandoned and -disconsolate. Fain would I run into the crowd for shelter and warmth, -but cannot prevail with myself to mix with such deformity. I call -upon others to join me, in order to make a company apart, but no one -will hearken to me. Every one keeps at a distance, and dreads that -storm which beats upon me from every side. I have exposed myself to -the enmity of all metaphysicians, logicians, mathematicians, and even -theologians; and can I wonder at the insults I must suffer? I have -declared my disapprobation of their systems; and can I be surprised -if they should express a hatred of mine and of my person? When I look -abroad, I foresee on every side dispute, contradiction, anger, calumny -and detraction. When I turn my eye inward, I find nothing but doubt and -ignorance. All the world conspires to oppose and contradict me; though -such is my weakness, that I feel all my opinions loosen and fall of -themselves, when unsupported by the approbation of others. Every step -I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> take is with hesitation, and every new reflection makes me dread an -error and absurdity in my reasoning.</p> - -<p>For with what confidence can I venture upon such bold enterprises, -when, beside those numberless infirmities peculiar to myself, I find so -many which are common to human nature? Can I be sure that, in leaving -all established opinions, I am following truth? and by what criterion -shall I distinguish her, even if fortune should at last guide me on -her footsteps? After the most accurate and exact of my reasonings, I -can give no reason why I should assent to it, and feel nothing but a -<i>strong</i> propensity to consider objects <i>strongly</i> in that view under -which they appear to me. Experience is a principle which instructs me -in the several conjunctions of objects for the past. Habit is another -principle which determines me to expect the same for the future; and -both of them conspiring to operate upon the imagination, make me form -certain ideas in a more intense and lively manner than others which -are not attended with the same advantages. Without this quality, by -which the mind enlivens some ideas beyond others (which seemingly is so -trivial, and so little founded on reason), we could never assent to any -argument, nor carry our view beyond those few objects which are present -to our senses. Nay, even to these objects we could never attribute any -existence but what was dependent on the senses, and must comprehend -them entirely in that succession of perceptions which constitutes our -self or person. Nay, farther, even with relation to that succession, we -could only admit of those perceptions which are immediately present to -our consciousness; nor could those lively images, with which the memory -presents us, be ever received as true pictures of past perceptions. The -memory, senses, and understanding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> are therefore all of them founded on -the imagination, or the vivacity of our ideas.</p> - -<p>No wonder a principle so inconstant and fallacious should lead us into -errors when implicitly followed (as it must be) in all its variations. -'Tis this principle which makes us reason from causes and effects; and -'tis the same principle which convinces us of the continued existence -of external objects when absent from the senses. But though these two -operations be equally natural and necessary in the human mind, yet in -some circumstances they are directly contrary;<a name="FNanchor_17_95" id="FNanchor_17_95"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_95" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> nor is it possible -for us to reason justly and regularly from causes and effects, and at -the same time believe the continued existence of matter. How then shall -we adjust those principles together? Which of them shall we prefer? Or -in case we prefer neither of them, but successively assent to both, as -is usual among philosophers, with what confidence can we afterwards -usurp that glorious title, when we thus knowingly embrace a manifest -contradiction?</p> - -<p>This contradiction<a name="FNanchor_18_96" id="FNanchor_18_96"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_96" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> would be more excusable were it compensated -by any degree of solidity and satisfaction in the other parts of our -reasoning. But the case is quite contrary. When we trace up the human -understanding to its first principles, we find it to lead us into -such sentiments as seem to turn into ridicule all our past pains and -industry, and to discourage us from future inquiries. Nothing is more -curiously inquired after by the mind of man than the causes of every -phenomenon; nor are we content with knowing the immediate causes, but -push on our inquiries till we arrive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span> at the original and ultimate -principle. We would not willingly stop before we are acquainted with -that energy in the cause by which it operates on its effect; that tie, -which connects them together; and that efficacious quality on which -the tie depends. This is our aim in all our studies and reflections: -and how must we be disappointed when we learn that this connexion, -tie, or energy lies merely in ourselves, and is nothing but that -determination of the mind which is acquired by custom, and causes us -to make a transition from an object to its usual attendant, and from -the impression of one to the lively idea of the other? Such a discovery -not only cuts off all hope of ever attaining satisfaction, but even -prevents our very wishes; since it appears, that when we say we desire -to know the ultimate and operating principle as something which resides -in the external object, we either contradict ourselves, or talk without -a meaning.</p> - -<p>This deficiency in our ideas is not indeed perceived in common life, -nor are we sensible that, in the most usual conjunctions of cause and -effect, we are as ignorant of the ultimate principle which binds them -together, as in the most unusual and extraordinary. But this proceeds -merely from an illusion of the imagination; and the question is, -how far we ought to yield to these illusions. This question is very -difficult, and reduces us to a very dangerous dilemma, whichever way we -answer it. For if we assent to every trivial suggestion of the fancy, -beside that these suggestions are often contrary to each other, they -lead us into such errors, absurdities, and obscurities, that we must -at last become ashamed of our credulity. Nothing is more dangerous to -reason than the flights of the imagination,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> and nothing has been the -occasion of more mistakes among philosophers. Men of bright fancies -may in this respect be compared to those angels, whom the Scripture -represents as covering their eyes with their wings. This has already -appeared in so many instances, that we may spare ourselves the trouble -of enlarging upon it any farther.</p> - -<p>But, on the other hand, if the consideration of these instances makes -us take a resolution to reject all the trivial suggestions of the -fancy, and adhere to the understanding, that is, to the general and -more established properties of the imagination; even this resolution, -if steadily executed, would be dangerous, and attended with the -most fatal consequences. For I have already shown,<a name="FNanchor_19_97" id="FNanchor_19_97"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_97" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> that the -understanding, when it acts alone, and according to its most general -principles, entirely subverts itself, and leaves not the lowest degree -of evidence in any proposition, either in philosophy or common life. -We save ourselves from this total scepticism only by means of that -singular and seemingly trivial property of the fancy, by which we -enter with difficulty into remote views of things, and are not able to -accompany them with so sensible an impression, as we do those which -are more easy and natural. Shall we, then, establish it for a general -maxim, that no refined or elaborate reasoning is ever to be received? -Consider well the consequences of such a principle. By this means you -cut off entirely all science and philosophy: you proceed upon one -singular quality of the imagination, and by a parity of reason must -embrace all of them: and you expressly contradict yourself;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span> since this -maxim must be built on the preceding reasoning, which will be allowed -to be sufficiently refined and metaphysical. What party, then, shall -we choose among these difficulties? If we embrace this principle, -and condemn all refined reasoning, we run into the most manifest -absurdities. If we reject it in favour of these reasonings, we subvert -entirely the human understanding. We have therefore no choice left, -but betwixt a false reason and none at all. For my part, I know not -what ought to be done in the present case. I can only observe what -is commonly done; which is, that this difficulty is seldom or never -thought of; and even where it has once been present to the mind, is -quickly forgot, and leaves but a small impression behind it. Very -refined reflections have little or no influence upon us; and yet we do -not, and cannot establish it for a rule, that they ought not to have -any influence; which implies a manifest contradiction.</p> - -<p>But what have I here said, that reflections very refined and -metaphysical have little or no influence upon us? This opinion I can -scarce forbear retracting, and condemning from my present feeling and -experience. The <i>intense</i> view of these manifold contradictions and -imperfections in human reason has so wrought upon me, and heated my -brain, that I am ready to reject all belief and reasoning, and can -look upon no opinion even as more probable or likely than another. -Where am I, or what? From what causes do I derive my existence, and to -what condition shall I return? Whose favour shall I court, and whose -anger must I dread? What beings surround me? and on whom have I any -influence, or who have any influence on me? I am confounded with all -these questions, and begin to fancy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span> myself in the most deplorable -condition imaginable, environed with the deepest darkness, and utterly -deprived of the use of every member and faculty.</p> - -<p>Most fortunately it happens, that since reason is incapable of -dispelling these clouds, Nature herself suffices to that purpose, and -cures me of this philosophical melancholy and delirium, either by -relaxing this bent of mind, or by some avocation, and lively impression -of my senses, which obliterate all these chimeras. I dine, I play a -game of backgammon, I converse, and am merry with my friends; and -when, after three or four hours' amusement, I would return to these -speculations, they appear so cold, and strained, and ridiculous, that I -cannot find in my heart to enter into them any farther.</p> - -<p>Here, then, I find myself absolutely and necessarily determined to -live, and talk, and act like other people in the common affairs of -life. But notwithstanding that my natural propensity, and the course -of my animal spirits and passions reduce me to this indolent belief -in the general maxims of the world, I still feel such remains of my -former disposition, that I am ready to throw all my books and papers -into the fire, and resolve never more to renounce the pleasures of life -for the sake of reasoning and philosophy. For those are my sentiments -in that splenetic humour which governs me at present. I may, nay I -must yield to the current of nature, in submitting to my senses and -understanding; and in this blind submission I show most perfectly my -sceptical disposition and principles. But does it follow that I must -strive against the current of nature, which leads me to indolence -and pleasure; that I must seclude myself, in some measure, from the -commerce<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> and society of men, which is so agreeable; and that I must -torture my brain with subtilties and sophistries, at the very time that -I cannot satisfy myself concerning the reasonableness of so painful an -application, nor have any tolerable prospect of arriving by its means -at truth and certainty? Under what obligation do I lie of making such -an abuse of time? And to what end can it serve, either for the service -of mankind, or for my own private interest? No: if I must be a fool, as -all those who reason or believe any thing <i>certainly</i> are, my follies -shall at least be natural and agreeable. Where I strive against my -inclination, I shall have a good reason for my resistance; and will no -more be led a wandering into such dreary solitudes, and rough passages, -as I have hitherto met with.