David Hume

An Enquiry Concerning Human

Understanding

[published in 1748]

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Content

Sect. I. Of the different Species of Philosophy 4

Sect. II. Of the Origin of Ideas 13

Sect. III. Of the Association of Ideas 18

Sect. IV. Sceptical Doubts concerning the Operations of the

Understanding 20

PART I 20

PART II 26

Sect. V. Sceptical Solution of these Doubts 33

PART I 33

PART II 40

Sect. VI. Of Probability 47

Sect. VII. Of the Idea of necessary Connexion 50

PART I 50

PART II 61

Sect. VIII. Of Liberty and Necessity 66

PART I 66

PART II 79

Sect. IX. Of the Reason of Animals 85

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Sect. X. Of Miracles 89

PART I 89

PART II 95

Sect. XI. Of a particular Providence and of a future State 107

Sect. XII. Of the academical or sceptical Philosophy 121

PART I 121

PART II 127

PART III 131

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Sect. I. Of the different Species of Philosophy

Moral philosophy, or the science of human nature, may be treated after

two different manners; each of which has its peculiar merit, and may

contribute to the entertainment, instruction, and reformation of

mankind. The one considers man chiefly as born for action; and as

influenced in his measures by taste and sentiment; pursuing one object,

and avoiding another, according to the value which these objects seem to

possess, and according to the light in which they present themselves. As

virtue, of all objects, is allowed to be the most valuable, this species of

philosophers paint her in the most amiable colours; borrowing all helps

from poetry and eloquence, and treating their subject in an easy and

obvious manner, and such as is best fitted to please the imagination, and

engage the affections. They select the most striking observations and

instances from common life; place opposite characters in a proper

contrast; and alluring us into the paths of virtue by the views of glory

and happiness, direct our steps in these paths by the soundest precepts

and most illustrious examples. They make us feel the difference between

vice and virtue; they excite and regulate our sentiments; and so they can

but bend our hearts to the love of probity and true honour, they think,

that they have fully attained the end of all their labours.

The other species of philosophers considers man in the light of a

reasonable rather than an active being, and endeavours to form his

understanding more than cultivate his manners. They regard human

nature as a subject of speculation; and with a narrow scrutiny examine it,

in order to find those principles, which regulate our understanding, excite

our sentiments, and make us approve or blame any particular object,

action, or behaviour. They think it a reproach to all literature, that

philosophy should not yet have fixed, beyond controversy, the

foundation of morals, reasoning, and criticism; and should for ever talk

of truth and falsehood, vice and virtue, beauty and deformity, without

being able to determine the source of these distinctions. While they

attempt this arduous task, they are deterred by no difficulties; but

proceeding from particular instances to general principles, they still push

on their enquiries to principles more general, and rest not satisfied till

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they arrive at those original principles, by which, in every science, all

human curiosity must be bounded. Though their speculations seem

abstract, and even unintelligible to common readers, they aim at the

approbation of the learned and the wise; and think themselves

sufficiently compensated for the labour of their whole lives, if they can

discover some hidden truths, which may contribute to the instruction of

posterity.

It is certain that the easy and obvious philosophy will always, with the

generality of mankind, have the preference above the accurate and

abstruse; and by many will be recommended, not only as more agreeable,

but more useful than the other. It enters more into common life; moulds

the heart and affections; and, by touching those principles which actuate

men, reforms their conduct, and brings them nearer to that model of

perfection which it describes. On the contrary, the abstruse philosophy,

being founded on a turn of mind, which cannot enter into business and

action, vanishes when the philosopher leaves the shade, and comes into

open day; nor can its principles easily retain any influence over our

conduct and behaviour. The feelings of our heart, the agitation of our

passions, the vehemence of our affections, dissipate all its conclusions,

and reduce the profound philosopher to a mere plebeian.

This also must be confessed, that the most durable, as well as justest

fame, has been acquired by the easy philosophy, and that abstract

reasoners seem hitherto to have enjoyed only a momentary reputation,

from the caprice or ignorance of their own age, but have not been able

to support their renown with more equitable posterity. It is easy for a

profound philosopher to commit a mistake in his subtile reasonings; and

one mistake is the necessary parent of another, while he pushes on his

consequences, and is not deterred from embracing any conclusion, by its

unusual appearance, or its contradiction to popular opinion. But a

philosopher, who purposes only to represent the common sense of

mankind in more beautiful and more engaging colours, if by accident he

falls into error, goes no farther; but renewing his appeal to common

sense, and the natural sentiments of the mind, returns into the right

path, and secures himself from any dangerous illusions. The fame of

Cicero flourishes at present; but that of Aristotle is utterly decayed. La

Bruyere passes the seas, and still maintains his reputation: But the glory

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of Malebranche is confined to his own nation, and to his own age. And

Addison, perhaps, will be read with pleasure, when Locke shall be

entirely forgotten.

The mere philosopher is a character, which is commonly but little

acceptable in the world, as being supposed to contribute nothing either

to the advantage or pleasure of society; while he lives remote from

communication with mankind, and is wrapped up in principles and

notions equally remote from their comprehension. On the other hand,

the mere ignorant is still more despised; nor is anything deemed a surer

sign of an illiberal genius in an age and nation where the sciences

flourish, than to be entirely destitute of all relish for those noble

entertainments. The most perfect character is supposed to lie between

those extremes; retaining an equal ability and taste for books, company,

and business; preserving in conversation that discernment and delicacy

which arise from polite letters; and in business, that probity and accuracy

which are the natural result of a just philosophy. In order to diffuse and

cultivate so accomplished a character, nothing can be more useful than

compositions of the easy style and manner, which draw not too much

from life, require no deep application or retreat to be comprehended,

and send back the student among mankind full of noble sentiments and

wise precepts, applicable to every exigence of human life. By means of

such compositions, virtue becomes amiable, science agreeable, company

instructive, and retirement entertaining.

Man is a reasonable being; and as such, receives from science his proper

food and nourishment: But so narrow are the bounds of human

understanding, that little satisfaction can be hoped for in this particular,

either from the extent of security or his acquisitions. Man is a sociable,

no less than a reasonable being: But neither can he always enjoy

company agreeable and amusing, or preserve the proper relish for them.

Man is also an active being; and from that disposition, as wel as from the

various necessities of human life, must submit to business and

occupation: But the mind requires some relaxation, and cannot always

support its bent to care and industry. It seems, then, that nature has

pointed out a mixed kind of life as most suitable to the human race, and

secretly admonished them to allow none of these biasses to draw too

much, so as to incapacitate them for other occupations and

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entertainments. Indulge your passion for science, says she, but let your

science be human, and such as may have a direct reference to action and

society. Abstruse thought and profound researches I prohibit, and will

severely punish, by the pensive melancholy which they introduce, by the

endless uncertainty in which they involve you, and by the cold reception

which your pretended discoveries shall meet with, when communicated.

Be a philosopher; but, amidst all your philosophy, be stil a man.

Were the generality of mankind contented to prefer the easy philosophy

to the abstract and profound, without throwing any blame or contempt

on the latter, it might not be improper, perhaps, to comply with this

general opinion, and allow every man to enjoy, without opposition, his

own taste and sentiment. But as the matter is often carried farther, even

to the absolute rejecting of all profound reasonings, or what is

commonly called metaphysics, we shall now proceed to consider what

can reasonably be pleaded in their behalf.

We may begin with observing, that one considerable advantage, which

results from the accurate and abstract philosophy, is, its subserviency to

the easy and humane; which, without the former, can never attain a

sufficient degree of exactness in its sentiments, precepts, or reasonings.

All polite letters are nothing but pictures of human life in various

attitudes and situations; and inspire us with different sentiments, of

praise or blame, admiration or ridicule, according to the qualities of the

object, which they set before us. An artist must be better qualified to

succeed in this undertaking, who, besides a delicate taste and a quick

apprehension, possesses an accurate knowledge of the internal fabric,

the operations of the understanding, the workings of the passions, and

the various species of sentiment which discriminate vice and virtue. How

painful soever this inward search or enquiry may appear, it becomes, in

some measure, requisite to those, who would describe with success the

obvious and outward appearances of life and manners. The anatomist

presents to the eye the most hideous and disagreeable objects; but his

science is useful to the painter in delineating even a Venus or an Helen.

While the latter employs all the richest colours of his art, and gives his

figures the most graceful and engaging airs; he must still carry his

attention to the inward structure of the human body, the position of the

muscles, the fabric of the bones, and the use and figure of every part or

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organ. Accuracy is, in every case, advantageous to beauty, and just

reasoning to delicate sentiment. In vain would we exalt the one by

depreciating the other.

Besides, we may observe, in every art or profession, even those which

most concern life or action, that a spirit of accuracy, however acquired,

carries all of them nearer their perfection, and renders them more

subservient to the interests of society. And though a philosopher may

live remote from business, the genius of philosophy, if carefully

cultivated by several, must gradually diffuse itself throughout the whole

society, and bestow a similar correctness on every art and calling. The

politician will acquire greater foresight and subtility, in the subdividing

and balancing of power; the lawyer more method and finer principles in

his reasonings; and the general more regularity in his discipline, and more

caution in his plans and operations. The stability of modern

governments above the ancient, and the accuracy of modern philosophy,

have improved, and probably will still improve, by similar gradations.

Were there no advantage to be reaped from these studies, beyond the

gratification of an innocent curiosity, yet ought not even this to be

despised; as being one accession to those few safe and harmless

pleasures, which are bestowed on the human race. The sweetest and

most inoffensive path of life leads through the avenues of science and

learning; and whoever can either remove any obstructions in this way, or

open up any new prospect, ought so far to be esteemed a benefactor to

mankind. And though these researches may appear painful and fatiguing,

it is with some minds as with some bodies, which being endowed with

vigorous and florid health, require severe exercise, and reap a pleasure

from what, to the generality of mankind, may seem burdensome and

laborious. Obscurity, indeed, is painful to the mind as well as to the eye;

but to bring light from obscurity, by whatever labour, must needs be

delightful and rejoicing.

But this obscurity in the profound and abstract philosophy, is objected

to, not only as painful and fatiguing, but as the inevitable source of

uncertainty and error. Here indeed lies the justest and most plausible

objection against a considerable part of metaphysics, that they are not

properly a science; but arise either from the fruitless efforts of human

vanity, which would penetrate into subjects utterly inaccessible to the

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understanding, or from the craft of popular superstitions, which, being

unable to defend themselves on fair ground, raise these intangling

brambles to cover and protect their weakness. Chased from the open

country, these robbers fly into the forest, and lie in wait to break in upon

every unguarded avenue of the mind, and overwhelm it with religious

fears and prejudices. The stoutest antagonist, if he remit his watch a

moment, is oppressed. And many, through cowardice and folly, open the

gates to the enemies, and willingly receive them with reverence and

submission, as their legal sovereigns.

But is this a sufficient reason, why philosophers should desist from such

researches, and leave superstition still in possession of her retreat? Is it

not proper to draw an opposite conclusion, and perceive the necessity of

carrying the war into the most secret recesses of the enemy? In vain do

we hope, that men, from frequent disappointment, will at last abandon

such airy sciences, and discover the proper province of human reason.

For, besides, that many persons find too sensible an interest in

perpetually recalling such topics; besides this, I say, the motive of blind

despair can never reasonably have place in the sciences; since, however

unsuccessful former attempts may have proved, there is still room to

hope, that the industry, good fortune, or improved sagacity of

succeeding generations may reach discoveries unknown to former ages.

Each adventurous genius will still leap at the arduous prize, and find

himself stimulated, rather that discouraged, by the failures of his

predecessors; while he hopes that the glory of achieving so hard an

adventure is reserved for him alone. The only method of freeing

learning, at once, from these abstruse questions, is to enquire seriously

into the nature of human understanding, and show, from an exact

analysis of its powers and capacity, that it is by no means fitted for such

remote and abstruse subjects. We must submit to this fatigue, in order to

live at ease ever after: And must cultivate true metaphysics with some

care, in order to destroy the false and adulterate. Indolence, which, to

some persons, affords a safeguard against this deceitful philosophy, is,

with others, overbalanced by curiosity; and despair, which, at some

moments, prevails, may give place afterwards to sanguine hopes and

expectations. Accurate and just reasoning is the only catholic remedy,

fitted for all persons and all dispositions; and is alone able to subvert that

abstruse philosophy and metaphysical jargon, which, being mixed up

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with popular superstition, renders it in a manner impenetrable to careless

reasoners, and gives it the air of science and wisdom.

Besides this advantage of rejecting, after deliberate enquiry, the most

uncertain and disagreeable part of learning, there are many positive

advantages, which result from an accurate scrutiny into the powers and

faculties of human nature. It is remarkable concerning the operations of

the mind, that, though most intimately present to us, yet, whenever they

become the object of reflexion, they seem involved in obscurity; nor can

the eye readily find those lines and boundaries, which discriminate and

distinguish them. The objects are too fine to remain long in the same

aspect or situation; and must be apprehended in an instant, by a superior

penetration, derived from nature, and improved by habit and reflexion. It

becomes, therefore, no inconsiderable part of science barely to know the

different operations of the mind, to separate them from each other, to

class them under their proper heads, and to correct all that seeming

disorder, in which they lie involved, when made the object of reflexion

and enquiry. This talk of ordering and distinguishing, which has no

merit, when performed with regard to external bodies, the objects of our

senses, rises in its value, when directed towards the operations of the

mind, in proportion to the difficulty and labour, which we meet with in

performing it. And if we can go no farther than this mental geography,

or delineation of the distinct parts and powers of the mind, it is at least a

satisfaction to go so far; and the more obvious this science may appear

(and it is by no means obvious) the more contemptible still must the

ignorance of it be esteemed, in all pretenders to learning and philosophy.

Nor can there remain any suspicion, that this science is uncertain and

chimerical; unless we should entertain such a scepticism as is entirely

subversive of all speculation, and even action. It cannot be doubted, that

the mind is endowed with several powers and faculties, that these powers

are distinct from each other, that what is real y distinct to the immediate

perception may be distinguished by reflexion; and consequently, that

there is a truth and falsehood in all propositions on this subject, and a

truth and falsehood, which lie not beyond the compass of human

understanding. There are many obvious distinctions of this kind, such as

those between the will and understanding, the imagination and passions,

which fall within the comprehension of every human creature; and the

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finer and more philosophical distinctions are no less real and certain,

though more difficult to be comprehended. Some instances, especially

late ones, of success in these enquiries, may give us a juster notion of the

certainty and solidity of this branch of learning. And shall we esteem it

worthy the labour of a philosopher to give us a true system of the

planets, and adjust the position and order of those remote bodies; while

we affect to overlook those, who, with so much success, delineate the

parts of the mind, in which we are so intimately concerned?

But may we not hope, that philosophy, if cultivated with care, and

encouraged by the attention of the public, may carry its researches still

farther, and discover, at least in some degree, the secret springs and

principles, by which the human mind is actuated in its operations?

Astronomers had long contented themselves with proving, from the

phaenomena, the true motions, order, and magnitude of the heavenly

bodies: Till a philosopher, at last, arose, who seems, from the happiest

reasoning, to have also determined the laws and forces, by which the

revolutions of the planets are governed and directed. The like has been

performed with regard to other parts of nature. And there is no reason

to despair of equal success in our enquiries concerning the mental

powers and economy, if prosecuted with equal capacity and caution. It is

probable, that one operation and principle of the mind depends on

another; which, again, may be resolved into one more general and

universal: And how far these researches may possibly be carried, it will be

difficult for us, before, or even after, a careful trial, exactly to determine.

This is certain, that attempts of this kind are every day made even by

those who philosophize the most negligently: And nothing can be more

requisite than to enter upon the enterprize with thorough care and

attention; that, if it lie within the compass of human understanding, it

may at last be happily achieved; if not, it may, however, be rejected with

some confidence and security. This last conclusion, surely, is not

desirable; nor ought it to be embraced too rashly. For how much must

we diminish from the beauty and value of this species of philosophy,

upon such a supposition? Moralists have hitherto been accustomed,

when they considered the vast multitude and diversity of those actions

that excite our approbation or dislike, to search for some common

principle, on which this variety of sentiments might depend. And though

they have sometimes carried the matter too far, by their passion for some

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one general principle; it must, however, be confessed, that they are

excusable in expecting to find some general principles, into which all the

vices and virtues were justly to be resolved. The like has been the

endeavour of critics, logicians, and even politicians: Nor have their

attempts been wholly unsuccessful; though perhaps longer time, greater

accuracy, and more ardent application may bring these sciences still

nearer their perfection. To throw up at once all pretensions of this kind

may justly be deemed more rash, precipitate, and dogmatical, than even

the boldest and most affirmative philosophy, that has ever attempted to

impose its crude dictates and principles on mankind.

What though these reasonings concerning human nature seem abstract,

and of difficult comprehension? This affords no presumption of their

falsehood. On the contrary, it seems impossible, that what has hitherto

escaped so many wise and profound philosophers can be very obvious

and easy. And whatever pains these researches may cost us, we may think

ourselves sufficiently rewarded, not only in point of profit but of

pleasure, if, by that means, we can make any addition to our stock of

knowledge, in subjects of such unspeakable importance.

But as, after all, the abstractedness of these speculations is no

recommendation, but rather a disadvantage to them, and as this difficulty

may perhaps be surmounted by care and art, and the avoiding of all

unnecessary detail, we have, in the following enquiry, attempted to throw

some light upon subjects, from which uncertainty has hitherto deterred

the wise, and obscurity the ignorant. Happy, if we can unite the

boundaries of the different species of philosophy, by reconciling

profound enquiry with clearness, and truth with novelty! And still more

happy, if, reasoning in this easy manner, we can undermine the

foundations of an abstruse philosophy, which seems to have hitherto

served only as a shelter to superstition, and a cover to absurdity and

error!

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Sect. II. Of the Origin of Ideas

Every one will readily allow, that there is a considerable difference

between the perceptions of the mind, when a man feels the pain of

excessive heat, or the pleasure of moderate warmth, and when he

afterwards recalls to his memory this sensation, or anticipates it by his

imagination. These faculties may mimic or copy the perceptions of the

senses; but they never can entirely reach the force and vivacity of the

original sentiment. The utmost we say of them, even when they operate

with greatest vigour, is, that they represent their object in so lively a

manner, that we could almost say we feel or see it: But, except the mind

be disordered by disease or madness, they never can arrive at such a

pitch of vivacity, as to render these perceptions altogether

undistinguishable. All the colours of poetry, however splendid, can never

paint natural objects in such a manner as to make the description be

taken for a real landskip. The most lively thought is still inferior to the

dullest sensation.

We may observe a like distinction to run through all the other

perceptions of the mind. A man in a fit of anger, is actuated in a very

different manner from one who only thinks of that emotion. If you tell

me, that any person is in love, I easily understand your meaning, and

form a just conception of his situation; but never can mistake that

conception for the real disorders and agitations of the passion. When we

reflect on our past sentiments and affections, our thought is a faithful

mirror, and copies its objects truly; but the colours which it employs are

faint and dull, in comparison of those in which our original perceptions

were clothed. It requires no nice discernment or metaphysical head to

mark the distinction between them.

Here therefore we may divide all the perceptions of the mind into two

classes or species, which are distinguished by their different degrees of

force and vivacity. The less forcible and lively are commonly

denominated Thoughts or Ideas. The other species want a name in our

language, and in most others; I suppose, because it was not requisite for

any, but philosophical purposes, to rank them under a general term or

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appellation. Let us, therefore, use a little freedom, and call them

Impressions; employing that word in a sense somewhat different from

the usual. By the term impression, then, I mean all our more lively

perceptions, when we hear, or see, or feel, or love, or hate, or desire, or

will. And impressions are distinguished from ideas, which are the less

lively perceptions, of which we are conscious, when we reflect on any of

those sensations or movements above mentioned.

Nothing, at first view, may seem more unbounded than the thought of

man, which not only escapes all human power and authority, but is not

even restrained within the limits of nature and reality. To form monsters,

and join incongruous shapes and appearances, costs the imagination no

more trouble than to conceive the most natural and familiar objects. And

while the body is confined to one planet, along which it creeps with pain

and difficulty; the thought can in an instant transport us into the most

distant regions of the universe; or even beyond the universe, into the

unbounded chaos, where nature is supposed to lie in total confusion.

What never was seen, or heard of, may yet be conceived; nor is any thing

beyond the power of thought, except what implies an absolute

contradiction.

But though our thought seems to possess this unbounded liberty, we

shall find, upon a nearer examination, that it is really confined within

very narrow limits, and that all this creative power of the mind amounts

to no more than the faculty of compounding, transposing, augmenting,

or diminishing the materials afforded us by the senses and experience.

When we think of a golden mountain, we only join two consistent ideas,

gold, and mountain, with which we were formerly acquainted. A virtuous

horse we can conceive; because, from our own feeling, we can conceive

virtue; and this we may unite to the figure and shape of a horse, which is

an animal familiar to us. In short, all the materials of thinking are derived

either from our outward or inward sentiment: the mixture and

composition of these belongs alone to the mind and wil . Or, to express

myself in philosophical language, all our ideas or more feeble

perceptions are copies of our impressions or more lively ones.

To prove this, the two following arguments will, I hope, be sufficient.

First, when we analyze our thoughts or ideas, however compounded or

sublime, we always find that they resolve themselves into such simple

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ideas as were copied from a precedent feeling or sentiment. Even those

ideas, which, at first view, seem the most wide of this origin, are found,

upon a nearer scrutiny, to be derived from it. The idea of God, as

meaning an infinitely intelligent, wise, and good Being, arises from

reflecting on the operations of our own mind, and augmenting, without

limit, those qualities of goodness and wisdom. We may prosecute this

enquiry to what length we please; where we shall always find, that every

idea which we examine is copied from a similar impression. Those who

would assert that this position is not universally true nor without

exception, have only one, and that an easy method of refuting it; by

producing that idea, which, in their opinion, is not derived from this

source. It will then be incumbent on us, if we would maintain our

doctrine, to produce the impression, or lively perception, which

corresponds to it.

Secondly. If it happen, from a defect of the organ, that a man is not

susceptible of any species of sensation, we always find that he is as little

susceptible of the correspondent ideas. A blind man can form no notion

of colours; a deaf man of sounds. Restore either of them that sense in

which he is deficient; by opening this new inlet for his sensations, you

also open an inlet for the ideas; and he finds no difficulty in conceiving

these objects. The case is the same, if the object, proper for exciting any

sensation, has never been applied to the organ. A Laplander or Negro

has no notion of the relish of wine. And though there are few or no

instances of a like deficiency in the mind, where a person has never felt

or is wholly incapable of a sentiment or passion that belongs to his

species; yet we find the same observation to take place in a less degree. A

man of mild manners can form no idea of inveterate revenge or cruelty;

nor can a selfish heart easily conceive the heights of friendship and

generosity. It is readily allowed, that other beings may possess many

senses of which we can have no conception; because the ideas of them

have never been introduced to us in the only manner by which an idea

can have access to the mind, to wit, by the actual feeling and sensation.

There is, however, one contradictory phenomenon, which may prove

that it is not absolutely impossible for ideas to arise, independent of their

correspondent impressions. I believe it will readily be allowed, that the

several distinct ideas of colour, which enter by the eye, or those of

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sound, which are conveyed by the ear, are really different from each

other; though, at the same time, resembling. Now if this be true of

different colours, it must be no less so of the different shades of the

same colour; and each shade produces a distinct idea, independent of the

rest. For if this should be denied, it is possible, by the continual

gradation of shades, to run a colour insensibly into what is most remote

from it; and if you will not allow any of the means to be different, you

cannot, without absurdity, deny the extremes to be the same. Suppose,

therefore, a person to have enjoyed his sight for thirty years, and to have

become perfectly acquainted with colours of all kinds except one

particular shade of blue, for instance, which it never has been his fortune

to meet with. Let all the different shades of that colour, except that

single one, be placed before him, descending gradually from the deepest

to the lightest; it is plain that he will perceive a blank, where that shade is

wanting, and will be sensible that there is a greater distance in that place

between the contiguous colours than in any other. Now I ask, whether it

be possible for him, from his own imagination, to supply this deficiency,

and raise up to himself the idea of that particular shade, though it had

never been conveyed to him by his senses? I believe there are few but

will be of opinion that he can: and this may serve as a proof that the

simple ideas are not always, in every instance, derived from the

correspondent impressions; though this instance is so singular, that it is

scarcely worth our observing, and does not merit that for it alone we

should alter our general maxim.

Here, therefore, is a proposition, which not only seems, in itself, simple

and intelligible; but, if a proper use were made of it, might render every

dispute equally intelligible, and banish all that jargon, which has so long

taken possession of metaphysical reasonings, and drawn disgrace upon

them. All ideas, especially abstract ones, are naturally faint and obscure:

the mind has but a slender hold of them: they are apt to be confounded

with other resembling ideas; and when we have often employed any

term, though without a distinct meaning, we are apt to imagine it has a

determinate idea annexed to it. On the contrary, all impressions, that is,

all sensations, either outward or inward, are strong and vivid: the limits

between them are more exactly determined: nor is it easy to fall into any

error or mistake with regard to them. When we entertain, therefore, any

suspicion that a philosophical term is employed without any meaning or

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idea (as is but too frequent), we need but enquire, from what impression

is that supposed idea derived? And if it be impossible to assign any, this

will serve to confirm our suspicion. By bringing ideas into so clear a light

we may reasonably hope to remove all dispute, which may arise,

concerning their nature and reality.1

But admitting these terms, impressions and ideas, in the sense above

explained, and understanding by innate, what is original or copied from

no precedent perception, then may we assert that all our impressions are

innate, and our ideas not innate.

To be ingenuous, I must own it to be my opinion, that Locke was

betrayed into this question by the Schoolmen, who, making use of

undefined terms, draw out their disputes to a tedious length, without

ever touching the point in question. A like ambiguity and circumlocution

seem to run through that Philosopher′s reasonings on this as well as

most other subjects.

1

It is probable that no more was meant by those, who denied innate ideas, than that all ideas were copies of

our impressions; though it must be confessed, that the terms, which they employed, were not chosen with

such caution, nor so exactly defined, as to prevent all mistakes about their doctrine. For what is meant by

innate? If innate be equivalent to natural, then all the perceptions and ideas of the mind must be allowed to

be innate or natural, in whatever sense we take the latter word, whether in opposition to what is uncommon,

artificial, or miraculous. If by innate be meant, contemporary to our birth, the dispute seems to be frivolous;

nor is it worth while to enquire at what time thinking begins, whether before, at, or after our birth. Again, the

word idea, seems to be commonly taken in a very loose sense, by Locke and others; as standing for any of

our perceptions, our sensations and passions, as well as thoughts. Now in this sense, I should desire to know,

what can be meant by asserting, that self-love, or resentment of injuries, or the passion between the sexes is

not innate?

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Sect. III. Of the Association of Ideas

IT is evident that there is a principle of connexion between the different

thoughts or ideas of the mind, and that, in their appearance to the

memory or imagination, they introduce each other with a certain degree

of method and regularity. In our more serious thinking or discourse this

is so observable that any particular thought, which breaks in upon the

regular tract or chain of ideas, is immediately remarked and rejected.

And even in our wildest and most wandering reveries, nay in our very

dreams, we shall find, if we reflect, that the imagination ran not

altogether at adventures, but that there was still a connexion upheld

among the different ideas, which succeeded each other. Were the loosest

and freest conversation to be transcribed, there would immediately be

observed something which connected it in all its transitions. Or where

this is wanting, the person who broke the thread of discourse might still

inform you, that there had secretly revolved in his mind a succession of

thought, which had gradually led him from the subject of conversation.

Among different languages, even where we cannot suspect the least

connexion or communication, it is found, that the words, expressive of

ideas, the most compounded, do yet nearly correspond to each other: a

certain proof that the simple ideas, comprehended in the compound

ones, were bound together by some universal principle, which had an

equal influence on all mankind.

Though it be too obvious to escape observation, that different ideas are

connected together; I do not find that any philosopher has attempted to

enumerate or class all the principles of association; a subject, however,

that seems worthy of curiosity. To me, there appear to be only three

principles of connexion among ideas, namely, Resemblance, Contiguity

in time or place, and Cause or Effect.

That these principles serve to connect ideas will not, I believe, be much

doubted. A picture naturally leads our thoughts to the original:2 the

mention of one apartment in a building natural y introduces an enquiry

2

Resemblance.

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or discourse concerning the others:3 and if we think of a wound, we can

scarcely forbear reflecting on the pain which follows it.4 But that this

enumeration is complete, and that there are no other principles of

association except these, may be difficult to prove to the satisfaction of

the reader, or even to a man′s own satisfaction. All we can do, in such

cases, is to run over several instances, and examine carefully the principle

which binds the different thoughts to each other, never stopping till we

render the principle as general as possible.5 The more instances we

examine, and the more care we employ, the more assurance shall we

acquire, that the enumeration, which we form from the whole, is

complete and entire.

3

Contiguity.

4

Cause and effect.

5

For instance Contrast or Contrariety is also a connexion among Ideas: but it may, perhaps, be considered as a

mixture of Causation and Resemblance. Where two objects are contrary, the one destroys the other; that is,

the cause of its annihilation, and the idea of the annihilation of an object, implies the idea of its former

existence.

