OF THE DIFFERENT SPECIES OF PHILOSOPHY.
MORAL philosophy, or the science of human nature,
may be treated after two different manners; each
of which has its peculiar merit, and may contribute
to the entertainment, instruction, and reformation of man-
kind. The one considers man chiefly as born for action;
and as influenced in his measures by taste and sentiment;
pursuing one object, and avoiding another, according to
the value which these objects seem to possess, and accord-
ing to the light in which they present themselves. As vir-
tue, of all objects, is allowed to be the most valuable, this
species of philosophers paint her in the most amiable
colours; borrowing all helps from poetry and eloquence, and
treating their subject in an easy and obvious manner, and
such as is best fitted to please the imagination, and engage
the affections. They select the most striking observations
and instances from common life; place opposite characters
in a proper contrast; and alluring us into the paths of virtue
by the views of glory and happiness, direct our steps in
these paths by the soundest precepts and most illustrious
examples. They make us feel the difference between vice
and virtue; they excite and regulate our sentiments; and
so they can but bend our hearts to the love of probity and
true honour, they think, that they have fully attained the
end of all their labours.
The other species of philosophers consider man in the
light of a reasonable rather than an active being, and
endeavour to form his understanding more than cultivate
his manners. They regard human nature as a subject of
speculation; and with a narrow scrutiny examine it, in
order to find those principles, which regulate our under-
standing, excite our sentiments, and make us approve or
blame any particular object, action, or behaviour. They
think it a reproach to all literature, that philosophy should
not yet have fixed, beyond controversy, the foundation of
morals, reasoning, and criticism; and should for ever talk
of truth and falsehood, vice and virtue, beauty and de-
formity, without being able to determine the source of
these distinctions. While they attempt this arduous task,
they are deterred by no difficulties; but proceeding from
particular instances to general principles, they still push on
their enquiries to principles more general, and rest not
satisfied till they arrive at those original principles, by
which, in every science, all human curiosity must be
bounded. Though their speculations seem abstract, and
even unintelligible to common readers, they aim at the
approbation of the learned and the wise; and think them-
selves sufficiently compensated for the labour of their whole
lives, if they can discover some hidden truths, which may
contribute to the instruction of posterity.
It is certain that the easy and obvious philosophy will
always, with the generality of mankind, have the preference
above the accurate and abstruse; and by many will be
recommended, not only as more agreeable, but more useful
than the other. It enters more into common life; moulds
the heart and affections; and, by touching those principles
which actuate men, reforms their conduct, and brings them
nearer to that model of perfection which it describes. On
the contrary, the abstruse philosophy, being founded on a
turn of mind, which cannot enter into business and action,
vanishes when the philosopher leaves the shade, and comes
into open day; nor can its principles easily retain any in-
fluence over our conduct and behaviour. The feelings of
our heart, the agitation of our passions, the vehemence of
our affections, dissipate all its conclusions, and reduce the
profound philosopher to a mere plebeian.
This also must be confessed, that the most durable,
as well as justest fame, has been acquired by the easy
philosophy, and that abstract reasoners seem hitherto to
have enjoyed only a momentary reputation, from the caprice
or ignorance of their own age, but have not been able
to support their renown with more equitable posterity. It
is easy for a profound philosopher to commit a mistake
in his subtile reasonings; and one mistake is the necessary
parent of another, while he pushes on his consequences,
and is not deterred from embracing any conclusion, by
its unusual appearance, or its contradiction to popular
opinion. But a philosopher, who purposes only to represent
the common sense of mankind in more beautiful and more
engaging colours, if by accident he falls into error, goes no
farther; but renewing his appeal to common sense, and the
natural sentiments of the mind, returns into the right path,
and secures himself from any dangerous illusions. The
fame of Cicero flourishes at present; but that of Aristotle
is utterly decayed. La Bruyere passes the seas, and still
maintains his reputation: but the glory of Malebranche
is confined to his own nation, and to his own age. And
Addison, perhaps, will be read with pleasure, when Locke
shall be entirely forgotten.
The mere philosopher is a character, which is commonly
but little acceptable in the world, as being supposed to
contribute nothing either to the advantage or pleasure
of society; while he lives remote from communication with
mankind, and is wrapped up in principles and notions equally
remote from their comprehension. On the other hand,
the mere ignorant is still more despised; nor is any thing
deemed a surer sign of an illiberal genius in an age and
nation where the sciences flourish, than to be entirely
destitute of all relish for those noble entertainments. The
most perfect character is supposed to lie between those
extremes; retaining an equal ability and taste for books,
company, and business; preserving in conversation that
discernment and delicacy which arise from polite letters;
and in business, that probity and accuracy which are
the natural result of a just philosophy. In order to diffuse
and cultivate so accomplished a character, nothing can be
more useful than compositions of the easy style and manner,
which draw not too much from life, require no deep appli-
cation or retreat to be comprehended, and send back the
student among mankind full of noble sentiments and wise
precepts, applicable to every exigence of human life. By
means of such compositions, virtue becomes amiable,
science agreeable, company instructive, and retirement en-
tertaining.
Man is a reasonable being; and as such, receives from
science his proper food and nourishment: But so narrow
are the bounds of human understanding, that little satisfac-
tion can be hoped for in this particular, either from the
extent of security or his acquisitions. Man is a sociable, no
less than a reasonable being: but neither can he always
enjoy company agreeable and amusing, or preserve the
proper relish for them. Man is also an active being; and
from that disposition, as well as from the various necessities
of human life, must submit to business and occupation:
but the mind requires some relaxation, and cannot always
support its bent to care and industry. It seems, then, that
nature has pointed out a mixed kind of life as most suitable
to the human race, and secretly admonished them to allow
none of these biases to draw too much, so as to incapacitate
them for other occupations and entertainments. Indulge
your passion for science, says she, but let your science be
human, and such as may have a direct reference to action
and society. Abstruse thought and profound researches I
prohibit, and will severely punish, by the pensive melancholy
which they introduce, by the endless uncertainty in which
they involve you, and by the cold reception which your
pretended discoveries shall meet with, when communicated.
Be a philosopher; but, amidst all your philosophy, be still
a man.
Were the generality of mankind contented to prefer the
easy philosophy to the abstract and profound, without
throwing any blame or contempt on the latter, it might
not be improper, perhaps, to comply with this general
opinion, and allow every man to enjoy, without opposition,
his own taste and sentiment. But as the matter is often
carried farther, even to the absolute rejecting of all pro-
found reasonings, or what is commonly called metaphysics,
we shall now proceed to consider what can reasonably be
pleaded in their behalf.
We may begin with observing, that one considerable
advantage, which results from the accurate and abstract
philosophy, is, its subserviency to the easy and humane;
which, without the former, can never attain a sufficient
degree of exactness in its sentiments, precepts, or reasonings.
All polite letters are nothing but pictures of human life
in various attitudes and situations; and inspire us with
different sentiments, of praise or blame, admiration or ridi-
cule, according to the qualities of the object, which they set
before us. An artist must be better qualified to succeed in
this undertaking, who, besides a delicate taste and a quick
apprehension, possesses an accurate knowledge of the in-
ternal fabric, the operations of the understanding, the
workings of the passions, and the various species of senti-
ment which discriminate vice and virtue. How painful
soever this inward search or enquiry may appear, it becomes,
in some measure, requisite to those, who would describe
with success the obvious and outward appearances of life
and manners. The anatomist presents to the eye the most
hideous and disagreeable objects; but his science is useful
to the painter in delineating even a Venus or an Helen.
While the latter employs all the richest colours of his art,
and gives his figures the most graceful and engaging airs;
he must still carry his attention to the inward structure
of the human body, the position of the muscles, the fabric
of the bones, and the use and figure of every part or organ.
Accuracy is, in every case, advantageous to beauty, and just
reasoning to delicate sentiment. In vain would we exalt
the one by depreciating the other.
Besides, we may observe, in every art or profession, even
those which most concern life or action, that a spirit of
accuracy, however acquired, carries all of them nearer their
perfection, and renders them more subservient to the
interests of society. And though a philosopher may live
remote from business, the genius of philosophy, if carefully
cultivated by several, must gradually diffuse itself through-
out the whole society, and bestow a similar correctness on
every art and calling. The politician will acquire greater
foresight and subtility, in the subdividing and balancing
of power; the lawyer more method and finer principles
in his reasonings; and the general more regularity in his
discipline, and more caution in his plans and operations.
The stability of modern governments above the ancient,
and the accuracy of modern philosophy, have improved, and
probably will still improve, by similar gradations.
Were there no advantage to be reaped from these studies,
beyond the gratification of an innocent curiosity, yet ought
not even this to be despised; as being one accession to
those few safe and harmless pleasures, which are bestowed
on the human race. The sweetest and most inoffensive path
of life leads through the avenues of science and learning; and
whoever can either remove any obstructions in this way,
or open up any new prospect, ought so far to be esteemed
a benefactor to mankind. And though these researches
may appear painful and fatiguing, it is with some minds
as with some bodies, which being endowed with vigorous
and florid health, require severe exercise, and reap a pleasure
from what, to the generality of mankind, may seem burden-
some and laborious. Obscurity, indeed, is painful to the
mind as well as to the eye; but to bring light from
obscurity, by whatever labour, must needs be delightful and
rejoicing.
But this obscurity in the profound and abstract philos-
ophy, is objected to, not only as painful and fatiguing, but
as the inevitable source of uncertainty and error. Here in-
deed lies the justest and most plausible objection against
a considerable part of metaphysics, that they are not properly
a science; but arise either from the fruitless efforts of
human vanity, which would penetrate into subjects utterly
inaccessible to the understanding, or from the craft of pop-
ular superstitions, which, being unable to defend themselves
on fair ground, raise these intangling brambles to cover and
protect their weakness. Chased from the open country, these
robbers fly into the forest, and lie in wait to break in upon
every unguarded avenue of the mind, and overwhelm it
with religious fears and prejudices. The stoutest antagonist,
if he remit his watch a moment, is oppressed. And many,
through cowardice and folly, open the gates to the enemies,
and willingly receive them with reverence and submission,
as their legal sovereigns.
But is this a sufficient reason, why philosophers should
desist from such researches, and leave superstition still
in possession of her retreat? Is it not proper to draw an
opposite conclusion, and perceive the necessity of carrying
the war into the most secret recesses of the enemy? In
vain do we hope, that men, from frequent disappointment,
will at last abandon such airy sciences, and discover the
proper province of human reason. For, besides, that many
persons find too sensible an interest in perpetually recalling
such topics; besides this, I say, the motive of blind despair
can never reasonably have place in the sciences; since, how-
ever unsuccessful former attempts may have proved, there
is still room to hope, that the industry, good fortune, or
improved sagacity of succeeding generations may reach
discoveries unknown to former ages. Each adventurous
genius will still leap at the arduous prize, and find himself
stimulated, rather than discouraged, by the failures of his
predecessors; while he hopes that the glory of achieving
so hard an adventure is reserved for him alone. The only
method of freeing learning, at once, from these abstruse
questions, is to enquire seriously into the nature of human
understanding, and show, from an exact analysis of its
powers and capacity, that it is by no means fitted for
such remote and abstruse subjects. We must submit to
this fatigue in order to live at ease ever after: and must
cultivate true metaphysics with some care, in order to
destroy the false and adulterate. Indolence, which, to some
persons, affords a safeguard against this deceitful philos-
ophy, is, with others, overbalanced by curiosity; and de-
spair, which, at some moments, prevails, may give place after-
wards to sanguine hopes and expectations. Accurate and
just reasoning is the only catholic remedy, fitted for all
persons and all dispositions; and is alone able to subvert
that abstruse philosophy and metaphysical jargon, which
being mixed up with popular superstition, renders it in
a manner impenetrable to careless reasoners, and gives it
the air of science and wisdom.