</p> - -<p>These are the sentiments of my spleen and indolence; and indeed I must -confess, that philosophy has nothing to oppose to them, and expects a -victory more from the returns of a serious good-humoured disposition, -than from the force of reason and conviction. In all the incidents of -life, we ought still to preserve our scepticism. If we believe that -fire warms, or water refreshes, 'tis only because it costs us too much -pains to think otherwise. Nay, if we are philosophers, it ought only to -be upon sceptical principles, and from an inclination which we feel to -the employing ourselves after that manner. Where reason is lively, and -mixes itself with some propensity, it ought to be assented to. Where it -does not, it never can have any title to operate upon us.</p> - -<p>At the time, therefore, that I am tired with amusement and company, -and have indulged a <i>reverie</i> in my chamber, or in a solitary walk -by a river side, I feel my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span> mind all collected within itself, and am -naturally <i>inclined</i> to carry my view into all those subjects, about -which I have met with so many disputes in the course of my reading and -conversation. I cannot forbear having a curiosity to be acquainted with -the principles of moral good and evil, the nature and foundation of -government, and the cause of those several passions and inclinations -which actuate and govern me. I am uneasy to think I approve of one -object, and disapprove of another; call one thing beautiful, and -another deformed; decide concerning truth and falsehood, reason and -folly, without knowing upon what principles I proceed. I am concerned -for the condition of the learned world, which lies under such a -deplorable ignorance in all these particulars. I feel an ambition to -arise in me of contributing to the instruction of mankind, and of -acquiring a name by my inventions and discoveries. These sentiments -spring up naturally in my present disposition; and should I endeavour -to banish them, by attaching myself to any other business or diversion, -I <i>feel</i> I should be a loser in point of pleasure; and this is the -origin of my philosophy.</p> - -<p>But even suppose this curiosity and ambition should not transport -me into speculations without the sphere of common life, it would -necessarily happen, that from my very weakness I must be led into such -inquiries. 'Tis certain that superstition is much more bold in its -systems and hypotheses than philosophy; and while the latter contents -itself with assigning new causes and principles to the phenomena which -appear in the visible world, the former opens a world of its own, and -presents us with scenes, and beings, and objects, which are altogether -new. Since, therefore, 'tis almost impossible<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> for the mind of man to -rest, like those of beasts, in that narrow circle of objects, which -are the subject of daily conversation and action, we ought only to -deliberate concerning the choice of our guide, and ought to prefer that -which is safest and most agreeable. And in this respect I make bold to -recommend philosophy, and shall not scruple to give it the preference -to superstition of every kind or denomination. For as superstition -arises naturally and easily from the popular opinions of mankind, it -seizes more strongly on the mind, and is often able to disturb us in -the conduct of our lives and actions. Philosophy, on the contrary, if -just, can present us only with mild and moderate sentiments; and if -false and extravagant, its opinions are merely the objects of a cold -and general speculation, and seldom go so far as to interrupt the -course of our natural propensities. The <i>Cynics</i> are an extraordinary -instance of philosophers, who, from reasonings purely philosophical, -ran into as great extravagancies of conduct as any <i>monk</i> or <i>dervise</i> -that ever was in the world. Generally speaking, the errors in religion -are dangerous; those in philosophy only ridiculous.</p> - -<p>I am sensible, that these two cases of the strength and weakness of the -mind will not comprehend all mankind, and that there are in England, -in particular, many honest gentlemen, who, being always employed in -their domestic affairs, or amusing themselves in common recreations, -have carried their thoughts very little beyond those objects, which -are every day exposed to their senses. And indeed, of such as these I -pretend not to make philosophers, nor do I expect them either to be -associates in these researches, or auditors<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span> of these discoveries. They -do well to keep themselves in their present situation; and, instead -of refining them into philosophers, I wish we could communicate to -our founders of systems, a share of this gross earthy mixture, as an -ingredient, which they commonly stand much in need of, and which would -serve to temper those fiery particles, of which they are composed. -While a warm imagination is allowed to enter into philosophy, and -hypotheses embraced merely for being specious and agreeable, we can -never have any steady principles, nor any sentiments, which will suit -with common practice and experience. But were these hypotheses once -removed, we might hope to establish a system or set of opinions, which -if not true (for that, perhaps, is too much to be hoped for), might at -least be satisfactory to the human mind, and might stand the test of -the most critical examination. Nor should we despair of attaining this -end, because of the many chimerical systems, which have successively -arisen and decayed away among men, would we consider the shortness of -that period, wherein these questions have been the subjects of inquiry -and reasoning. Two thousand years with such long interruptions, and -under such mighty discouragements, are a small space of time to give -any tolerable perfection to the sciences; and perhaps we are still in -too early an age of the world to discover any principles, which will -bear the examination of the latest posterity. For my part, my only hope -is, that I may contribute a little to the advancement of knowledge, -by giving in some particulars a different turn to the speculations of -philosophers, and pointing out to them more distinctly those subjects, -where alone they can expect assurance and conviction.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> Human Nature is -the only science of man; and yet has been hitherto the most neglected. -'Twill be sufficient for me, if I can bring it a little more into -fashion; and the hope of this serves to compose my temper from that -spleen, and invigorate it from that indolence, which sometimes prevail -upon me. If the reader finds himself in the same easy disposition, -let him follow me in my future speculations. If not, let him follow -his inclination, and wait the returns of application and good humour. -The conduct of a man who studies philosophy in this careless manner, -is more truly sceptical than that of one who, feeling in himself an -inclination to it, is yet so overwhelmed with doubts and scruples, -as totally to reject it. A true sceptic will be diffident of his -philosophical doubts, as well as of his philosophical conviction; and -will never refuse any innocent satisfaction which offers itself, upon -account of either of them.</p> - -<p>Nor is it only proper we should in general indulge our inclination -in the most elaborate philosophical researches, notwithstanding our -sceptical principles, but also that we should yield to that propensity, -which inclines us to be positive and certain in <i>particular points</i>, -according to the light in which we survey them in any <i>particular -instant</i>. 'Tis easier to forbear all examination and inquiry, than -to check ourselves in so natural a propensity, and guard against -that assurance, which always arises from an exact and full survey -of an object. On such an occasion we are apt not only to forget our -scepticism, but even our modesty too; and make use of such terms as -these, <i>'tis evident, 'tis certain, 'tis undeniable</i>; which a due -deference to the public ought, perhaps, to prevent. I may have fallen -into this fault after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span> the example of others; but I here enter a -<i>caveat</i> against any objections which may be offered on that head; and -declare that such expressions were extorted from me by the present view -of the object, and imply no dogmatical spirit, nor conceited idea of -my own judgment, which are sentiments that I am sensible can become -nobody, and a sceptic still less than any other.</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_17_95" id="Footnote_17_95"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_95"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> Sect. 4.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_18_96" id="Footnote_18_96"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_96"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> Part III. Sect. 14.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_19_97" id="Footnote_19_97"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_97"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> Section 1.</p></div> - - -<h4>END OF VOLUME FIRST.</h4> - -<p style="margin-left: 10%;"> -<span class="caption">INDEX.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Abasement, consequence of superstition, iv. 479.<br /> -Abilities, natural, mecit of, ii. 398, 406.<br /> -Abstract or general ideas, how formed, i. <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>.<br /> -Abstract reasoning, objectionable, iv. 10, 182.<br /> -Absurdity, not peculiar to the ancient mythology, iv. 481.<br /> -Academic philosophy, excellence of, iv. 50, 175.<br /> -Accession, right of, ii. 282, (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Acheans, their democracy the most perfect, iii. 517<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their numbers, 481.</span><br /> -Acquaintance, a source of attachment, ii. 95.<br /> -Actions, virtuous, what constitutes, ii. 246, 361<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—moral distinctions of, iv. 305, 351.</span><br /> -Addison, iii. 101—quoted, 152, 218—iv. 204.<br /> -Ĉlius Lampridius, iii. 467.<br /> -Ĉschines, iii. 363, 476, 454.<br /> -Ĉschines Socraticus, iv. 406.<br /> -Ĉtolians, their numbers, iii. 481.<br /> -Ĉgina, number of slaves in, iii. 478<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—factions in, iv. 505.</span><br /> -Agathocles, his cruelty, iii. 455, (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Age, golden, a fiction, ii. 264—iv. 259.<br /> -Agreeableness, a source of attachment, iv. 327, 339.<br /> -Agriculture, iii. 293<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—how best encouraged, 465.</span><br /> -Agrigentum, number of its inhabitants, iii. 468.<br /> -Agrippa, saying of, iv. 457.<br /> -Alcibiades, his policy, iii. 375.<br /> -Alcoran, its ethics, iii. 258.<br /> -Alexander, the impostor, iv. 139.<br /> -Alexander the Great, saying of, ii. 390—iv. 329<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—his cruelty, iii. 479, (<i>Note</i>)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—his toleration, iv. 477</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—his emulation of Bacchus, 479.</span><br /> -Alexandria, ancient, its size and population, iii. 488, (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Allegiance, foundation of, ii. 321—iv, 278<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—obligations to, ii. 325, 332</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—objects of, 338, &c.—iii. 526</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—measure of, 520, 534.</span><br /> -Allegory, natural to polytheism, iv. 458.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—of love and Hyraen, iv. 526,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—of virtue and vice, iv. 520.<br /> -Ambitious Stepmother, play of, iii. 254.<br /> -American tribes, some without government, ii. 319.<br /> -Anacharsis, an observation of, iii. 321.<br /> -Anacreon, iv. 423.<br /> -Analogy, a source of probability, i. <a href="#Page_190">190</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—use of, in reasoning, iv. 121.</span><br /> -Analogies, their use in jurisprudence, iv. 267, 393.