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Sect. IV. Sceptical Doubts concerning the Operations of
the Understanding

PART I.

All the objects of human reason or enquiry may naturally be divided into

two kinds, to wit, Relations of Ideas, and Matters of Fact. Of the first

kind are the sciences of Geometry, Algebra, and Arithmetic; and in

short, every affirmation which is either intuitively or demonstratively

certain. That the square of the hypothenuse is equal to the square of the

two sides, is a proposition which expresses a relation between these

figures. That three times five is equal to the half of thirty, expresses a

relation between these numbers. Propositions of this kind are

discoverable by the mere operation of thought, without dependence on

what is anywhere existent in the universe. Though there never were a

circle or triangle in nature, the truths demonstrated by Euclid would for

ever retain their certainty and evidence.

Matters of fact, which are the second objects of human reason, are not

ascertained in the same manner; nor is our evidence of their truth,

however great, of a like nature with the foregoing. The contrary of every

matter of fact is still possible; because it can never imply a contradiction,

and is conceived by the mind with the same facility and distinctness, as if

ever so conformable to reality. That the sun will not rise tomorrow is no

less intelligible a proposition, and implies no more contradiction than the

affirmation, that it will rise. We should in vain, therefore, attempt to

demonstrate its falsehood. Were it demonstratively false, it would imply a

contradiction, and could never be distinctly conceived by the mind.

It may, therefore, be a subject worthy of curiosity, to enquire what is the

nature of that evidence which assures us of any real existence and matter

of fact, beyond the present testimony of our senses, or the records of

our memory. This part of philosophy, it is observable, has been little

cultivated, either by the ancients or moderns; and therefore our doubts

and errors, in the prosecution of so important an enquiry, may be the

more excusable; while we march through such difficult paths without any

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guide or direction. They may even prove useful, by exciting curiosity, and

destroying that implicit faith and security, which is the bane of all

reasoning and free enquiry. The discovery of defects in the common

philosophy, if any such there be, will not, I presume, be a

discouragement, but rather an incitement, as is usual, to attempt

something more full and satisfactory than has yet been proposed to the

public.

All reasonings concerning matter of fact seem to be founded on the

relation of Cause and Effect. By means of that relation alone we can go

beyond the evidence of our memory and senses. If you were to ask a

man, why he believes any matter of fact, which is absent; for instance,

that his friend is in the country, or in France; he would give you a reason;

and this reason would be some other fact; as a letter received from him,

or the knowledge of his former resolutions and promises. A man finding

a watch or any other machine in a desert island, would conclude that

there had once been men in that island. All our reasonings concerning

fact are of the same nature. And here it is constantly supposed that there

is a connexion between the present fact and that which is inferred from

it. Were there nothing to bind them together, the inference would be

entirely precarious. The hearing of an articulate voice and rational

discourse in the dark assures us of the presence of some person: Why?

because these are the effects of the human make and fabric, and closely

connected with it. If we anatomize al the other reasonings of this

nature, we shall find that they are founded on the relation of cause and

effect, and that this relation is either near or remote, direct or collateral.

Heat and light are collateral effects of fire, and the one effect may justly

be inferred from the other.

If we would satisfy ourselves, therefore, concerning the nature of that

evidence, which assures us of matters of fact, we must enquire how we

arrive at the knowledge of cause and effect.

I shal venture to affirm, as a general proposition, which admits of no

exception, that the knowledge of this relation is not, in any instance,

attained by reasonings a priori; but arises entirely from experience, when

we find that any particular objects are constantly conjoined with each

other. Let an object be presented to a man of ever so strong natural

reason and abilities; if that object be entirely new to him, he will not be

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able, by the most accurate examination of its sensible qualities, to

discover any of its causes or effects. Adam, though his rational faculties

be supposed, at the very first, entirely perfect, could not have inferred

from the fluidity and transparency of water that it would suffocate him,

or from the light and warmth of fire that it would consume him. No

object ever discovers, by the qualities which appear to the senses, either

the causes which produced it, or the effects which will arise from it; nor

can our reason, unassisted by experience, ever draw any inference

concerning real existence and matter of fact.

This proposition, that causes and effects are discoverable, not by reason

but by experience, will readily be admitted with regard to such objects, as

we remember to have once been altogether unknown to us; since we

must be conscious of the utter inability, which we then lay under, of

foretelling what would arise from them. Present two smooth pieces of

marble to a man who has no tincture of natural philosophy; he will never

discover that they wil adhere together in such a manner as to require

great force to separate them in a direct line, while they make so small a

resistance to a lateral pressure. Such events, as bear little analogy to the

common course of nature, are also readily confessed to be known only

by experience; nor does any man imagine that the explosion of

gunpowder, or the attraction of a loadstone, could ever be discovered by

arguments a priori. In like manner, when an effect is supposed to depend

upon an intricate machinery or secret structure of parts, we make no

difficulty in attributing all our knowledge of it to experience. Who will

assert that he can give the ultimate reason, why milk or bread is proper

nourishment for a man, not for a lion or a tiger?

But the same truth may not appear, at first sight, to have the same

evidence with regard to events, which have become familiar to us from

our first appearance in the world, which bear a close analogy to the

whole course of nature, and which are supposed to depend on the

simple qualities of objects, without any secret structure of parts. We are

apt to imagine that we could discover these effects by the mere operation

of our reason, without experience. We fancy, that were we brought on a

sudden into this world, we could at first have inferred that one billiard-

ball would communicate motion to another upon impulse; and that we

needed not to have waited for the event, in order to pronounce with

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certainty concerning it. Such is the influence of custom, that, where it is

strongest, it not only covers our natural ignorance, but even conceals

itself, and seems not to take place, merely because it is found in the

highest degree.

But to convince us that all the laws of nature, and all the operations of

bodies without exception, are known only by experience, the following

reflections may, perhaps, suffice. Were any object presented to us, and

were we required to pronounce concerning the effect, which will result

from it, without consulting past observation; after what manner, I

beseech you, must the mind proceed in this operation? It must invent or

imagine some event, which it ascribes to the object as its effect; and it is

plain that this invention must be entirely arbitrary. The mind can never

possibly find the effect in the supposed cause, by the most accurate

scrutiny and examination. For the effect is totally different from the

cause, and consequently can never be discovered in it. Motion in the

second billiard-ball is a quite distinct event from motion in the first; nor

is there anything in the one to suggest the smallest hint of the other. A

stone or piece of metal raised into the air, and left without any support,

immediately falls: but to consider the matter a priori, is there anything we

discover in this situation which can beget the idea of a downward, rather

than an upward, or any other motion, in the stone or metal?

And as the first imagination or invention of a particular effect, in all

natural operations, is arbitrary, where we consult not experience; so must

we also esteem the supposed tie or connexion between the cause and

effect, which binds them together, and renders it impossible that any

other effect could result from the operation of that cause. When I see,

for instance, a billiard-ball moving in a straight line towards another;

even suppose motion in the second ball should by accident be suggested

to me, as the result of their contact or impulse; may I not conceive, that

a hundred different events might as well follow from that cause? May not

both these bal s remain at absolute rest? May not the first ball return in a

straight line, or leap off from the second in any line or direction? All

these suppositions are consistent and conceivable. Why then should we

give the preference to one, which is no more consistent or conceivable

than the rest? All our reasonings a priori will never be able to show us

any foundation for this preference.

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In a word, then, every effect is a distinct event from its cause. It could

not, therefore, be discovered in the cause, and the first invention or

conception of it, a priori, must be entirely arbitrary. And even after it is

suggested, the conjunction of it with the cause must appear equally

arbitrary; since there are always many other effects, which, to reason,

must seem fully as consistent and natural. In vain, therefore, should we

pretend to determine any single event, or infer any cause or effect,

without the assistance of observation and experience.

Hence we may discover the reason why no philosopher, who is rational

and modest, has ever pretended to assign the ultimate cause of any

natural operation, or to show distinctly the action of that power, which

produces any single effect in the universe. It is confessed, that the utmost

effort of human reason is to reduce the principles, productive of natural

phenomena, to a greater simplicity, and to resolve the many particular

effects into a few general causes, by means of reasonings from analogy,

experience, and observation. But as to the causes of these general causes,

we should in vain attempt their discovery; nor shall we ever be able to

satisfy ourselves, by any particular explication of them. These ultimate

springs and principles are totally shut up from human curiosity and

enquiry. Elasticity, gravity, cohesion of parts, communication of motion

by impulse; these are probably the ultimate causes and principles which

we shall ever discover in nature; and we may esteem ourselves

sufficiently happy, if, by accurate enquiry and reasoning, we can trace up

the particular phenomena to, or near to, these general principles. The

most perfect philosophy of the natural kind only staves off our

ignorance a little longer: as perhaps the most perfect philosophy of the

moral or metaphysical kind serves only to discover larger portions of it.

Thus the observation of human blindness and weakness is the result of

all philosophy, and meets us at every turn, in spite of our endeavours to

elude or avoid it.

Nor is geometry, when taken into the assistance of natural philosophy,

ever able to remedy this defect, or lead us into the knowledge of ultimate

causes, by all that accuracy of reasoning for which it is so justly

celebrated. Every part of mixed mathematics proceeds upon the

supposition that certain laws are established by nature in her operations;

and abstract reasonings are employed, either to assist experience in the

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discovery of these laws, or to determine their influence in particular

instances, where it depends upon any precise degree of distance and

quantity. Thus, it is a law of motion, discovered by experience, that the

moment or force of any body in motion is in the compound ratio or

proportion of its solid contents and its velocity; and consequently, that a

small force may remove the greatest obstacle or raise the greatest weight,

if, by any contrivance or machinery, we can increase the velocity of that

force, so as to make it an overmatch for its antagonist. Geometry assists

us in the application of this law, by giving us the just dimensions of all

the parts and figures which can enter into any species of machine; but

still the discovery of the law itself is owing merely to experience, and all

the abstract reasonings in the world could never lead us one step towards

the knowledge of it. When we reason a priori, and consider merely any

object or cause, as it appears to the mind, independent of all

observation, it never could suggest to us the notion of any distinct

object, such as its effect; much less, show us the inseparable and

inviolable connexion between them. A man must be very sagacious who

could discover by reasoning that crystal is the effect of heat, and ice of

cold, without being previously acquainted with the operation of these

qualities.

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PART II.

But we have not yet attained any tolerable satisfaction with regard to the

question first proposed. Each solution still gives rise to a new question as

difficult as the foregoing, and leads us on to farther enquiries. When it is

asked, What is the nature of all our reasonings concerning matter of

fact? the proper answer seems to be, that they are founded on the

relation of cause and effect. When again it is asked, What is the

foundation of all our reasonings and conclusions concerning that

relation? it may be replied in one word, Experience. But if we still carry

on our sifting humour, and ask, What is the foundation of all

conclusions from experience? this implies a new question, which may be

of more difficult solution and explication. Philosophers, that give

themselves airs of superior wisdom and sufficiency, have a hard task

when they encounter persons of inquisitive dispositions, who push them

from every corner to which they retreat, and who are sure at last to bring

them to some dangerous dilemma. The best expedient to prevent this

confusion, is to be modest in our pretensions; and even to discover the

difficulty ourselves before it is objected to us. By this means, we may

make a kind of merit of our very ignorance.

I shall content myself, in this section, with an easy task, and shall pretend

only to give a negative answer to the question here proposed. I say then,

that, even after we have experience of the operations of cause and

effect, our conclusions from that experience are not founded on

reasoning, or any process of the understanding. This answer we must

endeavour both to explain and to defend.

It must certainly be allowed, that nature has kept us at a great distance

from all her secrets, and has afforded us only the knowledge of a few

superficial qualities of objects; while she conceals from us those powers

and principles on which the influence of those objects entirely depends.

Our senses inform us of the colour, weight, and consistence of bread;

but neither sense nor reason can ever inform us of those qualities which

fit it for the nourishment and support of a human body. Sight or feeling

conveys an idea of the actual motion of bodies; but as to that wonderful

force or power, which would carry on a moving body for ever in a

continued change of place, and which bodies never lose but by

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communicating it to others; of this we cannot form the most distant

conception. But notwithstanding this ignorance of natural powers6 and

principles, we always presume, when we see like sensible qualities, that

they have like secret powers, and expect that effects, similar to those

which we have experienced, will follow from them. If a body of like

colour and consistence with that bread, which we have formerly eat, be

presented to us, we make no scruple of repeating the experiment, and

foresee, with certainty, like nourishment and support. Now this is a

process of the mind or thought, of which I would willingly know the

foundation. It is allowed on all hands that there is no known connexion

between the sensible qualities and the secret powers; and consequently,

that the mind is not led to form such a conclusion concerning their

constant and regular conjunction, by anything which it knows of their

nature. As to past Experience, it can be allowed to give direct and certain

information of those precise objects only, and that precise period of

time, which fell under its cognizance: but why this experience should be

extended to future times, and to other objects, which for aught we know,

may be only in appearance similar; this is the main question on which I

would insist. The bread, which I formerly eat, nourished me; that is, a

body of such sensible qualities was, at that time, endued with such secret

powers: but does it follow, that other bread must also nourish me at

another time, and that like sensible qualities must always be attended

with like secret powers? The consequence seems nowise necessary. At

least, it must be acknowledged that there is here a consequence drawn by

the mind; that there is a certain step taken; a process of thought, and an

inference, which wants to be explained. These two propositions are far

from being the same, I have found that such an object has always been

attended with such an effect, and I foresee, that other objects, which are,

in appearance, similar, will be attended with similar effects. I shall allow,

if you please, that the one proposition may justly be inferred from the

other: I know, in fact, that it always is inferred. But if you insist that the

inference is made by a chain of reasoning, I desire you to produce that

reasoning. The connexion between these propositions is not intuitive.

There is required a medium, which may enable the mind to draw such an

inference, if indeed it be drawn by reasoning and argument. What that

6

The word, Power, is here used in a loose and popular sense. The more accurate explication of it would give

additional evidence to this argument. See Sect. 7.

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medium is, I must confess, passes my comprehension; and it is

incumbent on those to produce it, who assert that it really exists, and is

the origin of all our conclusions concerning matter of fact.

This negative argument must certainly, in process of time, become

altogether convincing, if many penetrating and able philosophers shall

turn their enquiries this way and no one be ever able to discover any

connecting proposition or intermediate step, which supports the

understanding in this conclusion. But as the question is yet new, every

reader may not trust so far to his own penetration, as to conclude,

because an argument escapes his enquiry, that therefore it does not really

exist. For this reason it may be requisite to venture upon a more difficult

task; and enumerating all the branches of human knowledge, endeavour

to show that none of them can afford such an argument.

All reasonings may be divided into two kinds, namely, demonstrative

reasoning, or that concerning relations of ideas, and moral reasoning, or

that concerning matter of fact and existence. That there are no

demonstrative arguments in the case seems evident; since it implies no

contradiction that the course of nature may change, and that an object,

seemingly like those which we have experienced, may be attended with

different or contrary effects. May I not clearly and distinctly conceive

that a body, falling from the clouds, and which, in all other respects,

resembles snow, has yet the taste of salt or feeling of fire? Is there any

more intelligible proposition than to affirm, that all the trees will flourish

in December and January, and decay in May and June? Now whatever is

intelligible, and can be distinctly conceived, implies no contradiction, and

can never be proved false by any demonstrative argument or abstract

reasoning a priori.

If we be, therefore, engaged by arguments to put trust in past

experience, and make it the standard of our future judgement, these

arguments must be probable only, or such as regard matter of fact and

real existence, according to the division above mentioned. But that there

is no argument of this kind, must appear, if our explication of that

species of reasoning be admitted as solid and satisfactory. We have said

that all arguments concerning existence are founded on the relation of

cause and effect; that our knowledge of that relation is derived entirely

from experience; and that all our experimental conclusions proceed upon

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the supposition that the future will be conformable to the past. To

endeavour, therefore, the proof of this last supposition by probable

arguments, or arguments regarding existence, must be evidently going in

a circle, and taking that for granted, which is the very point in question.

In reality, all arguments from experience are founded on the similarity

which we discover among natural objects, and by which we are induced

to expect effects similar to those which we have found to follow from

such objects. And though none but a fool or madman will ever pretend

to dispute the authority of experience, or to reject that great guide of

human life, it may surely be allowed a philosopher to have so much

curiosity at least as to examine the principle of human nature, which

gives this mighty authority to experience, and makes us draw advantage

from that similarity which nature has placed among different objects.

From causes which appear similar we expect similar effects. This is the

sum of all our experimental conclusions. Now it seems evident that, if

this conclusion were formed by reason, it would be as perfect at first,

and upon one instance, as after ever so long a course of experience. But

the case is far otherwise. Nothing so like as eggs; yet no one, on account

of this appearing similarity, expects the same taste and relish in all of

them. It is only after a long course of uniform experiments in any kind,

that we attain a firm reliance and security with regard to a particular

event. Now where is that process of reasoning which, from one instance,

draws a conclusion, so different from that which it infers from a hundred

instances that are nowise different from that single one? This question I

propose as much for the sake of information, as with an intention of

raising difficulties. I cannot find, I cannot imagine any such reasoning.

But I keep my mind still open to instruction, if any one will vouchsafe to

bestow it on me.

Should it be said that, from a number of uniform experiments, we infer

a connexion between the sensible qualities and the secret powers; this, I

must confess, seems the same difficulty, couched in different terms. The

question stil recurs, on what process of argument this inference is

founded? Where is the medium, the interposing ideas, which join

propositions so very wide of each other? It is confessed that the colour,

consistence, and other sensible qualities of bread appear not, of

themselves, to have any connexion with the secret powers of

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nourishment and support. For otherwise we could infer these secret

powers from the first appearance of these sensible qualities, without the

aid of experience; contrary to the sentiment of all philosophers, and

contrary to plain matter of fact. Here, then, is our natural state of

ignorance with regard to the powers and influence of all objects. How is

this remedied by experience? It only shows us a number of uniform

effects, resulting from certain objects, and teaches us that those

particular objects, at that particular time, were endowed with such

powers and forces. When a new object, endowed with similar sensible

qualities, is produced, we expect similar powers and forces, and look for

a like effect. From a body of like colour and consistence with bread we

expect like nourishment and support. But this surely is a step or progress

of the mind, which wants to be explained. When a man says, I have

found, in all past instances, such sensible qualities conjoined with such

secret powers; And when he says, Similar sensible qualities will always be

conjoined with similar secret powers, he is not guilty of a tautology, nor

are these propositions in any respect the same. You say that the one

proposition is an inference from the other. But you must confess that the

inference is not intuitive; neither is it demonstrative: Of what nature is it,

then? To say it is experimental, is begging the question. For all inferences

from experience suppose, as their foundation, that the future will

resemble the past, and that similar powers will be conjoined with similar

sensible qualities. If there be any suspicion that the course of nature may

change, and that the past may be no rule for the future, all experience

becomes useless, and can give rise to no inference or conclusion. It is

impossible, therefore, that any arguments from experience can prove this

resemblance of the past to the future; since all these arguments are

founded on the supposition of that resemblance. Let the course of

things be allowed hitherto ever so regular; that alone, without some new

argument or inference, proves not that, for the future, it will continue so.

In vain do you pretend to have learned the nature of bodies from your

past experience. Their secret nature, and consequently all their effects

and influence, may change, without any change in their sensible qualities.

This happens sometimes, and with regard to some objects: Why may it

not happen always, and with regard to all objects? What logic, what

process of argument secures you against this supposition? My practice,

you say, refutes my doubts. But you mistake the purport of my question.

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As an agent, I am quite satisfied in the point; but as a philosopher, who

has some share of curiosity, I will not say scepticism, I want to learn the

foundation of this inference. No reading, no enquiry has yet been able to

remove my difficulty, or give me satisfaction in a matter of such

importance. Can I do better than propose the difficulty to the public,

even though, perhaps, I have small hopes of obtaining a solution? We

shall at least, by this means, be sensible of our ignorance, if we do not

augment our knowledge.

I must confess that a man is guilty of unpardonable arrogance who

concludes, because an argument has escaped his own investigation, that

therefore it does not really exist. I must also confess that, though all the

learned, for several ages, should have employed themselves in fruitless

search upon any subject, it may still, perhaps, be rash to conclude

positively that the subject must, therefore, pass all human

comprehension. Even though we examine all the sources of our

knowledge, and conclude them unfit for such a subject, there may still

remain a suspicion, that the enumeration is not complete, or the

examination not accurate. But with regard to the present subject, there

are some considerations which seem to remove all this accusation of

arrogance or suspicion of mistake.

It is certain that the most ignorant and stupid peasants- nay infants, nay

even brute beasts- improve by experience, and learn the qualities of

natural objects, by observing the effects which result from them. When a

child has felt the sensation of pain from touching the flame of a candle,

he will be careful not to put his hand near any candle; but will expect a

similar effect from a cause which is similar in its sensible qualities and

appearance. If you assert, therefore, that the understanding of the child

is led into this conclusion by any process of argument or ratiocination, I

may justly require you to produce that argument; nor have you any

pretence to refuse so equitable a demand. You cannot say that the

argument is abstruse, and may possibly escape your enquiry; since you

confess that it is obvious to the capacity of a mere infant. If you hesitate,

therefore, a moment, or if, after reflection, you produce any intricate or

profound argument, you, in a manner, give up the question, and confess

that it is not reasoning which engages us to suppose the past resembling

the future, and to expect similar effects from causes which are, to

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appearance, similar. This is the proposition which I intended to enforce

in the present section. If I be right, I pretend not to have made any

mighty discovery. And if I be wrong, I must acknowledge myself to be

indeed a very backward scholar; since I cannot now discover an

argument which, it seems, was perfectly familiar to me long before I was

out of my cradle.

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Sect. V. Sceptical Solution of these Doubts

PART I.

The passion for philosophy, like that for religion, seems liable to this

inconvenience, that, though it aims at the correction of our manners,

and extirpation of our vices, it may only serve, by imprudent

management to foster a predominant inclination, and push the mind,

with more determined resolution, towards that side which already draws

too much, by the bias and propensity of the natural temper. It is certain

that, while we aspire to the magnanimous firmness of the philosophic

sage, and endeavour to confine our pleasures altogether within our own

minds, we may, at last, render our philosophy like that of Epictetus, and

other Stoics, only a more refined system of selfishness, and reason

ourselves out of all virtue as well as social enjoyment. While we study

with attention the vanity of human life, and turn al our thoughts

towards the empty and transitory nature of riches and honours, we are,

perhaps, all the while flattering our natural indolence, which, hating the

bustle of the world, and drudgery of business, seeks a pretence of

reason to give itself a full and uncontrolled indulgence. There is,

however, one species of philosophy which seems little liable to this

inconvenience, and that because it strikes in with no disorderly passion

of the human mind, nor can mingle itself with any natural affection or

propensity; and that is the Academic or Sceptical philosophy. The

academics always talk of doubt and suspense of judgement, of danger in

hasty determinations, of confining to very narrow bounds the enquiries

of the understanding, and of renouncing all speculations which lie not

within the limits of common life and practice. Nothing, therefore, can be

more contrary than such a philosophy to the supine indolence of the

mind, its rash arrogance, its lofty pretensions, and its superstitious

credulity. Every passion is mortified by it, except the love of truth; and

that passion never is, nor can be, carried to too high a degree. It is

surprising, therefore, that this philosophy, which, in almost every

instance, must be harmless and innocent, should be the subject of so

much groundless reproach and obloquy. But, perhaps, the very

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circumstance which renders it so innocent is what chiefly exposes it to

the public hatred and resentment. By flattering no irregular passion, it

gains few partizans: By opposing so many vices and follies, it raises to

itself abundance of enemies, who stigmatize it as libertine, profane, and

irreligious.

Nor need we fear that this philosophy, while it endeavours to limit our

enquiries to common life, should ever undermine the reasonings of

common life, and carry its doubts so far as to destroy all action, as well

as speculation. Nature will always maintain her rights, and prevail in the

end over any abstract reasoning whatsoever. Though we should

conclude, for instance, as in the foregoing section, that, in all reasonings

from experience, there is a step taken by the mind which is not

supported by any argument or process of the understanding; there is no

danger that these reasonings, on which almost all knowledge depends,

will ever be affected by such a discovery. If the mind be not engaged by

argument to make this step, it must be induced by some other principle

of equal weight and authority; and that principle will preserve its

influence as long as human nature remains the same. What that principle

is may well be worth the pains of enquiry.

Suppose a person, though endowed with the strongest faculties of

reason and reflection, to be brought on a sudden into this world; he

would, indeed, immediately observe a continual succession of objects,

and one event following another; but he would not be able to discover

anything farther. He would not, at first, by any reasoning, be able to

reach the idea of cause and effect; since the particular powers, by which

all natural operations are performed, never appear to the senses; nor is it

reasonable to conclude, merely because one event, in one instance,

precedes another, that therefore the one is the cause, the other the effect.

Their conjunction may be arbitrary and casual. There may be no reason

to infer the existence of one from the appearance of the other. And in a

word, such a person, without more experience, could never employ his

conjecture or reasoning concerning any matter of fact, or be assured of

anything beyond what was immediately present to his memory and

senses. Suppose, again, that he has acquired more experience, and has

lived so long in the world as to have observed familiar objects or events

to be constantly conjoined together; what is the consequence of this

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experience? He immediately infers the existence of one object from the

appearance of the other. Yet he has not, by all his experience, acquired

any idea or knowledge of the secret power by which the one object

produces the other; nor is it, by any process of reasoning, he is engaged

to draw this inference. But still he finds himself determined to draw it:

And though he should be convinced that his understanding has no part

in the operation, he would nevertheless continue in the same course of

thinking. There is some other principle which determines him to form

such a conclusion.

This principle is Custom or Habit. For wherever the repetition of any

particular act or operation produces a propensity to renew the same act

or operation, without being impelled by any reasoning or process of the

understanding, we always say, that this propensity is the effect of

Custom. By employing that word, we pretend not to have given the

ultimate reason of such a propensity. We only point out a principle of

human nature, which is universally acknowledged, and which is well

known by its effects. Perhaps we can push our enquiries no farther, or

pretend to give the cause of this cause; but must rest contented with it as

the ultimate principle, which we can assign, of all our conclusions from

experience. It is sufficient satisfaction, that we can go so far, without

repining at the narrowness of our faculties because they will carry us no

farther. And it is certain we here advance a very intelligible proposition at

least, if not a true one, when we assert that, after the constant

conjunction of two objects- heat and flame, for instance, weight and

solidity- we are determined by custom alone to expect the one from the

appearance of the other. This hypothesis seems even the only one which

explains the difficulty, why we draw, from a thousand instances, an

inference which we are not able to draw from one instance, that is, in no

respect, different from them. Reason is incapable of any such variation.

The conclusions which it draws from considering one circle are the same

which it would form upon surveying all the circles in the universe. But

no man, having seen only one body move after being impelled by

another, could infer that every other body will move after a like impulse.

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All inferences from experience, therefore, are effects of custom, not of

reasoning.7

The same distinction between reason and experience is maintained in all

our deliberations concerning the conduct of life; while the experienced

statesman, general, physician, or merchant is trusted and fol owed; and

the unpractised novice, with whatever natural talents endowed, neglected

and despised. Though it be allowed, that reason may form very plausible

conjectures with regard to the consequences of such a particular conduct

in such particular circumstances; it is still supposed imperfect, without

the assistance of experience, which is alone able to give stability and

certainty to the maxims, derived from study and reflection. But

notwithstanding that this distinction be thus universally received, both in

the active speculative scenes of life, I shall not scruple to pronounce,

that it is, at bottom, erroneous, at least, superficial.

If we examine those arguments, which, in any of the sciences above

mentioned, are supposed to be mere effects of reasoning and reflection,

they will be found to terminate, at last, in some general principle or

conclusion, for which we can assign no reason but observation and

experience. The only difference between them and those maxims, which

are vulgarly esteemed the result of pure experience, is, that the former

cannot be established without some process of thought, and some

reflection on what we have observed, in order to distinguish its

circumstances, and trace its consequences: Whereas in the latter, the

experienced event is exactly and fully familiar to that which we infer as

the result of any particular situation. The history of a Tiberius or a Nero

makes us dread a like tyranny, were our monarchs freed from the

restraints of laws and senates: But the observation of any fraud or

cruelty in private life is sufficient, with the aid of a little thought, to give

7

Nothing is more useful than for writers, even, on moral, political, or physical subjects, to distinguish between

reason and experience, and to suppose, that these species of argumentation are entirely different from each

other. The former are taken for the mere result of our intellectual faculties, which, by considering priori the

nature of things, and examining the effects, that must follow from their operation, establish particular

principles of science and philosophy. The latter are supposed to be derived entirely from sense and

observation, by which we learn what has actually resulted from the operation of particular objects, and are

thence able to infer, what will, for the future, result from them. Thus, for instance, the limitations and

restraints of civil government, and a legal constitution, may be defended, either from reason, which reflecting

on the great frailty and corruption of human nature, teaches, that no man can safely be trusted with unlimited

authority; or from experience and history, which inform us of the enormous abuses, that ambition, in every

age and country, has been found to make of so imprudent a confidence.