Besides this advantage of rejecting, after deliberate en-
quiry, the most uncertain and disagreeable part of learning,
there are many positive advantages, which result from an
accurate scrutiny into the powers and faculties of human
nature. It is remarkable concerning the operations of the
mind, that, though most intimately present to us, yet,
whenever they become the object of reflexion, they seem
involved in obscurity; nor can the eye readily find those
lines and boundaries, which discriminate and distinguish
them. The objects are too fine to remain long in the same
aspect or situation; and must be apprehended in an in-
stant, by a superior penetration, derived from nature, and
improved by habit and reflexion. It becomes, therefore,
no inconsiderable part of science barely to know the different
operations of the mind, to separate them from each other, to
class them under their proper heads, and to correct all that
seeming disorder, in which they lie involved, when made
the object of reflexion and enquiry. This talk of ordering
and distinguishing, which has no merit, when performed
with regard to external bodies, the objects of our senses,
rises in its value, when directed towards the operations
of the mind, in proportion to the difficulty and labour,
which we meet with in performing it. And if we can go no
farther than this mental geography, or delineation of the
distinct parts and powers of the mind, it is at least a satis-
faction to go so far; and the more obvious this science
may appear (and it is by no means obvious) the more con-
temptible still must the ignorance of it be esteemed, in all
pretenders to learning and philosophy.
Nor can there remain any suspicion, that this science
is uncertain and chimerical; unless we should entertain
such a scepticism as is entirely subversive of all speculation,
and even action. It cannot be doubted, that the mind
is endowed with several powers and faculties, that these
powers are distinct from each other, that what is really
distinct to the immediate perception may be distinguished
by reflexion; and consequently, that there is a truth and
falsehood in all propositions on this subject, and a truth
and falsehood, which lie not beyond the compass of human
understanding. There are many obvious distinctions of
this kind, such as those between the will and understanding,
the imagination and passions, which fall within the com-
prehension of every human creature; and the finer and
more philosophical distinctions are no less real and certain,
though more difficult to be comprehended. Some instances,
especially late ones, of success in these enquiries, may give
us a juster notion of the certainty and solidity of this branch
of learning. And shall we esteem it worthy the labour of
a philosopher to give us a true system of the planets, and
adjust the position and order of those remote bodies;
while we affect to overlook those, who, with so much
success, delineate the parts of the mind, in which we are so
intimately concerned?
But may we not hope, that philosophy, cultivated with
care, and encouraged by the attention of the public, may
carry its researches still farther, and discover, at least in
some degree, the secret springs and principles, by which the
human mind is actuated in its operations? Astronomers
had long contented themselves with proving, from the
phaenomena, the true motions, order, and magnitude of
the heavenly bodies: till a philosopher, at last, arose,
who seems, from the happiest reasoning, to have also deter-
mined the laws and forces, by which the revolutions of the
planets are governed and directed. The like has been
performed with regard to other parts of nature. And there
is no reason to despair of equal success in our enquiries
concerning the mental powers and economy, if prosecuted
with equal capacity and caution. It is probable, that one
operation and principle of the mind depends on another;
which, again, may be resolved into one more general and
universal: and how far these researches may possibly
be carried, it will be difficult for us, before, or even after,
a careful trial, exactly to determine. This is certain, that
attempts of this kind are every day made even by those
who philosophize the most negligently: and nothing can
be more requisite than to enter upon the enterprize with
thorough care and attention; that, if it lie within the
compass of human understanding, it may at last be happily
achieved; if not, it may, however, be rejected with some
confidence and security. This last conclusion, surely, is not
desirable; nor ought it to be embraced too rashly. For how
much must we diminish from the beauty and value of this
species of philosophy, upon such a supposition? Moralists
have hitherto been accustomed, when they considered the
vast multitude and diversity of those actions that excite
our approbation or dislike, to search for some common
principle, on which this variety of sentiments might depend.
And though they have sometimes carried the matter too far,
by their passion for some one general principle; it must,
however, be confessed, that they are excusable in expecting
to find some general principles, into which all the vices
and virtues were justly to be resolved. The like has been
the endeavour of critics, logicians, and even politicians:
nor have their attempts been wholly unsuccessful; though
perhaps longer time, greater accuracy, and more ardent
application may bring these sciences still nearer their per-
fection. To throw up at once all pretensions of this kind
may justly be deemed more rash, precipitate, and dogmatical,
than even the boldest and most affirmative philosophy, that
has ever attempted to impose its crude dictates and prin-
ciples on mankind.
What though these reasonings concerning human nature
seem abstract, and of difficult comprehension? This affords
no presumption of their falsehood. On the contrary, it
seems impossible, that what has hitherto escaped so many
wise and profound philosophers can be very obvious and
easy. And whatever pains these researches may cost us, we
may think ourselves sufficiently rewarded, not only in point
of profit but of pleasure, if, by that means, we can make
any addition to our stock of knowledge, in subjects of
such unspeakable importance.
But as, after all, the abstractedness of these speculations
is no recommendation, but rather a disadvantage to them,
and as this difficulty may perhaps be surmounted by care
and art, and the avoiding of all unnecessary detail, we have,
in the following enquiry, attempted to throw some light
upon subjects, from which uncertainty has hitherto deterred
the wise, and obscurity the ignorant. Happy, if we can
unite the boundaries of the different species of philosophy,
by reconciling profound enquiry with clearness, and truth
with novelty! And still more happy, if, reasoning in this
easy manner, we can undermine the foundations of an
abstruse philosophy, which seems to have hitherto served
only as a shelter to superstition, and a cover to absurdity
and error!
SECTION II
OF THE ORIGIN OF IDEAS
EVERY one will readily allow, that there is a consider-
able difference between the perceptions of the mind,
when a man feels the pain of excessive heat, or the
pleasure of moderate warmth, and when he afterwards re-
calls to his memory this sensation, or anticipates it by his
imagination. These faculties may mimic or copy the percep-
tions of the senses; but they never can entirely reach the
force and vivacity of the original sentiment. The utmost we
say of them, even when they operate with greatest vigour, is,
that they represent their object in so lively a manner, that we
could almost say we feel or see it: But, except the mind be
disordered by disease or madness, they never can arrive
at such a pitch of vivacity, as to render these perceptions
altogether undistinguishable. All the colours of poetry,
however splendid, can never paint natural objects in such
a manner as to make the description be taken for a real
landskip. The most lively thought is still inferior to the
dullest sensation.
We may observe a like distinction to run through all the
other perceptions of the mind. A man in a fit of anger, is
actuated in a very different manner from one who only
thinks of that emotion. If you tell me, that any person
is in love, I easily understand your meaning, and from
a just conception of his situation; but never can mistake
that conception for the real disorders and agitations of the
passion. When we reflect on our past sentiments and
affections, our thought is a faithful mirror, and copies its
objects truly; but the colours which it employs are faint
and dull, in comparison of those in which our original per-
ceptions were clothed. It requires no nice discernment or
metaphysical head to mark the distinction between them.
Here therefore we may divide all the perceptions of the
mind into two classes or species, which are distinguished
by their different degrees of force and vivacity. The less
forcible and lively are commonly denominated Thoughts or
Ideas. The other species want a name in our language,
and in most others; I suppose, because it was not requisite
for any, but philosophical purposes, to rank them under
a general term or appellation. Let us, therefore, use a little
freedom, and call them Impressions; employing that word
in a sense somewhat different from the usual. By the term
impression, then, I mean all our more lively perceptions,
when we hear, or see, or feel, or love, or hate, or desire,
or will. And impressions are distinguished from ideas,
which are the less lively perceptions, of which we are
conscious, when we reflect on any of those sensations or
movements above mentioned.
Nothing, at first view, may seem more unbounded than
the thought of man, which not only escapes all human
power and authority, but is not even restrained within the
limits of nature and reality. To form monsters, and join
incongruous shapes and appearances, costs the imagination
no more trouble than to conceive the most natural and
familiar objects. And while the body is confined to one
planet, along which it creeps with pain and difficulty; the
thought can in an instant transport us into the most dis-
tant regions of the universe; or even beyond the universe,
into the unbounded chaos, where nature is supposed to
lie in total confusion. What never was seen, or heard
of, may yet be conceived; nor is any thing beyond
the power of thought, except what implies an absolute
contradiction.
But though our thought seems to possess this unbounded
liberty, we shall find, upon a nearer examination, that it is
really confined within very narrow limits, and that all this
creative power of the mind amounts to no more than
the faculty of compounding, transposing, augmenting, or
diminishing the materials afforded us by the senses and
experience. When we think of a golden mountain, we
only join two consistent ideas, gold, and mountain, with
which we were formerly acquainted. A virtuous horse we
can conceive; because, from our own feeling, we can
conceive virtue; and this we may unite to the figure and
shape of a horse, which is an animal familiar to us. In
short, all the materials of thinking are derived either from
our outward or inward sentiment: the mixture and com-
position of these belongs alone to the mind and will. Or,
to express myself in philosophical language, all our ideas or
more feeble perceptions are copies of our impressions or
more lively ones.
To prove this, the two following arguments will, I hope,
be sufficient. First, when we analyze our thoughts or ideas,
however compounded or sublime, we always find that they
resolve themselves into such simple ideas as were copied
from a precedent feeling or sentiment. Even those ideas,
which, at first view, seem the most wide of this origin, are
found, upon a nearer scrutiny, to be derived from it. The
idea of God, as meaning an infinitely intelligent, wise, and
good Being, arises from reflecting on the operations of our
own mind, and augmenting, without limit, those qualities
of goodness and wisdom. We may prosecute this enquiry
to what length we please; where we shall always find, that
every idea which we examine is copied from a similar
impression. Those who would assert that this position is
not universally true nor without exception, have only one,
and that an easy method of refuting it; by producing that
idea, which, in their opinion, is not derived from this source.
It will then be incumbent on us, if we would maintain our
doctrine, to produce the impression, or lively perception,
which corresponds to it.
Secondly. If it happen, from a defect of the organ,
that a man is not susceptible of any species of sensation,
we always find that he is as little susceptible of the cor-
respondent ideas. A blind man can form no notion of
colours; a deaf man of sounds. Restore either of them
that sense in which he is deficient; by opening this new
inlet for his sensations, you also open an inlet for the ideas;
and he finds no difficulty in conceiving these objects. The
case is the same, if the object, proper for exciting any
sensation, has never been applied to the organ. A Lap-
lander or Negro has no notion of the relish of wine.