<br /> -Anaxagoras, a theist, yet accused of atheism, iv. 456, (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Ancillarioli, a term of reproach, iv. 427, (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Anger, different from hatred, ii. 113—when vicious, 397.<br /> -Animals, their reason, i. <a href="#Page_232">232</a>—iv. 122, &c.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their, pride and humility, ii. 63</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their affections and passions, 148</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—national character of, iii. 229.</span><br /> -Antients, their philosophy imperfect, i. <a href="#Page_282">282</a>—ii. 11<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their notions of virtue, iv. 403.</span><br /> -Antient nations, their public treasures, iii. 391<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their bloody wars, 449.</span><br /> -Anthropomorphites, ii. 460<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—consequences of their principles, 468.</span><br /> -Antipater, his repartee, iii. 198.<br /> -Antioch, its size, iii. 488.<br /> -Antoninus Marcus, his superstition, iv. 495.<br /> -Appian, on the riches of the Ptolemies, iii, 364<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—quoted, 417, 440, 446, 450, 453, 459, 470—iv. 415</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—on the population of Gaul, iii. 498.</span><br /> -Areopagites, iii. 114—iv. 461.<br /> -Ariosto, his character as a writer, iii. 262.<br /> -Aristides, the sophist, his account of Rome, iii. 483, (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Aristocracy, Polish and Venetian, compared, iii. 16.<br /> -Aristophanes, quoted, iii. 435<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—his representations of the gods not deemed impious, iv. 452.</span><br /> -Aristotle, quoted, iii. 241, 435, 478, 491, 404—iv. 27, 342, 404, 444.<br /> -Armenians, their probity, iii. 232.<br /> -Arminians in Holland, friends of liberty, iii. 70.<br /> -Armstrong, Dr, quoted, iv. 402.<br /> -Arnobius, quoted, iv. 453, 461.<br /> -Artaxerxes, his right to the throne, ii. 343.<br /> -Arts mechanical, advantageous, iii. 298.<br /> -Arrian, quoted, iii. 22, 142, 391, 462—iv. 477, 479.<br /> -Atheism, whether possible, iv; 174.<br /> -Athensus, quoted, iii. 474, 478, (<i>Note</i>.) 503.<br /> -Athens, its extent, iii. 290<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—its wealth, 363, 462</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—its population, 473, 475</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—its statistics, 477, 517.</span><br /> -Athenians, their extraordinary regard for justice, ii. 180<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their character, iii. 232—iv. 416</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their democracy, iii, 412, 461</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their tyranny, 456</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their expenses, 457, (<i>Note</i>.)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their vanity, iv. 337</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their law respecting marriage, iii. 207—iv. 281, 414 <i>et seq</i>.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their man of merit, 415.</span><br /> -Attalus his cruelty, iii. 442.<br /> -Association of ideas, i. <a href="#Page_26">26</a>—iv. 24 <i>et seq</i>.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—of impressions, ii. 13</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—influence of, on pride and humility, 15.</span><br /> -Augustine, St, his dogmatism, iv. 489.<br /> -Augustus, his age compared with that of Camillus, iii. 290<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—his impiety and superstition, iv. 453, 477, 490.</span><br /> -Aunoy, Madame de, quoted, iii. 212.<br /> -Aurelius Marcus, his theism, iv. 457.<br /> -Austria, house of, causes of its decay, iii. 379.<br /> -Authority, perpetually opposed by liberty, iii. 41.<br /> -Avarice, a proper subject for satire or comedy, iv. 533.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Bacon, Lord, quoted ii. 434—iii. 58, 102, 237, 299—iv. 153, 464.<br /> -Balance of trade, errors respecting, iii. 348, &c.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—of power, partially understood by the ancients, 373, &c.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—better known but not practised by modern states, 379.</span><br /> -Banks and paper-currency, whether beneficial, iii. 319, 357, &c.<br /> -Bank-credit, origin and nature of, iii. 359.<br /> -Bartoli's plans of ancient buildings, iii. 483.<br /> -Barrow, Dr, his definition of equality, i. <a href="#Page_70">70</a>.<br /> -Batavians, ancient, iii. 233.<br /> -Bayle, ii. 434—iv. 272, 480.<br /> -Beauty, what, ii. 31—iii. 260<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—why an object of pride or pleasure, ii. 8, 33, 363—iv. 207</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—moral, compared with natural, iv. 373.</span><br /> -Belgium, its population, iii. 499.<br /> -Belief, what, i. <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, 135—ii. 552—iv. 60<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—causes of, i. <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, &c.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—influence of, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, &c.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—difference between it and fiction, iv. 58, 373.</span><br /> -Bellarmine, Cardinal, a saying of, iv. 480.<br /> -Benevolence, different from love, ii. 113<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—not a motive of justice, 250</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—what constitutes, 395, &c.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—recommendation and merit of, iv. 247, &c. 335</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—two kinds of, 381; (<i>Note</i>.)</span><br /> -Bentivoglio, Cardinal, iii. 239.<br /> -Berkeley, Dr, his doctrine of general ideas, i. <a href="#Page_34">34</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—of national character, iii. 238</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—a sceptic, iv. 180.</span><br /> -Berne, canton of, its treasurer, iii. 364<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—its population, 500.</span><br /> -Black, Dr, letter from, i. <a href="#Page_xxiii">xxiii.</a><br /> -Boccaccio, iii. 200, 282—iv. 30, (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Bodily accomplishments source of pride or humility, ii, 33<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—love or hatred 86—iv. 208, 320.</span><br /> -Body, advantages of, ii. 408.<br /> -Blame and praise, variableness of, ii, 369.<br /> -Boileau, iv. 330.<br /> -Bolingbroke, quoted, iii. 27, 47, 117<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—his style, 121.</span><br /> -Bomilcar, iv. 508.<br /> -Boulainvilliers, Count de, iii. 531—iv. 467.<br /> -Brahmins, their cosmogony, ii. 487.<br /> -Britons, ancient, their marriages, iii. 207<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their superstition, 234.</span><br /> -Britain, her opposition to France often injudicious<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">and injurious, iii. 380.</span><br /> -British government, nature of, iii. 52<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—proposed improvements on, 576.</span><br /> -Brasidas, a saying of, iv. 480.<br /> -Brumoy, Pere, iv. 452.<br /> -Butler, Bishop, iv. 14.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Cĉsar, quoted iii. 229, 306, 446, 499—iv. 452, 462<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—the numbers killed in his wars, iii. 452, 470</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—compared with Sylla and Marius, ii. 350</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—with Cato, 400—iv. 401.</span><br /> -Cambyses, his impiety, iv. 483.<br /> -Capitolinus, quoted, iii. 529.<br /> -Carlisle, Earl of, quoted, iii. 150.<br /> -Cartesians, their doctrine of essence and innate ideas, i. <a href="#Page_211">211</a>, &c.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—decline of their philosophy, iii. 135.</span><br /> -Carthage, its population, iii. 492.<br /> -Carthaginians, their human sacrifices, iii. 60—iv. 477.<br /> -Catholics, use of their ceremonies, i. <a href="#Page_137">137</a>—ii. 290—iv. 62<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their sects, iii. 88, 454</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their intolerance, 280, 559</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—absurdities and anecdotes of their religion, iv. 484, &c.</span><br /> -Cato, de Re Rustica, iii. 436, 438.<br /> -Cato of Utica, his speech to Cĉsar, iii. 306.<br /> -Catullus, iii. 143, 222.<br /> -Caunii, their superstition, iv. 452.<br /> -Cause, why necessary, i. <a href="#Page_110">110</a>, &c.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—idea of, whence derived, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>, &c.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—definitions of, iv. 90.</span><br /> -Cause and effect, idea of, derived from experience, i. <a href="#Page_170">170</a>—ii. 158<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—relation of, i. <a href="#Page_224">224</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—rules by which to judge of, 228</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—how we arrive at the knowledge of, iv. 35.</span><br /> -Causes, efficacy and agency of, i. <a href="#Page_208">208</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—all of the same kind, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</span><br /> -Causes, moral, their influence on national character, iii, 225<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—physical do., 227.</span><br /> -Causation, a principle of association, i. <a href="#Page_99">99</a>—iv. 62<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—idea of, whence derived, i. <a href="#Page_105">105</a>.</span><br /> -Cavalier, and Roundhead, parties of, iii. 72.<br /> -Cervantes, iii. 218, 224.<br /> -Chance, what, i. <a href="#Page_170">170</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—its influence on human affairs, iii. 124</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—on the refined arts, 127.</span><br /> -Characters, national, varieties of accounted for, iii. 224.<br /> -Charles II. policy of, iii. 73.<br /> -Charles V. his estimate of human life, ii. 508.<br /> -Charles XII. of Sweden, his character, iii. 558—iv. 337.<br /> -Chastity, virtue of, ii. 354—iv. 280, 314.<br /> -Cheerfulness, its merit, iv. 327.<br /> -China, peculiarities in its laws and customs, iii. 136, 298, 331, 353, 443.<br /> -Chinese, uniformity of their character, iii. 231, 236<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their superstition, iv. 451.</span><br /> -Christian religion, argument against its historical evidence, i. <a href="#Page_194">194</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—causes of its early persecution, iii. 64</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—founded in faith, not in reason, iv. 153.</span><br /> -Chrysippus, saying of, ii. 423.<br /> -Cicero, quoted, i. <a href="#Page_139">139</a>—ii. 468, 508—iii. 19, 68, 104, 109, 110<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—<i>et seq.</i> 144, 292, 377, 385, 418, 429, 452, 460, 463, 474, 486</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—iv. 63, 246, 249, 260, 317, 403, 424, 488, 490, 496, 557</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—his consolation for deafness, iii. 198</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—his eloquence, 115, 248</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—his character, 143.</span><br /> -Claudius, Emperor, abolishes Druidism, iii. 64, (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Clairault, Rousseau's Letter to, i. <a href="#Page_xli">xli.</a><br /> -Clarendon, Lord, iii. <a href="#Page_253">253</a>.<br /> -Clark, Dr, i. <a href="#Page_112">112</a>—ii. 499.<br /> -Cleanliness, a virtue, ii. 404—iv. 345.<br /> -Clergy, no friends to liberty, iii, 69<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their hypocrisy, ambition, &c. 226, (<i>Note</i>.)</span><br /> -Cold, greater in ancient times, iii. 493.<br /> -Colonnesi and Orsini, parties in modern Rome, iii. 59.<br /> -Columella, quoted, iii. 346, 423, 428, 432, 439, 440, 496.<br /> -Comitia centuriata et tributa, their different powers, iii. 416.<br /> -Comet, whether a world in embryo, ii. 482.