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us the same apprehension; while it serves as an instance of the general

corruption of human nature, and shows us the danger which we must

incur by reposing an entire confidence in mankind. In both cases, it is

experience which is ultimately the foundation of our inference and

conclusion. There is no man so young and unexperienced, as not to have

formed, from observation, many general and just maxims concerning

human affairs and the conduct of life; but it must be confessed, that,

when a man comes to put these in practice, he will be extremely liable to

error, till time and farther experience both enlarge these maxims, and

teach him their proper use and application. In every situation or incident,

there are many particular and seemingly minute circumstances, which the

man of greatest talent is, at first, apt to overlook, though on them the

justness of his conclusions, and consequently the prudence of his

conduct, entirely depend. Not to mention, that, to a young beginner, the

general observations and maxims occur not always on the proper

occasions, nor can be immediately applied with due calmness and

distinction. The truth is, an unexperienced reasoner could be no reasoner

at all, were he absolutely unexperienced; and when we assign that

character to any one, we mean it only in a comparative sense, and

suppose him possessed of experience, in a smaller and more imperfect

degree.

Custom, then, is the great guide of human life. It is that principle alone

which renders our experience useful to us, and makes us expect, for the

future, a similar train of events with those which have appeared in the

past. Without the influence of custom, we should be entirely ignorant of

every matter of fact beyond what is immediately present to the memory

and senses. We should never know how to adjust means to ends, or to

employ our natural powers in the production of any effect. There would

be an end at once of all action, as well as of the chief part of

speculation.

But here it may be proper to remark, that though our conclusions from

experience carry us beyond our memory and senses, and assure us of

matters of fact which happened in the most distant places and most

remote ages, yet some fact must always be present to the senses or

memory, from which we may first proceed in drawing these conclusions.

A man, who should find in a desert country the remains of pompous

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buildings, would conclude that the country had, in ancient times, been

cultivated by civilized inhabitants; but did nothing of this nature occur to

him, he could never form such an inference. We learn the events of

former ages from history; but then we must peruse the volumes in which

this instruction is contained, and thence carry up our inferences from

one testimony to another, til we arrive at the eyewitnesses and spectators

of these distant events. In a word, if we proceed not upon some fact,

present to the memory or senses, our reasonings would be merely

hypothetical; and however the particular links might be connected with

each other, the whole chain of inferences would have nothing to support

it, nor could we ever, by its means, arrive at the knowledge of any real

existence. If I ask why you believe any particular matter of fact, which

you relate, you must tell me some reason; and this reason will be some

other fact, connected with it. But as you cannot proceed after this

manner, in infinitum, you must at last terminate in some fact, which is

present to your memory or senses; or must allow that your belief is

entirely without foundation.

What, then, is the conclusion of the whole matter? A simple one;

though, it must be confessed, pretty remote from the common theories

of philosophy. All belief of matter of fact or real existence is derived

merely from some object, present to the memory or senses, and a

customary conjunction between that and some other object. Or in other

words; having found, in many instances, that any two kinds of objects-

flame and heat, snow and cold- have always been conjoined together; if

flame or snow be presented anew to the senses, the mind is carried by

custom to expect heat or cold, and to believe that such a quality does

exist, and will discover itself upon a nearer approach. This belief is the

necessary result of placing the mind in such circumstances. It is an

operation of the soul, when we are so situated, as unavoidable as to feel

the passion of love, when we receive benefits; or hatred, when we meet

with injuries. All these operations are a species of natural instincts, which

no reasoning or process of the thought and understanding is able either

to produce or to prevent.

At this point, it would be very allowable for us to stop our philosophical

researches. In most questions we can never make a single step further;

and in all questions we must terminate here at last, after our most restless

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and curious enquiries. But still our curiosity will be pardonable, perhaps

commendable, if it carry us on to still farther researches, and make us

examine more accurately the nature of this belief, and of the customary

conjunction, whence it is derived. By this means we may meet with some

explications and analogies that will give satisfaction; at least to such as

love the abstract sciences, and can be entertained with speculations,

which, however accurate, may still retain a degree of doubt and

uncertainty. As to readers of a different taste; the remaining part of this

section is not calculated for them, and the following enquiries may well

be understood, though it be neglected.

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PART II.

Nothing is more free than the imagination of man; and though it cannot

exceed that original stock of ideas furnished by the internal and external

senses, it has unlimited power of mixing, compounding, separating, and

dividing these ideas, in all the varieties of fiction and vision. It can feign

a train of events, with all the appearance of reality, ascribe to them a

particular time and place, conceive them as existent, and paint them out

to itself with every circumstance, that belongs to any historical fact,

which it believes with the greatest certainty. Wherein, therefore, consists

the difference between such a fiction and belief? It lies not merely in any

peculiar idea, which is annexed to such a conception as commands our

assent, and which is wanting to every known fiction. For as the mind has

authority over all its ideas, it could voluntarily annex this particular idea

to any fiction, and consequently be able to believe whatever it pleases;

contrary to what we find by daily experience. We can, in our conception,

join the head of a man to the body of a horse; but it is not in our power

to believe that such an animal has ever really existed.

It follows, therefore, that the difference between fiction and belief lies in

some sentiment or feeling, which is annexed to the latter, not to the

former, and which depends not on the will, nor can be commanded at

pleasure. It must be excited by nature, like all other sentiments; and must

arise from the particular situation, in which the mind is placed at any

particular juncture. Whenever any object is presented to the memory or

senses, it immediately, by the force of custom, carries the imagination to

conceive that object, which is usually conjoined to it; and this conception

is attended with a feeling or sentiment, different from the loose reveries

of the fancy. In this consists the whole nature of belief. For as there is

no matter of fact which we believe so firmly that we cannot conceive the

contrary, there would be no difference between the conception assented

to and that which is rejected, were it not for some sentiment which

distinguishes the one from the other. If I see a billiard-ball moving

towards another, on a smooth table, I can easily conceive it to stop upon

contact. This conception implies no contradiction; but still it feels very

differently from that conception by which I represent to myself the

impulse and the communication of motion from one ball to another.

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Were we to attempt a definition of this sentiment, we should, perhaps,

find it a very difficult, if not an impossible task; in the same manner as if

we should endeavour to define the feeling of cold or passion of anger,

to a creature who never had any experience of these sentiments. Belief is

the true and proper name of this feeling; and no one is ever at a loss to

know the meaning of that term; because every man is every moment

conscious of the sentiment represented by it. It may not, however, be

improper to attempt a description of this sentiment; in hopes we may, by

that means, arrive at some analogies, which may afford a more perfect

explication of it. I say, then, that belief is nothing but a more vivid, lively,

forcible, firm, steady conception of an object, than what the imagination

alone is ever able to attain. This variety of terms, which may seem so

unphilosophical, is intended only to express that act of the mind, which

renders realities, or what is taken for such, more present to us than

fictions, causes them to weigh more in the thought, and gives them a

superior influence on the passions and imagination. Provided we agree

about the thing, it is needless to dispute about the terms. The

imagination has the command over all its ideas, and can join and mix and

vary them, in all the ways possible. It may conceive fictitious objects with

all the circumstances of place and time. It may set them, in a manner,

before our eyes, in their true colours, just as they might have existed. But

as it is impossible that this faculty of imagination can ever, of itself,

reach belief, it is evident that belief consists not in the peculiar nature or

order of ideas, but in the manner of their conception, and in their

feeling to the mind. I confess, that it is impossible perfectly to explain

this feeling or manner of conception. We may make use of words which

express something near it. But its true and proper name, as we observed

before, is belief; which is a term that every one sufficiently understands

in common life. And in philosophy, we can go no farther than assert,

that belief is something felt by the mind, which distinguishes the ideas

of the judgement from the fictions of the imagination. It gives them

more weight and influence; makes them appear of greater importance;

enforces them in the mind; and renders them the governing principle of

our actions. I hear at present, for instance, a person′s voice, with whom I

am acquainted; and the sound comes as from the next room. This

impression of my senses immediately conveys my thought to the person,

together with all the surrounding objects. I paint them out to myself as

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existing at present, with the same qualities and relations, of which I

formerly knew them possessed. These ideas take faster hold of my mind

than ideas of an enchanted castle. They are very different to the feeling,

and have a much greater influence of every kind, either to give pleasure

or pain, joy or sorrow.

Let us, then, take in the whole compass of this doctrine, and allow, that

the sentiment of belief is nothing but a conception more intense and

steady than what attends the mere fictions of the imagination, and that

this manner of conception arises from a customary conjunction of the

object with something present to the memory or senses: I believe that it

will not be difficult, upon these suppositions, to find other operations of

the mind analogous to it, and to trace up these phenomena to principles

still more general.

We have already observed that nature has established connexions among

particular ideas, and that no sooner one idea occurs to our thoughts than

it introduces its correlative, and carries our attention towards it, by a

gentle and insensible movement. These principles of connexion or

association we have reduced to three, namely, Resemblance, Contiguity

and Causation; which are the only bonds that unite our thoughts

together, and beget that regular train of reflection or discourse, which, in

a greater or less degree, takes place among all mankind. Now here arises

a question, on which the solution of the present difficulty will depend.

Does it happen, in all these relations, that, when one of the objects is

presented to the senses or memory, the mind is not only carried to the

conception of the correlative, but reaches a steadier and stronger

conception of it than what otherwise it would have been able to attain?

This seems to be the case with that belief which arises from the relation

of cause and effect. And if the case be the same with the other relations

or principles of associations, this may be established as a general law,

which takes place in all the operations of the mind.

We may, therefore, observe, as the first experiment to our present

purpose, that, upon the appearance of the picture of an absent friend,

our idea of him is evidently enlivened by the resemblance, and that every

passion, which that idea occasions, whether of joy or sorrow, acquires

new force and vigour. In producing this effect, there concur both a

relation and a present impression. Where the picture bears him no

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resemblance, at least was not intended for him, it never so much as

conveys our thought to him: And where it is absent, as well as the

person, though the mind may pass from the thought of the one to that

of the other, it feels its idea to be rather weakened than enlivened by that

transition. We take a pleasure in viewing the picture of a friend, when it

is set before us; but when it is removed, rather choose to consider him

directly than by reflection in an image, which is equally distant and

obscure.

The ceremonies of the Roman Catholic religion may be considered as

instances of the same nature. The devotees of that superstition usually

plead in excuse for the mummeries, with which they are upbraided, that

they feel the good effect of those external motions, and postures, and

actions, in enlivening their devotion and quickening their fervour, which

otherwise would decay, if directed entirely to distant and immaterial

objects. We shadow out the objects of our faith, say they, in sensible

types and images, and render them more present to us by the immediate

presence of these types, than it is possible for us to do merely by an

intellectual view and contemplation. Sensible objects have always a

greater influence on the fancy than any other; and this influence they

readily convey to those ideas to which they are related, and which they

resemble. I shall only infer from these practices, and this reasoning, that

the effect of resemblance in enlivening the ideas is very common; and as

in every case a resemblance and a present impression must concur, we

are abundantly supplied with experiments to prove the reality of the

foregoing principle.

We may add force to these experiments by others of a different kind, in

considering the effects of contiguity as well as of resemblance. It is

certain that distance diminishes the force of every idea, and that, upon

our approach to any object, though it does not discover itself to our

senses it operates upon the mind with an influence, which imitates an

immediate impression. The thinking on any object readily transports the

mind to what is contiguous; but it is only the actual presence of an

object, that transports it with a superior vivacity. When I am a few miles

from home, whatever relates to it touches me more nearly than when I

am two hundred leagues distant; though even at that distance the

reflecting on anything in the neighbourhood of my friends or family

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naturally produces an idea of them. But as in this latter case, both the

objects of the mind are ideas; notwithstanding there is an easy transition

between them; that transition alone is not able to give a superior vivacity

to any of the ideas, for want of some immediate impression.8

No one can doubt but causation has the same influence as the other two

relations of resemblance and contiguity. Superstitious people are fond of

the reliques of saints and holy men, for the same reason, that they seek

after types or images, in order to enliven their devotion, and give them a

more intimate and strong conception of those exemplary lives, which

they desire to imitate. Now it is evident, that one of the best reliques,

which a devotee could procure, would be the handywork of a saint; and

if his cloaths and furniture are ever to be considered in this light, it is

because they were once at his disposal, and were moved and affected by

him; in which respect they are to be considered as imperfect effects, and

as connected with him by a shorter chain of consequences than any of

those, by which we learn the reality of his existence.

Suppose, that the son of a friend, who had been long dead or absent,

were presented to us; it is evident, that this object would instantly revive

its correlative idea, and recal to our thoughts all past intimacies and

familiarities, in more lively colours than they would otherwise have

appeared to us. This is another phaenomenon, which seems to prove the

principle above mentioned.

We may observe, that, in these phaenomena, the belief of the correlative

object is always presupposed; without which the relation could have no

effect. The influence of the picture supposes, that we believe our friend

to have once existed. Continguity to home can never excite our ideas of

home, unless we believe that it really exists. Now I assert, that this belief,

where it reaches beyond the memory or senses, is of a similar nature,

and arises from similar causes, with the transition of thought and vivacity

8

"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 Plato in mentem, quem

accepimus primum hic disputare solitum: cuius etiam illi hortuli propinqui non memoriam solum mihi

afferunt, sed ipsum videntur in conspectu meo hic ponere. Hic Speusippus, hic Xenocrates, hic eius auditor

Polemo; cuius ipsa illa sessio fuit, quam videmus. Equidem etiam curiam nostram, Hostiliam dico, non hanc

novam, quae mihi minor esse videtur postquam est maior, solebam intuens, Scipionem, Catonem, Laelium,

nostrum vero in primis avum cogitare. Tanta vis admonitionis est in locis; ut non sine causa ex his memoriae

deducta sit disciplina." -- Cicero, de finibus, Book V.

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of conception here explained. When I throw a piece of dry wood into a

fire, my mind is immediately carried to conceive, that it augments, not

extinguishes the flame. This transition of thought from the cause to the

effect proceeds not from reason. It derives its origin altogether from

custom and experience. And as it first begins from an object, present to

the senses, it renders the idea or conception of flame more strong and

lively than any loose, floating reverie of the imagination. That idea arises

immediately. The thought moves instantly towards it, and conveys to it

all that force of conception, which is derived from the impression

present to the senses. When a sword is levelled at my breast, does not the

idea of wound and pain strike me more strongly, than when a glass of

wine is presented to me, even though by accident this idea should occur

after the appearance of the latter object? But what is there in this whole

matter to cause such a strong conception, except only a present object

and a customary transition to the idea of another object, which we have

been accustomed to conjoin with the former? This is the whole

operation of the mind, in al our conclusions concerning matter of fact

and existence; and it is a satisfaction to find some analogies, by which it

may be explained. The transition from a present object does in all cases

give strength and solidity to the related idea.

Here, then, is a kind of pre-established harmony between the course of

nature and the succession of our ideas; and though the powers and

forces, by which the former is governed, be wholly unknown to us; yet

our thoughts and conceptions have still, we find, gone on in the same

train with the other works of nature. Custom is that principle, by which

this correspondence has been effected; so necessary to the subsistence

of our species, and the regulation of our conduct, in every circumstance

and occurrence of human life. Had not the presence of an object,

instantly excited the idea of those objects, commonly conjoined with it,

all our knowledge must have been limited to the narrow sphere of our

memory and senses; and we should never have been able to adjust means

to ends, or employ our natural powers, either to the producing of good,

or avoiding of evil. Those, who delight in the discovery and

contemplation of final causes, have here ample subject to employ their

wonder and admiration.

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I shall add, for a further confirmation of the foregoing theory, that, as

this operation of the mind, by which we infer like effects from like

causes, and vice versa, is so essential to the subsistence of all human

creatures, it is not probable, that it could be trusted to the fallacious

deductions of our reason, which is slow in its operations; appears not, in

any degree, during the first years of infancy; and at best is, in every age

and period of human life, extremely liable to error and mistake. It is

more conformable to the ordinary wisdom of nature to secure so

necessary an act of the mind, by some instinct or mechanical tendency,

which may be infallible in its operations, may discover itself at the first

appearance of life and thought, and may be independent of all the

laboured deductions of the understanding. As nature has taught us the

use of our limbs, without giving us the knowledge of the muscles and

nerves, by which they are actuated; so has she implanted in us an instinct,

which carries forward the thought in a correspondent course to that

which she has established among external objects; though we are

ignorant of those powers and forces, on which this regular course and

succession of objects totally depends.

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Sect. VI. Of Probability9

THOUGH there be no such thing as Chance in the world; our ignorance

of the real cause of any event has the same influence on the

understanding, and begets a like species of belief or opinion.

There is certainly a probability, which arises from a superiority of

chances on any side; and according as this superiority encreases, and

surpasses the opposite chances, the probability receives a proportionable

encrease, and begets still a higher degree of belief or assent to that side,

in which we discover the superiority. If a die were marked with one

figure or number of spots on four sides, and with another figure or

number of spots on the two remaining sides, it would be more probable,

that the former would turn up than the latter; though, if it had a

thousand sides marked in the same manner, and only one side different,

the probability would be much higher, and our belief or expectation of

the event more steady and secure. This process of the thought or

reasoning may seem trivial and obvious; but to those who consider it

more narrowly, it may, perhaps, afford matter for curious speculation.

It seems evident, that, when the mind looks forward to discover the

event, which may result from the throw of such a die, it considers the

turning up of each particular side as alike probable; and this the very

nature of chance, to render all the particular events, comprehended in it,

entirely equal. But finding a greater number of sides concur in the one

event than in the other, the mind is carried more frequently to that event,

and meets it oftener, in revolving the various possibilities or chances, on

which the ultimate result depends. This concurrence of several views in

one particular event begets immediately, by an inexplicable contrivance

of nature, the sentiment of belief, and gives that event the advantage

over its antagonist, which is supported by a smaller number of views,

and recurs less frequently to the mind. If we allow, that belief is nothing

but a firmer and stronger conception of an object than what attends the

9

Mr. Locke divides all arguments into demonstrative and probable. In this view, we must say, that it is only

probable all men must die, or that the sun will rise to-morrow. But to conform our language more to

common use, we ought to divide arguments into demonstrations, proofs, and probabilities. By proofs

meaning such arguments from experience as leave no room for doubt or opposition.

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mere fictions of the imagination, this operation may, perhaps, in some

measure, be accounted for. The concurrence of these several views or

glimpses imprints the idea more strongly on the imagination; gives it

superior force and vigour; renders its influence on the passions and

affections more sensible; and in a word, begets that reliance or security,

which constitutes the nature of belief and opinion.

The case is the same with the probability of causes, as with that of

chance. There are some causes, which are entirely uniform and constant

in producing a particular effect; and no instance has ever yet been found

of any failure or irregularity in their operation. Fire has always burned,

and water suffocated every human creature: The production of motion

by impulse and gravity is an universal law, which has hitherto admitted

of no exception. But there are other causes, which have been found

more irregular and uncertain; nor has rhubarb always proved a purge, or

opium a soporific to every one, who has taken these medicines. It is true,

when any cause fails of producing its usual effect, philosophers ascribe

not this to any irregularity in nature; but suppose, that some secret

causes, in the particular structure of parts, have prevented the operation.

Our reasonings, however, and conclusions concerning the event are the

same as if this principle had no place. Being determined by custom to

transfer the past to the future, in all our inferences; where the past has

been entirely regular and uniform, we expect the event with the greatest

assurance, and leave no room for any contrary supposition. But where

different effects have been found to follow from causes, which are to

appearance exactly similar, all these various effects must occur to the

mind in transferring the past to the future, and enter into our

consideration, when we determine the probability of the event. Though

we give the preference to that which has been found most usual, and

believe that this effect will exist, we must not overlook the other effects,

but must assign to each of them a particular weight and authority, in

proportion as we have found it to be more or less frequent. It is more

probable, in almost every country of Europe, that there wil be frost

sometime in January, than that the weather will continue open

throughout that whole month; though this probability varies according

to the different climates, and approaches to a certainty in the more

northern kingdoms. Here then it seems evident, that, when we transfer

the past to the future, in order to determine the effect, which will result

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from any cause, we transfer all the different events, in the same

proportion as they have appeared in the past, and conceive one to have

existed a hundred times, for instance, another ten times, and another

once. As a great number of views do here concur in one event, they

fortify and confirm it to the imagination, beget that sentiment which we

call belief, and give its object the preference above the contrary event,

which is not supported by an equal number of experiments, and recurs

not so frequently to the thought in transferring the past to the future. Let

any one try to account for this operation of the mind upon any of the

received systems of philosophy, and he will be sensible of the difficulty.

For my part, I shall think it sufficient, if the present hints excite the

curiosity of philosophers, and make them sensible how defective all

common theories are in treating of such curious and such sublime

subjects.

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Sect. VII. Of the Idea of necessary Connexion

PART I.

THE great advantage of the mathematical sciences above the moral

consists in this, that the ideas of the former, being sensible, are always

clear and determinate, the smallest distinction between them is

immediately perceptible, and the same terms are still expressive of the

same ideas, without ambiguity or variation. An oval is never mistaken for

a circle, nor an hyperbola for an ellipsis. The isosceles and scalenum are

distinguished by boundaries more exact than vice and virtue, right and

wrong. If any term be defined in geometry, the mind readily, of itself,

substitutes, on all occasions, the definition for the term defined: Or even

when no definition is employed, the object itself may be presented to the

senses, and by that means be steadily and clearly apprehended. But the

finer sentiments of the mind, the operations of the understanding, the

various agitations of the passions, though really in themselves distinct,

easily escape us, when surveyed by reflection; nor is it in our power to

recal the original object, as often as we have occasion to contemplate it.

Ambiguity, by this means, is gradually introduced into our reasonings:

Similar objects are readily taken to be the same: And the conclusion

becomes at last very wide of the premises.

One may safely, however, affirm, that, if we consider these sciences in a

proper light, their advantages and disadvantages nearly compensate each

other, and reduce both of them to a state of equality. If the mind, with

greater facility, retains the ideas of geometry clear and determinate, it

must carry on a much longer and more intricate chain of reasoning, and

compare ideas much wider of each other, in order to reach the abstruser

truths of that science. And if moral ideas are apt, without extreme care,

to fall into obscurity and confusion, the inferences are always much

shorter in these disquisitions, and the intermediate steps, which lead to

the conclusion, much fewer than in the sciences which treat of quantity

and number. In reality, there is scarcely a proposition in Euclid so simple,

as not to consist of more parts, than are to be found in any moral

reasoning which runs not into chimera and conceit. Where we trace the

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principles of the human mind through a few steps, we may be very well

satisfied with our progress; considering how soon nature throws a bar to

all our enquiries concerning causes, and reduces us to an

acknowledgment of our ignorance. The chief obstacle, therefore, to our

improvement in the moral or metaphysical sciences is the obscurity of

the ideas, and ambiguity of the terms. The principal difficulty in the

mathematics is the length of inferences and compass of thought,

requisite to the forming of any conclusion. And, perhaps, our progress

in natural philosophy is chiefly retarded by the want of proper

experiments and phaenomena, which are often discovered by chance,

and cannot always be found, when requisite, even by the most diligent

and prudent enquiry. As moral philosophy seems hitherto to have

received less improvement than either geometry or physics, we may

conclude, that, if there be any difference in this respect among these

sciences, the difficulties, which obstruct the progress of the former,

require superior care and capacity to be surmounted.

There are no ideas, which occur in metaphysics, more obscure and

uncertain, than those of power, force, energy or necessary connexion, of

which it is every moment necessary for us to treat in all our disquisitions.

We shall, therefore, endeavour, in this section, to fix, if possible, the

precise meaning of these terms, and thereby remove some part of that

obscurity, which is so much complained of in this species of philosophy.

It seems a proposition, which will not admit of much dispute, that all

our ideas are nothing but copies of our impressions, or, in other words,

that it is impossible for us to think of anything, which we have not

antecedently felt, either by our external or internal senses. I have

endeavoured10 to explain and prove this proposition, and have expressed

my hopes, that, by a proper application of it, men may reach a greater

clearness and precision in philosophical reasonings, than what they have

hitherto been able to attain. Complex ideas may, perhaps, be well known

by definition, which is nothing but an enumeration of those parts or

simple ideas, that compose them. But when we have pushed up

definitions to the most simple ideas, and find still some ambiguity and

obscurity; what resource are we then possessed of? By what invention

can we throw light upon these ideas, and render them altogether precise

10

Section II.

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and determinate to our intellectual view? Produce the impressions or

original sentiments, from which the ideas are copied. These impressions

are all strong and sensible. They admit not of ambiguity. They are not

only placed in a full light themselves, but may throw light on their

correspondent ideas, which lie in obscurity. And by this means, we may,

perhaps, attain a new microscope or species of optics, by which, in the

moral sciences, the most minute, and most simple ideas may be so

enlarged as to fall readily under our apprehension, and be equally known

with the grossest and most sensible ideas, that can be the object of our

enquiry.

To be ful y acquainted, therefore, with the idea of power or necessary

connexion, let us examine its impression; and in order to find the

impression with greater certainty, let us search for it in al the sources,

from which it may possibly be derived.

When we look about us towards external objects, and consider the

operation of causes, we are never able, in a single instance, to discover

any power or necessary connexion; any quality, which binds the effect to

the cause, and renders the one an infallible consequence of the other. We

only find, that the one does actually, in fact, follow the other. The

impulse of one billiard-ball is attended with motion in the second. This

is the whole that appears to the outward senses. The mind feels no

sentiment or inward impression from this succession of objects:

Consequently, there is not, in any single, particular instance of cause and

effect, anything which can suggest the idea of power or necessary

connexion.

From the first appearance of an object, we never can conjecture what

effect will result from it. But were the power or energy of any cause

discoverable by the mind, we could foresee the effect, even without

experience; and might, at first, pronounce with certainty concerning it,

by mere dint of thought and reasoning.

In reality, there is no part of matter, that does ever, by its sensible

qualities, discover any power or energy, or give us ground to imagine,

that it could produce any thing, or be followed by any other object,

which we could denominate its effect. Solidity, extension, motion; these

qualities are all complete in themselves, and never point out any other

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event which may result from them. The scenes of the universe are

continually shifting, and one object follows another in an uninterrupted

succession; but the power of force, which actuates the whole machine, is

entirely concealed from us, and never discovers itself in any of the

sensible qualities of body. We know, that, in fact, heat is a constant

attendant of flame; but what is the connexion between them, we have no

room so much as to conjecture or imagine. It is impossible, therefore,

that the idea of power can be derived from the contemplation of bodies,

in single instances of their operation; because no bodies ever discover

any power, which can be the original of this idea.11

Since, therefore, external objects as they appear to the senses, give us no

idea of power or necessary connexion, by their operation in particular

instances, let us see, whether this idea be derived from reflection on the

operations of our own minds, and be copied from any internal

impression. It may be said, that we are every moment conscious of

internal power; while we feel, that, by the simple command of our will,

we can move the organs of our body, or direct the faculties of our mind.

An act of volition produces motion in our limbs, or raises a new idea in

our imagination. This influence of the will we know by consciousness.

Hence we acquire the idea of power or energy; and are certain, that we

ourselves and all other intelligent beings are possessed of power. This

idea, then, is an idea of reflection, since it arises from reflecting on the

operations of our own mind, and on the command which is exercised by

will, both over the organs of the body and faculties of the soul.

We shall proceed to examine this pretension; and first with regard to the

influence of volition over the organs of the body. This influence, we

may observe, is a fact, which, like al other natural events, can be known

only be experience, and can never be foreseen from any apparent energy

or power in the cause, which connects it with the effect, and renders the

one an infallible consequence of the other. The motion of our body

follows upon the command of our will. Of this we are every moment

conscious. But the means, by which this is effected; the energy, by which

the will performs so extraordinary an operation; of this we are so far

11

Mr. Locke, in his chapter of power, says that, finding from experience, that there are several new productions

in matter, and concluding that there must somewhere be a power capable of producing them, we arrive at last

by this reasoning at the idea of power. But no reasoning can ever give us a new, original, simple idea; as this

philosopher himself confesses. This, therefore, can never be the origin of that idea.

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from being immediately conscious, that it must for ever escape our most

diligent enquiry.

For first; is there any principle in all nature more mysterious than the

union of soul with body; by which a supposed spiritual substance

acquires such an influence over a material one, that the most refined

thought is able to actuate the grossest matter? Were we empowered, by a

secret wish, to remove mountains, or control the planets in their orbit;

this extensive authority would not be more extraordinary, nor more

beyond our comprehension. But if by consciousness we perceived any

power or energy in the will, we must know this power; we must know its

connexion with the effect; we must know the secret union of soul and

body, and the nature of both these substances; by which the one is able

to operate, in so many instances, upon the other.

Secondly, We are not able to move all the organs of the body with a like

authority; though we cannot assign any reason besides experience, for so

remarkable a difference between one and the other. Why has the will an

influence over the tongue and fingers, not over the heart or liver? This

question would never embarrass us, were we conscious of a power in the

former case, not in the latter. We should then perceive, independent of

experience, why the authority of will over the organs of the body is

circumscribed within such particular limits. Being in that case fully

acquainted with the power or force, by which it operates, we should also

know, why its influence reaches precisely to such boundaries, and no

farther.