And though there are few or no instances of a like
deficiency in the mind, where a person has never felt or
is wholly incapable of a sentiment or passion that belongs
to his species; yet we find the same observation to take
place in a less degree. A man of mild manners can form
no idea of inveterate revenge or cruelty; nor can a selfish
heart easily conceive the heights of friendship and gener-
osity. It is readily allowed, that other beings may possess
many senses of which we can have no conception; because
the ideas of them have never been introduced to us in the
only manner by which an idea can have access to the mind,
to wit, by the actual feeling and sensation.
There is, however, one contradictory phenomenon, which
may prove that it is not absolutely impossible for ideas
to arise, independent of their correspondent impressions.
I believe it will readily be allowed, that the several distinct
ideas of colour, which enter by the eye, or those of sound,
which are conveyed by the ear, are really different from
each other; though, at the same time, resembling. Now
if this be true of different colours, it must be no less so of
the different shades of the same colour; and each shade
produces a distinct idea, independent of the rest. For if
this should be denied, it is possible, by the continual grada-
tion of shades, to run a colour insensibly into what is most
remote from it; and if you will not allow any of the means
to be different, you cannot, without absurdity, deny the
extremes to be the same. Suppose, therefore, a person
to have enjoyed his sight for thirty years, and to have
become perfectly acquainted with colours of all kinds
except one particular shade of blue, for instance, which it
never has been his fortune to meet with. Let all the
different shades of that colour, except that single one, be
placed before him, descending gradually from the deepest
to the lightest; it is plain that he will perceive a blank,
where that shade is wanting, and will be sensible that there
is a greater distance in that place between the contiguous
colour than in any other. Now I ask, whether it be
possible for him, from his own imagination, to supply this
deficiency, and raise up to himself the idea of that particular
shade, though it had never been conveyed to him by his
senses? I believe there are few but will be of opinion
that he can: and this may serve as a proof that the simple
ideas are not always, in every instance, derived from the
correspondent impressions; though this instance is so
singular, that it is scarcely worth our observing, and does
not merit that for it alone we should alter our general
maxim.
Here, therefore, is a proposition, which not only seems,
in itself, simple and intelligible; but, if a proper use were
made of it, might render every dispute equally intelligible,
and banish all that jargon, which has so long taken
possession of metaphysical reasonings, and drawn disgrace
upon them. All ideas, especially abstract ones, are naturally
faint and obscure: the mind has but a slender hold of them:
they are apt to be confounded with other resembling ideas;
and when we have often employed any term, though with-
out a distinct meaning, we are apt to imagine it has a deter-
minate idea annexed to it. On the contrary, all impressions,
that is, all sensations, either outward or inward, are strong
and vivid: the limits between them are more exactly deter-
mined: nor is it easy to fall into any error or mistake with
regard to them. When we entertain, therefore, any suspicion
that a philosophical term is employed without any meaning
or idea (as is but too frequent), we need but enquire, from
what impression is that supposed idea derived? And if it
be impossible to assign any, this will serve to confirm our
suspicion. By bringing ideas into so clear a light we may
reasonably hope to remove all dispute, which may arise,
concerning their nature and reality.[1]
[1] It is probable that no more was meant by these, who denied innate
ideas, than that all ideas were copies of our impressions; though it must
be confessed, that the terms, which they employed, were not chosen with
such caution, nor so exactly defined, as to prevent all mistakes about their
doctrine. For what is meant by innate? If innate be equivalent to natural,
then all the perceptions and ideas of the mind must be allowed to be innate
or natural, in whatever sense we take the latter word, whether in opposi-
tion to what is uncommon, artificial, or miraculous. If by innate be meant,
contemporary to our birth, the dispute seems to be frivolous; nor is it
worth while to enquire at what time thinking begins, whether before, at,
or after our birth. Again, the word idea, seems to be commonly taken in
a very loose sense, by LOCKE and others; as standing for any of our per-
ceptions, our sensations and passions, as well as thoughts. Now in this
sense, I should desire to know, what can be meant by asserting, that self-
love, or resentment of injuries, or the passion between the sexes is not innate?
But admitting these terms, impressions and ideas, in the sense above
explained, and understanding by innate, what is original or copied from
no precedent perception, then may we assert that all our impressions are
innate, and our ideas not innate.
To be ingenuous, I must own it to be my opinion, that LOCKE was
betrayed into this question by the schoolmen, who, making use of unde- fined terms, draw out their disputes to a tedious length, without ever touch-
ing the point in question. A like ambiguity and circumlocution seem to run
through that philosopher's reasonings on this as well as most other subjects.
SECTION III
OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS
IT IS evident that there is a principle of connexion be-
tween the different thoughts or ideas of the mind, and
that in their appearance to the memory or imagination,
they introduce each other with a certain degree of method
and regularity. In our more serious thinking or discourse
this is so observable that any particular thought, which
breaks in upon the regular tract or chain of ideas, is
immediately remarked and rejected. And even in our
wildest and most wandering reveries, nay in our very
dreams, we shall find, if we reflect, that the imagination
ran not altogether at adventures, but that there was still
a connexion upheld among the different ideas, which suc-
ceeded each other. Were the loosest and freest conversa-
tion to be transcribed, there would immediately be observed
something which connected it in all its transitions. Or
where this is wanting, the person who broke the thread of
discourse might still inform you, that there had secretly
revolved in his mind a succession of thought, which had
gradually led him from the subject of conversation. Among
different languages, even where we cannot suspect the least
connexion or communication, it is found, that the words,
expressive of ideas, the most compounded, do yet nearly
correspond to each other: a certain proof that the simple
ideas, comprehended in the compound ones, were bound
together by some universal principle, which had an equal
influence on all mankind.
Though it be too obvious to escape observation, that
different ideas are connected together; I do not find that
any philosopher has attempted to enumerate or class all
the principles of association; a subject, however, that seems
worthy of curiosity. To me, there appear to be only three
principles of connexion among ideas, namely, Resemblance,
Contiguity in time or place, and Cause or Effect.
That these principles serve to connect ideas will not, I
believe, be much doubted. A picture naturally leads our
thoughts to the original:[1] the mention of one apartment
in a building naturally introduces an enquiry or discourse
concerning the others:[2] and if we think of a wound, we
can scarcely forbear reflecting on the pain which follows it.[3]
But that this enumeration is complete, and that there are
no other principles of association except these, may be
difficult to prove to the satisfaction of the reader, or even
to a man's own satisfaction. All we can do, in such cases,
is to run over several instances, and examine carefully the
principle which binds the different thoughts to each other,
never stopping till we render the principle as general as
possible.[4] The more instances we examine, and the more
care we employ, the more assurance shall we acquire, that
the enumeration, which we form from the whole, is com-
plete and entire.
[1] Resemblance.
[2] Contiguity.
[3] Cause and effect.
[4] For instance, Contrast or Contrariety is also a connexion among Ideas:
but it may perhaps, be considered as a mixture of Causation and Resem-
blance. Where two objects are contrary, the one destroys the other; that
is, the cause of its annihilation, and the idea of the annihilation of an
object, implies the idea of its former existence.
SECTION IV
SCEPTICAL DOUBTS CONCERNING THE OPERATIONS OF
THE UNDERSTANDING
PART I
ALL the objects of human reason or enquiry may
naturally be divided into two kinds, to wit, Rela-
tions of Ideas, and Matters of Fact. Of the first
kind are the sciences of Geometry, Algebra, and Arithmetic;
and in short, every affirmation which is either intuitively or
demonstratively certain. That the square of the hypothenuse
is equal to the square of the two sides, is a proposition
which expresses a relation between these figures. That
three times five is equal to the half of thirty, expresses a
relation between these numbers. Propositions of this kind
are discoverable by the mere operation of thought, without
dependence on what is anywhere existent in the universe.
Though there never were a circle or triangle in nature, the
truths demonstrated by Euclid would for ever retain their
certainty and evidence.
Matters of fact, which are the second objects of human
reason, are not ascertained in the same manner; nor is our
evidence of their truth, however great, of a like nature with
the foregoing. The contrary of every matter of fact is still
possible; because it can never imply a contradiction, and
is conceived by the mind with the same facility and dis-
tinctness, as if ever so conformable to reality. That the
sun will not rise to-morrow is no less intelligible a propo-
sition, and implies no more contradiction than the affirma-
tion, that it will rise. We should in vain, therefore, attempt
to demonstrate its falsehood. Were it demonstratively false,
it would imply a contradiction, and could never be dis-
tinctly conceived by the mind.
It may, therefore, be a subject worthy of curiosity, to
enquire what is the nature of that evidence which assures
us of any real existence and matter of fact, beyond the
present testimony of our senses, or the records of our
memory. This part of philosophy, it is observable, has been
little cultivated, either by the ancients or moderns; and
therefore our doubts and errors, in the prosecution of so
important an enquiry, may be the more excusable; while
we march through such difficult paths without any guide
or direction. They may even prove useful, by exciting
curiosity, and destroying that implicit faith and security,
which is the bane of all reasoning and free enquiry. The
discovery of defects in the common philosophy, if any such
there be, will not, I presume, be a discouragement, but
rather an incitement, as is usual, to attempt something
more full and satisfactory than has yet been proposed to
the public.
All reasonings concerning matter of fact seem to be
founded on the relation of Cause and Effect. By means of
that relation alone we can go beyond the evidence of our
memory and senses. If you were to ask a man, why he
believes any matter of fact, which is absent; for instance,
that his friend is in the country, or in France; he would
give you a reason; and this reason would be some other
fact; as a letter received from him, or the knowledge of his
former resolutions and promises. A man finding a watch
or any other machine in a desert island, would conclude
that there had once been men in that island. All our rea-
sonings concerning fact are of the same nature. And here
it is constantly supposed that there is a connexion between
the present fact and that which is inferred from it. Were
there nothing to bind them together, the inference would
be entirely precarious. The hearing of an articulate voice
and rational discourse in the dark assures us of the pres-
ence of some person: Why? because these are the effects
of the human make and fabric, and closely connected with
it. If we anatomize all the other reasonings of this nature,
we shall find that they are founded on the relation of cause
and effect, and that this relation is either near or remote,
direct or collateral. Heat and light are collateral effects
of fire, and the one effect may justly be inferred from the
other.
If we would satisfy ourselves, therefore, concerning the
nature of that evidence, which assures us of matters of fact,
we must enquire how we arrive at the knowledge of cause
and effect.
I shall venture to affirm, as a general proposition, which
admits of no exception, that the knowledge of this relation
is not, in any instance, attained by reasonings a priori; but
arises entirely from experience, when we find that any
particular objects are constantly conjoined with each other.
Let an object be presented to a man of ever so strong natural
reason and abilities; if that object be entirely new to him,
he will not be able, by the most accurate examination of
its sensible qualities, to discover any of its causes or effects.
Adam, though his rational faculties be supposed, at the
very first, entirely perfect, could not have inferred from
the fluidity and transparency of water that it would suffo-
cate him, or from the light and warmth of fire that it would
consume him. No object ever discovers, by the qualities
which appear to the senses, either the causes which pro-
duced it, or the effects which will arise from it; nor can
our reason, unassisted by experience, ever draw any in-
ference concerning real existence and matter of fact.