<br /> -Commerce, cannot flourish but under a free government, iii. 103<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—source of wealth and happiness, 287</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—foreign, its advantages, 296</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—favourable to industry, 369</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—has flourished under natural disadvantages, 385.</span><br /> -Commodus, Emperor, cruelty and death of, iii. 528.<br /> -Commonwealth, theory of a perfect, iii. 564.<br /> -Commons, House of, iii. 35, 46, 543.<br /> -Companionable qualities, iv. 340.<br /> -Comparison, the foundation of all reasoning, i, <a href="#Page_103">103</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—the origin of envy, ii. 124</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—of ourselves, 383</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—between men and animals, ii. 234—iii. 92</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—between nature and art, 177</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—between ourselves and others, 201</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—necessary to forming the taste, 269.</span><br /> -Compassion, origin of, iv. 220.<br /> -Complex ideas threefold division of, i. <a href="#Page_29">29</a>.<br /> -Condé, Prince of, ii, 390—iii. 133—iv. 330.<br /> -Confucius, his disciples deists iii 88.<br /> -Congreve, iii. 220—iv. 30.<br /> -Conquest, right of, ii. 341.<br /> -Constant conjunction, relation between cause and effect, i. <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>.<br /> -Constantine, his oppressive tax, iii. 388.<br /> -Constitution, British, excellence of, iii. 27<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—nature of, 46, 50, &c.</span><br /> -Consuls, Roman, their powers, iii. 131.<br /> -Contempt, whence it arises, ii. 140.<br /> -Contrariety, a species of philosophical relation, i. <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.—iv. 25.<br /> -Contiguity, a principle of association, i. <a href="#Page_27">27</a>—iv. 62<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—its influence, i. <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>—ii. 183.</span><br /> -Contract, original, whether the foundation of government, iii. 509.<br /> -Conventions, whether the foundation of justice, iv. 390.<br /> -Convents, evils of, iii. 441.<br /> -Conviction, its feebleness in matters of religion, iv. 491.<br /> -Copernicus, his system, ii. 433, 531—iv. 50—iii. 187.<br /> -Corn, quantity imported at Athens, iii. 478<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—to whom distributed in Rome, 485, &c.</span><br /> -Corneille, quoted, iii. 25, 154<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—compared with Congreve, 220—iv. 542.</span><br /> -Cornelia, her saying to her sons, ii. 83.<br /> -Cornelius Nepos, quoted, iii. 434.<br /> -Corpus juris civilis, quoted, ii. 286—iii. 436, (<i>Note</i>.) 451.<br /> -Courage, how far national, iii. 240<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—utility of, iv. 331.</span><br /> -Cowley, iii. 222.<br /> -Crassus, his wealth, iii. 51.<br /> -Credit, public, its abuses, iii. 392, &c.<br /> -Custom, its effects, i. <a href="#Page_157">157</a>—ii. 177—iv. 52.<br /> -Customs, remarkable ones in the Athenian democracy, iii. 412<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—in the Roman republic, 416</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—in the British constitution, 419.</span><br /> -Cynics, i. 344.<br /> -Cyrus, his claim to the throne, ii. 343<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—boasts of his drunkenness, iii. 242</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—a wise decision of; iv. 389.</span><br /> -Czar, of Russia, iii. 129.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -D'Alembert, i. <a href="#Page_cxx">cxx.</a><br /> -Darius Hystaspes, inscription on his tomb, iii. 242.<br /> -Datames, a skilful general, iii, 309.<br /> -Davenport, Mr, Rousseau's host, i. <a href="#Page_xlvi">xlvi</a>, &c.<br /> -Decency, its merits, whence, iv. 345.<br /> -Debt, national, its advantages, iii. 395<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—its disadvantages, 397</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—scheme for the payment of, 405.</span><br /> -Deformity, an object of humility, ii. 31.<br /> -Deists, unite in politics with the independents, iii. 88.<br /> -Deity, his nature incomprehensible, ii. 437<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—his existence whether proved <i>a posteriori</i>, 440, 446</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—<i>a priori</i>, 496</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—moral attributes of, 509</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—energy and operation of, iv. 84.</span><br /> -Delicacy of taste, improves our sensibility, iii. 4<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—favourable to love and friendship, 6.</span><br /> -Democracy, without a representative, hurtful, iii. 16.<br /> -Demosthenes, character of his oratory, iii. 116<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—quoted, 363, 374, 412, 415, 426, 429, 434, 446, 474—iv. 456</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—his patrimony, iii. 435, 463, 476.</span><br /> -Descartes, iv. 86, 175.<br /> -Desire and aversion, ii. 197—iv. 196.<br /> -Dialogue, advantages of, ii. 420.<br /> -Diodorus Siculus, quoted, iii. 22, 116, 241, 290, 375, 447, 451, 454,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">458, 461, 462, 464, 468, &c.—iv. 250, 321, 449, 452, 454, 508</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—on the population of ancient cities, iii. 468, 507</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—list of massacres in Greece, iii, 454. (<i>Note.</i>)</span><br /> -Diogenes Laertius, quoted, iii. 469—iv. 461.<br /> -Diogenes, the Cynic, contrasted with Pascal, iv. 429<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—a saying of, 545.</span><br /> -Dion Cassius, quoted, iii. 345.<br /> -Dionysius Halicarnassĉus, quoted, iii. 216, 229, 458, 483—iv. 447, 457.<br /> -Dionysius the elder, his massacres, iii. 454, 464<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—his standing army, 290, 471.</span><br /> -Discretion, excellence of, iv. 312.<br /> -Distance, its effects on the mind, i. <a href="#Page_138">138</a>—ii. 346.<br /> -Division of land, favourable to population, iii. 447.<br /> -Divisibility, not infinite, i. <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <i>et seq.</i> 68, &c.<br /> -Divorce, whether allowable, iii. 213.<br /> -Domestic economy, of ancients and moderns, compared, iii. 426.<br /> -Domitian, iii. 194.<br /> -Don Quixotte, quoted, iii. 265.<br /> -Dorians and Ionians, their different characters, iii. 240.<br /> -Drusus and Germanicus, ii. 346.<br /> -Dryden, quoted, iv. 488.<br /> -Dubos, l'Abbé, quoted, iii. 44, 246, 354, 493, 502.<br /> -Duelling, a barbarous practice, iv. 422.<br /> -Duration, idea of, whence derived, i. <a href="#Page_59">59</a>.<br /> -Dutch, first introduced borrowing at low interest, iii. 107.<br /> -Duties, connexion between civil and natural, ii. 323.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Eclectics, sect of, iii. 137.<br /> -Education, its influence, i. <a href="#Page_159">159</a>—iv. 287.<br /> -Egypt, its traffic in slaves, iii. 441<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—its population, 469, 503. (<i>Note.</i>)</span><br /> -Egyptians, their gaiety, iii. 100, 236<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their intolerance and superstition, iv. 487</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—similarity of their religion to the Jewish, 486, (<i>Note</i>.)</span><br /> -Elizabeth, Queen, hypothesis of her resurrection to disprove miracles,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">iv. 151.</span><br /> -Eloquence, its effects, ii. 182—iii. 248<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—superiority of the ancients in, 110, 120</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—causes of its decline, 113, &c.</span><br /> -Emperors Greek and Roman, foundation of their authority, ii. 341.<br /> -Empires great, injurious, iii. 382.<br /> -Energy, mental, whether it suggests the idea of necessary connexion,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">iv. 76, <i>et seq.</i> 84.</span><br /> -English, mixture of their character, iii. 119; 234<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their writers deficient in elegance, 102.</span><br /> -Enthusiasm, poetical, i. <a href="#Page_168">168</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—religious, its origin and character, iii. 82,</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—friendly to civil liberty, 88.</span><br /> -Envy, its origin, ii. 124—iv. 220<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—in animals, ii. <a href="#Page_149">149</a>.</span><br /> -Epaminondas, his character, iv. 321.<br /> -Epictetus, his philosophy, iv. 404<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—his superstition, 495.</span><br /> -Epicurus an anthropomorphite, ii. 471, 509<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—an atheist, iv. 157</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—hypothetical defence of, 158, <i>et seq.</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—how he became a philosopher, 456.</span><br /> -Epicureans their cosmogony, ii. 489<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their theory of happiness iii. 156, &c.</span><br /> -Epirus, population of, iii. 481.<br /> -Equality, notion of, whence derived, i. <a href="#Page_71">71</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—of rights, impracticable, iv. 265.</span><br /> -Ergastula, common among the Romans, iii. 428, 441.<br /> -Errors in Mr Hume's reasoning, ii. 551.<br /> -Essay-writing, utility of, iv. 538.<br /> -Euclid, iii. 187.<br /> -Euripides quoted, ii. 543—iv. 405, 448<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—a woman-hater, iii. 207.</span><br /> -Evils, possible and certain, ii. 199<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—influence of, on the passions, 200.</span><br /> -Europe, its natural advantages iii. 135, 137.<br /> -Evidence, natural and moral, of the same kind, iv. 105.<br /> -Exiles, in Greece, their numbers iii. 454, <i>et seq</i>.<br /> -Existence, idea of explained, i. <a href="#Page_95">95</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—causes of our belief in, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>, &c.—iv. 56.</span><br /> -Experience, nature of, i. <a href="#Page_121">121</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—foundation of all reasoning on matters of fact, iv. 35, 128</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—why we reason from, 40, &c.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—often synonymous with reason, 53. (<i>Note</i>.)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—evidence of, 130.</span><br /> -Exposing of slaves, iii. 428—of children, 442.<br /> -Extension, whether infinitely divisible, i. <a href="#Page_50">50</a>—iv. 182<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—idea of, i. <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—arguments against the infinite divisibility of, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <i>et seq.</i></span><br /> -External existence; various systems of, examined, i. <a href="#Page_246">246</a>—<a href="#Page_280">280</a>.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Factions personal and real, their evils, iii. 58, <i>et seq</i>.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—religious 63—violent among the ancients, 451.</span><br /> -Facility, principle of, ii. 178, <i>et seq</i>.<br /> -Fame, desire of, ii. 58—iv. 356.<br /> -Fanatics in England, iv. 265.<br /> -Fenelon, iv. 333.<br /> -Fiction, influence of, i. <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.<br /> -Flattery, influence of i. <a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <i>et seq</i>.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—an ingredient in superstitions, iv. 465.</span><br /> -Florence, though not a free state, produced eminent men, iii. 101.<br /> -Florus, quoted, iii. 441.<br /> -Flux and reflux of religions, iv. 471.<br /> -Fontaine, iv. 30—his opinion of female infidelity, 427.<br /> -Fontenelle, quoted, iii. 7, 198, 507—iv. 382, 452<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—character of his pastorals, 221</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—his theory of pleasure and pain, 247.