A man, suddenly struck with palsy in the leg or arm, or who had newly

lost those members, frequently endeavours, at first to move them, and

employ them in their usual offices. Here he is as much conscious of

power to command such limbs, as a man in perfect health is conscious

of power to actuate any member which remains in its natural state and

condition. But consciousness never deceives. Consequently, neither in

the one case nor in the other, are we ever conscious of any power. We

learn the influence of our will from experience alone. And experience

only teaches us, how one event constantly follows another; without

instructing us in the secret connexion, which binds them together, and

renders them inseparable.

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Thirdly, We learn from anatomy, that the immediate object of power in

voluntary motion, is not the member itself which is moved, but certain

muscles, and nerves, and animal spirits, and, perhaps, something stil

more minute and more unknown, through which the motion is

successively propagated, ere it reach the member itself whose motion is

the immediate object of volition. Can there be a more certain proof, that

the power, by which this whole operation is performed, so far from

being directly and fully known by an inward sentiment or consciousness,

is, to the last degree, mysterious and unintelligible? Here the mind wills a

certain event: Immediately another event, unknown to ourselves, and

totally different from the one intended, is produced: This event produces

another, equally unknown: Till at last, through a long succession, the

desired event is produced. But if the original power were felt, it must be

known: Were it known, its effect also must be known; since all power is

relative to its effect. And vice versa, if the effect be not known, the

power cannot be known nor felt. How indeed can we be conscious of a

power to move our limbs, when we have no such power; but only that to

move certain animal spirits, which, though they produce at last the

motion of our limbs, yet operate in such a manner as is wholly beyond

our comprehension?

We may, therefore, conclude from the whole, I hope, without any

temerity, though with assurance; that our idea of power is not copied

from any sentiment or consciousness of power within ourselves, when

we give rise to animal motion, or apply our limbs to their proper use and

office. That their motion fol ows the command of the will is a matter of

common experience, like other natural events: But the power or energy

by which this is effected, like that in other natural events, is unknown

and inconceivable.12

12

It may be pretended, that the resistance which we meet with in bodies, obliging us frequently to exert our

force, and call up all our power, this gives us the idea of force and power. It is this nisus, or strong endeavour,

of which we are conscious, that is the original impression from which this idea is copied. But, first, we

attribute power to a vast number of objects, where we never can suppose this resistance of exertion of force

to take place; to the Supreme Being, who never meets with any resistance; to the mind in its command over

its ideas and limbs, in common thinking and motion, where the effect follows immediately upon the will,

without any exertion or summoning up of force; to inanimate matter, which is not capable of this sentiment.

Secondly, This sentiment of an endeavour to overcome resistance has no known connexion with any event:

What fol ows it, we know by experience; but could not know it a priori. It must, however, be confessed, that

the animal nisus, which we experience, though it can afford no accurate precise idea of power, enters very

much into that vulgar, inaccurate idea, which is formed of it.

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Shall we then assert, that we are conscious of a power or energy in our

own minds, when, by an act or command of our will, we raise up a new

idea, fix the mind to the contemplation of it, turn it on all sides, and at

last dismiss it for some other idea, when we think that we have surveyed

it with sufficient accuracy? I believe the same arguments will prove, that

even this command of the will gives us no real idea of force or energy.

First, It must be al owed, that, when we know a power, we know that

very circumstance in the cause, by which it is enabled to produce the

effect: For these are supposed to be synonimous. We must, therefore,

know both the cause and effect, and the relation between them. But do

we pretend to be acquainted with the nature of the human soul and the

nature of an idea, or the aptitude of the one to produce the other? This

is a real creation; a production of something out of nothing: Which

implies a power so great, that it may seem, at first sight, beyond the reach

of any being, less than infinite. At least it must be owned, that such a

power is not felt, nor known, nor even conceivable by the mind. We only

feel the event, namely, the existence of an idea, consequent to a

command of the will: But the manner, in which this operation is

performed, the power by which it is produced, is entirely beyond our

comprehension.

Secondly, The command of the mind over itself is limited, as well as its

command over the body; and these limits are not known by reason, or

any acquaintance with the nature of cause and effect, but only by

experience and observation, as in all other natural events and in the

operation of external objects. Our authority over our sentiments and

passions is much weaker than that over our ideas; and even the latter

authority is circumscribed within very narrow boundaries. Will any one

pretend to assign the ultimate reason of these boundaries, or show why

the power is deficient in one case, not in another.

Thirdly, This self-command is very different at different times. A man in

health possesses more of it than one languishing with sickness. We are

more master of our thoughts in the morning than in the evening:

Fasting, than after a full meal. Can we give any reason for these

variations, except experience? Where then is the power, of which we

pretend to be conscious? Is there not here, either in a spiritual or

material substance, or both, some secret mechanism or structure of

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parts, upon which the effect depends, and which, being entirely unknown

to us, renders the power or energy of the will equally unknown and

incomprehensible?

Volition is surely an act of the mind, with which we are sufficiently

acquainted. Reflect upon it. Consider it on all sides. Do you find

anything in it like this creative power, by which it raises from nothing a

new idea, and with a kind of Fiat, imitates the omnipotence of its Maker,

if I may be allowed so to speak, who called forth into existence all the

various scenes of nature? So far from being conscious of this energy in

the will, it requires as certain experience as that of which we are

possessed, to convince us that such extraordinary effects do ever result

from a simple act of volition.

The generality of mankind never find any difficulty in accounting for the

more common and familiar operations of nature- such as the descent of

heavy bodies, the growth of plants, the generation of animals, or the

nourishment of bodies by food: But suppose that, in all these cases, they

perceive the very force or energy of the cause, by which it is connected

with its effect, and is for ever infallible in its operation. They acquire, by

long habit, such a turn of mind, that, upon the appearance of the cause,

they immediately expect with assurance its usual attendant, and hardly

conceive it possible that any other event could result from it. It is only

on the discovery of extraordinary phaenomena, such as earthquakes,

pestilence, and prodigies of any kind, that they find themselves at a loss

to assign a proper cause, and to explain the manner in which the effect is

produced by it. It is usual for men, in such difficulties, to have recourse

to some invisible intelligent principle13 as the immediate cause of that

event which surprises them, and which, they think, cannot be accounted

for from the common powers of nature. But philosophers, who carry

their scrutiny a little farther, immediately perceive that, even in the most

familiar events, the energy of the cause is as unintelligible as in the most

unusual, and that we only learn by experience the frequent Conjunction

of objects, without being ever able to comprehend anything like

Connexion between them.

13

Theos apo mechanes (deus ex machina).

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Here, then, many philosophers think themselves obliged by reason to

have recourse, on all occasions, to the same principle, which the vulgar

never appeal to but in cases that appear miraculous and supernatural.

They acknowledge mind and intelligence to be, not only the ultimate and

original cause of all things, but the immediate and sole cause of every

event which appears in nature. They pretend that those objects which are

commonly denominated causes, are in reality nothing but occasions; and

that the true and direct principle of every effect is not any power or

force in nature, but a volition of the Supreme Being, who wills that such

particular objects should for ever be conjoined with each other. Instead

of saying that one billiard-ball moves another by a force which it has

derived from the author of nature, it is the Deity himself, they say, who,

by a particular volition, moves the second ball, being determined to this

operation by the impulse of the first ball, in consequence of those

general laws which he has laid down to himself in the government of the

universe. But philosophers advancing still in their inquiries, discover that,

as we are totally ignorant of the power on which depends the mutual

operation of bodies, we are no less ignorant of that power on which

depends the operation of mind on body, or of body on mind; nor are we

able, either from our senses or consciousness, to assign the ultimate

principle in one case more than in the other. The same ignorance,

therefore, reduces them to the same conclusion. They assert that the

Deity is the immediate cause of the union between soul and body; and

that they are not the organs of sense, which, being agitated by external

objects, produce sensations in the mind; but that it is a particular volition

of our omnipotent Maker, which excites such a sensation, in

consequence of such a motion in the organ. In like manner, it is not any

energy in the will that produces local motion in our members: It is God

himself, who is pleased to second our will, in itself impotent, and to

command that motion which we erroneously attribute to our own power

and efficacy. Nor do philosophers stop at this conclusion. They

sometimes extend the same inference to the mind itself, in its internal

operations. Our mental vision or conception of ideas is nothing but a

revelation made to us by our Maker. When we voluntarily turn our

thoughts to any object, and raise up its image in the fancy, it is not the

will which creates that idea: It is the universal Creator, who discovers it

to the mind, and renders it present to us.

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Thus, according to these philosophers, every thing is full of God. Not

content with the principle, that nothing exists but by his will, that

nothing possesses any power but by his concession: They rob nature,

and all created beings, of every power, in order to render their

dependence on the Deity still more sensible and immediate. They

consider not that, by this theory, they diminish, instead of magnifying,

the grandeur of those attributes, which they affect so much to celebrate.

It argues surely more power in the Deity to delegate a certain degree of

power to inferior creatures than to produce every thing by his own

immediate volition. It argues more wisdom to contrive at first the fabric

of the world with such perfect foresight that, of itself, and by its proper

operation, it may serve all the purposes of providence, than if the great

Creator were obliged every moment to adjust its parts, and animate by

his breath all the wheels of that stupendous machine.

But if we would have a more philosophical confutation of this theory,

perhaps the two following reflections may suffice.

First, it seems to me that this theory of the universal energy and

operation of the Supreme Being is too bold ever to carry conviction with

it to a man, sufficiently apprized of the weakness of human reason, and

the narrow limits to which it is confined in all its operations. Though the

chain of arguments which conduct to it were ever so logical, there must

arise a strong suspicion, if not an absolute assurance, that it has carried

us quite beyond the reach of our faculties, when it leads to conclusions

so extraordinary, and so remote from common life and experience. We

are got into fairy land, long ere we have reached the last steps of our

theory; and there we have no reason to trust our common methods of

argument, or to think that our usual analogies and probabilities have any

authority. Our line is too short to fathom such immense abysses. And

however we may flatter ourselves that we are guided, in every step which

we take, by a kind of verisimilitude and experience, we may be assured

that this fancied experience has no authority when we thus apply it to

subjects that lie entirely out of the sphere of experience. But on this we

shall have occasion to touch afterwards.14

14

Section XII.

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Secondly, I cannot perceive any force in the arguments on which this

theory is founded. We are ignorant, it is true, of the manner in which

bodies operate on each other: Their force or energy is entirely

incomprehensible: But are we not equally ignorant of the manner or

force by which a mind, even the supreme mind, operates either on itself

or on body? Whence, I beseech you, do we acquire any idea of it? We

have no sentiment or consciousness of this power in ourselves. We have

no idea of the Supreme Being but what we learn from reflection on our

own faculties. Were our ignorance, therefore, a good reason for rejecting

anything, we should be led into that principle of denying all energy in

the Supreme Being as much as in the grossest matter. We surely

comprehend as little the operations of one as of the other. Is it more

difficult to conceive that motion may arise from impulse than that it may

arise from volition? All we know is our profound ignorance in both

cases.15

15

I need not examine at length the vis inertiae which is so much talked of in the new philosophy, and which is

ascribed to matter. We find by experience, that a body at rest or in motion continues for ever in its present

state, till put from it by some new cause; and that a body impelled takes as much motion from the impelling

body as it acquires itself. These are facts. When we call this a vis inertiae, we only mark these facts, without

pretending to have any idea of the inert power; in the same manner as, when we talk of gravity, we mean

certain effects, without comprehending that active power. It was never the meaning of Sir Isaac Newton to

rob second causes of all force or energy; though some of his followers have endeavoured to establish that

theory upon his authority. On the contrary, that great philosopher had recourse to an etherial active fluid to

explain his universal attraction; though he was so cautious and modest as to allow, that it was a mere

hypothesis, not to be insisted on, without more experiments. I must confess, that there is something in the

fate of opinions a little extraordinary. Descartes insinuated that doctrine of the universal and sole efficacy of

the Deity, without insisting on it. Malebranche and other Cartesians made it the foundation of all their

philosophy. It had, however, no authority in England. Locke, Clarke, and Cudworth, never so much as take

notice of it, but suppose all along, that matter has a real, though subordinate and derived power. By what

means has it become so prevalent among our modern metaphysicians?

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PART II.

But to hasten to a conclusion of this argument, which is already drawn

out to too great a length: We have sought in vain for an idea of power or

necessary connexion in al the sources from which we could suppose it

to be derived. It appears that, in single instances of the operation of

bodies, we never can, by our utmost scrutiny, discover anything but one

event following another, without being able to comprehend any force or

power by which the cause operates, or any connexion between it and its

supposed effect. The same difficulty occurs in contemplating the

operations of mind on body- where we observe the motion of the latter

to follow upon the volition of the former, but are not able to observe or

conceive the tie which binds together the motion and volition, or the

energy by which the mind produces this effect. The authority of the will

over its own faculties and ideas is not a whit more comprehensible: So

that, upon the whole, there appears not, throughout all nature, any one

instance of connexion which is conceivable by us. All events seem

entirely loose and separate. One event follows another; but we never can

observe any tie between them. They seem conjoined, but never

connected. And as we can have no idea of any thing which never

appeared to our outward sense or inward sentiment, the necessary

conclusion seems to be that we have no idea of connexion or power at

all, and that these words are absolutely without any meaning, when

employed either in philosophical reasonings or common life.

But there still remains one method of avoiding this conclusion, and one

source which we have not yet examined. When any natural object or

event is presented, it is impossible for us, by any sagacity or penetration,

to discover, or even conjecture, without experience, what event will result

from it, or to carry our foresight beyond that object which is

immediately present to the memory and senses. Even after one instance

or experiment where we have observed a particular event to follow upon

another, we are not entitled to form a general rule, or foretell what will

happen in like cases; it being justly esteemed an unpardonable temerity to

judge of the whole course of nature from one single experiment,

however accurate or certain. But when one particular species of event

has always, in all instances, been conjoined with another, we make no any

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scruple of foretelling one upon the appearance of the other, and of

employing that reasoning, which can alone assure us of any matter of

fact or existence. We then call the one object, Cause; the other, Effect.

We suppose that there is some connexion between them; some power in

the one, by which it infallibly produces the other, and operates with the

greatest certainty and strongest necessity.

It appears, then, that this idea of a necessary connexion among events

arises from a number of similar instances which occur of the constant

conjunction of these events; nor can that idea ever be suggested by any

one of these instances, surveyed in all possible lights and positions. But

there is nothing in a number of instances, different from every single

instance, which is supposed to be exactly similar; except only, that after a

repetition of similar instances, the mind is carried by habit, upon the

appearance of one event, to expect its usual attendant, and to believe

that it will exist. This connexion, therefore, which we feel in the mind,

this customary transition of the imagination from one object to its usual

attendant, is the sentiment or impression from which we form the idea

of power or necessary connexion. Nothing farther is in the case.

Contemplate the subject on all sides; you will never find any other origin

of that idea. This is the sole difference between one instance, from

which we can never receive the idea of connexion, and a number of

similar instances, by which it is suggested. The first time a man saw the

communication of motion by impulse, as by the shock of two billiard

balls, he could not pronounce that the one event was connected: but only

that it was conjoined with the other. After he has observed several

instances of this nature, he then pronounces them to be connected.

What alteration has happened to give rise to this new idea of connexion?

Nothing but that he now feels these events to be connected in his

imagination, and can readily foretell the existence of one from the

appearance of the other. When we say, therefore, that one object is

connected with another, we mean only that they have acquired a

connexion in our thought, and give rise to this inference, by which they

become proofs of each other′s existence: A conclusion which is

somewhat extraordinary, but which seems founded on sufficient

evidence. Nor will its evidence be weakened by any general diffidence of

the understanding, or sceptical suspicion concerning every conclusion

which is new and extraordinary. No conclusions can be more agreeable

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to scepticism than such as make discoveries concerning the weakness

and narrow limits of human reason and capacity.

And what stronger instance can be produced of the surprising ignorance

and weakness of the understanding than the present? For surely, if there

be any relation among objects which it imports to us to know perfectly, it

is that of cause and effect. On this are founded all our reasonings

concerning matter of fact or existence. By means of it alone we attain

any assurance concerning objects which are removed from the present

testimony of our memory and senses. The only immediate utility of all

sciences, is to teach us, how to control and regulate future events by their

causes. Our thoughts and enquiries are, therefore, every moment,

employed about this relation: Yet so imperfect are the ideas which we

form concerning it, that it is impossible to give any just definition of

cause, except what is drawn from something extraneous and foreign to it.

Similar objects are always conjoined with similar. Of this we have

experience. Suitably to this experience, therefore, we may define a cause

to be an object, followed by another, and where all the objects similar to

the first are followed by objects similar to the second. Or in other words

where, if the first object had not been, the second never had existed.

The appearance of a cause always conveys the mind, by a customary

transition, to the idea of the effect. Of this also we have experience. We

may, therefore, suitably to this experience, form another definition of

cause, and call it, an object followed by another, and whose appearance

always conveys the thought to that other. But though both these

definitions be drawn from circumstances foreign to the cause, we cannot

remedy this inconvenience, or attain any more perfect definition, which

may point out that circumstance in the cause, which gives it a connexion

with its effect. We have no idea of this connexion, nor even any distinct

notion what it is we desire to know, when we endeavour at a conception

of it. We say, for instance, that the vibration of this string is the cause of

this particular sound. But what do we mean by that affirmation? We

either mean that this vibration is followed by this sound, and that al

similar vibrations have been followed by similar sounds: Or, that this

vibration is followed by this sound, and that upon the appearance of one

the mind anticipates the senses, and forms immediately an idea of the

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other. We may consider the relation of cause and effect in either of these

two lights; but beyond these, we have no idea of it.16

As to the frequent use of the words, Force, Power, Energy, &c., which

every where occur in common conversation, as well as in philosophy;

that is no proof, that we are acquainted, in any instance, with the

connecting principle between cause and effect, or can account ultimately

for the production of one thing to another. These words, as commonly

used, have very loose meanings annexed to them; and their ideas are very

uncertain and confused. No animal can put external bodies in motion

without the sentiment of a nisus or endeavour; and every animal has a

sentiment or feeling from the stroke or blow of an external object that is

in motion. These sensations, which are merely animal, and from which

we can a priori draw no inference, we are apt to transfer to inanimate

objects, and to suppose, that they have some such feelings, whenever

they transfer or receive motion. With regard to energies, which are

exerted, without our annexing to them any idea of communicated

motion, we consider only the constant experienced conjunction of the

events; and as we feel a customary connexion between the ideas, we

transfer that feeling to the objects; as nothing is more usual than to apply

to external bodies every internal sensation, which they occasion.

To recapitulate, therefore, the reasonings of this section: Every idea is

copied from some preceding impression or sentiment; and where we

cannot find any impression, we may be certain that there is no idea. In all

single instances of the operation of bodies or minds, there is nothing

that produces any impression, nor consequently can suggest any idea of

power or necessary connexion. But when many uniform instances

appear, and the same object is always followed by the same event; we

then begin to entertain the notion of cause and connexion. We then feel

a new sentiment or impression, to wit, a customary connexion in the

thought or imagination between one object and its usual attendant; and

16

According to these explications and definitions, the idea of power is relative as much as that of cause; and

both have a reference to an effect, or some other event constantly conjoined with the former. When we

consider the unknown circumstance of an object, by which the degree or quantity of its effect is fixed and

determined, we cal that its power: And accordingly, it is allowed by all philosophers, that the effect is the

measure of the power. But if they had any idea of power, as it is in itself, why could not they Measure it in

itself? The dispute whether the force of a body in motion be as its velocity, or the square of its velocity; this

dispute, I say, need not be decided by comparing its effects in equal or unequal times; but by a direct

mensuration and comparison.

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this sentiment is the original of that idea which we seek for. For as this

idea arises from a number of similar instances, and not from any single

instance, it must arise from that circumstance, in which the number of

instances differ from every individual instance. But this customary

connexion or transition of the imagination is the only circumstance in

which they differ. In every other particular they are alike. The first

instance which we saw of motion communicated by the shock of two

billiard balls (to return to this obvious illustration) is exactly similar to

any instance that may, at present, occur to us; except only, that we could

not, at first, infer one event from the other; which we are enabled to do

at present, after so long a course of uniform experience. I know not

whether the reader will readily apprehend this reasoning. I am afraid that,

should I multiply words about it, or throw it into a greater variety of

lights, it would only become more obscure and intricate. In all abstract

reasonings there is one point of view which, if we can happily hit, we

shall go farther towards illustrating the subject than by al the eloquence

and copious expression in the world. This point of view we should

endeavour to reach, and reserve the flowers of rhetoric for subjects

which are more adapted to them.

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Sect. VIII. Of Liberty and Necessity

PART I.

It might reasonably be expected in questions which have been canvassed

and disputed with great eagerness, since the first origin of science and

philosophy, that the meaning of all the terms, at least, should have been

agreed upon among the disputants; and our enquiries, in the course of

two thousand years, been able to pass from words to the true and real

subject of the controversy. For how easy may it seem to give exact

definitions of the terms employed in reasoning, and make these

definitions, not the mere sound of words, the object of future scrutiny

and examination? But if we consider the matter more narrowly, we shall

be apt to draw a quite opposite conclusion. From this circumstance

alone, that a controversy has been long kept on foot, and remains still

undecided, we may presume that there is some ambiguity in the

expression, and that the disputants affix different ideas to the terms

employed in the controversy. For as the faculties of the mind are

supposed to be naturally alike in every individual; otherwise nothing

could be more fruitless than to reason or dispute together; it were

impossible, if men affix the same ideas to their terms, that they could so

long form different opinions of the same subject; especially when they

communicate their views, and each party turn themselves on all sides, in

search of arguments which may give them the victory over their

antagonists. It is true, if men attempt the discussion of questions which

lie entirely beyond the reach of human capacity, such as those

concerning the origin of worlds, or the economy of the intellectual

system or region of spirits, they may long beat the air in their fruitless

contests, and never arrive at any determinate conclusion. But if the

question regard any subject of common life and experience, nothing,

one would think, could preserve the dispute so long undecided but some

ambiguous expressions, which keep the antagonists still at a distance, and

hinder them from grappling with each other.

This has been the case in the long disputed question concerning liberty

and necessity; and to so remarkable a degree that, if I be not much

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mistaken, we shall find, that all mankind, both learned and ignorant, have

always been of the same opinion with regard to this subject, and that a

few intelligible definitions would immediately have put an end to the

whole controversy. I own that this dispute has been so much canvassed

on all hands, and has led philosophers into such a labyrinth of obscure

sophistry, that it is no wonder, if a sensible reader indulge his ease so far

as to turn a deaf ear to the proposal of such a question, from which he

can expect neither instruction or entertainment. But the state of the

argument here proposed may, perhaps, serve to renew his attention; as it

has more novelty, promises at least some decision of the controversy,

and will not much disturb his ease by any intricate or obscure reasoning.

I hope, therefore, to make it appear that all men have ever agreed in the

doctrine both of necessity and of liberty, according to any reasonable

sense, which can be put on these terms; and that the whole controversy

has hitherto turned merely upon words. We shall begin with examining

the doctrine of necessity.

It is universally allowed that matter, in all its operations, is actuated by a

necessary force, and that every natural effect is so precisely determined

by the energy of its cause that no other effect, in such particular

circumstances, could possibly have resulted from it. The degree and

direction of every motion is, by the laws of nature, prescribed with such

exactness that a living creature may as soon arise from the shock of two

bodies in motion in any other degree or direction than what is actually

produced by it. Would we, therefore, form a just and precise idea of

necessity, we must consider whence that idea arises when we apply it to

the operation of bodies.

It seems evident that, if all the scenes of nature were continually shifted

in such a manner that no two events bore any resemblance to each other,

but every object was entirely new, without any similitude to whatever had

been seen before, we should never, in that case, have attained the least

idea of necessity, or of a connexion among these objects. We might say,

upon such a supposition, that one object or event has followed another;

not that one was produced by the other. The relation of cause and effect

must be utterly unknown to mankind. Inference and reasoning

concerning the operations of nature would, from that moment, be at an

end; and the memory and senses remain the only canals, by which the

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knowledge of any real existence could possibly have access to the mind.

Our idea, therefore, of necessity and causation arises entirely from the

uniformity observable in the operations of nature, where similar objects

are constantly conjoined together, and the mind is determined by custom

to infer the one from the appearance of the other. These two

circumstances form the whole of that necessity, which we ascribe to

matter. Beyond the constant conjunction of similar objects, and the

consequent inference from one to the other, we have no notion of any

necessity or connexion.

If it appear, therefore, that all mankind have ever allowed, without any

doubt or hesitation, that these two circumstances take place in the

voluntary actions of men, and in the operations of mind; it must follow,

that all mankind have ever agreed in the doctrine of necessity, and that

they have hitherto disputed, merely for not understanding each other.

As to the first circumstance, the constant and regular conjunction of

similar events, we may possibly satisfy ourselves by the following

considerations. It is universally acknowledged that there is a great

uniformity among the actions of men, in all nations and ages, and that

human nature remains still the same, in its principles and operations. The

same motives always produce the same actions: The same events follow

from the same causes. Ambition, avarice, self-love, vanity, friendship,

generosity, public spirit: these passions, mixed in various degrees, and

distributed through society, have been, from the beginning of the world,

and still are, the source of all the actions and enterprises, which have

ever been observed among mankind. Would you know the sentiments,

inclinations, and course of life of the Greeks and Romans? Study well

the temper and actions of the French and English: You cannot be much

mistaken in transferring to the former most of the observations which

you have made with regard to the latter. Mankind are so much the same,

in all times and places, that history informs us of nothing new or strange

in this particular. Its chief use is only to discover the constant and

universal principles of human nature, by showing men in all varieties of

circumstances and situations, and furnishing us with materials from

which we may form our observations and become acquainted with the

regular springs of human action and behaviour. These records of wars,

intrigues, factions, and revolutions, are so many collections of

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experiments, by which the politician or moral philosopher fixes the

principles of his science, in the same manner as the physician or natural

philosopher becomes acquainted with the nature of plants, minerals, and

other external objects, by the experiments which he forms concerning

them. Nor are the earth, water, and other elements, examined by

Aristotle, and Hippocrates, more like to those which at present lie under

our observation than the men described by Polybius and Tacitus are to

those who now govern the world.

Should a traveller, returning from a far country, bring us an account of

men, wholly different from any with whom we were ever acquainted;

men, who were entirely divested of avarice, ambition, or revenge; who

knew no pleasure but friendship, generosity, and public spirit; we should

immediately, from these circumstances, detect the falsehood, and prove

him a liar, with the same certainty as if he had stuffed his narration with

stories of centaurs and dragons, miracles and prodigies. And if we would

explode any forgery in history, we cannot make use of a more

convincing argument, than to prove, that the actions ascribed to any

person are directly contrary to the course of nature, and that no human

motives, in such circumstances, could ever induce him to such a conduct.

The veracity of Quintus Curtius is as much to be suspected when he

describes the supernatural courage of Alexander, by which he was

hurried on singly to attack multitudes, as when he describes his

supernatural force and activity, by which he was able to resist them. So

readily and universally do we acknowledge a uniformity in human

motives and actions as well as in the operations of body.

Hence likewise the benefit of that experience, acquired by long life and a

variety of business and company, in order to instruct us in the principles

of human nature, and regulate our future conduct, as well as speculation.

By means of this guide, we mount up to the knowledge of men′s

inclinations and motives, from their actions, expressions, and even

gestures; and again descend to the interpretation of their actions from

our knowledge of their motives and inclinations. The general

observations treasured up by a course of experience, give us the clue of

human nature, and teach us to unravel all its intricacies. Pretexts and

appearances no longer deceive us. Public declarations pass for the

specious colouring of a cause. And though virtue and honour be allowed

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their proper weight and authority, that perfect disinterestedness, so often

pretended to, is never expected in multitudes and parties; seldom in their

leaders; and scarcely even in individuals of any rank or station. But were

there no uniformity in human actions, and were every experiment which

we could form of this kind irregular and anomalous, it were impossible

to collect any general observations concerning mankind; and no

experience, however accurately digested by reflection, would ever serve

to any purpose. Why is the aged husband-man more skilful in his calling

than the young beginner but because there is a certain uniformity in the

operation of the sun, rain, and earth towards the production of

vegetables; and experience teaches the old practitioner the rules by which

this operation is governed and directed.

We must not, however, expect that this uniformity of human actions

should be carried to such a length as that all men, in the same

circumstances, will always act precisely in the same manner, without

making any allowance for the diversity of characters, prejudices, and

opinions. Such a uniformity in every particular, is found in no part of

nature. On the contrary, from observing the variety of conduct in

different men, we are enabled to form a greater variety of maxims, which

still suppose a degree of uniformity and regularity.

Are the manners of men different in different ages and countries? We

learn thence the great force of custom and education, which mould the

human mind from its infancy and form it into a fixed and established

character. Is the behaviour and conduct of the one sex very unlike that

of the other? Is it thence we become acquainted with the different

characters which nature has impressed upon the sexes, and which she

preserves with constancy and regularity? Are the actions of the same

person much diversified in the different periods of his life, from infancy

to old age? This affords room for many general observations concerning

the gradual change of our sentiments and inclinations, and the different

maxims which prevail in the different ages of human creatures. Even the

characters, which are peculiar to each individual, have a uniformity in

their influence; otherwise our acquaintance with the persons and our

observation of their conduct could never teach us their dispositions, or

serve to direct our behaviour with regard to them.