This proposition, that causes and effects are discoverable,
not by reason but by experience, will readily be admitted
with regard to such objects, as we remember to have once
been altogether unknown to us; since we must be conscious
of the utter inability, which we then lay under, of foretelling
what would arise from them. Present two smooth pieces of
marble to a man who has no tincture of natural philosophy;
he will never discover that they will adhere together in such
a manner as to require great force to separate them in a
direct line, while they make so small a resistance to a
lateral pressure. Such events, as bear little analogy to
the common course of nature, are also readily confessed to
be known only by experience; nor does any man imagine
that the explosion of gunpowder, or the attraction of a load-
stone, could ever be discovered by arguments a priori. In
like manner, when an effect is supposed to depend upon an
intricate machinery or secret structure of parts, we make no
difficulty in attributing all our knowledge of it to experience.
Who will assert that he can give the ultimate reason, why
milk or bread is proper nourishment for a man, not for
a lion or a tiger?
But the same truth may not appear, at first sight, to have
the same evidence with regard to events, which have become
familiar to us from our first appearance in the world, which
bear a close analogy to the whole course of nature, and
which are supposed to depend on the simple qualities of
objects, without any secret structure of parts. We are apt
to imagine that we could discover these effects by the mere
operation of our reason, without experience. We fancy,
that were we brought on a sudden into this world, we
could at first have inferred that one Billiard-ball would
communicate motion to another upon impulse; and that we
needed not to have waited for the event, in order to pro-
nounce with certainty concerning it. Such is the influence of
custom, that, where it is strongest, it not only covers our
natural ignorance, but even conceals itself, and seems not to
take place, merely because it is found in the highest degree.
But to convince us that all the laws of nature, and all
the operations of bodies without exception, are known only
by experience, the following reflections may, perhaps, suf-
fice. Were any object presented to us, and were we
required to pronounce concerning the effect, which will
result from it, without consulting past observation; after
what manner, I beseech you, must the mind proceed in this
operation? It must invent or imagine some event, which
it ascribes to the object as its effect; and it is plain that
this invention must be entirely arbitrary. The mind can
never possibly find the effect in the supposed cause, by the
most accurate scrutiny and examination. For the effect is
totally different from the cause, and consequently can never
be discovered in it. Motion in the second Billiard-ball is a
quite distinct event from motion in the first; nor is there
anything in the one to suggest the smallest hint of the
other. A stone or piece of metal raised into the air, and
left without any support, immediately falls: but to consider
the matter a priori, is there anything we discover in this
situation which can beget the idea of a downward, rather
than an upward, or any other motion, in the stone or metal?
And as the first imagination or invention of a particular
effect, in all natural operations, is arbitrary, where we con-
sult not experience; so must we also esteem the supposed
tie or connexion between the cause and effect, which binds
them together, and renders it impossible that any other
effect could result from the operation of that cause. When
I see, for instance, a Billiard-ball moving in a straight line
towards another; even suppose motion in the second ball
should by accident be suggested to me, as the result of their
contact or impulse; may I not conceive, that a hundred dif-
ferent events might as well follow from that cause? May
not both these balls remain at absolute rest? May not the
first ball return in a straight line, or leap off from the second
in any line or direction? All these suppositions are con-
sistent and conceivable. Why then should we give the
preference to one, which is no more consistent or conceivable
than the rest? All our reasonings a priori will never be
able to show us any foundation for this preference.
In a word, then, every effect is a distinct event from its
cause. It could not, therefore, be discovered in the cause,
and the first invention or conception of it, a priori, must be
entirely arbitrary. And even after it is suggested, the con-
junction of it with the cause must appear equally arbitrary;
since there are always many other effects, which, to reason,
must seem fully as consistent and natural. In vain, there-
fore, should we pretend to determine any single event, or
infer any cause or effect, without the assistance of observa-
tion and experience.
Hence we may discover the reason why no philosopher,
who is rational and modest, has ever pretended to assign
the ultimate cause of any natural operation, or to show
distinctly the action of that power, which produces any
single effect in the universe. It is confessed, that the
utmost effort of human reason is to reduce the principles,
productive of natural phenomena, to a greater simplicity,
and to resolve the many particular effects into a few gen-
eral causes, by means of reasonings from analogy, experi-
ence, and observation. But as to the causes of these general
causes, we should in vain attempt their discovery; nor shall
we ever be able to satisfy ourselves, by any particular ex-
plication of them. These ultimate springs and principles
are totally shut up from human curiosity and enquiry. Elas-
ticity, gravity, cohesion of parts, communication of motion
by impulse; these are probably the ultimate causes and prin-
ciples which we shall ever discover in nature; and we may
esteem ourselves sufficiently happy, if, by accurate enquiry
and reasoning, we can trace up the particular phenomena
to, or near to, these general principles. The most perfect
philosophy of the natural kind only staves off our ignorance
a little longer: as perhaps the most perfect philosophy of
the moral or metaphysical kind serves only to discover larger
portions of it. Thus the observation of human blindness
and weakness is the result of all philosophy, and meets us at
every turn, in spite of our endeavours to elude or avoid it.
Nor is geometry, when taken into the assistance of natural
philosophy, ever able to remedy this defect, or lead us into
the knowledge of ultimate causes, by all that accuracy of
reasoning for which it is so justly celebrated. Every part
of mixed mathematics proceeds upon the supposition that
certain laws are established by nature in her operations;
and abstract reasonings are employed, either to assist ex-
perience in the discovery of these laws, or to determine
their influence in particular instances, where it depends
upon any precise degree of distance and quantity. Thus, it
is a law of motion, discovered by experience, that the mo-
ment or force of any body in motion is in the compound
ratio or proportion of its solid contents and its velocity;
and consequently, that a small force may remove the greatest
obstacle or raise the greatest weight, if, by any contrivance
or machinery, we can increase the velocity of that force,
so as to make it an overmatch for its antagonist. Geometry
assists us in the application of this law, by giving us the
just dimensions of all the parts and figures which can enter
into any species of machine; but still the discovery of the
law itself is owing merely to experience, and all the abstract
reasonings in the world could never lead us one step towards
the knowledge of it. When we reason a priori, and consider
merely any object or cause, as it appears to the mind, inde-
pendent of all observation, it never could suggest to us the
notion of any distinct object, such as its effect; much less,
show us the inseparable and inviolable connexion between
them. A man must be very sagacious who could discover
by reasoning that crystal is the effect of heat, and ice of
cold, without being previously acquainted with the operation
of these qualities.
PART II
BUT we have not yet attained any tolerable satisfac-
tion with regard to the question first proposed. Each
solution still gives rise to a new question as difficult as
the foregoing, and leads us on to farther enquiries. When
it is asked, What is the nature of all our reasonings
concerning matter of fact? the proper answer seems to be,
that they are founded on the relation of cause and effect.
When again it is asked, What is the foundation of all our
reasonings and conclusions concerning that relation? it may
be replied in one word, Experience. But if we still carry on
our sifting humour, and ask, What is the foundation of all
conclusions from experience? this implies a new question,
which may be of more difficult solution and explication.
Philosophers, that give themselves airs of superior wisdom
and sufficiency, have a hard task when they encounter per-
sons of inquisitive dispositions, who push them from every
corner to which they retreat, and who are sure at last to
bring them to some dangerous dilemma. The best expedient
to prevent this confusion, is to be modest in our preten-
sions; and even to discover the difficulty ourselves before
it is objected to us. By this means, we may make a kind of
merit of our very ignorance.
I shall content myself, in this section, with an easy task,
and shall pretend only to give a negative answer to the
question here proposed. I say then, that, even after we
have experience of the operations of cause and effect, our
conclusions from that experience are not founded on reason-
ing, or any process of the understanding. This answer we
must endeavour both to explain and to defend.
It must certainly be allowed, that nature has kept us
at a great distance from all her secrets, and has afforded
us only the knowledge of a few superficial qualities of ob-
jects; while she conceals from us those powers and prin-
ciples on which the influence of those objects entirely de-
pends. Our senses inform us of the colour, weight, and
consistence of bread; but neither sense nor reason can ever
inform us of those qualities which fit it for the nourish-
ment and support of a human body. Sight or feeling con-
veys an idea of the actual motion of bodies; but as to that
wonderful force or power, which would carry on a moving
body for ever in a continued change of place, and which
bodies never lose but by communicating it to others; of
this we cannot form the most distant conception. But not-
withstanding this ignorance of natural powers[1] and princi-
ples, we always presume, when we see like sensible quali-
ties, that they have like secret powers, and expect that
effects, similar to those which we have experienced, will
follow from them. If a body of like colour and consistence
with that bread, which we have formerly eat, be pre-
sented to us, we make no scruple of repeating the experi-
ment, and foresee, with certainty, like nourishment and
support. Now this is a process of the mind or thought,
of which I would willingly know the foundation. It is
allowed on all hands that there is no known connexion
between the sensible qualities and the secret powers; and
consequently, that the mind is not led to form such a con-
clusion concerning their constant and regular conjunction,
by anything which it knows of their nature. As to past
Experience, it can be allowed to give direct and certain
information of those precise objects only, and that precise
period of time, which fell under its cognizance: but why
this experience should be extended to future times, and to
other objects, which for aught we know, may be only in
appearance similar; this is the main question on which
I would insist. The bread, which I formerly eat, nourished
me; that is, a body of such sensible qualities was, at that
time, endued with such secret powers: but does it follow,
that other bread must also nourish me at another time, and
that like sensible qualities must always be attended with
like secret powers? The consequence seems nowise neces-
sary. At least, it must be acknowledged that there is here
a consequence drawn by the mind; that there is a certain
step taken; a process of thought, and an inference, which
wants to be explained. These two propositions are far
from being the same. I have found that such an object has
always been attended with such an effect, and I foresee, that
other objects, which are, in appearance, similar, will be
attended with similar effects. I shall allow, if you please,
that the one proposition may justly be inferred from the
other: I know, in fact, that it always is inferred. But if you
insist that the inference is made by a chain of reasoning,
I desire you to produce that reasoning. The connexion
between these propositions is not intuitive. There is re-
quired a medium, which may enable the mind to draw such
an inference, if indeed it be drawn by reasoning and argu-
ment. What that medium is, I must confess, passes my
comprehension; and it is incumbent on those to produce it,
who assert that it really exists, and is the origin of all our
conclusions concerning matter of fact.
This negative argument must certainly, in process of
time, become altogether convincing, if many penetrating
and able philosophers shall turn their enquiries this way
and no one be ever able to discover any connecting propo-
sition or intermediate step, which supports the understand-
ing in this conclusion. But as the question is yet new,
every reader may not trust so far to his own penetration,
as to conclude, because an argument escapes his enquiry,
that therefore it does not really exist. For this reason it
may be requisite to venture upon a more difficult task; and
enumerating all the branches of human knowledge, en-
deavour to show that none of them can afford such an
argument.
All reasonings may be divided into two kinds, namely,
demonstrative reasoning, or that concerning relations of
ideas, and moral reasoning, or that concerning matter of
fact and existence. That there are no demonstrative argu-
ments in the case seems evident; since it implies no con-
tradiction that the course of nature may change, and that
an object, seemingly like those which we have experi-
enced, may be attended with different or contrary effects.