</span><br /> -Fortune, how far it produces esteem, ii. 409.<br /> -Franks, their character, iii. 234.<br /> -Free government, nursery of the arts and sciences, iii. 128, &c.<br /> -French, their genius not suppressed by absolute government, iii. 101.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their eloquence, 118, (<i>Note</i>.)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—ridiculous delicacy of, 145</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their character, 236—iv. 341</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their resemblance of the Athenians, iv. 319.</span><br /> -Frugality, its excellence, iv. 313.<br /> -Funding, a modern expedient, iii. 392.<br /> -Future State, why men are so careless about, i. <a href="#Page_155">155</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—hypothetical argument against, iv. 165.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Galen, on the structure of the body, ii. 531.<br /> -Galileo, his dialogues quoted, ii, 450.<br /> -Gallantry of civility, natural, iii. 148<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—of intrigue, iv. 427.</span><br /> -Gaming, passion of, ii. 217.<br /> -Gamesters and sailors, superstitious, iv. 447.<br /> -Garcilaso de la Vega, quoted, iii. 344.<br /> -Gascons, their gaiety, iii, 232.<br /> -Gauls, their character, iii. 234, 241, 499.<br /> -Gaul, climate of, iii. 494<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—population of, 498, <i>et seq</i>. (<i>Note</i>.)</span><br /> -Gee, Mr, quoted, iii. 350.<br /> -General rules, their influence on the judgment, i. <a href="#Page_196">196</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—on imagination, <a href="#Page_260">260</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—on pride and humility, ii. 24</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—on the passions, iv. 217.</span><br /> -Genoa, bank of, iii. 24, 358<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—factions in, 359.</span><br /> -Geometry, definitions of often indeterminate, i. <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.<br /> -Germanicus, his right of succession, ii. 346.<br /> -Germany, population of, iii. 497.<br /> -Getes, fanatics, iii. 450, 497<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their creed, iv. 470.</span><br /> -Good-breeding, ii. 388, 423, 487, iv. 282.<br /> -Good sense, how far essential to taste, iii. 212.<br /> -Goodness of character, qualities essential to, ii. 395.<br /> -Gorgias Leontinus, his eloquence, iii. 116.<br /> -Government, origin of, ii. 312, &c.—iii. 37, 510, 515<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—advantages of ii. 317, <i>et seq</i>.—iii. 132</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—all at first monarchical, ii, 320</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—resistance to, seldom justifiable, 335</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—British, compared with the Roman, iii. 10</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—modern improvements in, 105</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—theory of a perfect, 565, <i>et seq</i>.</span><br /> -Gracchi, laws of, iii, 440.<br /> -Grecian colonies, dispute betwixt, ii. 280, (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Greek faith, ii. 543.<br /> -Greece, its natural advantages, iii. 134, 137<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—extremely populous, 447, 482</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—violent factions and wars in, 450, &c.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—military force of, 482</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—number of its inhabitants, 473.</span><br /> -Greeks, modern, character of, iii. 233<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—ancient, iv. 425.</span><br /> -Grotius quoted, iv. 391, (<i>Note.</i>)<br /> -Guelf and Ghibelline parties, iii. 60.<br /> -Guicciardin quoted, ii. 126—iii. 307—iv. 224, 297<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—his character of Pope Alexander VI., 405.</span><br /> -Gustavus Vasa, iii. 70.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Happiness, nature of, iii. 157<br /> -Happiness, the universal wish, 167</span><br /> -Happiness, what constitutes, 189.</span><br /> -Happiness, of states, depends not on money, iii. 324.<br /> -Hanoverian succession, advantages of, iii. 550<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—disadvantages of, 553.</span><br /> -Hardouin, Pere, quoted, iii. 485.<br /> -Harrington, quoted, iii. 50, 102<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—defects of his Oceana, 563.</span><br /> -Hatred, object and causes of, ii. 68.<br /> -Heliogabalus, image of, iv. 461.<br /> -Helotes, iii. 289, 478.<br /> -Helvetia, size and population of, iii. 500.<br /> -Henry IV. of France, character of, iii. 15—iv. 336<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—a saying of, iii 409.</span><br /> -Henry IV. and VII. of England, their title, iii. 517.<br /> -Hereditary right, importance of, iii 548<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—preferable to a parliamentary, 556.</span><br /> -Heresy, nature of, iv. 482.<br /> -Heroic and burlesque, incompatible, ii. 127—iv, 225.<br /> -Heroism, different views of, ii. 391.<br /> -Hero-worship, iv. 458,<br /> -Herodian, quoted, iii. 22, 489, 498, 529—iv. 461.<br /> -Herodotus, quoted, iii. 462, 469, 474, 481<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—iv. 333, 452, 471, 476, 500, 505.</span><br /> -Hertha, a Saxon goddess, iv. 462.<br /> -Hesiod, quoted, ii. 480, 487—iii. 437—iv. 444, 454, 459, 468.<br /> -Hiero, king of Syracuse, his policy, iii. 378.<br /> -History, study of, recommended, iv, 528.<br /> -Hirtius, quoted, iii. 453, 500.<br /> -Hobbes, i, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>—ii, 154—iv, 260, 380.<br /> -Homer, quoted, iii. 258, 279—iv. 30, 452, 460, 468.<br /> -Honesty, excellence of, iv. 314.<br /> -Honour, violations of, inexcusable, i. <a href="#Page_202">202</a>.<br /> -Hope and fear, passions of, ii. 202, <i>et seq.</i><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—degrees of, 207—iv. 197, <i>et seq</i>.</span><br /> -Horace, quoted, ii. 191, 206<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—iii. 102, 128, 143, 144, 151, 219, 276, 434, 489, 493</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—iv. 200, 294, 423.</span><br /> -Hospitals, whether beneficial, iii. 444.<br /> -Hostis, its primitive signification, iii. 292, (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Huet, Monsieur, ii. 434.<br /> -Huygens, on the figure of the ship, iii. 562.<br /> -Human nature, different views of, iii. 90, <i>et seq.</i><br /> -Human life, different sentiments on, iii. 180<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—how to render it happy; 190</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—influence of philosophy on, 194, <i>et seq.</i></span><br /> -Humility, causes and object of, ii. 7, 29—iv. 203, 215<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—whether an innate passion, ii. 18, <i>et seq.</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—a Christian virtue, 390.</span><br /> -Hunting and philosophy, parallel betwixt, ii. 212.<br /> -Hutcheson, Mr, his theory of morals, iv. 13.<br /> -Hutchison, Mr, his scheme for paying the national debt, iii. 405.<br /> -Hyde de religione Persarum, quoted, iv. 470, 476.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -James I., anecdote of, iii. 551, (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Jansenists, their character, iii. 89.—iv. 145. (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Ideas, definition and origin of, i. <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <i>Sec</i>.—iv. 18<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—qualities which connect them, i. <a href="#Page_26">26</a>—iv. 25</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—of space and time, whether infinitely divisible, i. <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>—<a href="#Page_94">94</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—of time, whence derived, <a href="#Page_56">56</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—of space, <a href="#Page_60">60</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—of external existence, explained, <a href="#Page_97">97</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—whether innate, iv. 23.</span><br /> -Identity, philosophical, i. <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—personal, 319, <i>et seq.</i></span><br /> -Idolatry, origin of, iv. 443, &c.<br /> -Jesuits, their character, iii. 89, 232—iv. 272, (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Jews, iii. 232—iv. 490, 502, (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Images, worship of, not allowed by Jews and Mahometans, iv. 473.<br /> -Imagination, in what different from memory; i. <a href="#Page_119">119</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—lively, allied to madness, <a href="#Page_166">166</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—how it influences belief, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—cooperates with the passions, ii. 79, 179</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—how affected by distance, &c. 184.</span><br /> -Immaculate conception, mystery of, iv. 467.<br /> -Impieties, in false religions, iv. 498.<br /> -Impressions, defined, i. <a href="#Page_15">15</a>—iv. 118<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—two kinds of, i. <a href="#Page_22">22</a>—ii. 3</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—three kinds of, conveyed by the senses, i. <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</span><br /> -Impotence and barrenness, iv. 322—iii. 436; (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Incest, crime of; ii. 233—iv. 281.<br /> -Incredulity, different from belief, i. <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.<br /> -Independents, iii. 84.<br /> -Indians, treatment of, iv. 262.<br /> -Indolence, ii. 375.<br /> -Industry, merit of, iv. 313.<br /> -Ingratitude, ii. 232.<br /> -Injury, idea of, whence, ii. 93.<br /> -Intention, requisite to excite love or hatred, ii. 90.<br /> -Interest, rate of, depends not on the quantity of the precious<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">metals, iii. 333</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—high, causes of, 335</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—how affected by commerce, 341</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—low, symptom of national prosperity, 342</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—mistakes concerning, 343, <i>et seq</i>.</span><br /> -Jonson, Ben, his Volpone, iii. 443.<br /> -Josephus, quoted, iii. 488, (Note)—503, (Note.)<br /> -Joy, explained, ii. 23—iv. 196—cause of, ii. 197.<br /> -Iphicrates, a saying of, iv. 343.<br /> -Isocrates, quoted, iii. 435, 456, 457.<br /> -Ireland, barbarous state of, iii. 454; (<i>Note</i>)—iv. 333.<br /> -Italians, their degeneracy, iii. 309, 501.<br /> -Italy, its population, iii. 501—climate of, 493, 495.<br /> -Judgments, erroneous; whether immoral; ii. 226; (Note.)<br /> -Julian, quoted, iii. 470.<br /> -Justice, not a natural but a conventional virtue, ii. 244, 258, 267, 303<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—iv. 390—origin of, ii. 253</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—regulated by utility, 257</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—why a virtue, 269</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—necessary to society, iv. 253.</span><br /> -Justin, quoted, iii. 482, 501.<br /> -Justus Lipsius, quoted, iii. 437.<br /> -Juvenal, quoted, iii. 143, 149, 238, 493—iv. 247, 427, 497.<br /> -Lacedemonians, their superstition, iv. 453.<br /> -Language, national character of, iii. 237.<br /> -Languedocians, iii. 232.<br /> -Laplanders, their deities, iv. 452.<br /> -Latin, preserved by the Popes, ii, 478.<br /> -Laws, positive, ii. 344<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—of nature, ii. 295, 302</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—of nations, 322, 351—iv. 279</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—of the twelve tables, iii. 131, 451</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—of justice—iv. 264</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—of society, 283.</span><br /> -Legislators; greatest honour due to, iii. 57.<br /> -Leibnitz, ii. 503.<br /> -Liberty, civil, compared with despotism, iii. 99<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—friendly to arts and sciences, 100, 128.