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I grant it possible to find some actions, which seem to have no regular

connexion with any known motives, and are exceptions to all the

measures of conduct which have ever been established for the

government of men. But if we would willingly know what judgement

should be formed of such irregular and extraordinary actions, we may

consider the sentiments commonly entertained with regard to those

irregular events which appear in the course of nature, and the operations

of external objects. All causes are not conjoined to their usual effects

with like uniformity. An artificer, who handles only dead matter, may be

disappointed of his aim, as well as the politician, who directs the conduct

of sensible and intelligent agents.

The vulgar, who take things according to their first appearance, attribute

the uncertainty of events to such an uncertainty in the causes as makes

the latter often fail of their usual influence; though they meet with no

impediment in their operation. But philosophers, observing that, almost

in every part of nature, there is contained a vast variety of springs and

principles, which are hid, by reason of their minuteness or remoteness,

find, that it is at least possible the contrariety of events may not proceed

from any contingency in the cause, but from the secret operation of

contrary causes. This possibility is converted into certainty by farther

observation, when they remark that, upon an exact scrutiny, a contrariety

of effects always betrays a contrariety of causes, and proceeds from their

mutual opposition. A peasant can give no better reason for the stopping

of any clock or watch than to say that it does not commonly go right:

But an artist easily perceives that the same force in the spring or

pendulum has always the same influence on the wheels; but fails of its

usual 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 between al causes and

effects is equally necessary, and that its seeming uncertainty in some

instances proceeds from the secret opposition of contrary causes.

Thus, for instance, in the human body, when the usual symptoms of

health or sickness disappoint our expectation; when medicines operate

not with their wonted powers; when irregular events follow from any

particular cause; the philosopher and physician are not surprised at the

matter, nor are ever tempted to deny, in general, the necessity and

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uniformity of those principles by which the animal economy is

conducted. They know that a human body is a mighty complicated

machine: That many secret powers lurk in it, which are altogether

beyond our comprehension: That to us it must often appear very

uncertain in its operations: And that therefore the irregular events, which

outwardly discover themselves, can be no proof that the laws of nature

are not observed with the greatest regularity in its internal operations and

government.

The philosopher, if he be consistent, must apply the same reasoning to

the actions and volitions of intelligent agents. The most irregular and

unexpected resolutions of men may frequently be accounted for by

those who know every particular circumstance of their character and

situation. A person of an obliging disposition gives a peevish answer:

But he has the toothache, or has not dined. A stupid fellow discovers an

uncommon alacrity in his carriage: But he has met with a sudden piece

of good fortune. Or even when an action, as sometimes happens, cannot

be particularly accounted for, either by the person himself or by others;

we know, in general, that the characters of men are, to a certain degree,

inconstant and irregular. This is, in a manner, the constant character of

human nature; though it be applicable, in a more particular manner, to

some persons who have no fixed rule for their conduct, but proceed in a

continued course of caprice and inconstancy. The internal principles and

motives may operate in a uniform manner, notwithstanding these

seeming irregularities; in the same manner as the winds, rain, clouds, and

other variations of the weather are supposed to be governed by steady

principles; though not easily discoverable by human sagacity and enquiry.

Thus it appears, not only that the conjunction between motives and

voluntary actions is as regular and uniform as that between the cause and

effect in any part of nature; but also that this regular conjunction has

been universally acknowledged among mankind, and has never been the

subject of dispute, either in philosophy or common life. Now, as it is

from past experience that we draw all inferences concerning the future,

and as we conclude that objects will always be conjoined together which

we find to have always been conjoined; it may seem superfluous to prove

that this experienced uniformity in human actions is a source whence we

draw inferences concerning them. But in order to throw the argument

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into a greater variety of lights we shall also insist, though briefly, on this

latter topic.

The mutual dependence of men is so great in all societies that scarce any

human action is entirely complete in itself, or is performed without some

reference to the actions of others, which are requisite to make it answer

fully the intention of the agent. The poorest artificer, who labours alone,

expects at least the protection of the magistrate, to ensure him the

enjoyment of the fruits of his labour. He also expects that, when he

carries his goods to market, and offers them at a reasonable price, he

shall find purchasers, and shall be able, by the money he acquires, to

engage others to supply him with those commodities which are requisite

for his subsistence. In proportion as men extend their dealings, and

render their intercourse with others more complicated, they always

comprehend, in their schemes of life, a greater variety of voluntary

actions, which they expect, from the proper motives, to co-operate with

their own. In all these conclusions they take their measures from past

experience, in the same manner as in their reasonings concerning

external objects; and firmly believe that men, as well as all the elements,

are to continue, in their operations, the same that they have ever found

them. A manufacturer reckons upon the labour of his servants for the

execution of any work as much as upon the tools which he employs, and

would be equally surprised were his expectations disappointed. In short,

this experimental inference and reasoning concerning the actions of

others enters so much into human life that no man, while awake, is ever a

moment without employing it. Have we not reason, therefore, to affirm

that all mankind have always agreed in the doctrine of necessity

according to the foregoing definition and explication of it?

Nor have philosophers ever entertained a different opinion from the

people in this particular. For, not to mention that almost every action of

their life supposes that opinion, there are even few of the speculative

parts of learning to which it is not essential. What would become of

history, had we not a dependence on the veracity of the historian

according to the experience which we have had of mankind? How could

politics be a science, if laws and forms of government had not a

uniform influence upon society? Where would be the foundation of

morals, if particular characters had no certain or determinate power to

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produce particular sentiments, and if these sentiments had no constant

operation on actions? And with what pretence could we employ our

criticism upon any poet or polite author, if we could not pronounce the

conduct and sentiments of his actors either natural or unnatural to such

characters, and in such circumstances? It seems almost impossible,

therefore, to engage either in science or action of any kind without

acknowledging the doctrine of necessity, and this inference from motive

to voluntary actions, from characters to conduct.

And indeed, when we consider how aptly natural and moral evidence

link together, and form only one chain of argument, we shall make no

scruple to allow that they are of the same nature, and derived from the

same principles. A prisoner who has neither money nor interest,

discovers the impossibility of his escape, as well when he considers the

obstinacy of the gaoler, as the walls and bars with which he is

surrounded; and, in all attempts for his freedom, chooses rather to work

upon the stone and iron of the one, than upon the inflexible nature of

the other. The same prisoner, when conducted to the scaffold, foresees

his death as certainly from the constancy and fidelity of his guards, as

from the operation of the axe or wheel. His mind runs along a certain

train of ideas: The refusal of the soldiers to consent to his escape; the

action of the executioner; the separation of the head and body; bleeding,

convulsive motions, and death. Here is a connected chain of natural

causes and voluntary actions; but the mind feels no difference between

them in passing from one link to another: Nor is less certain of the

future event than if it were connected with the objects present to the

memory or senses, by a train of causes, cemented together by what we

are pleased to call a physical necessity. The same experienced union has

the same effect on the mind, whether the united objects be motives,

volition, and actions; or figure and motion. We may change the name of

things; but their nature and their operation on the understanding never

change.

Were a man, whom I know to be honest and opulent, and with whom I

live in intimate friendship, to come into my house, where I am

surrounded with my servants, I rest assured that he is not to stab me

before he leaves it in order to rob me of my silver standish; and I no

more suspect this event than the falling of the house itself, which is new,

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and solidly built and founded.- But he may have been seized with a

sudden and unknown frenzy.- So may a sudden earthquake arise, and

shake and tumble my house about my ears. I shall therefore change the

suppositions. I shall say that I know with certainty that he is not to put

his hand into the fire and hold it there till it be consumed: And this

event, I think I can foretell with the same assurance, as that, if he throw

himself out at the window, and meet with no obstruction, he will not

remain a moment suspended in the air. No suspicion of an unknown

frenzy can give the least possibility to the former event, which is so

contrary to all the known principles of human nature. A man who at

noon leaves his purse full of gold on the pavement at Charing Cross,

may as well expect that it will fly away like a feather, as that he will find it

untouched an hour after. Above one half of human reasonings contain

inferences of a similar nature, attended with more or less degrees of

certainty proportioned to our experience of the usual conduct of

mankind in such particular situations.

I have frequently considered, what could possibly be the reason why all

mankind, though they have ever, without hesitation, acknowledged the

doctrine of necessity in their whole practice and reasoning, have yet

discovered such a reluctance to acknowledge it in words, and have rather

shown a propensity, in all ages, to profess the contrary opinion. The

matter, I think, may be accounted for after the following manner. If we

examine the operations of body, and the production of effects from

their causes, we shall find that all our faculties can never carry us farther

in our knowledge of this relation than barely to observe that particular

objects are constantly conjoined together, and that the mind is carried,

by a customary transition, from the appearance of one to the belief of

the other. But though this conclusion concerning human ignorance be

the result of the strictest scrutiny of this subject, men still entertain a

strong propensity to believe that they penetrate farther into the powers

of nature, and perceive something like a necessary connexion between

the cause and the effect. When again they turn their reflections towards

the operations of their own minds, and feel no such connexion of the

motive and the action; they are thence apt to suppose, that there is a

difference between the effects which result from material force, and

those which arise from thought and intelligence. But being once

convinced that we know nothing farther of causation of any kind than

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merely the constant conjunction of objects, and the consequent

inference of the mind from one to another, and finding that these two

circumstances are universally allowed to have place in voluntary actions;

we may be more easily led to own the same necessity common to all

causes. And though this reasoning may contradict the systems of many

philosophers, in ascribing necessity to the determinations of the will, we

shall find, upon reflection, that they dissent from it in words only, not in

their real sentiment. Necessity, according to the sense in which it is here

taken, has never yet been rejected, nor can ever, I think, be rejected by

any philosopher. It may only, perhaps, be pretended that the mind can

perceive, in the operations of matter, some farther connexion between

the cause and effect; and connexion that has not place in voluntary

actions of intelligent beings. Now whether it be so or not, can only

appear upon examination; and it is incumbent on these philosophers to

make good their assertion, by defining or describing that necessity, and

pointing it out to us in the operations of material causes.

It would seem, indeed, that men begin at the wrong end of this question

concerning liberty and necessity, when they enter upon it by examining

the faculties of the soul, the influence of the understanding, and the

operations of the will. Let them first discuss a more simple question,

namely, the operations of body and of brute unintelligent matter; and try

whether they can there form any idea of causation and necessity, except

that of a constant conjunction of objects, and subsequent inference of

the mind from one to another. If these circumstances form, in reality,

the whole of that necessity, which we conceive in matter, and if these

circumstances be also universally acknowledged to take place in the

operations of the mind, the dispute is at an end; at least, must be owned

to be thenceforth merely verbal. But as long as we will rashly suppose,

that we have some farther idea of necessity and causation in the

operations of external objects; at the same time, that we can find nothing

farther in the voluntary actions of the mind; there is no possibility of

bringing the question to any determinate issue, while we proceed upon

so erroneous a supposition. The only method of undeceiving us is to

mount up higher; to examine the narrow extent of science when applied

to material causes; and to convince ourselves that all we know of them is

the constant conjunction and inference above mentioned. We may,

perhaps, find that it is with difficulty we are induced to fix such narrow

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limits to human understanding: But we can afterwards find no difficulty

when we come to apply this doctrine to the actions of the will. For as it

is evident that these have a regular conjunction with motives and

circumstances and characters, and as we always draw inferences from one

to the other, we must be obliged to acknowledge in words that necessity,

which we have already avowed, in every deliberation of our lives, and in

every step of our conduct and behaviour.17

But to proceed in this reconciling project with regard to the question of

liberty and necessity; the most contentious question of metaphysics, the

most contentious science; it will not require many words to prove, that

all mankind have ever agreed in the doctrine of liberty as well as in that

of necessity, and that the whole dispute, in this respect also, has been

hitherto merely verbal. For what is meant by liberty, when applied to

voluntary actions? We cannot surely mean that actions have so little

connexion with motives, inclinations, and circumstances, that one does

not follow with a certain degree of uniformity from the other, and that

one affords no inference by which we can conclude the existence of the

other. For these are plain and acknowledged matters of fact. By liberty,

then, we can only mean a power of acting or not acting, according to the

determinations of the will; that is, if we choose to remain at rest, we

may; if we choose to move, we also may. Now this hypothetical liberty is

17

The prevalence of the doctrine of liberty may be accounted for, from another cause, viz. a false sensation or

seeming experience which we have, or may have, of liberty or indifference, in many of our actions. The

necessity of any action, whether of matter or of mind, is not, properly speaking, a quality in the agent, but in

any thinking or intelligent being, who may consider the action; and it consists chiefly in the determination of

his thoughts to infer the existence of that action from some preceding objects; as liberty, when opposed to

necessity, is nothing but the want of that determination, and a certain looseness or indifference, which we

feel, in passing, or not passing, from the idea of one object to that of any succeeding one. Now we may

observe, that, though, in reflecting on human actions, we seldom feel such a looseness, or indifference, but

are commonly able to infer them with considerable certainty from their motives, and from the dispositions of

the agent; yet it frequently happens, that, in performing the actions themselves, we are sensible of something

like it: And as all resembling objects are readily taken for each other, this has been employed as a

demonstrative and even intuitive proof of human liberty. We feel, that our actions are subject to our will, on

most occasions; and imagine we feel, that the will itself is subject to nothing, because, when by a denial of it

we are provoked to try, we feel, that it moves easily every way, and produces an image of itself (or a Velleity,

as it is cal ed in the schools) even on that side, on which it did not settle. This image, or faint motion, we

persuade ourselves, could, at that time, have been compleated into the thing itself; because, should that be

denied, we find, upon a second trial, that, at present, it can. We consider not, that the fantastical desire of

shewing liberty, is here the motive of our actions. And it seems certain, that, however we may imagine we feel

a liberty within ourselves, a spectator can commonly infer our actions from our motives and character; and

even where he cannot, he concludes in general, that he might, were he perfectly acquainted with every

circumstance of our situation and temper, and the most secret springs of our complexion and disposition.

Now this is the very essence of necessity, according to the foregoing doctrine.

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universally allowed to belong to every one who is not a prisoner and in

chains. Here, then, is no subject of dispute.

Whatever definition we may give of liberty, we should be careful to

observe two requisite circumstances; first, that it be consistent with plain

matter of fact; secondly, that it be consistent with itself. If we observe

these circumstances, and render our definition intelligible, I am

persuaded that all mankind will be found of one opinion with regard to

it.

It is universally allowed that nothing exists without a cause of its

existence, and that chance, when strictly examined, is a mere negative

word, and means not any real power which has anywhere a being in

nature. But it is pretended that some causes are necessary, some not

necessary. Here then is the advantage of definitions. Let any one define a

cause, without comprehending, as a part of the definition, a necessary

connexion with its effect; and let him show distinctly the origin of the

idea, expressed by the definition; and I shall readily give up the whole

controversy. But if the foregoing explication of the matter be received,

this must be absolutely impracticable. Had not objects a regular

conjunction with each other, we should never have entertained any

notion of cause and effect; and this regular conjunction produces that

inference of the understanding, which is the only connexion, that we can

have any comprehension of. Whoever attempts a definition of cause,

exclusive of these circumstances, will be obliged either to employ

unintelligible terms or such as are synonymous to the term which he

endeavours to define.18 And if the definition above mentioned be

admitted; liberty, when opposed to necessity, not to constraint, is the

same thing with chance; which is universally allowed to have no

existence.

18

Thus, if a cause be defined, that which produces any thing; it is easy to observe, that producing is

synonimous to causing. In like manner, if a cause be defined, that by which any thing exists; this is liable to

the same objection. For what is meant by these words, by which? Had it been said, that a cause is that after

which any thing constantly exists; we should have understood the terms. For this is, indeed, all we know of

the matter. And this constancy forms the very essence of necessity, nor have we any other idea of it.

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PART II.

There is no method of reasoning more common, and yet none more

blameable, than, in philosophical disputes, to endeavour the refutation

of any hypothesis, by a pretence of its dangerous consequences to

religion and morality. When any opinion leads to absurdities, it is

certainly false; but it is not certain that an opinion is false, because it is

of dangerous consequence. Such topics, therefore, ought entirely to be

forborne; as serving nothing to the discovery of truth, but only to make

the person of an antagonist odious. This I observe in general, without

pretending to draw any advantage from it. I frankly submit to an

examination of this kind, and shall venture to affirm that the doctrines,

both of necessity and of liberty, as above explained, are not only

consistent with morality, but are absolutely essential to its support.

Necessity may be defined two ways, conformably to the two definitions

of cause, of which it makes an essential part. It consists either in the

constant conjunction of like objects or in the inference of the

understanding from one object to another. Now necessity, in both these

senses, (which, indeed, are at bottom the same) has universally, though

tacitly, in the schools, in the pulpit, and in common life, been allowed to

belong to the will of man; and no one has ever pretended to deny that

we can draw inferences concerning human actions, and that those

inferences are founded on the experienced union of like actions, with

like motives, inclinations, and circumstances. The only particular in

which any one can differ, is, that either, perhaps, he will refuse to give the

name of necessity to this property of human actions: But as long as the

meaning is understood, I hope the word can do no harm: Or that he will

maintain it possible to discover something farther in the operations of

matter. But this, it must be acknowledged, can be of no consequence to

morality or religion, whatever it may be to natural philosophy or

metaphysics. We may here be mistaken in asserting that there is no idea

of any other necessity or connexion in the actions of body: But surely

we ascribe nothing to the actions of the mind, but what everyone does,

and must readily allow of. We change no circumstance in the received

orthodox system with regard to the will, but only in that with regard to

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material objects and causes. Nothing, therefore, can be more innocent, at

least, than this doctrine.

All laws being founded on rewards and punishments, it is supposed as a

fundamental principle, that these motives have a regular and uniform

influence on the mind, and both produce the good and prevent the evil

actions. We may give to this influence what name we please; but as it is

usually conjoined with the action, it must be esteemed a cause, and be

looked upon as an instance of that necessity, which we would here

establish.

The only proper object of hatred or vengeance is a person or creature,

endowed with thought and consciousness; and when any criminal or

injurious actions excite that passion, it is only by their relation to the

person, or connexion with him. Actions are, by their very nature,

temporary and perishing; and where they proceed not from some cause

in the character and disposition of the person who performed them,

they can neither redound to his honour, if good; nor infamy if evil. The

actions themselves may be blameable; they may be contrary to all the

rules of morality and religion: But the person is not answerable for them;

and as they proceeded from nothing in him that is durable and constant,

and leave nothing of that nature behind them, it is impossible he can,

upon their account, become the object of punishment or vengeance.

According to the principle, therefore, which denies necessity, and

consequently causes, a man is as pure and untainted, after having

committed the most horrid crime, as at the first moment of his birth,

nor is his character anywise concerned in his actions, since they are not

derived from it, and the wickedness of the one can never be used as a

proof of the depravity of the other.

Men are not blamed for such actions as they perform ignorantly and

casually, whatever may be the consequences. Why? but because the

principles of these actions are only momentary, and terminate in them

alone. Men are less blamed for such actions as they perform hastily and

unpremeditately than for such as proceed from deliberation. For what

reason? but because a hasty temper, though a constant cause or principle

in the mind, operates only by intervals, and infects not the whole

character. Again, repentance wipes off every crime, if attended with a

reformation of life and manners. How is this to be accounted for? but by

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asserting that actions render a person criminal merely as they are proofs

of criminal principles in the mind; and when, by an alteration of these

principles, they cease to be just proofs, they likewise cease to be criminal.

But, except upon the doctrine of necessity, they never were just proofs,

and consequently never were criminal.

It will be equally easy to prove, and from the same arguments, that

liberty, according to that definition above mentioned, in which all men

agree is also essential to morality, and that no human actions, where it is

wanting, are susceptible of any moral qualities, or can be the objects

either of approbation or dislike. For as actions are objects of our moral

sentiment, so far only as they are indications of the internal character,

passions, and affections; it is impossible that they can give rise either to

praise or blame, where they proceed not from these principles, but are

derived altogether from external violence.

I pretend not to have obviated or removed all objections to this theory,

with regard to necessity and liberty. I can foresee other objections,

derived from topics which have not here been treated of. It may be said,

for instance, that, if voluntary actions be subjected to the same laws of

necessity with the operations of matter, there is a continued chain of

necessary causes, preordained and pre-determined, reaching from the

original cause of all to every single volition of every human creature. No

contingency anywhere in the universe; no indifference; no liberty. While

we act, we are, at the same time, acted upon. The ultimate Author of all

our volitions is the Creator of the world, who first bestowed motion on

this immense machine, and placed all beings in that particular position,

whence every subsequent event, by an inevitable necessity, must result.

Human actions, therefore, either can have no moral turpitude at all, as

proceeding from so good a cause; or if they have any turpitude, they

must involve our Creator in the same guilt, while he is acknowledged to

be their ultimate cause and author. For as a man, who fired a mine, is

answerable for all the consequences whether the train he employed be

long or short; so wherever a continued chain of necessary causes is

fixed, that Being, either finite or infinite, who produces the first, is

likewise the author of all the rest, and must both bear the blame and

acquire the praise which belong to them. Our clear and unalterable ideas

of morality establish this rule, upon unquestionable reasons, when we

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examine the consequences of any human action; and these reasons must

still have greater force when applied to the volitions and intentions of a

Being infinitely wise and powerful. Ignorance or importence may be

pleaded for so limited a creature as man; but those imperfections have

no place in our Creator. He foresaw, he ordained, he intended all those

actions of men, which we so rashly pronounce criminal. And we must

therefore conclude, either that they are not criminal, or that the Deity,

not man, is accountable for them. But as either of these positions is

absurd and impious, it fol ows, that the doctrine from which they are

deduced cannot possibly be true, as being liable to all the same

objections. An absurd consequence, if necessary, proves the original

doctrine to be absurd; in the same manner as criminal actions render

criminal the original cause, if the connexion between them be necessary

and evitable.

This objection consists of two parts, which we shall examine separately;

First, that, if human actions can be traced up, by a necessary chain, to

the Deity, they can never be criminal; on account of the infinite

perfection of that Being from whom they are derived, and who can

intend nothing but what is altogether good and laudable. Or, Secondly, if

they be criminal, we must retract the attribute of perfection, which we

ascribe to the Deity, and must acknowledge him to be the ultimate

author of guilt and moral turpitude in all his creatures.

The answer to the first objection seems obvious and convincing. There

are many philosophers who, after an exact scrutiny of all the phenomena

of nature, conclude, that the WHOLE, considered as one system, is, in

every period of its existence, ordered with perfect benevolence; and that

the utmost possible happiness will, in the end, result to all created beings,

without any mixture of positive or absolute ill or misery. Every physical

ill, say they, makes an essential part of this benevolent system, and could

not possibly be removed, even by the Deity himself, considered as a wise

agent, without giving entrance to greater ill, or excluding greater good,

which will result from it. From this theory, some philosophers, and the

ancient Stoics among the rest, derived a topic of consolation under all

afflictions, while they taught their pupils that those ills under which they

laboured were, in reality, goods to the universe; and that to an enlarged

view, which could comprehend the whole system of nature, every event

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became an object of joy and exultation. But though this topic be

specious and sublime, it was soon found in practice weak and ineffectual.

You would surely more irritate than appease a man lying under the

racking pains of the gout by preaching up to him the rectitude of those

general laws, which produced the malignant humours in his body, and led

them through the proper canals, to the sinews and nerves, where they

now excite such acute torments. These enlarged views may, for a

moment, please the imagination of a speculative man, who is placed in

ease and security; but neither can they dwell with constancy on his mind,

even though undisturbed by the emotions of pain or passion; much less

can they maintain their ground when attacked by such powerful

antagonists. The affections take a narrower and more natural survey of

their object; and by an economy, more suitable to the infirmity of human

minds, regard alone the beings around us, and are actuated by such

events as appear good or ill to the private system.

The case is the same with moral as with physical ill. It cannot reasonably

be supposed, that those remote considerations, which are found of so

little efficacy with regard to one, will have a more powerful influence

with regard to the other. The mind of man is so formed by nature that,

upon the appearance of certain characters, dispositions, and actions, it

immediately feels the sentiment of approbation or blame; nor are there

any emotions more essential to its frame and constitution. The

characters which engage our approbation are chiefly such as contribute

to the peace and security of human society; as the characters which

excite blame are chiefly such as tend to public detriment and disturbance:

Whence it may reasonably be presumed, that the moral sentiments arise,

either mediately or immediately, from a reflection of these opposite

interests. What though philosophical meditations establish a different

opinion or conjecture; that everything is right with regard to the

WHOLE, and that the qualities, which disturb society, are, in the main,

as beneficial, and are as suitable to the primary intention of nature as

those which more directly promote its happiness and welfare? Are such

remote and uncertain speculations able to counterbalance the sentiments

which arise from the natural and immediate view of the objects? A man

who is robbed of a considerable sum; does he find his vexation for the

loss anywise diminished by these sublime reflections? Why then should

his moral resentment against the crime be supposed incompatible with

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them? Or why should not the acknowledgement of a real distinction

between vice and virtue be reconcileable to all speculative systems of

philosophy, as well as that of a real distinction between personal beauty

and deformity? Both these distinctions are founded in the natural

sentiments of the human mind: And these sentiments are not to be

controuled or altered by any philosophical theory or speculation

whatsoever.

The second objection admits not of so easy and satisfactory an answer;

nor is it possible to explain distinctly, how the Deity can be the mediate

cause of all the actions of men, without being the author of sin and

moral turpitude. These are mysteries, which mere natural and unassisted

reason is very unfit to handle; and whatever system she embraces, she

must find herself involved in inextricable difficulties, and even

contradictions, at every step which she takes with regard to such

subjects. To reconcile the indifference and contingency of human

actions with prescience; or to defend absolute decrees, and yet free the

Deity from being the author of sin, has been found hitherto to exceed all

the power of philosophy. Happy, if she be thence sensible of her

temerity, when she pries into these sublime mysteries; and leaving a scene

so full of obscurities and perplexities, return, with suitable modesty, to

her true and proper province, the examination of common life; where

she will find difficulties enough to employ her enquiries, without

launching into so boundless an ocean of doubt, uncertainty, and

contradiction!

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Sect. IX. Of the Reason of Animals

ALL our reasonings concerning matter of fact are founded on a species

of Analogy, which leads us to expect from any cause the same events,

which we have observed to result from similar causes. Where the causes

are entirely similar, the analogy is perfect, and the inference, drawn from

it, is regarded as certain and conclusive: nor does any man ever entertain

a doubt where he sees a piece of iron, that it will have weight and

cohesion of parts; as in all other instances, which have ever fallen under

his observation. But where the objects have not so exact a similarity, the

analogy is less perfect, and the inference is less conclusive; though still it

has some force, in proportion to the degree of similarity and

resemblance. The anatomical observations, formed upon one animal, are,

by this species of reasoning, extended to all animals; and it is certain,

that when the circulation of the blood, for instance, is clearly proved to

have place in one creature, as a frog, or fish, it forms a strong

presumption, that the same principle has place in all. These analogical

observations may be carried farther, even to this science, of which we

are now treating; and any theory, by which we explain the operations of

the understanding, or the origin and connexion of the passions in man,

will acquire additional authority, if we find, that the same theory is

requisite to explain the same phenomena in all other animals. We shall

make trial of this, with regard to the hypothesis, by which we have, in the

foregoing discourse, endeavoured to account for all experimental

reasonings; and it is hoped, that this new point of view will serve to

confirm all our former observations.

First, It seems evident, that animals as well as men learn many things

from experience, and infer, that the same events will always follow from

the same causes. By this principle they become acquainted with the more

obvious properties of external objects, and gradually, from their birth,

treasure up a knowledge of the nature of fire, water, earth, stones,

heights, depths, &c., and of the effects which result from their operation.

The ignorance and inexperience of the young are here plainly

distinguishable from the cunning and sagacity of the old, who have

learned, by long observation, to avoid what hurt them, and to pursue

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what gave ease or pleasure. A horse, that has been accustomed to the

field, becomes acquainted with the proper height which he can leap, and

will never attempt what exceeds his force and ability. An old greyhound

will trust the more fatiguing part of the chace to the younger, and will

place himself so as to meet the hare in her doubles; nor are the

conjectures, which he forms on this occasion, founded in any thing but

his observation and experience.

This is still more evident from the effects of discipline and education on

animals, who, by the proper application of rewards and punishments,

may be taught any course of action, and most contrary to their natural

instincts and propensities. Is it not experience which renders a dog

apprehensive of pain, when you menace him, or lift up the whip to beat

him? Is is not even experience, which makes him answer to his name,

and infer, from such an arbitrary sound, that you mean him rather than

any of his fellows, and intend to cal him, when you pronounce it in a

certain manner, and with a certain tone and accent?

In all these cases, we may observe, that the animal infers some fact

beyond what immediately strikes his senses; and that this inference is

altogether founded on past experience, while the creature expects from

the present object the same consequences, which it has always found in

its observation to result from similar objects.