May I not clearly and distinctly conceive that a body,
falling from the clouds, and which, in all other respects,
resembles snow, has yet the taste of salt or feeling of
fire? Is there any more intelligible proposition than to
affirm, that all the trees will flourish in December and
January, and decay in May and June? Now whatever
is intelligible, and can be distinctly conceived, implies no
contradiction, and can never be proved false by any demon-
strative argument or abstract reasoning a priori.
If we be, therefore, engaged by arguments to put trust
in past experience, and make it the standard of our future
judgment, these arguments must be probable only, or such
as regard matter of fact and real existence according to the
division above mentioned. But that there is no argument
of this kind, must appear, if our explication of that species
of reasoning be admitted as solid and satisfactory. We
have said that all arguments concerning existence are
founded on the relation of cause and effect; that our
knowledge of that relation is derived entirely from experi-
ence; and that all our experimental conclusions proceed
upon the supposition that the future will be conformable
to the past. To endeavour, therefore, the proof of this last
supposition by probable arguments, or arguments regarding
existence, must be evidently going in a circle, and taking
that for granted, which is the very point in question.
In reality, all arguments from experience are founded on
the similarity which we discover among natural objects,
and by which we are induced to expect effects similar to
those which we have found to follow from such objects.
And though none but a fool or madman will ever pretend
to dispute the authority of experience, or to reject that
great guide of human life, it may surely be allowed a philoso-
pher to have so much curiosity at least as to examine the
principle of human nature, which gives this mighty authority
to experience, and makes us draw advantage from that
similarity which nature has placed among different objects.
From causes which appear similar we expect similar effects.
This is the sum of all our experimental conclusions. Now
it seems evident that, if this conclusion were formed by
reason, it would be as perfect at first, and upon one in-
stance, as after ever so long a course of experience. But
the case is far otherwise. Nothing so like as eggs; yet no
one, on account of this appearing similarity, expects the
same taste and relish in all of them. It is only after a long
course of uniform experiments in any kind, that we attain
a firm reliance and security with regard to a particular
event. Now where is that process of reasoning which,
from one instance, draws a conclusion, so different from
that which it infers from a hundred instances that are
nowise different from that single one? This question I
propose as much for the sake of information, as with an
intention of raising difficulties. I cannot find, I cannot
imagine any such reasoning. But I keep my mind still
open to instruction, if any one will vouchsafe to bestow
it on me.
Should it be said that, from a number of uniform experi-
ments, we infer a connexion between the sensible qualities
and the secret powers; this, I must confess, seems the
same difficulty, couched in different terms. The question
still recurs, on what process of argument this inference is
founded? Where is the medium, the interposing ideas,
which join propositions so very wide of each other? It is
confessed that the colour, consistence, and other sensible
qualities of bread appear not, of themselves, to have any
connexion with the secret powers of nourishment and sup-
port. For otherwise we could infer these secret powers
from the first appearance of these sensible qualities, without
the aid of experience; contrary to the sentiment of all
philosophers, and contrary to plain matter of fact. Here,
then, is our natural state of ignorance with regard to the
powers and influence of all objects. How is this remedied
by experience? It only shows us a number of uniform
effects, resulting from certain objects, and teaches us that
those particular objects, at that particular time, were en-
dowed with such powers and forces. When a new object,
endowed with similar sensible qualities, is produced, we
expect similar powers and forces, and look for a like effect.
From a body of like colour and consistence with bread we
expect like nourishment and support. But this surely is
a step or progress of the mind, which wants to be explained.
When a man says, I have found, in all past instances, such
sensible qualities conjoined with such secret powers: And
when he says, Similar sensible qualities will always be con-
joined with similar secret powers, he is not guilty of a tau-
tology, nor are these propositions in any respect the same.
You say that the one proposition is an inference from the
other. But you must confess that the inference is not
intuitive; neither is it demonstrative: Of what nature is it,
then? To say it is experimental, is begging the question.
For all inferences from experience suppose, as their founda-
tion, that the future will resemble the past, and that similar
powers will be conjoined with similar sensible qualities.
If there be any suspicion that the course of nature may
change, and that the past may be no rule for the future, all
experience becomes useless, and can give rise to no in-
ference or conclusion. It is impossible, therefore, that any
arguments from experience can prove this resemblance of
the past to the future; since all these arguments are
founded on the supposition of that resemblance. Let the
course of things be allowed hitherto ever so regular; that
alone, without some new argument or inference, proves
not that, for the future, it will continue so. In vain do
you pretend to have learned the nature of bodies from your
past experience. Their secret nature, and consequently
all their effects and influence, may change, without any
change in their sensible qualities. This happens some-
times, and with regard to some objects: Why may it not
happen always, and with regard to all objects? What logic,
what process or argument secures you against this supposi-
tion? My practice, you say, refutes my doubts. But you
mistake the purport of my question. As an agent, I am
quite satisfied in the point; but as a philosopher, who has
some share of curiosity, I will not say scepticism, I want to
learn the foundation of this inference. No reading, no
enquiry has yet been able to remove my difficulty, or give
me satisfaction in a matter of such importance. Can I do
better than propose the difficulty to the public, even though,
perhaps, I have small hopes of obtaining a solution? We
shall at least, by this means, be sensible of our ignorance,
if we do not augment our knowledge.
I must confess that a man is guilty of unpardonable
arrogance who concludes, because an argument has es-
caped his own investigation, that therefore it does not really
exist. I must also confess that, though all the learned, for
several ages, should have employed themselves in fruit-
less search upon any subject, it may still, perhaps, be rash
to conclude positively that the subject must, therefore,
pass all human comprehension. Even though we examine
all the sources of our knowledge, and conclude them un-
fit for such a subject, there may still remain a suspicion,
that the enumeration is not complete, or the examination
not accurate. But with regard to the present subject, there
are some considerations which seem to remove all this
accusation of arrogance or suspicion of mistake.
It is certain that the most ignorant and stupid peasants--
nay infants, nay even brute beasts--improve by experience,
and learn the qualities of natural objects, by observing the
effects which result from them. When a child has felt the
sensation of pain from touching the flame of a candle, he
will be careful not to put his hand near any candle; but
will expect a similar effect from a cause which is similar in
its sensible qualities and appearance. If you assert, there-
fore, that the understanding of the child is led into this
conclusion by any process of argument or ratiocination,
I may justly require you to produce that argument; nor
have you any pretence to refuse so equitable a demand.
You cannot say that the argument is abstruse, and may
possibly escape your enquiry; since you confess that it is
obvious to the capacity of a mere infant. If you hesitate,
therefore, a moment, or if, after reflection, you produce any
intricate or profound argument, you, in a manner, give up
the question, and confess that it is not reasoning which
engages us to suppose the past resembling the future, and
to expect similar effects from causes which are, to appear-
ance, similar. This is the proposition which I intended to
enforce in the present section. If I be right, I pretend not
to have made any mighty discovery. And if I be wrong,
I must acknowledge myself to be indeed a very backward
scholar; since I cannot now discover an argument which,
it seems, was perfectly familiar to me long before I was
out of my cradle.
[1] The word, Power, is here used in a loose and popular sense. The more
accurate explication of it would give additional evidence to this argument.
See Sect. 7.
SECTION V
SCEPTICAL SOLUTION OF THESE DOUBTS
PART I
THE passion for philosophy, like that for religion,
seems liable to this inconvenience, that, though it
aims at the correction of our manners, and extirpation
of our vices, it may only serve, by imprudent management,
to foster a predominant inclination, and push the mind,
with more determined resolution, towards that side which
already draws too much, by the bias and propensity of the
natural temper. It is certain that, while we aspire to the
magnanimous firmness of the philosophic sage, and en-
deavour to confine our pleasures altogether within our own
minds, we may, at last, render our philosophy like that of
Epictetus, and other Stoics, only a more refined system of
selfishness, and reason ourselves out of all virtue as well
as social enjoyment. While we study with attention the
vanity of human life, and turn all our thoughts towards
the empty and transitory nature of riches and honours, we
are, perhaps, all the while flattering our natural indolence,
which, hating the bustle of the world, and drudgery of
business, seeks a pretence of reason to give itself a full
and uncontrolled indulgence. There is, however, one
species of philosophy which seems little liable to this in-
convenience, and that because it strikes in with no dis-
orderly passion of the human mind, nor can mingle it-
self with any natural affection or propensity; and that is
the Academic or Sceptical philosophy. The academics al-
ways talk of doubt and suspense of judgment, of danger
in hasty determinations, of confining to very narrow bounds
the enquiries of the understanding, and of renouncing all
speculations which lie not within the limits of common life
and practice. Nothing, therefore, can be more contrary
than such a philosophy to the supine indolence of the
mind, its rash arrogance, its lofty pretensions, and its super-
stitious credulity. Every passion is mortified by it, except
the love of truth; and that passion never is, nor can be,
carried to too high a degree. It is surprising, therefore,
that this philosophy, which, in almost every instance, must
be harmless and innocent, should be the subject of so
much groundless reproach and obloquy. But, perhaps,
the very circumstance which renders it so innocent is
what chiefly exposes it to the public hatred and resentment.
By flattering no irregular passion, it gains few partizans:
By opposing so many vices and follies, it raises to itself
abundance of enemies, who stigmatize it as libertine, pro-
fane, and irreligious.
Nor need we fear that this philosophy, while it endeavours
to limit our enquiries to common life, should ever undermine
the reasonings of common life, and carry its doubts so far
as to destroy all action, as well as speculation. Nature
will always maintain her rights, and prevail in the end over
any abstract reasoning whatsoever. Though we should
conclude, for instance, as in the foregoing section, that, in
all reasonings from experience, there is a step taken by the
mind which is not supported by any argument or process
of the understanding; there is no danger that these rea-
sonings, on which almost all knowledge depends, will ever
be affected by such a discovery. If the mind be not en-
gaged by argument to make this step, it must be induced
by some other principle of equal weight and authority; and
that principle will preserve its influence as long as human
nature remains the same. What that principle is may well
be worth the pains of enquiry.
Suppose a person, though endowed with the strongest
faculties of reason and reflection, to be brought on a sudden
into this world; he would, indeed, immediately observe
a continual succession of objects, and one event following
another; but he would not be able to discover anything
farther. He would not, at first, by any reasoning, be able
to reach the idea of cause and effect; since the particular
powers, by which all natural operations are performed,
never appear to the senses; nor is it reasonable to conclude,
merely because one event, in one instance, precedes another,
that therefore the one is the cause, the other the effect.
Their conjunction may be arbitrary and casual. There
may be no reason to infer the existence of one from the
appearance of the other. And in a word, such a person,
without more experience, could never employ his conjecture
or reasoning concerning any matter of fact, or be assured
of anything beyond what was immediately present to his
memory and senses.
Suppose, again, that he has acquired more experience,
and has lived so long in the world as to have observed
familiar objects or events to be constantly conjoined to-
gether; what is the consequence of this experience? He
immediately infers the existence of one object from the
appearance of the other. Yet he has not, by all his ex-
perience, acquired any idea or knowledge of the secret
power by which the one object produces the other; nor
is it by any process of reasoning, he is engaged to draw
this inference. But still he finds himself determined to
draw it: and though he should be convinced that his
understanding has no part in the operation, he would
nevertheless continue in the same course of thinking. There
is some other principle which determines him to form such
a conclusion.