</span><br /> -Liberty, two kinds of, ii. 160<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—doctrine of, why more prevalent than that of</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 3em;">necessity, 162, <i>et seq</i>.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—moral, defined, iv. 111.</span><br /> -Liberty and necessity, examination of, ii. 151<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—a dispute of words, iv. 95</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—mode of reconciling it, 109</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—both essential to morality and religion, 115</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—effects not man's responsibility, 117, <i>et seq</i>.</span><br /> -Liberty of the press, why peculiar to Britain, iii. 8<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—advantageous, 11.</span><br /> -Liquor, love of, why peculiar to northern nations, iii. 241.<br /> -Livy, quoted, iii. 25, 60, 233, 290, 364, 377, 446, 450, 454, 461,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">479, 481, 500—iv. 505</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—his character of Hannibal, 405</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—his superstition, 494.</span><br /> -Locke, Mr, quoted, i. <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>—ii. 434—iii. 102, 235<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—iv. 6, 23, 67, 75, 86, 380, 532.</span><br /> -Longinus, iii. 100, 111, 115—iv. 329, 452.<br /> -Louis XIV, number of his armies, iii. 307—epigram on, iv. 488.<br /> -Love and hatred, object and causes of, ii. 68, 89—iv. 218.<br /> -Lucan, quoted, iii. 441.<br /> -Lucian, quoted, iii. 199, 443, 479<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—iv. 156, 318, 418, 452, 454, 494, 500, 501.</span><br /> -Lucretius, quoted, ii. 384, 467—iii. 143, 220—iv. 149, 460, 533.<br /> -Lucullus, first brought cherry-trees to Europe, ii. 478.<br /> -Luxemburg, Duke of, ii. 90.<br /> -Luxury, definition of, iii. 302<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—its advantages, 304</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—effects falsely ascribed to, 310</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—its evils, 313</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—why regarded a vice, iv. 251.</span><br /> -Lycurgus, iii. 359.<br /> -Lysias, genius of his eloquence, iii. 121<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—quoted, 452, 456, 457, 462, 469, 473, 476—iv. 425.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Macedon, wealth of, iii. 364.<br /> -Machiavel, quoted, iii 21, 98, 278, 376, (<i>Note</i>.) 564—iv. 313<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—his reflexions on Christianity, iv. 480.</span><br /> -Magians, their faith, iv. 469.<br /> -Magistracy, foundation of, ii, 338.<br /> -Magistrates, whence their authority, ii. 328<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—whom lawful, 336.</span><br /> -Maillet, Monsieur, his account of Egypt, iii. 441, 496.<br /> -Malebranche, quoted, i. <a href="#Page_210">210</a>—ii. 438—iv. 86, 269.<br /> -Malezieu, an argument of, i. <a href="#Page_51">51</a>.<br /> -Malice, what, ii. 114<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—origin of, 121—iv. 220, &c.</span><br /> -Man, social by necessity, ii. 95, 253<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—active, iii. 166—iv. 7.</span><br /> -Mandeville, Dr, quoted, iii. 315.<br /> -Manicheans, their theory of good and ill, ii 526—iv. 301.<br /> -Manilius, quoted, iv. 452.<br /> -Mantinea, its size and population, iii. 480.<br /> -Marcellinus, Ammianus, quoted, iii. 488.<br /> -Marcus Brutus, ii. 370.<br /> -Marriage, different modes of, iii. 206<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—European mode preferable, 217.</span><br /> -Marshall, Lord, friend of Rousseau, i. <a href="#Page_xxxvii">xxxvii</a>.<br /> -Martial, quoted, iii. 222, 433, 440, 502—iv. 427.<br /> -Massacres ancient, account of, iii. 455, (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Mathematics, advantages of, in reasoning, iv. 71.<br /> -Maximilian, Emperor, nickname of, iii. 325.<br /> -Maurice, Prince, saying of, iv. 343.<br /> -Mediocrity, advantages of, iv. 551, &c.<br /> -Melon du Tot, Monsieur, quoted, iii. 288, 324, 394.<br /> -Memory, ideas of, more lively than those of fancy, i. <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—character of, ii. 405</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—importance of, iv. 317.</span><br /> -Menander, quoted, iii. 226, (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Merchants origin of, iii. 338.<br /> -Merit, influence of, on the passions, iv. 206<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—personal, 242, 347.</span><br /> -Metaphysics, nature and use of, iv. 8. <i>et seq.</i><br /> -Milton, quoted, ii. 506<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—criticised, iii. 237—iv. 31, 439.</span><br /> -Misery, human, universal complaints on, ii. 503<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—why permitted, 515, &c.</span><br /> -Miracles defined, iv. 133<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—incapable of proof from testimony, 135</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—can never prove the truth of any religion, 150.</span><br /> -Moderation, in parties, recommended, iii. 26.<br /> -Modesty, female, ii. 355—character of, iv. 341.<br /> -Moliere, iii. 154.<br /> -Molinists character of their religion, iii. 89—iv. 146.<br /> -Monarchy, elective, ii. 342<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—absolute, preferable to a republic in Britain, iii. 55</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—compared with republic, 139.</span><br /> -Money, disadvantages of, iii. 318<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—favourable to industry, 322</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—level of, 351</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—accumulation of, injurious, 361.</span><br /> -Montaigne, quoted, iv. 269, 342.<br /> -Montesquieu, quoted, iii. 213, 424, 504—iv. 269.<br /> -Montgeron, Mons. his book on Miracles iv. 145.<br /> -Moors civil wars of, iii. 61.<br /> -Morals, not founded on reason, ii. 221<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—nor on the fitness of things, 228</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—origin of, 362</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—systems of reducible to two, 378</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—of princes 352</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—disputes concerning, iv. 239, &c.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—principles of, discussed, 366.</span><br /> -Moral duties, two kinds of, iii. 524.<br /> -Moral sense, an innate sentiment, ii. 236.<br /> -Moral reasoning, iv. 192—sentiment, 356.<br /> -Motives, determine the quality of actions, ii. 245.<br /> -Muscovites, their marriages, iii. 150, 243.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Nature, definition of, ii. 241<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—state of, fictitious, 253, 263—iv. 253</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—various hypotheses on, 260.</span><br /> -Natural evils, ii. 504, 520.<br /> -Natural religion, whether proved from reason, ii. 429<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—from works of creation, 446, 465</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—from the structure of animal bodies, 455, 469</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—from the condition of human life, 502.</span><br /> -Necessity, idea of, how formed, i. <a href="#Page_206">206</a>—iv. 96<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—definitions of, i. <a href="#Page_220">220</a>—ii. 162—iv. 113</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—not subversive of religion, ii. 163—iv. 114</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—various theories of, confuted, ii. 75, 77, 80</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—whence it arises, 88.</span><br /> -Necessity of a cause, theory of Hobbes, Clarke and Locke, examined,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">i. <a href="#Page_111">111</a>—arguments concerning analyzed, 117.</span><br /> -Negroes, an inferior race, iii. 236.<br /> -Newton, perpetuity of his philosophy, iii. 135—iv. 86,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">(<i>Note</i>) 277, 555.</span><br /> -Newton, Locke, Clarke, Arians or Socinians, iv. 496.<br /> -Nicolas, St, a favourite of the Muscovites, iv. 467.<br /> -Nine, curious property of, ii. 500.<br /> -Nisus, suggests not the true idea of power, iv. 79.<br /> -Northern nations, their swarms, no proof of populousness, iii 497.<br /> -Numitianus, the poet, his contempt of Christianity, iv. 489.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Oaths, different kinds of, ii. 543.<br /> -Obedience, passive, proper limits of, iii. 534.<br /> -Occupation, a right of property, ii. 277<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—several kinds of, 278, (<i>Note.</i>)</span><br /> -Oliver Cromwell, ii. 90<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—his military force, iii. 472.</span><br /> -Olympiodorus, quoted, iii. 486.<br /> -Opinion, foundation of all government, iii. 31<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—changeableness of, 54,</span><br /> -Orange, Prince of, accession of, ii. 350<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—partisans of, iii. 70.</span><br /> -Orators, modern, inferiority of, iii. 110, 113, &c.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—causes of this decline, 114</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—French, 118, (<i>Note</i>.)</span><br /> -Original contract, the best but seldom the sole foundation of<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">government, iii. 518</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—theory of, erroneous, 532,</span><br /> -Ostracism and Petalism, iii. 375.<br /> -Ovid quoted, iii. 6, 127, 143, 429, 494, 454—iv. 454, 504.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Pain and pleasure, chief springs of human actions, i. <a href="#Page_160">160</a>—ii. 360.<br /> -Painters, often unhappy in their subjects, iii. 254.<br /> -Painting, may flourish under tyrannical governments, iii. 101.<br /> -Paris, L'Abbé de, his miracles, iv. 145, (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Parents and children, relation between, ii. 98, <i>et seq.</i><br /> -Parliament, how far it should be independent, iii. 47.<br /> -Parliament of love, iv. 283.<br /> -Parnell, Dr, iii. 222.<br /> -Parties, court and country, iii. 42, (<i>Note</i>.) 62<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">camong the ancients, 59</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—ecclesiastical, 64, 68</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—first rise of, in England, 70.</span><br /> -Pascal, his character, iv. 147, 430.<br /> -Passions, direct and indirect, ii. 5<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their object, 9</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—transition of, 129</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—calm and violent, 173</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—contrariety of, 199</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—sympathy of, 396</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—selfish and benevolent, iv. 13</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—how affected by good or evil, 195</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—by general rules, 217</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—by reason, 226.</span><br /> -Passions, amorous, ii. 144—iii. 148—iv. 221.<br /> -Pausanias, quoted, iii. 481.<br /> -Pay, military, of the ancients, iii. 445.<br /> -Penetration of bodies, impossible, i. <a href="#Page_63">63</a>.<br /> -Perceptions, two kinds of, i. <a href="#Page_15">15</a>—iv. 18<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—on the continued existence of, i. <a href="#Page_271">271</a>, <i>et seq.</i></span><br /> -Pericles, his eloquence, iii. 122<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—saying of, iv. 246</span><br /> -Peripatetic philosophy, i. <a href="#Page_285">285</a>—ii. 464—iii. 135—iv. 309.<br /> -Persecution, religious, causes of, iii. 64, <i>et seq.</i><br /> -Persians, ancient, their manners, iii. 21, 22, (<i>Note</i>), 236, 242.