Secondly, It is impossible, that this inference of the animal can be

founded on any process of argument or reasoning, by which he

concludes, that like events must follow like objects, and that the course

of nature will always be regular in its operations. For if there be in reality

any arguments of this nature, they surely lie too abstruse for the

observation of such imperfect understandings; since it may well employ

the utmost care and attention of a philosophic genius to discover and

observe them. Animals, therefore, are not guided in these inferences by

reasoning: Neither are children: Neither are the generality of mankind, in

their ordinary actions and conclusions: Neither are philosophers

themselves, who, in all the active parts of life, are, in the main, the same

with the vulgar, and are governed by the same maxims. Nature must

have provided some other principle, of more ready, and more general

use and application; nor can an operation of such immense consequence

in life, as that of inferring effects from causes, be trusted to the

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uncertain process of reasoning and argumentation. Were this doubtful

with regard to men, it seems to admit of no question with regard to the

brute creation; and the conclusion being once firmly established in the

one, we have a strong presumption, from all the rules of analogy, that it

ought to be universally admitted, without any exception or reserve. It is

custom alone, which engages animals, from every object, that strikes

their senses, to infer its usual attendant, and carries their imagination,

from the appearance of the one, to conceive the other, in that particular

manner, which we denominate belief. No other explication can be given

of this operation, in all the higher, as wel as lower classes of sensitive

beings, which fall under our notice and observation.19

1. When we have lived any time, and have been accustomed to the

uniformity of nature, we acquire a general habit, by which we always

transfer the known to the unknown, and conceive the latter to resemble

the former. By means of this general habitual principle, we regard even

one experiment as the foundation of reasoning, and expect a similar

event with some degree of certainty, where the experiment has been

made accurately, and free from all foreign circumstances. It is therefore

considered as a matter of great importance to observe the consequences

of things; and as one man may very much surpass another in attention

and memory and observation, this will make a very great difference in

their reasoning.

2. Where there is a complication of causes to produce any effect, one

mind may be much larger than another, and better able to comprehend

the whole system of objects, and to infer justly their consequences.

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

length than another.

4. Few men can think long without running into a confusion of ideas,

and mistaking one for another; and there are various degrees of this

infirmity.

19

Since all reasonings concerning facts or causes is derived merely from custom, it may be asked how it

happens, that men so much surpass animals in reasoning, and one man so much surpasses another? Has not

the same custom the same influence on all? We shall here endeavour briefly to explain the great difference in

human understandings: After which the reason of the difference between men and animals will easily be

comprehended.

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5. The circumstance, on which the effect depends, is frequently involved

in other circumstances, which are foreign and extrinsic. The separation

of it often requires great attention, accuracy, and subtilty.

6. The forming of general maxims from particular observation is a very

nice operation; and nothing is more usual, from haste or a narrowness of

mind, which sees not on all sides, than to commit mistakes in this

particular.

7. When we reason from analogies, the man, who has the greater

experience or the greater promptitude of suggesting analogies, will be

the better reasoner.

8. Byasses from prejudice, education, passion, party, &c. hang more upon

one mind than another.

9. After we have acquired a confidence in human testimony, books and

conversation enlarge much more the sphere of one man′s experience and

thought than those of another.

It would be easy to discover many other circumstances that make a

difference in the understandings of men.

But though animals learn many parts of their knowledge from

observation, there are also many parts of it, which they derive from the

original hand of nature; which much exceed the share of capacity they

possess on ordinary occasions; and in which they improve, little or

nothing, by the longest practice and experience. These we denominate

Instincts, and are so apt to admire as something very extraordinary, and

inexplicable by al the disquisitions of human understanding. But our

wonder will, perhaps, cease or diminish, when we consider, that the

experimental reasoning itself, which we possess in common with beasts,

and on which the whole conduct of life depends, is nothing but a species

of instinct or mechanical power, that acts in us unknown to ourselves;

and in its chief operations, is not directed by any such relations or

comparisons of ideas, as are the proper objects of our intellectual

faculties. Though the instinct be different, yet still it is an instinct, which

teaches a man to avoid the fire; as much as that, which teaches a bird,

with such exactness, the art of incubation, and the whole economy and

order of its nursery.

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Sect. X. Of Miracles

PART I.

There is, in Dr. Tillotson′s writings, an argument against the real

presence, which is as concise, and elegant, and strong as any argument

can possibly be supposed against a doctrine, so little worthy of a serious

refutation. It is acknowledged on all hands, says that learned prelate, that

the authority, either of the scripture or of tradition, is founded merely in

the testimony of the apostles, who were eye-witnesses to those miracles

of our Saviour, by which he proved his divine mission. Our evidence,

then, for the truth of the Christian religion is less than the evidence for

the truth of our senses; because, even in the first authors of our religion,

it was no greater; and it is evident it must diminish in passing from them

to their disciples; nor can any one rest such confidence in their

testimony, as in the immediate object of his senses. But a weaker

evidence can never destroy a stronger; and therefore, were the doctrine

of the real presence ever so clearly revealed in scripture, it were directly

contrary to the rules of just reasoning to give our assent to it. It

contradicts sense, though both the scripture and tradition, on which it is

supposed to be built, carry not such evidence with them as sense; when

they are considered merely as external evidences, and are not brought

home to every one′s breast, by the immediate operation of the Holy

Spirit.

Nothing is so convenient as a decisive argument of this kind, which

must at least silence the most arrogant bigotry and superstition, and free

us from their impertinent solicitations. I flatter myself, that I have

discovered an argument of a like nature, which, if just, will, with the wise

and learned, be an everlasting check to all kinds of superstitious

delusion, and consequently, will be useful as long as the world endures.

For so long, I presume, will the accounts of miracles and prodigies be

found in all history, sacred and profane.

Though experience be our only guide in reasoning concerning matters

of fact; it must be acknowledged, that this guide is not altogether

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infallible, but in some cases is apt to lead us into errors. One, who in our

climate, should expect better weather in any week of June than in one of

December, would reason justly, and conformably to experience; but it is

certain, that he may happen, in the event, to find himself mistaken.

However, we may observe, that, in such a case, he would have no cause

to complain of experience; because it commonly informs us beforehand

of the uncertainty, by that contrariety of events, which we may learn

from a diligent observation. All effects follow not with like certainty

from their supposed causes. Some events are found, in all countries and

all ages, to have been constantly conjoined together: Others are found to

have been more variable, and sometimes to disappoint our expectations;

so that, in our reasonings concerning matter of fact, there are al

imaginable degrees of assurance, from the highest certainty to the lowest

species of moral evidence.

A wise man, therefore, proportions his belief to the evidence. In such

conclusions as are founded on an infallible experience, he expects the

event with the last degree of assurance, and regards his past experience

as a full proof of the future existence of that event. In other cases, he

proceeds with more caution: He weighs the opposite experiments: He

considers which side is supported by the greater number of experiments:

to that side he inclines, with doubt and hesitation; and when at last he

fixes his judgement, the evidence exceeds not what we properly call

probability. All probability, then, supposes an opposition of experiments

and observations, where the one side is found to overbalance the other,

and to produce a degree of evidence, proportioned to the superiority. A

hundred instances or experiments on one side, and fifty on another,

afford a doubtful expectation of any event; though a hundred uniform

experiments, with only one that is contradictory, reasonably beget a

pretty strong degree of assurance. In all cases, we must balance the

opposite experiments, where they are opposite, and deduct the smaller

number from the greater, in order to know the exact force of the

superior evidence.

To apply these principles to a particular instance; we may observe that

there is no species of reasoning more common, more useful, and even

necessary to human life, than that which is derived from the testimony

of men, and the reports of eye-witnesses and spectators. This species of

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reasoning, perhaps, one may deny to be founded on the relation of cause

and effect. I shall not dispute about a word. It will be sufficient to

observe that our assurance in any argument of this kind is derived from

no other principle than our observation of the veracity of human

testimony, and of the usual conformity of facts to the reports of

witnesses. It being a general maxim, that no objects have any

discoverable connexion together, and that all the inferences, which we

can draw from one to another, are founded merely on our experience of

their constant and regular conjunction; it is evident that we ought not to

make an exception to this maxim in favour of human testimony, whose

connexion with any event seems, in itself, as little necessary as any other.

Were not the memory tenacious to a certain degree; had not men

commonly an inclination to truth and a principle of probity; were they

not sensible to shame, when detected in a falsehood: Were not these, I

say, discovered by experience to be qualities, inherent in human nature,

we should never repose the least confidence in human testimony. A man

delirious, or noted for falsehood and villany, has no manner of authority

with us.

And as the evidence, derived from witnesses and human testimony, is

founded on past experience, so it varies with the experience, and is

regarded either as a proof or a probability, according as the conjunction

between any particular kind of report and any kind of object has been

found to be constant or variable. There are a number of circumstances

to be taken into consideration in all judgements of this kind; and the

ultimate standard, by which we determine all disputes, that may arise

concerning them, is always derived from experience and observation.

Where this experience is not entirely uniform on any side, it is attended

with an unavoidable contrariety in our judgements, and with the same

opposition and mutual destruction of argument as in every other kind of

evidence. We frequently hesitate concerning the reports of others. We

balance the opposite circumstances, which cause any doubt or

uncertainty; and when we discover a superiority on any side, we incline

to it; but still with a diminution of assurance, in proportion to the force

of its antagonist.

This contrariety of evidence, in the present case, may be derived from

several different causes; from the opposition of contrary testimony;

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from the character or number of the witnesses; from the manner of

their delivering their testimony; or from the union of all these

circumstances. We entertain a suspicion concerning any matter of fact,

when the witnesses contradict each other; when they are but few, or of a

doubtful character; when they have an interest in what they affirm; when

they deliver their testimony with hesitation, or on the contrary, with too

violent asseverations. There are many other particulars of the same kind,

which may diminish or destroy the force of any argument, derived from

human testimony.

Suppose, for instance, that the fact, which the testimony endeavours to

establish, partakes of the extraordinary and the marvellous; in that case,

the evidence, resulting from the testimony, admits of a diminution,

greater or less, in proportion as the fact is more or less unusual. The

reason why we place any credit in witnesses and historians, is not derived

from any connexion, which we perceive a priori, between testimony and

reality, but because we are accustomed to find a conformity between

them. But when the fact attested is such a one as has seldom fallen under

our observation, here is a contest of two opposite experiences; of which

the one destroys the other, as far as its force goes, and the superior can

only operate on the mind by the force, which remains. The very same

principle of experience, which gives us a certain degree of assurance in

the testimony of witnesses, gives us also, in this case, another degree of

assurance against the fact, which they endeavour to establish; from which

contradiction there necessarily arises a counterpoize, and mutual

destruction of belief and authority.

I should not believe such a story were it told me by Cato, was a

proverbial saying in Rome, even during the lifetime of that philosophical

patriot.20 The incredibility of a fact, it was allowed, might invalidate so

great an authority.

The Indian prince, who refused to believe the first relations concerning

the effects of frost, reasoned justly; and it naturally required very strong

testimony to engage his assent to facts, that arose from a state of nature,

with which he was unacquainted, and which bore so little analogy to

those events, of which he had had constant and uniform experience.

20

Plutarch, Marcus Cato.

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Though they were not contrary to his experience, they were not

conformable to it.21

But in order to encrease the probability against the testimony of

witnesses, let us suppose, that the fact, which they affirm, instead of

being only marvellous, is really miraculous; and suppose also, that the

testimony considered apart and in itself, amounts to an entire proof; in

that case, there is proof against proof, of which the strongest must

prevail, but still with a diminution of its force, in proportion to that of

its antagonist.

A miracle is a violation of the laws of nature; and as a firm and

unalterable experience has established these laws, the proof against a

miracle, from the very nature of the fact, is as entire as any argument

from experience can possibly be imagined. Why is it more than probable,

that all men must die; that lead cannot, of itself, remain suspended in the

air; that fire consumes wood, and is extinguished by water; unless it be,

that these events are found agreeable to the laws of nature, and there is

required a violation of these laws, or in other words, a miracle to prevent

them? Nothing is esteemed a miracle, if it ever happen in the common

course of nature. It is no miracle that a man, seemingly in good health,

should die on a sudden: because such a kind of death, though more

unusual than any other, has yet been frequently observed to happen. But

it is a miracle, that a dead man should come to life; because that has

never been observed in any age or country. There must, therefore, be a

uniform experience against every miraculous event, otherwise the event

would not merit that appellation. And as a uniform experience amounts

to a proof, there is here a direct and full proof, from the nature of the

fact, against the existence of any miracle; nor can such a proof be

21

No Indian, it is evident, could have experience that water did not freeze in cold climates. This is placing

nature in a situation quite unknown to him; and it is impossible for him to tell a priori what wil result from it.

It is making a new experiment, the consequence of which is always uncertain. One may sometimes conjecture

from analogy what will follow; but still this is but conjecture. And it must be confessed, that, in the present

case of freezing, the event follows contrary to the rules of analogy, and is such as a rational Indian would not

look for. The operations of cold upon water are not gradual, according to the degrees of cold; but whenever

it comes to the freezing point, the water passes in a moment, from the utmost liquidity to perfect hardness.

Such an event, therefore, may be denominated extraordinary, and requires a pretty strong testimony to render

it credible to people in a warm climate: But still it is not miraculous, nor contrary to uniform experience of

the course of nature in cases where all the circumstances are the same. The inhabitants of Sumatra have

always seen water fluid in their own climate, and the freezing of their rivers ought to be deemed a prodigy:

But they never saw water in Muscovy during the winter; and therefore they cannot reasonably be positive

what would there be the consequence.

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destroyed, or the miracle rendered credible, but by an opposite proof,

which is superior.22

The plain consequence is (and it is a general maxim worthy of our

attention), "That no testimony is sufficient to establish a miracle, unless

the testimony be of such a kind, that its falsehood would be more

miraculous, than the fact, which it endeavours to establish; and even in

that case there is a mutual destruction of arguments, and the superior

only gives us an assurance suitable to that degree of force, which

remains, after deducting the inferior." When anyone tel s me, that he saw

a dead man restored to life, I immediately consider with myself, whether

it be more probable, that this person should either deceive or be

deceived, or that the fact, which he relates, should really have happened.

I weigh the one miracle against the other; and according to the

superiority, which I discover, I pronounce my decision, and always reject

the greater miracle. If the falsehood of his testimony would be more

miraculous, than the event which he relates; then, and not till then, can

he pretend to command my belief or opinion.

22

Sometimes an event may not, in itself, seem to be contrary to the laws of nature, and yet, if it were real, it

might, by reason of some circumstances, be denominated a miracle; because, in fact, it is contrary to these

laws. Thus if a person, claiming a divine authority, should command a sick person to be well, a healthful man

to fall down dead, the clouds to pour rain, the winds to blow, in short, should order many natural events,

which immediately follow upon his command; these might justly be esteemed miracles, because they are

really, in this case, contrary to the laws of nature. For if any suspicion remain, that the event and command

concurred by accident, there is no miracle and no transgression of the laws of nature. If this suspicion be

removed, there is evidently a miracle, and a transgression of these laws; because nothing can be more

contrary to nature than that the voice or command of a man should have such an influence. A miracle may

be accurately defined, a transgression of a law of nature by a particular volition of the Deity, or by the

interposition of some invisible agent. A miracle may either be discoverable by men or not. This alters not its

nature and essence. The raising of a house or ship into the air is a visible miracle. The raising of a feather,

when the wind wants ever so little of a force requisite for that purpose, is as real a miracle, though not so

sensible with regard to us.

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PART II.

In the foregoing reasoning we have supposed that the testimony, upon

which a miracle is founded, may possibly amount to an entire proof, and

that the falsehood of that testimony would be a real prodigy: But it is

easy to shew that we have been a great deal too liberal in our concession,

and that there never was a miraculous event established on so full an

evidence.

For first, there is not to be found, in all history, any miracle attested by a

sufficient number of men, of such unquestioned good-sense, education,

and learning, as to secure us against all delusion in themselves; of such

undoubted integrity, as to place them beyond all suspicion of any design

to deceive others; of such credit and reputation in the eyes of mankind,

as to have a great deal to lose in case of their being detected in any

falsehood; and at the same time, attesting facts performed in such a

public manner and in so celebrated a part of the world, as to render the

detection unavoidable: All which circumstances are requisite to give us a

full assurance in the testimony of men.

Secondly. We may observe in human nature a principle which, if strictly

examined, will be found to diminish extremely the assurance, which we

might, from human testimony, have, in any kind of prodigy. The maxim,

by which we commonly conduct ourselves in our reasonings, is, that the

objects, of which we have no experience, resemble those, of which we

have; that what we have found to be most usual is always most probable;

and that where there is an opposition of arguments, we ought to give the

preference to such as are founded on the greatest number of past

observations. But though, in proceeding by this rule, we readily reject any

fact which is unusual and incredible in an ordinary degree; yet in

advancing farther, the mind observes not always the same rule; but when

anything is affirmed utterly absurd and miraculous, it rather the more

readily admits of such a fact, upon account of that very circumstance,

which ought to destroy all its authority. The passion of surprise and

wonder, arising from miracles, being an agreeable emotion, gives a

sensible tendency towards the belief of those events, from which it is

derived. And this goes so far, that even those who cannot enjoy this

pleasure immediately, nor can believe those miraculous events, of which

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they are informed, yet love to partake of the satisfaction at second-hand

or by rebound, and place a pride and delight in exciting the admiration

of others.

With what greediness are the miraculous accounts of travellers received,

their descriptions of sea and land monsters, their relations of wonderful

adventures, strange men, and uncouth manners? But if the spirit of

religion join itself to the love of wonder, there is an end of common

sense; and human testimony, in these circumstances, loses all pretensions

to authority. A religionist may be an enthusiast, and imagine he sees what

has no reality: he may know his narrative to be false, and yet persevere in

it, with the best intentions in the world, for the sake of promoting so

holy a cause: or even where this delusion has not place, vanity, excited by

so strong a temptation, operates on him more powerfully than on the

rest of mankind in any other circumstances; and self-interest with equal

force. His auditors may not have, and commonly have not, sufficient

judgement to canvass his evidence: what judgement they have, they

renounce by principle, in these sublime and mysterious subjects: or if

they were ever so willing to employ it, passion and a heated imagination

disturb the regularity of its operations. Their credulity increases his

impudence: and his impudence overpowers their credulity.

Eloquence, when at its highest pitch, leaves little room for reason or

reflection; but addressing itself entirely to the fancy or the affections,

captivates the willing hearers, and subdues their understanding. Happily,

this pitch it seldom attains. But what a Tully or a Demosthenes could

scarcely effect over a Roman or Athenian audience, every Capuchin,

every itinerant or stationary teacher can perform over the generality of

mankind, and in a higher degree, by touching such gross and vulgar

passions.

The many instances of forged miracles, and prophecies, and supernatural

events, which, in all ages, have either been detected by contrary evidence,

or which detect themselves by their absurdity, prove sufficiently the

strong propensity of mankind to the extraordinary and the marvellous,

and ought reasonably to beget a suspicion against all relations of this

kind. This is our natural way of thinking, even with regard to the most

common and most credible events. For instance: There is no kind of

report which rises so easily, and spreads so quickly, especially in country

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places and provincial towns, as those concerning marriages; insomuch

that two young persons of equal condition never see each other twice,

but the whole neighbourhood immediately join them together. The

pleasure of telling a piece of news so interesting, of propagating it, and

of being the first reporters of it, spreads the intelligence. And this is so

well known, that no man of sense gives attention to these reports, till he

find them confirmed by some greater evidence. Do not the same

passions, and others still stronger, incline the generality of mankind to

believe and report, with the greatest vehemence and assurance, all

religious miracles?

Thirdly. It forms a strong presumption against all supernatural and

miraculous relations, that they are observed chiefly to abound among

ignorant and barbarous nations; or if a civilized people has ever given

admission to any of them, that people will be found to have received

them from ignorant and barbarous ancestors, who transmitted them with

that inviolable sanction and authority, which always attend received

opinions. When we peruse the first histories of all nations, we are apt to

imagine ourselves transported into some new world; where the whole

frame of nature is disjointed, and every element performs its operations

in a different manner, from what it does at present. Battles, revolutions,

pestilence, famine and death, are never the effect of those natural causes,

which we experience. Prodigies, omens, oracles, judgements, quite

obscure the few natural events, that are intermingled with them. But as

the former grow thinner every page, in proportion as we advance nearer

the enlightened ages, we soon learn, that there is nothing mysterious or

supernatural in the case, but that all proceeds from the usual propensity

of mankind towards the marvellous, and that, though this inclination

may at intervals receive a check from sense and learning, it can never be

thoroughly extirpated from human nature.

It is strange, a judicious reader is apt to say, upon the perusal of these

wonderful historians, that such prodigious events never happen in our

days. But it is nothing strange, I hope, that men should lie in all ages. You

must surely have seen instances enough of that frailty. You have yourself

heard many such marvellous relations started, which, being treated with

scorn by all the wise and judicious, have at last been abandoned even by

the vulgar. Be assured, that those renowned lies, which have spread and

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flourished to such a monstrous height, arose from like beginnings; but

being sown in a more proper soil, shot up at last into prodigies almost

equal to those which they relate.

It was a wise policy in that false prophet, Alexander, who though now

forgotten, was once so famous, to lay the first scene of his impostures in

Paphlagonia, where, as Lucian tells us, the people were extremely

ignorant and stupid, and ready to swallow even the grossest delusion.

People at a distance, who are weak enough to think the matter at all

worth enquiry, have no opportunity of receiving better information. The

stories come magnified to them by a hundred circumstances. Fools are

industrious in propagating the imposture; while the wise and learned are

contented, in general, to deride its absurdity, without informing

themselves of the particular facts, by which it may be distinctly refuted.

And thus the impostor above mentioned was enabled to proceed, from

his ignorant Paphlagonians, to the enlisting of votaries, even among the

Grecian philosophers, and men of the most eminent rank and

distinction in Rome: nay, could engage the attention of that sage

emperor Marcus Aurelius; so far as to make him trust the success of a

military expedition to his delusive prophecies.

The advantages are so great, of starting an imposture among an ignorant

people, that, even though the delusion should be too gross to impose on

the generality of them (which, though seldom, is sometimes the case) it

has a much better chance for succeeding in remote countries, than if the

first scene had been laid in a city renowned for arts and knowledge. The

most ignorant and barbarous of these barbarians carry the report

abroad. None of their countrymen have a large correspondence, or

sufficient credit and authority to contradict and beat down the delusion.

Men′s inclination to the marvellous has full opportunity to display itself.

And thus a story, which is universally exploded in the place where it was

first started, shall pass for certain at a thousand miles distance. But had

Alexander fixed his residence at Athens, the philosophers of that

renowned mart of learning had immediately spread, throughout the

whole Roman empire, their sense of the matter; which, being supported

by so great authority, and displayed by al the force of reason and

eloquence, had entirely opened the eyes of mankind. It is true; Lucian,

passing by chance through Paphlagonia, had an opportunity of

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performing this good office. But, though much to be wished, it does not

always happen, that every Alexander meets with a Lucian, ready to

expose and detect his impostures.

I may add as a fourth reason, which diminishes the authority of

prodigies, that there is no testimony for any, even those which have not

been expressly detected, that is not opposed by an infinite number of

witnesses; so that not only the miracle destroys the credit of testimony,

but the testimony destroys itself. To make this the better understood, let

us consider, that, in matters of religion, whatever is different is contrary;

and that it is impossible the religions of ancient Rome, of Turkey, of

Siam, and of China should, all of them, be established on any solid

foundation. Every miracle, therefore, pretended to have been wrought in

any of these religions (and all of them abound in miracles), as its direct

scope is to establish the particular system to which it is attributed; so has

it the same force, though more indirectly, to overthrow every other

system. In destroying a rival system, it likewise destroys the credit of

those miracles, on which that system was established; so that all the

prodigies of different religions are to be regarded as contrary facts, and

the evidences of these prodigies, whether weak or strong, as opposite to

each other. According to this method of reasoning, when we believe any

miracle of Mahomet or his successors, we have for our warrant the

testimony of a few barbarous Arabians: And on the other hand, we are

to regard the authority of Titus Livius, Plutarch, Tacitus, and, in short,

of all the authors and witnesses, Grecian, Chinese, and Roman Catholic,

who have related any miracle in their particular religion; I say, we are to

regard their testimony in the same light as if they had mentioned that

Mahometan miracle, and had in express terms contradicted it, with the

same certainty as they have for the miracle they relate. This argument

may appear over subtile and refined; but is not in reality different from

the reasoning of a judge, who supposes that the credit of two witnesses,

maintaining a crime against any one, is destroyed by the testimony of

two others, who affirm him to have been two hundred leagues distant, at

the same instant when the crime is said to have been committed.

One of the best attested miracles in all profane history, is that which

Tacitus reports of Vespasian, who cured a blind man in Alexandria, by

means of his spittle, and a lame man by the mere touch of his foot; in

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obedience to a vision of the god Serapis, who had enjoined them to have

recourse to the Emperor, for these miraculous cures. The story may be

seen in that fine historian;23 where every circumstance seems to add

weight to the testimony, and might be displayed at large with all the force

of argument and eloquence, if any one were now concerned to enforce

the evidence of that exploded and idolatrous superstition. The gravity,

solidity, age, and probity of so great an emperor, who, through the whole

course of his life, conversed in a familiar manner with his friends and

courtiers, and never affected those extraordinary airs of divinity assumed

by Alexander and Demetrius. The historian, a contemporary writer,

noted for candour and veracity, and withal, the greatest and most

penetrating genius, perhaps, of all antiquity; and so free from any

tendency to credulity, that he even lies under the contrary imputation, of

atheism and profaneness: The persons, from whose authority he related

the miracle, of established character for judgement and veracity, as we

may well presume; eye-witnesses of the fact, and confirming their

testimony, after the Flavian family was despoiled of the empire, and

could no longer give any reward, as the price of a lie. Utrumque, qui

interfuere, nunc quoque memorant, postquam nullum mendacio pretium.

To which if we add the public nature of the facts, as related, it will

appear, that no evidence can well be supposed stronger for so gross and

so palpable a falsehood.

There is also a memorable story related by Cardinal de Retz, which may

well deserve our consideration. When that intriguing politician fled into

Spain, to avoid the persecution of his enemies, he passed through

Saragossa, the capital of Aragon, where he was shewn, in the cathedral, a

man, who had served seven years as a doorkeeper, and was well known

to every body in town, that had ever paid his devotions at that church.

He had been seen, for so long a time, wanting a leg; but recovered that

limb by the rubbing of holy oil upon the stump; and the cardinal assures

us that he saw him with two legs. This miracle was vouched by all the

canons of the church; and the whole company in town were appealed to

for a confirmation of the fact; whom the cardinal found, by their zealous

devotion, to be thorough believers of the miracle. Here the relater was

also contemporary to the supposed prodigy, of an incredulous and

23

Histories, iv. 81. Suetonius gives nearly the same account, Lives of the Caesars (Vespasian).

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libertine character, as well as of great genius; the miracle of so singular a

nature as could scarcely admit of a counterfeit, and the witnesses very

numerous, and all of them, in a manner, spectators of the fact, to which

they gave their testimony. And what adds mightily to the force of the

evidence, and may double our surprise on this occasion, is, that the

cardinal himself, who relates the story, seems not to give any credit to it,

and consequently cannot be suspected of any concurrence in the holy

fraud. He considered justly, that it was not requisite, in order to reject a

fact of this nature, to be able accurately to disprove the testimony, and to

trace its falsehood, through all the circumstances of knavery and

credulity which produced it. He knew, that, as this was commonly

altogether impossible at any smal distance of time and place; so was it

extremely difficult, even where one was immediately present, by reason

of the bigotry, ignorance, cunning, and roguery of a great part of

mankind. He therefore concluded, like a just reasoner, that such an

evidence carried falsehood upon the very face of it, and that a miracle,

supported by any human testimony, was more properly a subject of

derision than of argument.

There surely never was a greater number of miracles ascribed to one

person, than those, which were lately said to have been wrought in

France upon the tomb of Abbe Paris, the famous Jansenist, with whose

sanctity the people were so long deluded. The curing of the sick, giving

hearing to the deaf, and sight to the blind, were every where talked of as

the usual effects of that holy sepulchre. But what is more extraordinary;

many of the miracles were immediately proved upon the spot, before

judges of unquestioned integrity, attested by witnesses of credit and

distinction, in a learned age, and on the most eminent theatre that is now

in the world. Nor is this al : a relation of them was published and

dispersed every where; nor were the Jesuits, though a learned body,

supported by the civil magistrate, and determined enemies to those

opinions, in whose favour the miracles were said to have been wrought,

ever able distinctly to refute or detect them. Where shall we find such a

number of circumstances, agreeing to the corroboration of one fact?

And what have we to oppose to such a cloud of witnesses, but the

absolute impossibility or miraculous nature of the events, which they

relate? And this surely, in the eyes of all reasonable people, will alone be

regarded as a sufficient refutation.

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Is the consequence just, because some human testimony has the utmost

force and authority in some cases, when it relates the battle of Philippi

or Pharsalia for instance; that therefore all kinds of testimony must, in all

cases, have equal force and authority? Suppose that the Caesarean and

Pompeian factions had, each of them, claimed the victory in these

battles, and that the historians of each party had uniformly ascribed the

advantage to their own side; how could mankind, at this distance, have

been able to determine between them? The contrariety is equally strong

between the miracles related by Herodotus or Plutarch, and those

delivered by Mariana, Bede, or any monkish historian.