This principle is Custom or Habit. For wherever the
repetition of any particular act or operation produces a
propensity to renew the same act or operation, without
being impelled by any reasoning or process of the under-
standing, we always say, that this propensity is the effect
of Custom. By employing that word, we pretend not to
have given the ultimate reason of such a propensity. We
only point out a principle of human nature, which is
universally acknowledged, and which is well known by its
effects. Perhaps we can push our enquiries no farther, or
pretend to give the cause of this cause; but must rest
contented with it as the ultimate principle, which we can
assign, of all our conclusions from experience. It is suf-
ficient satisfaction, that we can go so far, without repining
at the narrowness of our faculties because they will carry
us no farther. And it is certain we here advance a very
intelligible proposition at least, if not a true one, when
we assert that, after the constant conjunction of two ob-
jects-- heat and flame, for instance, weight and solidity--
we are determined by custom alone to expect the one from
the appearance of the other. This hypothesis seems even
the only one which explains the difficulty, why we draw,
from a thousand instances, an inference which we are not
able to draw from one instance, that is, in no respect,
different from them. Reason is incapable of any such
variation. The conclusions which it draws from consider-
ing one circle are the same which it would form upon
surveying all the circles in the universe. But no man,
having seen only one body move after being impelled by
another, could infer that every other body will move after
a like impulse. All inferences from experience, therefore,
are effects of custom, not of reasoning.[1]
Custom, then, is the great guide of human life. It is
that principle alone which renders our experience useful
to us, and makes us expect, for the future, a similar train
of events with those which have appeared in the past.
Without the influence of custom, we should be entirely
ignorant of every matter of fact beyond what is immediately
present to the memory and senses. We should never know
how to adjust means to ends, or to employ our natural
powers in the production of any effect. There would
be an end at once of all action, as well as of the chief
part of speculation.
But here it may be proper to remark, that though our
conclusions from experience carry us beyond our memory
and senses, and assure us of matters of fact which hap-
pened in the most distant places and most remote ages,
yet some fact must always be present to the senses or
memory, from which we may first proceed in drawing these
conclusions. A man, who should find in a desert country
the remains of pompous buildings, would conclude that
the country had, in ancient times, been cultivated by civil-
ized inhabitants; but did nothing of this nature occur
to him, he could never form such an inference. We learn
the events of former ages from history; but then we must
peruse the volumes in which this instruction is contained,
and thence carry up our inferences from one testimony to
another, till we arrive at the eyewitnesses and spectators of
these distant events. In a word, if we proceed not upon
some fact, present to the memory or senses, our reasonings
would be merely hypothetical; and however the particular
links might be connected with each other, the whole chain
of inferences would have nothing to support it, nor could
we ever, by its means, arrive at the knowledge of any real
existence. If I ask why you believe any particular matter
of fact, which you relate, you must tell me some reason;
and this reason will be some other fact, connected with it.
But as you cannot proceed after this manner, in infinitum,
you must at last terminate in some fact, which is present to
your memory or senses; or must allow that your belief is
entirely without foundation.
What, then, is the conclusion of the whole matter? A
simple one; though, it must be confessed, pretty remote
from the common theories of philosophy. All belief of
matter of fact or real existence is derived merely from some
object, present to the memory or senses, and a customary
conjunction between that and some other object. Or in
other words; having found, in many instances, that any
two kinds of objects--flame and heat, snow and cold--have
always been conjoined together; if flame or snow be pre-
sented anew to the senses, the mind is carried by custom
to expect heat or cold, and to believe that such a quality
does exist, and will discover itself upon a nearer approach.
This belief is the necessary result of placing the mind in
such circumstances. It is an operation of the soul, when
we are so situated, as unavoidable as to feel the passion of
love, when we receive benefits; or hatred, when we meet
with injuries. All these operations are a species of natural
instincts, which no reasoning or process of the thought and
understanding is able either to produce or to prevent.
At this point, it would be very allowable for us to stop
our philosophical researches. In most questions we can
never make a single step farther; and in all questions we
must terminate here at last, after our most restless and
curious enquiries. But still our curiosity will be pardonable,
perhaps commendable, if it carry us on to still farther
researches, and make us examine more accurately the na-
ture of this belief, and of the customary conjunction, whence
it is derived. By this means we may meet with some ex-
plications and analogies that will give satisfaction; at least
to such as love the abstract sciences, and can be enter-
tained with speculations, which, however accurate, may
still retain a degree of doubt and uncertainty. As to
readers of a different taste; the remaining part of this
section is not calculated for them, and the following en-
quiries may well be understood, though it be neglected.
PART II
NOTHING is more free than the imagination of man; and
though it cannot exceed that original stock of ideas fur-
nished by the internal and external senses, it has unlimited
power of mixing, compounding, separating, and dividing
these ideas, in all the varieties of fiction and vision. It
can feign a train of events, with all the appearance of
reality, ascribe to them a particular time and place, conceive
them as existent, and paint them out to itself with every
circumstance, that belongs to any historical fact, which it
believes with the greatest certainty. Wherein, therefore,
consists the difference between such a fiction and belief?
It lies not merely in any peculiar idea, which is annexed to
such a conception as commands our assent, and which is
wanting to every known fiction. For as the mind has
authority over all its ideas, it could voluntarily annex this
particular idea to any fiction, and consequently be able to
believe whatever it pleases; contrary to what we find by
daily experience. We can, in our conception, join the head
of a man to the body of a horse; but it is not in our
power to believe that such an animal has ever really
existed.
It follows, therefore, that the difference between fiction
and belief lies in some sentiment or feeling, which is
annexed to the latter, not to the former, and which depends
not on the will, nor can be commanded at pleasure. It
must be excited by nature, like all other sentiments; and
must arise from the particular situation, in which the mind
is placed at any particular juncture. Whenever any object
is presented to the memory or senses, it immediately, by the
force of custom, carries the imagination to conceive that
object, which is usually conjoined to it; and this conception
is attended with a feeling or sentiment, different from the
loose reveries of the fancy. In this consists the whole
nature of belief. For as there is no matter of fact which
we believe so firmly that we cannot conceive the contrary,
there would be no difference between the conception as-
sented to and that which is rejected, were it not for some
sentiment which distinguishes the one from the other. If
I see a billiard-ball moving toward another, on a smooth
table, I can easily conceive it to stop upon contact. This
conception implies no contradiction; but still it feels very
differently from that conception by which I represent to
myself the impulse and the communication of motion from
one ball to another.
Were we to attempt a definition of this sentiment, we
should, perhaps, find it a very difficult, if not an impossible
task; in the same manner as if we should endeavour to
define the feeling of cold or passion of anger, to a creature
who never had any experience of these sentiments. Belief
is the true and proper name of this feeling; and no one is
ever at a loss to know the meaning of that term; because
every man is every moment conscious of the sentiment
represented by it. It may not, however, be improper to
attempt a description of this sentiment; in hopes we may,
by that means, arrive at some analogies, which may afford
a more perfect explication of it. I say, then, that belief is
nothing but a more vivid, lively, forcible, firm, steady con-
ception of an object, than what the imagination alone is
ever able to attain. This variety of terms, which may
seem so unphilosophical, is intended only to express that
act of the mind, which renders realities, or what is taken for
such, more present to us than fictions, causes them to
weigh more in the thought, and gives them a superior
influence on the passions and imagination. Provided we
agree about the thing, it is needless to dispute about the
terms. The imagination has the command over all its
ideas, and can join and mix and vary them, in all the
ways possible. It may conceive fictitious objects with all
the circumstances of place and time. It may set them, in
a manner, before our eyes, in their true colours, just as
they might have existed. But as it is impossible that this
faculty of imagination can ever, of itself, reach belief, it is
evident that belief consists not in the peculiar nature or
order of ideas, but in the manner of their conception, and in
their feeling to the mind. I confess, that it is impossible
perfectly to explain this feeling or manner of conception.
We may make use of words which express something near
it. But its true and proper name, as we observed before, is
belief; which is a term that every one sufficiently under-
stands in common life. And in philosophy, we can go no
farther than assert, that belief is something felt by the mind,
which distinguishes the ideas of the judgement from the
fictions of the imagination. It gives them more weight and
influence; makes them appear of greater importance; en-
forces them in the mind; and renders them the governing
principle of our actions. I hear at present, for instance, a
person's voice, with whom I am acquainted; and the sound
comes as from the next room. This impression of my
senses immediately conveys my thought to the person, to-
gether with all the surrounding objects. I paint them out
to myself as existing at present, with the same qualities and
relations, of which I formerly knew them possessed. These
ideas take faster hold of my mind than ideas of an en-
chanted castle. They are very different to the feeling, and
have a much greater influence of every kind, either to give
pleasure or pain, joy or sorrow.
Let us, then, take in the whole compass of this doctrine,
and allow, that the sentiment of belief is nothing but a
conception more intense and steady than what attends the
mere fictions of the imagination, and that this manner of
conception arises from a customary conjunction of the
object with something present to the memory or senses:
I believe that it will not be difficult, upon these supposi-
tions, to find other operations of the mind analogous to it,
and to trace up these phenomena to principles still more
general.
We have already observed that nature has established
connexions among particular ideas, and that no sooner
one idea occurs to our thoughts than it introduces its cor-
relative, and carries our attention towards it, by a gentle
and insensible movement. These principles of connexion
or association we have reduced to three, namely, Resem-
blance, Contiguity and Causation; which are the only bonds
that unite our thoughts together, and beget that regular
train of reflection or discourse, which, in a greater or less
degree, takes place among all mankind. Now here arises
a question, on which the solution of the present difficulty
will depend. Does it happen, in all these relations, that,
when one of the objects is presented to the senses or
memory, the mind is not only carried to the conception
of the correlative, but reaches a steadier and stronger
conception of it than what otherwise it would have been
able to attain? This seems to be the case with that
belief which arises from the relation of cause and effect.
And if the case be the same with the other relations
or principles of associations, this may be established as
a general law, which takes place in all the operations of
the mind.
We may, therefore, observe, as the first experiment
to our present purpose, that, upon the appearance of the
picture of an absent friend, our idea of him is evidently
enlivened by the resemblance, and that every passion, which
that idea occasions, whether of joy or sorrow, acquires
new force and vigour. In producing this effect, there
concur both a relation and a present impression. Where
the picture bears him no resemblance, at least was not
intended for him, it never so much as conveys our thought
to him: and where it is absent, as well as the person,
though the mind may pass from the thought of the one to
that of the other, it feels its idea to be rather weakened
than enlivened by that transition. We take a pleasure in
viewing the picture of a friend, when it is set before us;
but when it is removed, rather choose to consider him
directly than by reflection in an image, which is equally
distant and obscure.
The ceremonies of the Roman Catholic religion may
be considered as instances of the same nature. The dev-
otees of that superstition usually plead in excuse for the
mummeries, with which they are upbraided, that they
feel the good effect of those external motions, and pos-
tures, and actions, in enlivening their devotion and quick-
ening their fervour, which otherwise would decay, if
directed entirely to distant and immaterial objects. We
shadow out the objects of our faith, say they, in sensible
types and images, and render them more present to us
by the immediate presence of these types, than it is pos-
sible for us to do merely by an intellectual view and
contemplation. Sensible objects have always a greater in-
fluence on the fancy than any other; and this influence
they readily convey to those ideas to which they are
related, and which they resemble. I shall only infer from
these practices, and this reasoning, that the effect of resem-
blance in enlivening the ideas is very common; and as in
every case a resemblance and a present impression must
concur, we are abundantly supplied with experiments to
prove the reality of the foregoing principle.