<br /> -Personification, origin of polytheism, iv. 446.<br /> -Petrarch, quoted, iii. 281.<br /> -Petronius, quoted, iii. 454, 494—iv. 423.<br /> -Phĉdrus, quoted, iii. 145:—iv. 280.<br /> -Philip of Macedon, anecdote of, iii. 145, 199<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—his armies, 482</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—his character, 377—iv. 332.</span><br /> -Philips, Mr, his poem on Cider, ii. 102.<br /> -Philosophy, false suggestions of, iii. 195<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—the obvious and abstruse, iv. 4.</span><br /> -Phocion, a saying of, iv. 330.<br /> -Physical causes, their influence on population, iii. 423.<br /> -Pity, what, ii. 114—peculiarities of, 116.<br /> -Plato, quoted, iii. 99, 275, 391, 532—iv. 260, 280, 313, 406, 456,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">495, 497.</span><br /> -Platonists, their opinion of the Deity, ii. 457—iii. 137<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—of the creation, ii, 487</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their doctrines, iii. 175.</span><br /> -Plautus, quoted, iii. 476.<br /> -Pliny, quoted, iii. 64, 142, 149, 252, 331, 346, 364, 432, 439, 440,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">447, 471, 484,502—iv. 443, 474, 490, 568, 576.</span><br /> -Plutarch, quoted, iii. 146, 147, 196, 197, 198, 232, 242, 321, 391,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">413, 428, 435, 440, 442, 451, 461, 506—iv. 132, 420, 476, 500.</span><br /> -Poetry, effects of, i. <a href="#Page_166">166</a>—rules of, iv. 28.<br /> -Poisoning, frequent among the ancients, ii. 25.<br /> -Poland, state of, iii. 311.<br /> -Politeness, causes of, iii. 142—character of, iv. 339,<br /> -Political customs of antients and modems compared, iii. 444.<br /> -Pollia and Papiria, Roman factions, iii. 59.<br /> -Polybius, quoted, ii. 543—iii. 20, 22, 48, 145, 292, 331, 363, 376,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">378, 446, 469, 480, 490, 497, 504—iv. 316, 402, 406</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—his theory of morals, 288.</span><br /> -Polygamy, evils of, iii. 210.<br /> -Polytheism, the most ancient religion, iv. 436, &c.<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—forms of, 458.</span><br /> -Pompey, his superstition, iv. 490.<br /> -Pope, Mr, iii. 14, 197, 215, 220—iv. 537<br /> -Population, checks to, among the ancients, iii. 428<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—comparison of, among ancients and moderns, 426, 444, 448, 466</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—false statements of, 468.</span><br /> -Possession, stability of, ii. 274<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—what constitutes, 278</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—a source of authority, 338</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—right of, iv. 393.</span><br /> -Power, idea of whence, i. <a href="#Page_217">217</a>—iv. 76<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—what, ii. 46—iv. 73</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—an ambiguous term, 91, (<i>Note</i>.)</span><br /> -Praise, pleasure arising from, ii. 61.<br /> -Prejudice, iii. 270—moral; iv. 543.<br /> -Presbyterians, their attachment to the family of Orange,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">iii. 70, 79, (<i>Note.</i>)</span><br /> -Presence real, absurdity of, iv. 484.<br /> -Prescription, right of, ii. 281.<br /> -Priests, their character, iii. 83, 226, (<i>Note</i>)<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their origin, 85.</span><br /> -Priestcraft, ii. 435.<br /> -Pride, cause of, ii. 19, 37<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—when vicious; 386</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—when essential; 389</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—merit of, whence, 391.</span><br /> -Prior, Mr, his Alma and Solomon, ii. 127<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—quoted, iii. 159.</span><br /> -Priority, relation of, i. <a href="#Page_106">106</a>.<br /> -Probable reasoning, what, i. <a href="#Page_142">142</a>.<br /> -Probability, two kinds of, i. <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>—ii. 103—iv. 67, 198<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—influence of, on the passions, ii. 198</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—on belief, iv. 70.</span><br /> -Proclus and Sabinus, curious dispute between, ii. 287.<br /> -Promise, what, and whence its obligation, ii. 290, 297, 302<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—whether the foundation of allegiance, 324.</span><br /> -Proof, what, iv. 67.<br /> -Property, a source of pride, ii. 44<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—idea of, whence, 260</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—right of, explained, 282, (<i>Note</i>)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—transference of, 288—nature of, 303—iv. 212</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—on the origin of, 391.</span><br /> -Providence, particular, hypothetical arguments against, iv. 158.<br /> -Protestant succession, advantages and disadvantages of, iii. 548,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>et seq.</i></span><br /> -Public interest, how far a motive to justice, ii. 248.<br /> -Punic faith, ii. 543.<br /> -Pyrrhonians, their scepticism, ii. 427—iv. 188.<br /> -Pyrrhus, his saying of the Romans, iii. 309.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Quakers, iii. 84.<br /> -Qualities, occult, i. <a href="#Page_286">286</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—sensible and primary, <a href="#Page_294">294</a></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—often in the mind and not in the object, iii. 103.</span><br /> -Queen of Spain, anecdote of, iii. 212.<br /> -Quintilian, quoted, ii. 363—iii. 111, 115, 223, 238—iv. 299, 343.<br /> -Quintus Curtius, quoted, iii. 242, 391—iv. 453, 572.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Racine, his character, iii. 220—quoted, 281—iv. 247. (<i>Note</i>,) 542.<br /> -Raleigh, Sir Walter, iii. 552.<br /> -Ramsay, Chevalier, quoted, iv. 502. (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Reason, as opposed to passion, ii. 166<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—its influence on action, 222</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—twofold object of, iv. 32</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—whether the source of morals, 238, 366</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—contrasted with taste, 376.</span><br /> -Reasons of state, iv. 279.<br /> -Reformers, character of, ii. 434.<br /> -Refinement in writing, rules for, iii. 220<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—excess of, in taste, 223.</span><br /> -Relation, philosophical, seven kinds of, i. <a href="#Page_98">98</a>—iv. 25.<br /> -Relics, why coveted by the superstitious, i. <a href="#Page_139">139</a>—iv. 63.<br /> -Religion natural, doubts upon, ii. 424<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—consequences falsely ascribed to, 538</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—excess of joy and terror in, 544—iii. 81—iv. 498</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—origin of, 436.</span><br /> -Resemblance, a principle of association, i. <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>—iv. 61<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—how far a source of pride, ii. 37.</span><br /> -Respect, whence it arises, ii. 140.<br /> -Retz, Cardinal, de, quoted, i. <a href="#Page_203">203</a>—iii. 572—iv. 143.<br /> -Revolution of 1688, ii. 346—iii. 74<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—reflexions on, ii. 349</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—did not recognise the principle of popular contract, iii. 517</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—at Athens and Rome, 452.</span><br /> -Rhamadan, the Turkish Lent, iv. 506.<br /> -Rhodes, population of, iii. 479.<br /> -Riches, why a source of pride and pleasure, ii. 50, 101—iv. 213<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—determine the different ranks of men, ii. 106</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—why esteemed, iv. 323.</span><br /> -Rochefoucault, quoted, ii. 177—iv. 399.<br /> -Rochester, Lord, iii. 143.<br /> -Rollin, quoted, ii. 181.<br /> -Rome, ancient, state of learning in, iii. 100, 505<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—its size and population, 483, <i>et seq.</i> (<i>Note</i>)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—name of its tutelar deity concealed, iv. 474, (<i>Note</i>.)</span><br /> -Roman soldiers, pay of, iii. 318, (<i>Note</i>), 446<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—Greek, 445.</span><br /> -Roman history, partly fabulous, iii. 376, (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Roman empire, when most flourishing, iii. 502.<br /> -Roman law, a remarkable subtlety of, ii. 285, (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Rousseau, refuses a pension from the King of England, i. <a href="#Page_lviii">lviii</a>, <a href="#Page_xcv">xcv</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—quoted, iii. 142.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Sadder, morality of, iv. 505.<br /> -Sallee, Prince of, quoted, iv. 486.<br /> -Sallust, quoted, ii. 400—iii. 104, 143, 310, 453, 486<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—iv. 322, 401, 497, 509.</span><br /> -Saint Evermond, quoted, iv. 312, 329.<br /> -Sannazarius, his pastorals, iv. 296.<br /> -Saracens, their conquests, iii. 230.<br /> -Satire, character of, i. <a href="#Page_201">201</a>.<br /> -Scapulaire, religious use of, iv. 470.<br /> -Sceptics, compared with the Stoics, ii. 427<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their disputes with the Dogmatists, 537.</span><br /> -Scepticism, with regard to reason, i. <a href="#Page_236">236</a>—iv. 181<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—the senses, i. <a href="#Page_280">280</a>—iv. 176</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—to knowledge and religion, ii; 428, &c.</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—philosophy, iv. 32</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—different kinds of, 175</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—objections of, 186.</span><br /> -Sciences, mathematical and moral compared, iv. 71.<br /> -Scriptures, quoted, iv. 255, 404.<br /> -Scriptural and traditional religion compared, iv. 492.<br /> -Scythians, barbarity of, iv. 333.<br /> -Seamen, pressing of, a barbarous and illegal practice, iii. 419.<br /> -Seleucia, population of, iii. 492.<br /> -Self, object of pride or humility, ii. 36.<br /> -Self-love, whether the origin of morals, iv. 289, 293<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—whether consistent with benevolence, 397.</span><br /> -Selfishness, as opposed to justice, ii. 264<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—a natural propensity, 294—iii. 95.</span><br /> -Seneca quoted, i. <a href="#Page_cxix">cxix</a>—ii. 546,—iii. 429, 438, 442—iv. 386, 453, 563.<br /> -Sentiment, how far the source of morals, iv. 238, 366.<br /> -Senses, whether they suggest the idea of external existence, i. <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.<br /> -Sensibility, iii. 3—a source both of happiness and misery, ib.<br /> -Sextus Empiricus quoted, iii. 442—iv. 250, 280, 497.<br /> -Shaftesbury, Lord, quoted, i. <a href="#Page_324">324</a>—iii. 42, 95, 101, 147, 415.<br /> -Shakespeare quoted, iii. 251—iv. 328.<br /> -Sight, informs us not of material existence, i. <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.<br /> -Simonides, his answer to Hiero, ii. 448.<br /> -Simple ideas, whence derived, i. <a href="#Page_18">18</a>.<br /> -Simplicity in writing, iii. 220.<br /> -Slavery, among the ancients, iii. 428<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—hurtful to population, 440.</span><br /> -Smith, Dr Adam, letter from, i. <a href="#Page_xvi">xvi.</a><br /> -Sneezing, god of, iv. 444.<br /> -Society, political, ii. 317<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—advantages of, 254—iv. 263, 278.</span><br /> -Socrates, his character, iv. 334.<br /> -Soil, fertile, not always beneficial, iii. 300.<br /> -Soldier, character of, iii. 225.<br /> -Solidity, idea of whence derived, i. <a href="#Page_295">295</a>.<br /> -Sorbonnists, creed of, iv. 486.<br /> -Sophocles, his character as a writer, iii. 220.