The wise lend a very academic faith to every report which favours the

passion of the reporter; whether it magnifies his country, his family, or

himself, or in any other way strikes in with his natural inclinations and

propensities. But what greater temptation than to appear a missionary, a

prophet, an ambassador from heaven? Who would not encounter many

dangers and difficulties, in order to attain so sublime a character? Or if,

by the help of vanity and a heated imagination, a man has first made a

convert of himself, and entered seriously into the delusion I who ever

scruples to make use of pious frauds, in support of so holy and

meritorious a cause?

The smallest spark may here kindle into the greatest flame; because the

materials are always prepared for it. The avidum genus auricularum,24 the

gazing populace, receive greedily, without examination, whatever sooths

superstition, and promotes wonder.

How many stories of this nature have in all ages, been detected and

exploded in their infancy? How many more have been celebrated for a

time, and have afterwards sunk into neglect and oblivion? Where such

reports, therefore, fly about, the solution of the phenomenon is obvious;

and we in conformity to regular experience and observation, when we

account for it by the known and natural principles of credulity and

delusion. And shall we, rather than have a recourse to so natural a

solution, allow of a miraculous violation of the most established laws of

nature?

24

Lucretius.

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I need not mention the difficulty of detecting a falsehood in any private

or even public history, at the place, where it is said to happen; much

more when the scene is removed to ever so small a distance. Even a

court of judicature, with all the authority, accuracy, and judgement,

which they can employ, find themselves often at a loss to distinguish

between truth and falsehood in the most recent actions. But the matter

never comes to any issue, if trusted to the common method of

altercations and debate and flying rumours; especially when men′s

passions have taken part on either side.

In the infancy of new religions, the wise and learned commonly esteem

the matter too inconsiderable to deserve their attention or regard. And

when afterwards they would willingly detect the cheat, in order to

undeceive the deluded multitude, the season is now past, and the records

and witnesses, which might clear up the matter, have perished beyond

recovery.

No means of detection remain, but those which must be drawn from the

very testimony itself of the reporters: and these, though always sufficient

with the judicious and knowing, are commonly too fine to fall under the

comprehension of the vulgar.

Upon the whole, then, it appears, that no testimony for any kind of

miracle has ever amounted to a probability, much less to a proof; and

that, even supposing it amounted to a proof, it would be opposed by

another proof, derived from the very nature of the fact, which it would

endeavour to establish. It is experience only, which gives authority to

human testimony; and it is the same experience, which assures us of the

laws of nature. When, therefore, these two kinds of experience are

contrary, we have nothing to do but substract the one from the other,

and embrace an opinion, either on one side or the other, with that

assurance which arises from the remainder. But according to the

principle here explained, this substraction, with regard to all popular

religions, amounts to an entire annihilation; and therefore we may

establish it as a maxim, that no human testimony can have such force as

to prove a miracle, and make it a just foundation for any such system of

religion.

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I beg the limitations here made may be remarked, when I say, that a

miracle can never be proved, so as to be the foundation of a system of

religion. For I own, that otherwise, there may possibly be miracles, or

violations of the usual course of nature, of such a kind as to admit of

proof from human testimony; though, perhaps, it will be impossible to

find any such in all the records of history. Thus, suppose all authors, in

all languages, agree, that, from the first of January 1600, there was a total

darkness over the whole earth for eight days: suppose that the tradition

of this extraordinary event is still strong and lively among the people:

that all travel ers, who return from foreign countries, bring us accounts

of the same tradition, without the least variation or contradiction: it is

evident, that our present philosophers, instead of doubting the fact,

ought to receive it as certain, and ought to search for the causes whence

it might be derived. The decay, corruption, and dissolution of nature, is

an event rendered probable by so many analogies, that any phenomenon,

which seems to have a tendency towards that catastrophe, comes within

the reach of human testimony, if that testimony be very extensive and

uniform.

But suppose, that all the historians who treat of England, should agree,

that, on the first of January 1600, Queen Elizabeth died; that both

before and after her death she was seen by her physicians and the whole

court, as is usual with persons of her rank; that her successor was

acknowledged and proclaimed by the parliament; and that, after being

interred a month, she again appeared, resumed the throne, and governed

England for three years: I must confess that I should be surprised at the

concurrence of so many odd circumstances, but should not have the

least inclination to believe so miraculous an event. I should not doubt of

her pretended death, and of those other public circumstances that

followed it: I should only assert it to have been pretended, and that it

neither was, nor possibly could be real. You would in vain object to me

the difficulty, and almost impossibility of deceiving the world in an affair

of such consequence; the wisdom and solid judgement of that renowned

queen; with the little or no advantage which she could reap from so poor

an artifice: All this might astonish me; but I would still reply, that the

knavery and folly of men are such common phenomena, that I should

rather believe the most extraordinary events to arise from their

concurrence, than admit of so signal a violation of the laws of nature.

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But should this miracle be ascribed to any new system of religion; men,

in all ages, have been so much imposed on by ridiculous stories of that

kind, that this very circumstance would be a full proof of a cheat, and

sufficient, with all men of sense, not only to make them reject the fact,

but even reject it without farther examination. Though the Being to

whom the miracle is ascribed, be, in this case, Almighty, it does not,

upon that account, become a whit more probable; since it is impossible

for us to know the attributes or actions of such a Being, otherwise than

from the experience which we have of his productions, in the usual

course of nature. This still reduces us to past observation, and obliges us

to compare the instances of the violation of truth in the testimony of

men, with those of the violation of the laws of nature by miracles, in

order to judge which of them is most likely and probable. As the

violations of truth are more common in the testimony concerning

religious miracles, than in that concerning any other matter of fact; this

must diminish very much the authority of the former testimony, and

make us form a general resolution, never to lend any attention to it, with

whatever specious pretence it may be covered.

Lord Bacon seems to have embraced the same principles of reasoning.

"We ought," says he, "to make a collection or particular history of all

monsters and prodigious births or productions, and in a word of

everything new, rare, and extraordinary in nature. But this must be done

with the most severe scrutiny, lest we depart from truth. Above all, every

relation must be considered as suspicious, which depends in any degree

upon religion, as the prodigies of Livy: And no less so, everything that is

to be found in the writers of natural magic or alchemy, or such authors,

who seem, all of them, to have an unconquerable appetite for falsehood

and fable."25

I am the better pleased with the method of reasoning here delivered, as I

think it may serve to confound those dangerous friends or disguised

enemies to the Christian Religion, who have undertaken to defend it by

the principles of human reason. Our most holy religion is founded on

Faith, not on reason; and it is a sure method of exposing it to put it to

such a trial as it is, by no means, fitted to endure. To make this more

evident, let us examine those miracles, related in scripture; and not to

25

Novum Organum, II, aph. 29.

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lose ourselves in too wide a field, let us confine ourselves to such as we

find in the Pentateuch, which we shall examine, according to the

principles of these pretended Christians, not as the word or testimony of

God himself, but as the production of a mere human writer and

historian. Here then we are first to consider a book, presented to us by a

barbarous and ignorant people, written in an age when they were still

more barbarous, and in all probability long after the facts which it relates,

corroborated by no concurring testimony, and resembling those fabulous

accounts, which every nation gives of its origin. Upon reading this book,

we find it full of prodigies and miracles. It gives an account of a state of

the world and of human nature entirely different from the present: Of

our fall from that state: Of the age of man, extended to near a thousand

years: Of the destruction of the world by a deluge: Of the arbitrary

choice of one people, as the favourites of heaven; and that people the

countrymen of the author: Of their deliverance from bondage by

prodigies the most astonishing imaginable: I desire anyone to lay his

hand upon his heart, and after a serious consideration declare, whether

he thinks that the falsehood of such a book, supported by such a

testimony, would be more extraordinary and miraculous than al the

miracles it relates; which is, however, necessary to make it be received,

according to the measures of probability above established.

What we have said of miracles may be applied, without any variation, to

prophecies; and indeed, all prophecies are real miracles, and as such only,

can be admitted as proofs of any revelation. If it did not exceed the

capacity of human nature to foretell future events, it would be absurd to

employ any prophecy as an argument for a divine mission or authority

from heaven. So that, upon the whole, we may conclude, that the

Christian Religion not only was at first attended with miracles, but even

at this day cannot be believed by any reasonable person without one.

Mere reason is insufficient to convince us of its veracity: And whoever is

moved by Faith to assent to it, is conscious of a continued miracle in his

own person, which subverts all the principles of his understanding, and

gives him a determination to believe what is most contrary to custom

and experience.

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Sect. XI. Of a particular Providence and of a future
State

I was lately engaged in conversation with a friend who loves sceptical

paradoxes; where, though he advanced many principles, of which I can

by no means approve, yet as they seem to be curious, and to bear some

relation to the chain of reasoning carried on throughout this enquiry, I

shall here copy them from my memory as accurately as I can, in order to

submit them to the judgement of the reader.

Our conversation began with my admiring the singular good fortune of

philosophy, which, as it requires entire liberty above all other privileges,

and chiefly flourishes from the free opposition of sentiments and

argumentation, received its first birth in an age and country of freedom

and toleration, and was never cramped, even in its most extravagant

principles, by any creeds, concessions, or penal statutes. For, except the

banishment of Protagoras, and the death of Socrates, which last event

proceeded partly from other motives, there are scarcely any instances to

be met with, in ancient history, of this bigotted jealousy, with which the

present age is so much infested. Epicurus lived at Athens to an advanced

age, in peace and tranquillity: Epicureans26 were even admitted to receive

the sacerdotal character, and to officiate at the altar, in the most sacred

rites of the established religion: And the public encouragement27 of

pensions and salaries was afforded equally, by the wisest of all the

Roman emperors,28 to the professors of every sect of philosophy. How

requisite such kind of treatment was to philosophy, in her early youth,

will easily be conceived, if we reflect, that, even at present, when she may

be supposed more hardy and robust, she bears with much difficulty the

inclemency of the seasons, and those harsh winds of calumny and

persecution, which blow upon her.

26

Lucian, sump. e Lapithai [The Banquet, or the Lapiths].

27

Lucian, eunouchos [The Eunuch].

28

Lucian and Dio.

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You admire, says my friend, as the singular good fortune of philosophy,

what seems to result from the natural course of things, and to be

unavoidable in every age and nation. This pertinacious bigotry, of which

you complain, as so fatal to philosophy, is really her offspring, who, after

allying with superstition, separates himself entirely from the interest of

his parent, and becomes her most inveterate enemy and persecutor.

Speculative dogmas of religion, the present occasions of such furious

dispute, could not possibly be conceived or admitted in the early ages of

the world; when mankind, being wholly illiterate, formed an idea of

religion more suitable to their weak apprehension, and composed their

sacred tenets of such tales chiefly as were the objects of traditional

belief, more than of argument or disputation. After the first alarm,

therefore, was over, which arose from the new paradoxes and principles

of the philosophers; these teachers seem ever after, during the ages of

antiquity, to have lived in great harmony with the established

superstition, and to have made a fair partition of mankind between

them; the former claiming al the learned and wise, the latter possessing

all the vulgar and illiterate.

It seems then, say I, that you leave politics entirely out of the question,

and never suppose, that a wise magistrate can justly be jealous of certain

tenets of philosophy, such as those of Epicurus, which, denying a divine

existence, and consequently a providence and a future state, seem to

loosen, in a great measure, the ties of morality, and may be supposed, for

that reason, pernicious to the peace of civil society.

I know, replied he, that in fact these persecutions never, in any age,

proceeded from calm reason, or from experience of the pernicious

consequences of philosophy; but arose entirely from passion and

prejudice. But what if I should advance farther, and assert, that if

Epicurus had been accused before the people, by any of the sycophants

or informers of those days, he could easily have defended his cause, and

proved his principles of philosophy to be as salutary as those of his

adversaries, who endeavoured, with such zeal, to expose him to the

public hatred and jealousy?

I wish, said I, you would try your eloquence upon so extraordinary a

topic, and make a speech for Epicurus, which might satisfy, not the mob

of Athens, if you will allow that ancient and polite city to have contained

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any mob, but the more philosophical part of his audience, such as might

be supposed capable of comprehending his arguments.

The matter would not be difficult, upon such conditions, replied he: And

if you please, I shall suppose myself Epicurus for a moment, and make

you stand for the Athenian people, and shal deliver you such an

harangue as will fill all the urn with white beans, and leave not a black

one to gratify the malice of my adversaries.

Very well: Pray proceed upon these suppositions.

I come hither, O ye Athenians, to justify in your assembly what I

maintained in my school, and I find myself impeached by furious

antagonists, instead of reasoning with calm and dispassionate enquirers.

Your deliberations, which of right should be directed to questions of

public good, and the interest of the commonwealth, are diverted to the

disquisitions of speculative philosophy; and these magnificent, but

perhaps fruitless enquiries, take place of your more familiar but more

useful occupations. But so far as in me lies, I will prevent this abuse. We

shall not here dispute concerning the origin and government of worlds.

We shall only enquire how far such questions concern the public interest.

And if I can persuade you, that they are entirely indifferent to the peace

of society and security of government, I hope that you will presently

send us back to our schools, there to examine, at leisure, the question the

most sublime, but at the same time, the most speculative of all

philosophy.

The religious philosophers, not satisfied with the tradition of your

forefathers, and doctrine of your priests (in which I wil ingly acquiesce),

indulge a rash curiosity, in trying how far they can establish religion upon

the principles of reason; and they thereby excite, instead of satisfying,

the doubts, which natural y arise from a diligent and scrutinous enquiry.

They paint, in the most magnificent colours, the order, beauty, and wise

arrangement of the universe; and then ask, if such a glorious display of

intelligence could proceed from the fortuitous concourse of atoms, or if

chance could produce what the greatest genius can never sufficiently

admire. I shall not examine the justness of this argument. I shall allow it

to be as solid as my antagonists and accusers can desire. It is sufficient, if

I can prove, from this very reasoning, that the question is entirely

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speculative, and that, when, in my philosophical disquisitions, I deny a

providence and a future state, I undermine not the foundations of

society, but advance principles, which they themselves, upon their own

topics, if they argue consistently, must allow to be solid and satisfactory.

You then, who are my accusers, have acknowledged, that the chief or

sole argument for a divine existence (which I never questioned) is

derived from the order of nature; where there appear such marks of

intelligence and design, that you think it extravagant to assign for its

cause, either chance, or the blind and unguided force of matter. You

allow, that this is an argument drawn from effects to causes. From the

order of the work, you infer, that there must have been project and

forethought in the workman. If you cannot make out this point, you

allow, that your conclusion fails; and you pretend not to establish the

conclusion in a greater latitude than the phenomena of nature will

justify. These are your concessions. I desire you to mark the

consequences.

When we infer any particular cause from an effect, we must proportion

the one to the other, and can never be allowed to ascribe to the cause any

qualities, but what are exactly sufficient to produce the effect. A body of

ten ounces raised in any scale may serve as a proof, that the

counterbalancing weight exceeds ten ounces; but can never afford a

reason that it exceeds a hundred, If the cause, assigned for any effect, be

not sufficient to produce it, we must either reject that cause, or add to it

such qualities as will give it a just proportion to the effect. But if we

ascribe to it farther qualities, or affirm it capable of producing other

effects, we can only indulge the licence of conjecture, and arbitrarily

suppose the existence of qualities and energies, without reason or

authority.

The same rule holds, whether the cause assigned be brute unconscious

matter, or a rational intelligent being. If the cause be known only by the

effect, we never ought to ascribe to it any qualities, beyond what are

precisely requisite to produce the effect: Nor can we, by any rules of just

reasoning, return back from the cause, and infer other effects from it,

beyond those by which alone it is known to us. No one, merely from the

sight of one of Zeuxis′s pictures, could know, that he was also a statuary

or architect, and was an artist no less skilful in stone and marble than in

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colours. The talents and taste, displayed in the particular work before us;

these we may safely conclude the workman to be possessed of. The

cause must be proportioned to the effect; and if we exactly and precisely

proportion it, we shall never find in it any qualities, that point farther, or

afford an inference concerning any other design or performance. Such

qualities must be somewhat beyond what is merely requisite for

producing the effect, which we examine.

Allowing, therefore, the gods to be the authors of the existence or order

of the universe; it follows, that they possess that precise degree of

power, intelligence, and benevolence, which appears in their

workmanship; but nothing farther can ever be proved, except we call in

the assistance of exaggeration and flattery to supply the defects of

argument and reasoning. So far as the traces of any attributes, at present,

appear, so far may we conclude these attributes to exist. The supposition

of farther attributes is mere hypothesis; much more the supposition,

that, in distant regions of space or periods of time, there has been, or

will be, a more magnificent display of these attributes, and a scheme of

administration more suitable to such imaginary virtues. We can never be

allowed to mount up from the universe, the effect, to Jupiter, the cause;

and then descend downwards, to infer any new effect from that cause; as

if the present effects alone were not entirely worthy of the glorious

attributes, which we ascribe to that deity. The knowledge of the cause

being derived solely from the effect, they must be exactly adjusted to

each other; and the one can never refer to anything further, or be the

foundation of any new inference and conclusion.

You find certain phenomena in nature. You seek a cause or author. You

imagine that you have found him. You afterwards become so enamoured

of this offspring of your brain, that you imagine it impossible, but he

must produce something greater and more perfect than the present

scene of things, which is so full of ill and disorder. You forget, that this

superlative intelligence and benevolence are entirely imaginary, or at least,

without any foundation in reason; and that you have no ground to

ascribe to him any qualities, but what you see he has actually exerted and

displayed in his productions. Let your gods, therefore, O philosophers,

be suited to the present appearances of nature: and presume not to alter

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these appearances by arbitrary suppositions, in order to suit them to the

attributes, which you so fondly ascribe to your deities.

When priests and poets, supported by your authority, O Athenians, talk

of a golden or silver age, which preceded the present state of vice and

miscry, I hear them with attention and with reverence. But when

philosophers, who pretend to neglect authority, and to cultivate reason,

hold the same discourse, I pay them not, I own, the same obsequious

submission and pious deference. I ask; who carried them into the

celestial regions, who admitted them into the councils of the gods, who

opened to them the book of fate, that they thus rashly affirm, that their

deities have executed, or will execute, any purpose beyond what has

actually appeared? If they tell me, that they have mounted on the steps

or by the gradual ascent of reason, and by drawing inferences from

effects to causes, I still insist, that they have aided the ascent of reason

by the wings of imagination; otherwise they could not thus change their

manner of inference, and argue from causes to effects; presuming, that a

more perfect production than the present world would be more suitable

to such perfect beings as the gods, and forgetting that they have no

reason to ascribe to these celestial beings any perfection or any attribute,

but what can be found in the present world.

Hence all the fruitless industry to account for the ill appearances of

nature, and save the honour of the gods; while we must acknowledge the

reality of that evil and disorder, with which the world so much abounds.

The obstinate and intractable qualities of matter, we are told, or the

observance of general laws, or some such reason, is the sole cause, which

controlled the power and benevolence of Jupiter, and obliged him to

create mankind and every sensible creature so imperfect and so unhappy.

These attributes then, are, it seems, beforehand, taken for granted, in

their greatest latitude. And upon that supposition, I own that such

conjectures may, perhaps, be admitted as plausible solutions of the ill

phenomena. But still I ask; Why take these attributes for granted, or why

ascribe to the cause any qualities but what actually appear in the effect?

Why torture your brain to justify the course of nature upon

suppositions, which, for aught you know, may be entirely imaginary, and

of which there are to be found no traces in the course of nature?

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The religious hypothesis, therefore, must be considered only as a

particular method of accounting for the visible phenomena of the

universe: but no just reasoner will ever presume to infer from it any

single fact, and alter or add to the phenomena, in any single particular. If

you think, that the appearances of things prove such causes, it is

allowable for you to draw an inference concerning the existence of these

causes. In such complicated and sublime subjects, every one should be

indulged in the liberty of conjecture and argument. But here you ought

to rest. If you come backward, and arguing from your inferred causes,

conclude, that any other fact has existed, or will exist, in the course of

nature, which may serve as a fuller display of particular attributes; I must

admonish you, that you have departed from the method of reasoning,

attached to the present subject, and have certainly added something to

the attributes of the cause, beyond what appears in the effect; otherwise

you could never, with tolerable sense or propriety, add anything to the

effect, in order to render it more worthy of the cause.

Where, then, is the odiousness of that doctrine, which I teach in my

school, or rather, which I examine in my gardens? Or what do you find

in this whole question, wherein the security of good morals, or the peace

and order of society, is in the least concerned?

I deny a providence, you say, and supreme governor of the world, who

guides the course of events, and punishes the vicious with infamy and

disappointment, and rewards the virtuous with honour and success, in all

their undertakings. But surely, I deny not the course itself of events,

which lies open to every one′s inquiry and examination. I acknowledge,

that, in the present order of things, virtue is attended with more peace

of mind than vice, and meets with a more favourable reception from the

world. I am sensible, that, according to the past experience of mankind,

friendship is the chief joy of human life, and moderation the only source

of tranquillity and happiness. I never balance between the virtuous and

the vicious course of life; but am sensible, that, to a well-disposed mind,

every advantage is on the side of the former. And what can you say

more, allowing all your suppositions and reasonings? You tell me, indeed,

that this disposition of things proceeds from intelligence and design. But

whatever it proceeds from, the disposition itself, on which depends our

happiness or misery, and consequently our conduct and deportment in

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life is still the same. It is still open for me, as well as you, to regulate my

behaviour, by my experience of past events. And if you affirm, that,

while a divine providence is allowed, and a supreme distributive justice in

the universe, I ought to expect some more particular reward of the good,

and punishment of the bad, beyond the ordinary course of events; I

here find the same fallacy, which I have before endeavoured to detect.

You persist in imagining, that, if we grant that divine existence, for

which you so earnestly contend, you may safely infer consequences from

it, and add something to the experienced order of nature, by arguing

from the attributes which you ascribe to your gods. You seem not to

remember, that all your reasonings on this subject can only be drawn

from effects to causes; and that every argument, deducted from causes to

effects, must of necessity be a gross sophism; since it is impossible for

you to know anything of the cause, but what you have antecedently, not

inferred, but discovered to the full, in the effect.

But what must a philosopher think of those vain reasoners, who, instead

of regarding the present scene of things as the sole object of their

contemplation, so far reverse the whole course of nature, as to render

this life merely a passage to something farther; a porch, which leads to a

greater, and vastly different building; a prologue, which serves only to

introduce the piece, and give it more grace and propriety? Whence, do

you think, can such philosophers derive their idea of the gods? From

their own conceit and imagination surely. For if they derived it from the

present phenomena, it would never point to anything farther, but must

be exactly adjusted to them. That the divinity may possibly be endowed

with attributes, which we have never seen exerted; may be governed by

principles of action, which we cannot discover to be satisfied: all this will

freely be allowed. But still this is mere possibility and hypothesis. We

never can have reason to in infer any attributes, or any principles of

action in him, but so far as we know them to have been exerted and

satisfied. Are there any marks of a distributive justice in the world? If

you answer in the affirmative, I conclude, that, since justice here exerts

itself, it is satisfied. If you reply in the negative, I conclude that you have

then no reason to ascribe justice, in our sense of it, to the gods. If you

hold a medium between affirmation and negation, by saying, that the

justice of the gods, at present, exerts itself in part, but not in its full

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extent; I answer, that you have no reason to give it any particular extent,

but only so far as you see it, at present, exert itself.

Thus I bring the dispute, O Athenians, to a short issue with my

antagonists. The course of nature lies open to my contemplation as well

as to theirs. The experienced train of events is the great standard, by

which we all regulate our conduct. Nothing else can be appealed to in the

field, or in the senate. Nothing else ought ever to be heard of in the

school, or in the closet. In vain would our limited understanding break

through those boundaries, which are too narrow for our fond

imagination. While we argue from the course of nature, and infer a

particular intelligent cause, which first bestowed, and still preserves order

in the universe, we embrace a principle, which is both uncertain and

useless. It is uncertain; because the subject lies entirely beyond the reach

of human experience. It is useless; because our knowledge of this cause

being derived entirely from the course of nature, we can never, according

to the rules of just reasoning, return back from the cause with any new

inference, or making additions to the common and experienced course

of nature, establish any new principles of conduct and behaviour.

I observe (said I, finding he had finished his harangue) that you neglect

not the artifice of the demagogues of old; and as you were pleased to

make me stand for the people, you insinuate yourself into my favour by

embracing those principles, to which, you know, I have always expressed

a particular attachment. But allowing you to make experience (as indeed I

think you ought) the only standard of our judgement concerning this,

and all other questions of fact; I doubt not but, from the very same

experience, to which you appeal, it may be possible to refute this

reasoning, which you have put into the mouth of Epicurus. If you saw,

for instance, a half-finished building, surrounded with heaps of brick

and stone and mortar, and all the instruments of masonry; could you not

infer from the effect that it was a work of design and contrivance? And

could you not return again, from this inferred cause, to infer new

additions to the effect, and conclude, that the building would soon be

finished, and receive all the further improvements, which art could

bestow upon it? If you saw upon the sea-shore the print of one human

foot, you would conclude, that a man had passed that way, and that he

had also left the traces of the other foot, though effaced by the rolling

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of the sands or inundation of the waters. Why then do you refuse to

admit the same method of reasoning with regard to the order of nature?

Consider the world and the present life only as an imperfect building,

from which you can infer a superior intelligence; and arguing from that

superior intelligence, which can leave nothing imperfect; why may you

not infer a more finished scheme or plan, which will receive its

completion in some distant point of space or time? Are not these

methods of reasoning exactly similar? And under what pretence can you

embrace the one, while you reject the other?

The infinite difference of the subjects, replied he, is a sufficient

foundation for this difference in my conclusions. In works of human art

and contrivance, it is allowable to advance from the effect to the cause,

and returning back from the cause, to form new inferences concerning

the effect, and examine the alterations, which it has probably undergone,

or may still undergo. But what is the foundation of this method of

reasoning? Plainly this; that man is a being, whom we know by

experience, whose motives and designs we are acquainted with, and

whose projects and inclinations have a certain connexion and coherence,

according to the laws which nature has established for the government

of such a creature. When, therefore, we find, that any work has

proceeded from the skill and industry of man; as we are otherwise

acquainted with the nature of the animal, we can draw a hundred

inferences concerning what may be expected from him; and these

inferences will all be founded in experience and observation. But did we

know man only from the single work or production which we examine, it

were impossible for us to argue in this manner; because our knowledge

of all the qualities, which we ascribe to him, being in that case derived

from the production, it is impossible they could point to anything

farther, or be the foundation of any new inference. The print of a foot

in the sand can only prove, when considered alone, that there was some

figure adapted to it, by which it was produced: but the print of a human

foot proves likewise, from our other experience, that there was probably

another foot, which also left its impression, though effaced by time or

other accidents. Here we mount from the effect to the cause; and

descending again from the cause, infer alterations in the effect; but this is

not a continuation of the same simple chain of reasoning. We

comprehend in this case a hundred other experiences and observations,

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concerning the usual figure and members of that species of animal,

without which this method of argument must be considered as fallacious

and sophistical.

The case is not the same with our reasonings from the works of nature.

The Deity is known to us only by his productions, and is a single being in

the universe, not comprehended under any species or genus, from whose

experienced attributes or qualities, we can, by analogy, infer any attribute

or quality in him. As the universe shews wisdom and goodness, we infer

wisdom and goodness. As it shews a particular degree of these

perfections, we infer a particular degree of them, precisely adapted to the

effect which we examine. But farther attributes or farther degrees of the

same attributes, we can never be authorised to infer or suppose, by any

rules of just reasoning. Now, without some such licence of supposition,

it is impossible for us to argue from the cause, or infer any alteration in

the effect, beyond what has immediately fallen under our observation.

Greater good produced by this Being must still prove a greater degree of

goodness: a more impartial distribution of rewards and punishments

must proceed from a greater regard to justice and equity. Every supposed

addition to the works of nature makes an addition to the attributes of

the Author of nature; and consequently, being entirely unsupported by

any reason or argument, can never be admitted but as mere conjecture

and hypothesis.1

1 In general, it may, I think, be established as a maxim, that where any

cause is known only by its particular effects, it must be impossible to

infer any new effects from that cause; since the qualities, which are

requisite to produce these new effects along with the former, must either

be different, or superior, or of more extensive operation, than those

which simply produced the effect, whence alone the cause is supposed to

be known to us. We can never, therefore, have any reason to suppose the

existence of these qualities. To say, that the new effects proceed only

from a continuation of the same energy, which is already known from

the first effects, will not remove the difficulty. For even granting this to

be the case (which can seldom be supposed), the very continuation and

exertion of a like energy (for it is impossible it can be absolutely the

same), I say, this exertion of a like energy, in a different period of space

and time, is a very arbitrary supposition, and what there cannot possibly

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be any traces of in the effects, from which all our knowledge of the

cause is originally derived. Let the inferred cause be exactly proportioned

(as it should be) to the known effect; and it is impossible that it can

possess any qualities, from which new or different effects can be

inferred.