We may add force to these experiments by others of
a different kind, in considering the effects of contiguity as
well as of resemblance. It is certain that distance dimin-
ishes the force of every idea, and that, upon our approach
to any object; though it does not discover itself to our
senses; it operates upon the mind with an influence, which
imitates an immediate impression. The thinking on any
object readily transports the mind to what is contiguous;
but it is only the actual presence of an object, that trans-
ports it with a superior vivacity. When I am a few miles
from home, whatever relates to it touches me more nearly
than when I am two hundred leagues distant; though even
at that distance the reflecting on any thing in the neigh-
bourhood of my friends or family naturally produces an
idea of them. But as in this latter case, both the objects
of the mind are ideas; notwithstanding there is an easy
transition between them; that transition alone is not able to
give a superior vivacity to any of the ideas, for want of
some immediate impression.[2]
No one can doubt but causation has the same influence
as the other two relations of resemblance and contiguity.
Superstitious people are fond of the reliques of saints and
holy men, for the same reason, that they seek after types
or images, in order to enliven their devotion, and give them
a more intimate and strong conception of those exemplary
lives, which they desire to imitate. Now it is evident, that
one of the best reliques, which a devotee could procure,
would be the handywork of a saint; and if his cloaths and
furniture are ever to be considered in this light, it is be-
cause they were once at his disposal, and were moved and
affected by him; in which respect they are to be considered
as imperfect effects, and as connected with him by a shorter
chain of consequences than any of those, by which we learn
the reality of his existence.
Suppose, that the son of a friend, who had been long
dead or absent, were presented to us; it is evident, that
this object would instantly revive its correlative idea, and
recall to our thoughts all past intimacies and familiarities,
in more lively colours than they would otherwise have ap-
peared to us. This is another phaenomenon, which seems
to prove the principle above mentioned.
We may observe, that, in these phaenomena, the belief
of the correlative object is always presupposed; without
which the relation could have no effect. The influence of
the picture supposes, that we believe our friend to have
once existed. Contiguity to home can never excite our
ideas of home, unless we believe that it really exists. Now
I assert, that this belief, where it reaches beyond the
memory or senses, is of a similar nature, and arises from
similar causes, with the transition of thought and vivacity of
conception here explained. When I throw a piece of dry
wood into a fire, my mind is immediately carried to con-
ceive, that it augments, not extinguishes the flame. This
transition of thought from the cause to the effect proceeds
not from reason. It derives its origin altogether from
custom and experience. And as it first begins from an
object, present to the senses, it renders the idea or con-
ception of flame more strong and lively than any loose,
floating reverie of the imagination. That idea arises im-
mediately. The thought moves instantly towards it, and
conveys to it all that force of conception, which is derived
from the impression present to the senses. When a sword
is levelled at my breast, does not the idea of wound and
pain strike me more strongly, than when a glass of wine
is presented to me, even though by accident this idea
should occur after the appearance of the latter object?
But what is there in this whole matter to cause such a strong
conception, except only a present object and a customary
transition of the idea of another object, which we have
been accustomed to conjoin with the former? This is the
whole operation of the mind, in all our conclusions con-
cerning matter of fact and existence; and it is a satisfaction
to find some analogies, by which it may be explained.
The transition from a present object does in all cases give
strength and solidity to the related idea.
Here, then, is a kind of pre-established harmony between
the course of nature and the succession of our ideas; and
though the powers and forces, by which the former is gov-
erned, be wholly unknown to us; yet our thoughts and
conceptions have still, we find, gone on in the same train
with the other works of nature. Custom is that principle,
by which this correspondence has been effected; so neces-
sary to the subsistence of our species, and the regulation of
our conduct, in every circumstance and occurrence of hu-
man life. Had not the presence of an object, instantly
excited the idea of those objects, commonly conjoined with
it, all our knowledge must have been limited to the narrow
sphere of our memory and senses; and we should never
have been able to adjust means to ends, or employ our
natural powers, either to the producing of good, or avoiding
of evil. Those, who delight in the discovery and contem-
plation of final causes, have here ample subject to employ
their wonder and admiration.
I shall add, for a further confirmation of the foregoing
theory, that, as this operation of the mind, by which we
infer like effects from like causes, and vice versa, is so
essential to the subsistence of all human creatures, it is
not probable, that it could be trusted to the fallacious de-
ductions of our reason, which is slow in its operations;
appears not, in any degree, during the first years of infancy;
and at best is, in every age and period of human life, ex-
tremely liable to error and mistake. It is more conformable
to the ordinary wisdom of nature to secure so necessary an
act of the mind, by some instinct or mechanical tendency,
which may be infallible in its operations, may discover
itself at the first appearance of life and thought, and may
be independent of all the laboured deductions of the under-
standing. As nature has taught us the use of our limbs,
without giving us the knowledge of the muscles and nerves,
by which they are actuated; so has she implanted in us
an instinct, which carries forward the thought in a corre-
spondent course to that which she has established among
external objects; though we are ignorant of those powers
and forces, on which this regular course and succession
of objects totally depends.
[1] Nothing is more useful than for writers, even, on moral, political, or
physical subjects, to distinguish between reason and experience, and to sup-
pose, that these species of argumentation are entirely different from each
other. The former are taken for the mere result of our intellectual facul-
ties, which, by considering a priori the nature of things, and examining the
effects, that must follow from their operation, establish particular prin-
ciples of science and philosophy. The latter are supposed to be derived
entirely from sense and observation, by which we learn what has actually
resulted from the operation of particular objects, and are thence able to
infer, what will, for the future, result from them. Thus, for instance, the
limitations and restraints of civil government, and a legal constitution, may
be defended, either from reason, which reflecting on the great frailty and
corruption of human nature, teaches, that no man can safely be trusted
with unlimited authority; or from experience and history, which inform us
of the enormous abuses, that ambition, in every age and country, has been
found to make so imprudent a confidence.
The same distinction between reason and experience is maintained in all
our deliberations concerning the conduct of life; while the experienced states-
man, general, physician, or merchant is trusted and followed; and the unprac-
tised novice, with whatever natural talents endowed, neglected and despised.
Though it be allowed, that reason may form very plausible conjectures with
regard to the consequences of such a particular conduct in such particular
circumstances; it is still supposed imperfect, without the assistance of experi-
ence, which is alone able to give stability and certainty to the maxims,
derived from study and reflection.
But notwithstanding that this distinction be thus universally received,
both in the active and speculative scenes of life, I shall not scruple to pro-
nounce, that it is, at bottom, erroneous, at least, superficial.
If we examine those arguments, which, in any of the sciences above
mentioned, are supposed to be mere effects of reasoning and reflection,
they will be found to terminate, at last, in some general principle or, con-
clusion, for which we can assign no reason but observation and experience.
The only difference between them and those maxims, which are vulgarly
esteemed the result of pure experience, is, that the former cannot be estab-
lished without some process of thought, and some reflection on what we
have observed, in order to distinguish its circumstances, and trace its con-
sequences: Whereas in the latter, the experienced event is exactly and fully
familiar to that which we infer as the result of any particular situation.
The history of a TIBERIUS or a NERO makes us dread a like tyranny, were
our monarchs freed from the restraints of laws and senates: But the observa-
tion of any fraud or cruelty in private life is sufficient, with the aid of a
little thought, to give us the same apprehension; while it serves as an
instance of the general corruption of human nature, and shows us the
danger which we must incur by reposing an entire confidence in mankind.
In both cases, it is experience which is ultimately the foundation of our
inference and conclusion.
There is no man so young and inexperienced, as not to have formed,
from observation, many general and just maxims concerning human affairs
and the conduct of life; but it must be confessed, that, when a man comes
to put these in practice, he will be extremely liable to error, till time and
farther experience both enlarge these maxims, and teach him their proper
use and application. In every situation or incident, there are many par-
ticular and seemingly minute circumstances, which the man of greatest
talent is, at first, apt to overlook, though on them the justness of his con-
clusions, and consequently the prudence of his conduct, entirely depend.
Not to mention, that, to a young beginner, the general observations and
maxims occur not always on the proper occasions, nor can be immediately
applied with due calmness and distinction. The truth is, an unexperienced
reasoner could be no reasoner at all, were he absolutely unexperienced; and
when we assign that character to any one, we mean it only in a compara-
tive sense, and suppose him possessed of experience, in a smaller and more
imperfect degree.
[2] 'Naturane nobis, inquit, datum dicam, an errore quodam, ut, cum ea
loca videamus, in quibus memoria dignos viros acceperimus multim esse
versatos, magis moveamur, quam siquando eorum ipsorum aut facta audiamus
aut scriptum aliquod legamus? Velut ego nunc moveor. Venit enim mihi
Plato in mentem, quem accepimus primum hic disputare solitum; cuius
etiam illi hortuli propinqui non memoriam solum mihi afferunt, sed ipsum
videntur in conspectu meo hic ponere. Hic Speusippus, hic Xenocrates, hic
eius auditor Polemo; cuius ipsa illa sessio fuit, quam videmus. Equidem
etiam curiam nostram, Hostiliam dico, non hanc novam, quae mihi minor
esse videtur postquam est maior, solebam intuens, Scipionem, Catonem,
Laelium, nostrum vero in primis avum cogitare. Tanta vis admonitionis
est in locis; ut non sine causa ex his memopriae deducta sit disciplina.'--
Cicero de Finibus. Lib. v.
SECTION VI
OF PROBABILITY[1]
THOUGH there be no such thing as Chance in the
world; our ignorance of the real cause of any event
has the same influence on the understanding, and be-
gets a like species of belief or opinion.
There is certainly a probability, which arises from a
superiority of chances on any side; and according as this
superiority increases, and surpasses the opposite chances,
the probability receives a proportionable increase, and be-
gets still a higher degree of belief or assent to that side,
in which we discover the superiority. If a dye were marked
with one figure or number of spots on four sides, and with
another figure or number of spots on the two remaining
sides, it would be more probable, that the former would
turn up than the latter; though, if it had a thousand sides
marked in the same manner, and only one side different,
the probability would be much higher, and our belief or
expectation of the event more steady and secure. This pro-
cess of the thought or reasoning may seem trivial and
obvious; but to those who consider it more narrowly, it
may, perhaps, afford matter for curious speculation.
It seems evident, that, when the mind looks forward to
discover the event, which may result from the throw of
such a dye, it considers the turning up of each particular
side as alike probable; and this is the very nature of chance,
to render all the particular events, comprehended in it, en-
tirely equal. But finding a greater number of sides concur
in the one event than in the other, the mind is carried more
frequently to that event, and meets it oftener, in revolving
the various possibilities or chances, on which the ultimate
result depends. This concurrence of several views in one
particular event begets immediately, by an inexplicable con-
trivance of nature, the sentiment of belief, and gives that
event the advantage over its antagonist, which is supported
by a smaller number of views, and recurs less frequently to
the mind. If we allow, that belief is nothing but a firmer
and stronger conception of an object than what attends the
mere fictions of the imagination, this operation may, perhaps,
in some measure, be accounted for. The concurrence of
these several views or glimpses imprints the idea more
strongly on the imagination; gives it superior force and
vigour; renders its influence on the passions and affections
more sensible; and in a word, begets that reliance or security,
which constitutes the nature of belief and opinion.