<br /> -Soul, immateriality of, i. <a href="#Page_300">300</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—doctrine of, leads to atheism, 312</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—metaphysical arguments for, inconclusive, 318.</span><br /> -Soul, immortality of, not proved by abstract reasoning, iv. 569<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—a doctrine of revelation, 577.</span><br /> -Spain, population of, iii. 500.<br /> -Spaniards, character of, iii. 233<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—politeness of, iv. 340.</span><br /> -Sparta, prosperity of, iii. 289<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—laws of, 291</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—population of, 477, 481.</span><br /> -Spartian, quoted, iii. 486—iv. 490.<br /> -Spencer quoted, iv. 333.<br /> -Spinoza, his principles examined, i. <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, <i>et seq.</i><br /> -Sportula, bad tendency of, iii. 502.<br /> -Stanian, quoted, iii. 364.<br /> -States, increased by trade, iii. 293<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—small, advantageous, 444.</span><br /> -Stoics, erroneous maxims of, ii. 427—iii. 137<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—philosophy of, 165</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their views of natural evil, iv. 118</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—their superstition, 494.</span><br /> -Strabo, quoted, iii. 392, 432, 472, 473, 474, 483, 488, 497, 505<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—iv. 449.</span><br /> -Strength of mind, importance of, iv. 315.<br /> -Stuart dynasty, fatal to the peace and prosperity of the country,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">iii. 554, 558.</span><br /> -Substance, idea of, i. <a href="#Page_33">33</a>—what, 299.<br /> -Succession, right of, ii. 283, 342<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—relation of, between cause and effect, i. <a href="#Page_107">107</a>.</span><br /> -Suetonius, quoted, iii. 20, 64, 428, 432, 478, 573—iv. 453<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—compared with Tacitus, iv. 299.</span><br /> -Suevi, a peculiarity of their character, iv. 332.<br /> -Suicide, defended, iv. 558<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—not prohibited in Scripture, 567.</span><br /> -Suidas, quoted, iii. 122, 503, (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Superstition, contrasted with philosophy, i. <a href="#Page_343">343</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—sources of, iii. 81</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—favourable to priestly power, 83</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—with regard to meats, dresses, &c. iv. 270.</span><br /> -Surprise, its connexion with <i>fear</i>, ii. 205.<br /> -Swift, Dr, a polished writer, iii. 102<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—quoted, 350, 366, 459.</span><br /> -Sybaris, number of its inhabitants, iii. 468.<br /> -Sycophant, origin of the name, iii. 348.<br /> -Sympathy, nature and effects of, ii. 52, 134, 362, 381—iv. 294<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—its influence on pride and humility, ii. 57, 385</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—on our esteem for the rich, 103, 107</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—on human happiness, 108</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—on animals, 149</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—on virtue and vice, 379</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—chief source of all moral distinctions, 412.</span><br /> -Syracuse, its size and population, iii. 473.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Tacitus, quoted, iii. 10, 20, 70, 130, 147, 408, 432, 437, 439, 450, 520<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—iv. 142, 331, 332, 462, 486, 493, 564.</span><br /> -<br /> -Tasso, quoted, iii. 161.<br /> -<br /> -Taste, delicacy of, iii. 4<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—varieties of, 256</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—general principles of, 264</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—improvement of, 268</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—changes of 276.</span><br /> -<br /> -Taxes, advantages and disadvantages of, iii. 365, 387<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—a cause of the destruction of the Roman Empire, 388</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—cannot be imposed by the Turkish Emperor, 389.</span><br /> -Temple, Sir William, quoted, iii. 240, 386, 472.<br /> -Terence, iii. 147, 220, 222, 275, 278.<br /> -Tertullian, quoted, iii. 502.<br /> -Testimony, evidence of, iv. 130.<br /> -Thebes, population of, iii. 479.<br /> -Thebans, their character, iii. 232.<br /> -Theism, dispute concerning, ii. 535<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—origin of, iv. 463</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—compared with polytheism, 474, &c.</span><br /> -Theists, ancient, their <i>anima mundi</i>, ii. 475.<br /> -Themistocles, project of, ii, 180—saying of, iv. 415.<br /> -Theocritus, iii. 469.<br /> -Theology, Pagan, ii. 480.<br /> -Thinkers, shallow and abstruse, iii. 285.<br /> -Thucydides, quoted, iii. 22, 200, 290, 363, 373, 446, 454, 463<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—iv. 142, 297, 479.</span><br /> -Tillotson, his argument against transubstantiation, iv. 127.<br /> -Time, idea of, whence derived, i. <a href="#Page_56">56</a>.<br /> -Timoleon, his policy, iii. 447,<br /> -Timon of Athens, a saying of, iv. 301.<br /> -Timotheus, his hymn to Diana, iv. 500.<br /> -Toleration, why generally disallowed, iii. 12, (<i>Note</i>)<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—permitted in Paganism, iv. 475.</span><br /> -Tonquin, peculiar marriages at, iii. 206.<br /> -Tory party, iii. 73<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—conduct of, at the Revolution, 75</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—properly none in Scotland, 77, (<i>Note</i>.)</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—theory of their principles, iv. 441, 548.</span><br /> -Tournefort, quoted, iii. 211, 495.<br /> -Tragedy, why a source of pleasure, iii. 248.<br /> -Tranquillity, iv. 333.<br /> -Transubstantiation, doctrine of, monstrous, ii: 301.—iv. 273, (<i>Note.</i>)<br /> -Tribonian, decision of, ii. 287.<br /> -Truth, two kinds of, ii. 208—love of, 213.<br /> -Turks, their jealousy, iii. 211<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—bravery, 233, 236</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—government, 389.</span><br /> -Turkish ambassador, anecdote of, iii. 210.<br /> -Tycho Brahe, iii. 224.<br /> -Tyrannicide, extolled by the ancients, iv. 250.<br /> -Tyranny, how far it exempts from allegiance, ii. 331, 334.<br /> -Tyrants, ancient, their cruelty, iii. 454.<br /> -Tyrians, their superstitions, iv. 453.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Uncertainty, a cause of fear, ii. 206.<br /> -Understanding, errors concerning it, i. <a href="#Page_132">132</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—its office, ii. 167</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—differences in, iv. 124.</span><br /> -Union, principles of, among ideas, i. <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, 127—iv. 25.<br /> -Union of 1708, advantages of, iii. 354.<br /> -Unity, necessarily indivisible, i. <a href="#Page_51">51</a><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—essential in poetry and history—iv. 26. (<i>Note</i>.)</span><br /> -Ustariz*, Geronimo de, quoted, iii. 426.<br /> -Usurpation, the foundation of almost all governments, iii. 518, 522.<br /> -Utility, merit of, iv. 248—pleasure derived from, 285—whether the origin<br /> -of morals, 253, 293, 306.<br /> -Utrecht, peace of, iii. 380.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Vacuum, idea of, possible, i. <a href="#Page_80">80</a>.<br /> -Vain man, description of a, ii. 45.<br /> -Valerius Maximus, quoted, iii. 483.<br /> -Vanity, sources of, ii. 40, &c.—iv. 208<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—a bond of union, ii. 261</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—allied to virtue, iii. 97</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—when blameable, ii. 387—iv. 344.</span><br /> -Varro, quoted, iii. 432, 439.<br /> -Vasa, Gustavus, iii. 70.<br /> -Vauban, Mareschal, quoted, iii, 356.<br /> -Velleius Paterculus, iii. 364.<br /> -Venetians, their government, iii. 16<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—inferiority of their genius, 101.</span><br /> -Verdelin, Marchioness de, i. <a href="#Page_xl">xl</a>.<br /> -Verna, family slave, iii. 433, (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Verney, Paris de, quoted, iii. 324.<br /> -Vespasian, a miracle of, iv. 142.<br /> -Vice and virtue, distinction betwixt, ii. 28, 270<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—not founded on reason but feeling, 238</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—whence it arises, 392</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—often confounded with talents and defects, iv. 397.</span><br /> -Victor, Aurelius and Publius, quoted, iii. 485, 486, (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -Virgil, quoted, ii. 191—iii. 145, 187, 220, 275—iv. 386, 501.<br /> -Virgin Mary, favourite Saint of the Catholics, iv, 466.<br /> -Virtues, natural, ii. 365<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—heroic, 391</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—social, iv. 287, 361, 380</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—excellence of, 360, 363.</span><br /> -Vis inertiĉ, iv. 86, <i>(Note</i>.)<br /> -Vitellius, Emperor, a saying of, iv. 330.<br /> -Vitruvius, quoted, iii. 483, (<i>Note</i>.)?484.<br /> -Voltaire, quoted, iii. 10.<br /> -Vopiscus, quoted, iii. 480, 485, 489, 490.<br /> -Vossius, quoted, iii. 485, (<i>Note</i>), 424.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Wallace, Rev. Dr, on the numbers of mankind, iii. 421. (<i>Note</i>)<br /> -Waller, the poet, iii. 117, 154.<br /> -Walpole, Horace, letter of, to Rousseau, i. lii, cxiv.<br /> -Walpole, Sir Robert, character of, iii. 30. (<i>Note.</i>)<br /> -Whigs, iii. 73—a theory of their principles, 539.<br /> -Will, definition of, ii. 150<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—error of metaphysicians respecting, 172</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—how far influenced by reason; 166</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—by passion, 195</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—its power over the body, iv. 77</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—in promises, 272.</span><br /> -Wisdom, why valued, ii. 403.<br /> -Wit, true and false, ii. 29—iv. 207<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—agreeable, ii. 379, 404</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—definition of, iv. 340.</span><br /> -Wolsey, Cardinal, his insolence, iii. 146.<br /> -Women, timorous and superstitious, iv,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—better judges of polite writing than men, 541.</span><br /> -Woolaston, Mr, iv. 260, (<i>Note</i>.)<br /> -World, not eternal, ii. 479<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—conjectures concerning its origin, 491, 490—iv. 454.</span><br /> -Writing, observations on, iii. 142, 220, 261,<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Xenophon, quoted, iii. 22, 29, 107, 151, 375, 438, 445, 456, 465, 476,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">480, 497—iv. 415, 453, 475—his superstition, iv. 495, (<i>Note</i>.)</span><br /> -Xerxes, his reward for a new pleasure, iii. 157<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">—numbers in his armies, 496.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Zaleucus, his laws, iv. 504.<br /> -Zamolxis, iv. 470.<br /> -Zealots in religion, ii. 541.<br /> -Zeno, school of, ii. 428.<br /> -Zopyrus, a general under Darius, iii. 22.<br /> -Zoroaster, his religion, iv. 250.<br /> -</p> - - -<h5>FINIS.</h5> - - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Philosophical Works, v. 1 (of 4), by David Hume - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS, V. 1 (OF 4) *** - -***** This file should be named 53791-h.htm or 53791-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/7/9/53791/ - -Produced by Madelaine Kilsby and Marc D'Hooghe at Free -Literature (back online soon in an extended version, also -linking to free sources for education worldwide ... 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