The great source of our mistake in this subject, and of the unbounded

licence of conjecture, which we indulge, is, that we tacitly consider

ourselves, as in the place of the Supreme Being, and conclude, that he

will, on every occasion, observe the same conduct, which we ourselves,

in his situation, would have embraced as reasonable and eligible. But,

besides that the ordinary course of nature may convince us, that almost

everything is regulated by principles and maxims very different from

ours; besides this, I say, it must evidently appear contrary to all rules of

analogy to reason, from the intentions and projects of men, to those of

a Being so different, and so much superior. In human nature, there is a

certain experienced coherence of designs and inclinations; so that when,

from any fact, we have discovered one intention of any man, it may

often be reasonable, from experience, to infer another, and draw a long

chain of conclusions concerning his past or future conduct. But this

method of reasoning can never have place with regard to a Being, so

remote and incomprehensible, who bears much less analogy to any other

being in the universe than the sun to a waxen taper, and who discovers

himself only by some faint traces or outlines, beyond which we have no

authority to ascribe to him any attribute or perfection. What we imagine

to be a superior perfection, may really be a defect. Or were it ever so

much a perfection, the ascribing of it to the Supreme Being, where it

appears not to have been real y exerted, to the full, in his works, savours

more of flattery and panegyric, than of just reasoning and sound

philosophy. All the philosophy, therefore, in the world, and al the

religion, which is nothing but a species of philosophy, will never be able

to carry us beyond the usual course of experience, or give us measures

of conduct and behaviour different from those which are furnished by

reflections on common life. No new fact can ever be inferred from the

religious hypothesis; no event foreseen or foretold; no reward or

punishment expected or dreaded, beyond what is already known by

practice and observation. So that my apology for Epicurus will still

appear solid and satisfactory; nor have the political interests of society

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any connexion with the philosophical disputes concerning metaphysics

and religion.

There is still one circumstance, replied I, which you seem to have

overlooked. Though I should allow your premises, I must deny your

conclusion. You conclude, that religious doctrines and reasonings can

have no influence on life, because they ought to have no influence; never

considering, that men reason not in the same manner you do, but draw

many consequences from the belief of a divine Existence, and suppose

that the Deity will inflict punishments on vice, and bestow rewards on

virtue, beyond what appear in the ordinary course of nature. Whether

this reasoning of theirs be just or not, is no matter. Its influence on their

life and conduct must still be the same. And, those, who attempt to

disabuse them of such prejudices, may, for aught I know, be good

reasoners, but I cannot allow them to be good citizens and politicians;

since they free men from one restraint upon their passions, and make the

infringement of the laws of society, in one respect, more easy and

secure.

After all, I may, perhaps, agree to your general conclusion in favour of

liberty, though upon different premises from those, on which you

endeavour to found it. I think, that the state ought to tolerate every

principle of philosophy; nor is there an instance, that any government

has suffered in its political interests by such indulgence. There is no

enthusiasm among philosophers; their doctrines are not very alluring to

the people; and no restraint can be put upon their reasonings, but what

must be of dangerous consequence to the sciences, and even to the state,

by paving the way for persecution and oppression in points, where the

generality of mankind are more deeply interested and concerned.

But there occurs to me (continued I) with regard to your main topic, a

difficulty, which I shall just propose to you without insisting on it; lest it

lead into reasonings of too nice and delicate a nature. In a word, I much

doubt whether it be possible for a cause to be known only by its effect

(as you have all along supposed) or to be of so singular and particular a

nature as to have no parallel and no similarity with any other cause or

object, that has ever fallen under our observation. It is only when two

species of objects are found to be constantly conjoined, that we can

infer the one from the other; and were an effect presented, which was

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entirely singular, and could not be comprehended under any known

species, I do not see that we could form any conjecture or inference at all

concerning its cause. If experience and observation and analogy be,

indeed, the only guides which we can reasonably follow in inferences of

this nature; both the effect and cause must bear a similarity and

resemblance to other effects and causes, which we know, and which we

have found, in many instances, to be conjoined with each other. I leave it

to your own reflection to pursue the consequences of this principle. I

shall just observe, that, as the antagonists of Epicurus always suppose

the universe, an effect quite singular and unparalleled, to be the proof of

a Deity, a cause no less singular and unparalleled; your reasonings, upon

that supposition, seem, at least, to merit our attention. There is, I own,

some difficulty, how we can ever return from the cause to the effect, and,

reasoning from our ideas of the former, infer any alteration on the latter,

or any addition to it.

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Sect. XII. Of the academical or sceptical Philosophy

PART I.

There is not a greater number of philosophical reasonings, displayed

upon any subject, than those, which prove the existence of a Deity, and

refute the fallacies of Atheists; and yet the most religious philosophers

still dispute whether any man can be so blinded as to be a speculative

atheist. How shall we reconcile these contradictions? The knights-errant,

who wandered about to clear the world of dragons and giants, never

entertained the least doubt with regard to the existence of these

monsters.

The Sceptic is another enemy of religion, who naturally provokes the

indignation of all divines and graver philosophers; though it is certain,

that no man ever met with any such absurd creature, or conversed with a

man, who had no opinion or principle concerning any subject, either of

action or speculation. This begets a very natural question; What is meant

by a sceptic? And how far it is possible to push these philosophical

principles of doubt and uncertainty?

There is a species of scepticism, antecedent to all study and philosophy,

which is much inculcated by Des Cartes and others, as a sovereign

preservative against error and precipitate judgement. It recommends an

universal doubt, not only of all our former opinions and principles, but

also of our very faculties; of whose veracity, say they, we must assure

ourselves, by a chain of reasoning, deduced from some original principle,

which cannot possibly be fallacious or deceitful. But neither is there any

such original principle which has a prerogative above others, that are

self-evident and convincing: or if there were, could we advance a step

beyond it, but by the use of those very faculties, of which we are

supposed to be already diffident. The Cartesian doubt, therefore, were it

ever possible to be attained by any human creature (as it plainly is not)

would be entirely incurable; and no reasoning could ever bring us to a

state of assurance and conviction upon any subject.

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It must, however, be confessed, that this species of scepticism, when

more moderate, may be understood in a very reasonable sense, and is a

necessary preparative to the study of philosophy, by preserving a proper

impartiality in our judgements, and weaning our mind from all those

prejudices, which we may have imbibed from education or rash opinion.

To begin with clear and self-evident principles, to advance by timorous

and sure steps, to review frequently our conclusions, and examine

accurately all their consequences; though by these means we shall make

both a slow and a short progress in our systems; are the only methods,

by which we can ever hope to reach truth, and attain a proper stability

and certainty in our determinations.

There is another species of scepticism, consequent to science and

enquiry, when men are supposed to have discovered, either the absolute

fallaciousness of their mental faculties, or their unfitness to reach any

fixed determination in all those curious subjects of speculation, about

which they are commonly employed. Even our very senses are brought

into dispute, by a certain species of philosophers; and the maxims of

common life are subjected to the same doubt as the most profound

principles or conclusions of metaphysics and theology. As these

paradoxical tenets (if they may be called tenets) are to be met with in

some philosophers, and the refutation of them in several, they naturally

excite our curiosity, and make us enquire into the arguments, on which

they may be founded.

I need not insist upon the more trite topics, employed by the sceptics in

all ages, against the evidence of sense; such as those which are derived

from the imperfection and fallaciousness of our organs, on numberless

occasions; the crooked appearance of an oar in water; the various

aspects of objects, according to their different distances; the double

images which arise from the pressing one eye; with many other

appearances of a like nature. These sceptical topics, indeed, are only

sufficient to prove, that the senses alone are not implicitly to be

depended on; but that we must correct their evidence by reason, and by

considerations, derived from the nature of the medium, the distance of

the object, and the disposition of the organ, in order to render them,

within their sphere, the proper criteria of truth and falsehood. There are

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other more profound arguments against the senses, which admit not of

so easy a solution.

It seems evident, that men are carried, by a natural instinct or

prepossession, to repose faith in their senses; and that, without any

reasoning, or even almost before the use of reason, we always suppose

an external universe, which depends not on our perception, but would

exist, though we and every sensible creature were absent or annihilated.

Even the animal creation are governed by a like opinion, and preserve

this belief of external objects, in all their thoughts, designs, and actions.

It seems also evident, that, when men follow this blind and powerful

instinct of nature, they always suppose the very images, presented by the

senses, to be the external objects, and never entertain any suspicion, that

the one are nothing but representations of the other. This very table

which we see white, and which we feel hard, is believed to exist,

independent of our perception, and to be something external to our

mind, which perceives it. Our presence bestows not being on it: our

absence does not annihilate it. It preserves its existence uniform and

entire, independent of the situation of intelligent beings, who perceive

or contemplate it.

But this universal and primary opinion of all men is soon destroyed by

the slightest philosophy, which teaches us, that nothing can ever be

present to the mind but an image or perception, and that the senses are

only the inlets, through which these images are conveyed, without being

able to produce any immediate intercourse between the mind and the

object. The table, which we see, seems to diminish, as we remove farther

from it: but the real table, which exists independent of us, suffers no

alteration: it was, therefore, nothing but its image, which was present to

the mind. These are the obvious dictates of reason; and no man, who

reflects, ever doubted, that the existences, which we consider, when we

say, this house and that tree, are nothing but perceptions in the mind,

and fleeting copies or representations of other existences, which remain

uniform and independent.

So far, then, are we necessitated by reasoning to contradict or depart

from the primary instincts of nature, and to embrace a new system with

regard to the evidence of our senses. But here philosophy finds herself

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extremely embarrassed, when she would justify this new system, and

obviate the cavils and objections of the sceptics. She can no longer plead

the infallible and irresistible instinct of nature: for that led us to a quite

different system, which is acknowledged fallible and even erroneous.

And to justify this pretended philosophical system, by a chain of clear

and convincing argument, or even any appearance of argument, exceeds

the power of all human capacity.

By what argument can it be proved, that the perceptions of the mind

must be caused by external objects, entirely different from them, though

resembling them (if that be possible) and could not arise either from the

energy of the mind itself, or from the suggestion of some invisible and

unknown spirit, or from some other cause still more unknown to us? It

is acknowledged, that, in fact, many of these perceptions arise not from

anything external, as in dreams, madness, and other diseases. And

nothing can be more inexplicable than the manner, in which body should

so operate upon mind as ever to convey an image of itself to a

substance, supposed of so different, and even contrary a nature.

It is a question of fact, whether the perceptions of the senses be

produced by external objects, resembling them: how shall this question

be determined? By experience surely; as all other questions of a like

nature. But here experience is, and must be entirely silent. The mind has

never anything present to it but the perceptions, and cannot possibly

reach any experience of their connexion with objects. The supposition

of such a connexion is, therefore, without any foundation in reasoning.

To have recourse to the veracity of the Supreme Being, in order to prove

the veracity of our senses, is surely making a very unexpected circuit. If

his veracity were at all concerned in this matter, our senses would be

entirely infallible; because it is not possible that he can ever deceive. Not

to mention, that, if the external world be once cal ed in question, we

shall be at a loss to find arguments, by which we may prove the existence

of that Being or any of his attributes.

This is a topic, therefore, in which the profounder and more

philosophical sceptics will always triumph, when they endeavour to

introduce an universal doubt into all subjects of human knowledge and

enquiry. Do you follow the instincts and propensities of nature, may they

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say, in assenting to the veracity of sense? But these lead you to believe

that the very perception or sensible image is the external object. Do you

disclaim this principle, in order to embrace a more rational opinion, that

the perceptions are only representations of something external? You

here depart from your natural propensities and more obvious sentiments;

and yet are not able to satisfy your reason, which can never find any

convincing argument from experience to prove, that the perceptions are

connected with any external objects.

There is another sceptical topic of a like nature, derived from the most

profound philosophy; which might merit our attention, were it requisite

to dive so deep, in order to discover arguments and reasonings, which

can so little serve to any serious purpose. It is universally allowed by

modern enquirers, that all the sensible qualities of objects, such as hard,

soft, hot, cold, white, black, &c. are merely secondary, and exist not in

the objects themselves, but are perceptions of the mind, without any

external archetype or model, which they represent. If this be allowed,

with regard to secondary qualities, it must also follow, with regard to the

supposed primary qualities of extension and solidity; nor can the latter

be any more entitled to that denomination than the former. The idea of

extension is entirely acquired from the senses of sight and feeling; and if

all the qualities, perceived by the senses, be in the mind, not in the object,

the same conclusion must reach the idea of extension which is wholly

dependent on the sensible ideas or the ideas of secondary qualities.

Nothing can save us from this conclusion, but the asserting, that the

ideas of those primary qualities are attained by Abstraction, an opinion,

which, if we examine it accurately, we shall find to be unintelligible, and

even absurd. An extension, that is neither tangible nor visible, cannot

possibly be conceived: and a tangible or visible extension, which is

neither hard nor soft, black nor white, is equally beyond the reach of

human conception. Let any man try to conceive a triangle in general,

which is neither Isosceles nor Scalenum, nor has any particular length or

proportion of sides; and he will soon perceive the absurdity of all the

scholastic notions with regard to abstraction and general ideas.29

29

This argument is drawn from Dr. Berkeley; and indeed most of the writings of that very ingenious author

form the best lessons of scepticism which are to be found either among the ancient or modern philosophers,

Bayle not excepted. He professes, however, in his title page (and undoubtedly with great truth) to have

composed his book against the sceptics as well as against the atheists and free-thinkers. But that al his

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Thus the first philosophical objection to the evidence of sense or to the

opinion of external existence consists in this, that such an opinion, if

rested on natural instinct, is contrary to reason, and if referred to reason,

is contrary to natural instinct, and at the same time carries no rational

evidence with it, to convince an impartial enquirer. The second objection

goes farther, and represents this opinion as contrary to reason: at least, if

it be a principle of reason, that all sensible qualities are in the mind, not

in the object. Bereave matter of all its intelligible qualities, both primary

and secondary, you in a manner annihilate it, and leave only a certain

unknown, inexplicable something, as the cause of our perceptions; a

notion so imperfect, that no sceptic will think it worth while to contend

against it.

arguments, though otherwise intended, are, in reality, merely sceptical, appears from this, that they admit of

no answer and produce no conviction. Their only effect is to cause that momentary amazement and

irresolution and confusion, which is the result of scepticism.

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PART II.

It may seem a very extravagant attempt of the sceptics to destroy reason

by argument and ratiocination; yet is this the grand scope of all their

enquiries and disputes. They endeavour to find objections, both to our

abstract reasonings, and to those which regard matter of fact and

existence.

The chief objection against all abstract reasonings is derived from the

ideas of space and time; ideas, which, in common life and to a careless

view, are very clear and intelligible, but when they pass through the

scrutiny of the profound sciences (and they are the chief object of these

sciences) afford principles, which seem full of absurdity and

contradiction. No priestly dogmas, invented on purpose to tame and

subdue the rebellious reason of mankind, ever shocked common sense

more than the doctrine of the infinitive divisibility of extension, with its

consequences; as they are pompously displayed by all geometricians and

metaphysicians, with a kind of triumph and exultation. A real quantity,

infinitely less than any finite quantity, containing quantities infinitely less

than itself, and so on in infinitum; this is an edifice so bold and

prodigious, that it is too weighty for any pretended demonstration to

support, because it shocks the clearest and most natural principles of

human reason.30 But what renders the matter more extraordinary, is, that

these seemingly absurd opinions are supported by a chain of reasoning,

the clearest and most natural; nor is it possible for us to allow the

premises without admitting the consequences. Nothing can be more

convincing and satisfactory than all the conclusions concerning the

properties of circles and triangles; and yet, when these are once received,

how can we deny, that the angle of contact between a circle and its

tangent is infinitely less than any rectilineal angle, that as you may

increase the diameter of the circle in infinitum, this angle of contact

becomes still less, even in infinitum, and that the angle of contact

30

Whatever disputes there may be about mathematical points, we must allow that there are physical points; that

is, parts of extension, which cannot be divided or lessened, either by the eye or imagination. These images,

then, which are present to the fancy or senses, are absolutely indivisible, and consequently must be allowed by

mathematicians to be infinitely less than any real part of extension; and yet nothing appears more certain to

reason, than that an infinite number of them composes an infinite extension. How much more an infinite

number of those infinitely small parts of extension, which are still supposed infinitely divisible.

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between other curves and their tangents may be infinitely less than those

between any circle and its tangent, and so on, in infinitum? The

demonstration of these principles seems as unexceptionable as that

which proves the three angles of a triangle to be equal to two right ones,

though the latter opinion be natural and easy, and the former big with

contradiction and absurdity. Reason here seems to be thrown into a kind

of amazement and suspence, which, without the suggestions of any

sceptic, gives her a diffidence of herself, and of the ground on which she

treads. She sees a full light, which illuminates certain places; but that light

borders upon the most profound darkness. And between these she is so

dazzled and confounded, that she scarcely can pronounce with certainty

and assurance concerning any one object.

The absurdity of these bold determinations of the abstract sciences

seems to become, if possible, still more palpable with regard to time

than extension. An infinite number of real parts of time, passing in

succession, and exhausted one after another, appears so evident a

contradiction, that no man, one should think, whose judgement is not

corrupted, instead of being improved, by the sciences, would ever be

able to admit of it.

Yet still reason must remain restless, and unquiet, even with regard to

that scepticism, to which she is driven by these seeming absurdities and

contradictions. How any clear, distinct idea can contain circumstances,

contradictory to itself, or to any other clear, distinct idea, is absolutely

incomprehensible; and is, perhaps, as absurd as any proposition, which

can be formed. So that nothing can be more sceptical, or more full of

doubt and hesitation, than this scepticism itself, which arises from some

of the paradoxical conclusions of geometry or the science of quantity.31

31

It seems to me not impossible to avoid these absurdities and contradictions, if it be admitted, that there is no

such thing as abstract or general ideas, properly speaking; but that all general ideas are, in reality, particular

ones, attached to a general term, which recalls, upon occasion, other particular ones, that resemble, in certain

circumstances, the idea, present to the mind. Thus when the term Horse is pronounced, we immediately

figure to ourselves the idea of a black or a white animal, of a particular size or figure: But as that term is also

usually applied to animals of other colours, figures and sizes, these ideas, though not actually present to the

imagination, are easily recalled; and our reasoning and conclusion proceed in the same way, as if they were

actually present. If this be admitted (as seems reasonable) it follows that all the ideas of quantity, upon which

mathematicians reason, are nothing but particular, and such as are suggested by the senses and imagination,

and consequently, cannot be infinitely divisible. It is sufficient to have dropped this hint at present, without

prosecuting it any farther. It certainly concerns all lovers of science not to expose themselves to the ridicule

and contempt of the ignorant by their conclusions; and this seems the readiest solution of these difficulties.

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The sceptical objections to moral evidence, or to the reasonings

concerning matter of fact, are either popular or philosophical. The

popular objections are derived from the natural weakness of human

understanding; the contradictory opinions, which have been entertained

in different ages and nations; the variations of our judgement in sickness

and health, youth and old age, prosperity and adversity; the perpetual

contradiction of each particular man′s opinions and sentiments; with

many other topics of that kind. It is needless to insist farther on this

head. These objections are but weak. For as, in common life, we reason

every moment concerning fact and existence, and cannot possibly

subsist, without continually employing this species of argument, any

popular objections, derived from thence, must be insufficient to destroy

that evidence. The great subverter of Pyrrhonism or the excessive

principles of scepticism is action, and employment, and the occupations

of common life. These principles may flourish and triumph in the

schools; where it is, indeed, difficult, if not impossible, to refute them.

But as soon as they leave the shade, and by the presence of the real

objects, which actuate our passions and sentiments, are put in opposition

to the more powerful principles of our nature, they vanish like smoke,

and leave the most determined sceptic in the same condition as other

mortals.

The sceptic, therefore, had better keep within his proper sphere, and

display those philosophical objections, which arise from more profound

researches. Here he seems to have ample matter of triumph; while he

justly insists, that all our evidence for any matter of fact, which lies

beyond the testimony of sense or memory, is derived entirely from the

relation of cause and effect; that we have no other idea of this relation

than that of two objects, which have been frequently conjoined together;

that we have no argument to convince us, that objects, which have, in

our experience, been frequently conjoined, will likewise, in other

instances, be conjoined in the same manner; and that nothing leads us to

this inference but custom or a certain instinct of our nature; which it is

indeed difficult to resist, but which, like other instincts, may be fallacious

and deceitful. While the sceptic insists upon these topics, he shows his

force, or rather, indeed, his own and our weakness; and seems, for the

time at least, to destroy all assurance and conviction. These arguments

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might be displayed at greater length, if any durable good or benefit to

society could ever be expected to result from them.

For here is the chief and most confounding objection to excessive

scepticism, that no durable good can ever result from it; while it remains

in its full force and vigour. We need only ask such a sceptic, What his

meaning is? And what he proposes by all these curious researches? He is

immediately at a loss, and knows not what to answer. A Copernican or

Ptolemaic, who supports each his different system of astronomy, may

hope to produce a conviction, which will remain constant and durable,

with his audience. A Stoic or Epicurean displays principles, which may

not be durable, but which have an effect on conduct and behaviour. But

a Pyrrhonian cannot expect, that his philosophy will have any constant

influence on the mind: or if it had, that its influence would be beneficial

to society. On the contrary, he must acknowledge, if he will acknowledge

anything, that all human life must perish, were his principles universally

and steadily to prevail. All discourse, all action would immediately cease;

and men remain in a total lethargy, till the necessities of nature,

unsatisfied, put an end to their miserable existence. It is true; so fatal an

event is very little to be dreaded. Nature is always too strong for

principle. And though a Pyrrhonian may throw himself or others into a

momentary amazement and confusion by his profound reasonings; the

first and most trivial event in life will put to flight all his doubts and

scruples, and leave him the same, in every point of action and

speculation, with the philosophers of every other sect, or with those

who never concerned themselves in any philosophical researches. When

he awakes from his dream, he wil be the first to join in the laugh against

himself, and to confess, that all his objections are mere amusement, and

can have no other tendency than to show the whimsical condition of

mankind, who must act and reason and believe; though they are not able,

by their most diligent enquiry, to satisfy themselves concerning the

foundation of these operations, or to remove the objections, which may

be raised against them.

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PART III.

There is, indeed, a more mitigated scepticism or academical philosophy,

which may be both durable and useful, and which may, in part, be the

result of this Pyrrhonism, or excessive scepticism, when its

undistinguished doubts are, in some measure, corrected by common

sense and reflection. The greater part of mankind are naturally apt to be

affirmative and dogmatical in their opinions; and while they see objects

only on one side, and have no idea of any counterpoising argument, they

throw themselves precipitately into the principles, to which they are

inclined; nor have they any indulgence for those who entertain opposite

sentiments. To hesitate or balance perplexes their understanding, checks

their passion, and suspends their action. They are, therefore, impatient

till they escape from a state, which to them is so uneasy: and they think,

that they could never remove themselves far enough from it, by the

violence of their affirmations and obstinacy of their belief. But could

such dogmatical reasoners become sensible of the strange infirmities of

human understanding, even in its most perfect state, and when most

accurate and cautious in its determinations; such a reflection would

naturally inspire them with more modesty and reserve, and diminish their

fond opinion of themselves, and their prejudice against antagonists. The

illiterate may reflect on the disposition of the learned, who, amidst all the

advantages of study and reflection, are commonly still diffident in their

determinations: and if any of the learned be inclined, from their natural

temper, to haughtiness and obstinacy, a small tincture of Pyrrhonism

might abate their pride, by showing them, that the few advantages, which

they may have attained over their fellows, are but inconsiderable, if

compared with the universal perplexity and confusion, which is inherent

in human nature. In general, there is a degree of doubt, and caution, and

modesty, which, in all kinds of scrutiny and decision, ought for ever to

accompany a just reasoner.

Another species of mitigated scepticism which may be of advantage to

mankind, and which may be the natural result of the Pyrrhonian doubts

and scruples, is the limitation of our enquiries to such subjects as are

best adapted to the narrow capacity of human understanding. The

imagination of man is naturally sublime, delighted with whatever is

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remote and extraordinary, and running, without control, into the most

distant parts of space and time in order to avoid the objects, which

custom has rendered too familiar to it. A correct Judgement observes a

contrary method, and avoiding all distant and high enquiries, confines

itself to common life, and to such subjects as fal under daily practice

and experience; leaving the more sublime topics to the embellishment of

poets and orators, or to the arts of priests and politicians. To bring us to

so salutary a determination, nothing can be more serviceable, than to be

once thoroughly convinced of the force of the Pyrrhonian doubt, and

of the impossibility, that anything, but the strong power of natural

instinct, could free us from it. Those who have a propensity to

philosophy, will still continue their researches; because they reflect, that,

besides the immediate pleasure, attending such an occupation,

philosophical decisions are nothing but the reflections of common life,

methodized and corrected. But they will never be tempted to go beyond

common life, so long as they consider the imperfection of those faculties

which they employ, their narrow reach, and their inaccurate operations.

While we cannot give a satisfactory reason, why we believe, after a

thousand experiments, that a stone will fall, or fire burn; can we ever

satisfy ourselves concerning any determination, which we may form,

with regard to the origin of worlds, and the situation of nature, from,

and to eternity?

This narrow limitation, indeed, of our enquiries, is, in every respect, so

reasonable, that it suffices to make the slightest examination into the

natural powers of the human mind and to compare them with their

objects, in order to recommend it to us. We shall then find what are the

proper subjects of science and enquiry.

It seems to me, that the only objects of the abstract science or of

demonstration are quantity and number, and that all attempts to extend

this more perfect species of knowledge beyond these bounds are mere

sophistry and illusion. As the component parts of quantity and number

are entirely similar, their relations become intricate and involved; and

nothing can be more curious, as well as useful, than to trace, by a variety

of mediums, their equality or inequality, through their different

appearances. But as all other ideas are clearly distinct and different from

each other, we can never advance farther, by our utmost scrutiny, than to

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observe this diversity, and, by an obvious reflection, pronounce one

thing not to be another. Or if there be any difficulty in these decisions, it

proceeds entirely from the undeterminate meaning of words, which is

corrected by juster definitions. That the square of the hypothenuse is

equal to the squares of the other two sides, cannot be known, let the

terms be ever so exactly defined, without a train of reasoning and

enquiry. But to convince us of this proposition, that where there is no

property, there can be no injustice, it is only necessary to define the

terms, and explain injustice to be a violation of property. This

proposition is, indeed, nothing but a more imperfect definition. It is the

same case with all those pretended syllogistical reasonings, which may be

found in every other branch of learning, except the sciences of quantity

and number; and these may safely, I think, be pronounced the only

proper objects of knowledge and demonstration.

All other enquiries of men regard only matter of fact and existence; and

these are evidently incapable of demonstration. Whatever is may not be.

No negation of a fact can involve a contradiction. The non-existence of

any being, without exception, is as clear and distinct an idea as its

existence. The proposition, which affirms it not to be, however false, is

no less conceivable and intelligible, than that which affirms it to be. The

case is different with the sciences, properly so called. Every proposition,

which is not true, is there confused and unintelligible. That the cube root

of 64 is equal to the half of 10, is a false proposition, and can never be

distinctly conceived. But that Caesar, or the angel Gabriel, or any being

never existed, may be a false proposition, but still is perfectly

conceivable, and implies no contradiction.

The existence, therefore, of any being can only be proved by arguments

from its cause or its effect; and these arguments are founded entirely on

experience. If we reason a priori, anything may appear able to produce

anything. The falling of a pebble may, for aught we know, extinguish the

sun; or the wish of a man control the planets in their orbits. It is only

experience, which teaches us the nature and bounds of cause and effect,

and enables us to infer the existence of one object from that of

another.32 Such is the foundation of moral reasoning, which forms the

32

That impious maxim of the ancient philosophy, Ex nihilo, nihil fit, by which the creation of matter was

excluded, ceases to be a maxim, according to this philosophy. Not only the wil of the supreme Being may

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greater part of human knowledge, and is the source of all human action

and behaviour.

Moral reasonings are either concerning particular or general facts. All

deliberations in life regard the former; as also all disquisitions in history,

chronology, geography, and astronomy. The sciences, which treat of

general facts, are politics, natural philosophy, physic, chemistry, &c.

where the qualities, causes and effects of a whole species of objects are

enquired into.

Divinity or Theology, as it proves the existence of a Deity, and the

immortality of souls, is composed partly of reasonings concerning

particular, partly concerning general facts. It has a foundation in reason,

so far as it is supported by experience. But its best and most solid

foundation is faith and divine revelation.

Morals and criticism are not so properly objects of the understanding as

of taste and sentiment. Beauty, whether moral or natural, is felt, more

properly than perceived. Or if we reason concerning it, and endeavor to

fix its standard, we regard a new fact, to wit, the general tastes of

mankind, or some such fact, which may be the object of reasoning and

enquiry.

When we run over libraries, persuaded of these principles, what havoc

must we make? If we take in our hand any volume; of divinity or school

metaphysics, for instance; let us ask, Does it contain any abstract

reasoning concerning quantity or number? No. Does it contain any

experimental reasoning concerning matter of fact and existence? No.

Commit it then to the flames: for it can contain nothing but sophistry

and illusion.

THE END

create matter; but, for aught we know a priori, the will of any other being might create it, or any other cause,

that the most whimsical imagination can assign.

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