The case is the same with the probability of causes, as
with that of chance. There are some causes, which are
entirely uniform and constant in producing a particular
effect; and no instance has ever yet been found of any
failure or irregularity in their operation. Fire has always
burned, and water suffocated every human creature: the
production of motion by impulse and gravity is an universal
law, which has hitherto admitted of no exception. But there
are other causes, which have been found more irregular and
uncertain; nor has rhubarb always proved a purge, or
opium a soporific to every one, who has taken these medi-
cines. It is true, when any cause fails of producing its
usual effect, philosophers ascribe not this to any irregularity
in nature; but suppose, that some secret causes, in the
particular structure of parts, have prevented the operation.
Our reasonings, however, and conclusions concerning the
event are the same as if this principle had no place. Being
determined by custom to transfer the past to the future, in
all our inferences; where the past has been entirely regular
and uniform, we expect the event with the greatest assur-
ance, and leave no room for any contrary supposition. But
where different effects have been found to follow from
causes, which are to appearance exactly similar, all these
various effects must occur to the mind in transferring the
past to the future, and enter into our consideration, when we
determine the probability of the event. Though we give the
preference to that which has been found most usual, and be-
lieve that this effect will exist, we must not overlook the
other effects, but must assign to each of them a particular
weight and authority, in proportion as we have found it to
be more or less frequent. It is more probable, in almost
every country of Europe, that there will be frost sometime
in January, than that the weather will continue open through
out that whole month; though this probability varies accord-
ing to the different climates, and approaches to a certainty
in the more northern kingdoms. Here then it seems evident,
that, when we transfer the past to the future, in order to
determine the effect, which will result from any cause, we
transfer all the different events, in the same proportion as
they have appeared in the past, and conceive one to have
existed a hundred times, for instance, another ten times, and
another once. As a great number of views do here concur
in one event, they fortify and confirm it to the imagination,
beget that sentiment which we call belief, and give its object
the preference above the contrary event, which is not sup-
ported by an equal number of experiments, and recurs not so
frequently to the thought in transferring the past to the
future. Let any one try to account for this operation of the
mind upon any of the received systems of philosophy, and
he will be sensible of the difficulty. For my part, I shall
think it sufficient, if the present hints excite the curiosity of
philosophers, and make them sensible how defective all com-
mon theories are in treating of such curious and such
sublime subjects.
[1] Mr. Locke divides all arguments into demonstrative and probable. In
this view, we must say, that it is only probable that all men must die, or that
the sun will rise to-morrow. But to conform our language more to common
use, we ought to divide arguments into demonstrations, proofs, and proba-
bilities. By proofs meaning such arguments from experience as leave no
room for doubt or opposition.
SECTION VII
OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNEXION
PART I
THE great advantage of the mathematical sciences
above the moral consists in this, that the ideas of the
former, being sensible, are always clear and determin-
ate, the smallest distinction between them is immediately per-
ceptible, and the same terms are still expressive of the same
ideas, without ambiguity or variation. An oval is never mis-
taken for a circle, nor an hyperbola for an ellipsis. The isos-
celes and scalenum are distinguished by boundaries more ex-
act than vice and virtue, right and wrong. If any term be
defined in geometry, the mind readily, of itself, substitutes, on
all occasions, the definition for the term defined: or even when
no definition is employed, the object itself may be presented
to the senses, and by that means be steadily and clearly
apprehended. But the finer sentiments of the mind, the
operations of the understanding, the various agitations of
the passions, though really in themselves distinct, easily
escape us, when surveyed by reflection; nor is it in our
power to recall the original object, as often as we have oc-
casion to contemplate it. Ambiguity, by this means, is
gradually introduced into our reasonings: similar objects are
readily taken to be the same: and the conclusion becomes at
last very wide of the premises.
One may safely, however, affirm, that, if we consider these
sciences in a proper light, their advantages and disadvan-
tages nearly compensate each other, and reduce both of them
to a state of equality. If the mind, with greater facility, re-
tains the ideas of geometry clear and determinate, it must
carry on a much longer and more intricate chain of reason-
ing, and compare ideas much wider of each other, in order to
reach the abstruser truths of that science. And if moral
ideas are apt, without extreme care, to fall into obscurity and
confusion, the inferences are always much shorter in these
disquisitions, and the intermediate steps, which lead to the
conclusion, much fewer than in the sciences which treat of
quantity and number. In reality, there is scarcely a proposi-
tion in Euclid so simple, as not to consist of more parts, than
are to be found in any moral reasoning which runs not into
chimera and conceit. Where we trace the principles of the
human mind through a few steps, we may be very well satis-
fied with our progress; considering how soon nature throws
a bar to all our enquiries concerning causes, and reduces
us to an acknowledgment of our ignorance. The chief ob-
stacle, therefore, to our improvement in the moral or meta-
physical sciences is the obscurity of the ideas, and ambiguity
of the terms. The principal difficulty in the mathematics is
the length of inferences and compass of thought, requisite
to the forming of any conclusion. And, perhaps, our prog-
ress in natural philosophy is chiefly retarded by the want of
proper experiments and phaenomena, which are often dis-
covered by chance, and cannot always be found, when
requisite, even by the most diligent and prudent enquiry.
As moral philosophy seems hitherto to have received less im-
provement than either geometry or physics, we may con-
clude, that, if there be any difference in this respect among
these sciences, the difficulties, which obstruct the progress of
the former, require superior care and capacity to be sur-
mounted.
There are no ideas, which occur in metaphysics, more
obscure and uncertain, than those of power, force, energy or
necessary connexion, of which it is every moment necessary
for us to treat in all our disquisitions. We shall, therefore,
endeavour, in this section, to fix, if possible, the precise
meaning of these terms, and thereby remove some part of
that obscurity, which is so much complained of in this
species of philosophy.
It seems a proposition, which will not admit of much dis-
pute, that all our ideas are nothing but copies of our im-
pressions, or, in other words, that it is impossible for us to
think of anything, which we have not antecedently felt, either
by our external or internal senses. I have endeavoured[1] to
explain and prove this proposition, and have expressed my
hopes, that, by a proper application of it, men may reach
a greater clearness and precision in philosophical reasonings,
than what they have hitherto been able to attain. Complex
ideas, may, perhaps, be well known by definition, which is
nothing but an enumeration of those parts or simple ideas,
that compose them. But when we have pushed up defini-
tions to the most simple ideas, and find still more ambiguity
and obscurity; what resource are we then possessed of? By
what invention can we throw light upon these ideas, and
render them altogether precise and determinate to our intel-
lectual view? Produce the impressions or original senti-
ments, from which the ideas are copied. These impressions
are all strong and sensible. They admit not of ambiguity.
They are not only placed in a full light themselves, but may
throw light on their correspondent ideas, which lie in ob-
scurity. And by this means, we may, perhaps, attain a new
microscope or species of optics, by which, in the moral
sciences, the most minute, and most simple ideas may be so
enlarged as to fall readily under our apprehension, and be
equally known with the grossest and most sensible ideas, that
can be the object of our enquiry.
To be fully acquainted, therefore, with the idea of power
or necessary connexion, let us examine its impression; and
in order to find the impression with greater certainty, let us
search for it in all the sources, from which it may possibly
be derived.
When we look about us towards external objects, and
consider the operation of causes, we are never able, in
a single instance, to discover any power or necessary con-
nexion; any quality, which binds the effect to the cause,
and renders the one an infallible consequence of the other.
We only find, that the one does actually, in fact, follow the
other. The impulse of one billiard-ball is attended with
motion in the second. This is the whole that appears to
the outward senses. The mind feels no sentiment or inward
impression from this succession of objects: consequently,
there is not, in any single, particular instance of cause and
effect, any thing which can suggest the idea of power or
necessary connexion.
From the first appearance of an object, we never can
conjecture what effect will result from it. But were the
power or energy of any cause discoverable by the mind, we
could foresee the effect, even without experience; and might,
at first, pronounce with certainty concerning it, by mere dint
of thought and reasoning.
In reality, there is no part of matter, that does ever, by
its sensible qualities, discover any power or energy, or give
us ground to imagine, that it could produce any thing, or
be followed by any other object, which we could denominate
its effect. Solidity, extension, motion; these qualities are
all complete in themselves, and never point out any other
event which may result from them. The scenes of the uni-
verse are continually shifting, and one object follows another
in an uninterrupted succession; but the power of force,
which actuates the whole machine, is entirely concealed
from us, and never discovers itself in any of the sensible
qualities of body. We know that, in fact, heat is a constant
attendant of flame; but what is the connexion between them,
we have no room so much as to conjecture or imagine.
It is impossible, therefore, that the idea of power can be
derived from the contemplation of bodies, in single instances
of their operation; because no bodies ever discover any
power, which can be the original of this idea.[2]
Since, therefore, external objects as they appear to the
senses, give us no idea of power or necessary connexion, by
their operation in particular instances, let us see, whether
this idea be derived from reflection on the operations of our
own minds, and be copied from any internal impression.
It may be said, that we are every moment conscious of
internal power; while we feel, that, by the simple command
of our will, we can move the organs of our body, or direct
the faculties of our mind. An act of volition produces
motion in our limbs, or raises a new idea in our imagination.
This influence of the will we know by consciousness. Hence
we acquire the idea of power or energy; and are certain,
that we ourselves and all other intelligent beings are pos-
sessed of power. This idea, then, is an idea of reflection,
since it arises from reflecting on the operations of our own
mind, and on the command which is exercised by will, both
over the organs of the body and faculties of the soul.
We shall proceed to examine this pretension; and first
with regard to the influence of volition over the organs of
the body. This influence, we may observe, is a fact, which,
like all other natural events, can be known only by experi-
ence, and can never be foreseen from any apparent energy
or power in the cause, which connects it with the effect, and
renders the one an infallible consequence of the other.
The motion of our body follows upon the command of our
will. Of this we are every moment conscious. But the
means, by which this is effected; the energy, by which the
will performs so extraordinary an operation; of this we are
so far from being immediately conscious, that it must for
ever escape our most diligent enquiry.
For first: Is there any principle in all nature more
mysterious than the union of soul with body; by which a
supposed spiritual substance acquires such an influence over
a material one, that the most refined thought is able to
actuate the grossest matter? Were we empowered, by a
secret wish, to remove mountains, or control the planets in
their orbit; this extensive authority would not be more
extraordinary, nor more beyond our comprehension. But
if by consciousness we perceived any power or energy in the
will, we must know this power; we must know its connexion
with the effect; we must know the secret union of soul and
body, and the nature of both these substances; by which
the one is able to operate, in so many instances, upon the
other.
Secondly, We are not able to move all the organs of the
body with a like authority; though we cannot assign any
reason besides experience, for so remarkable a difference
between one and the other. Why has the will an influence
over the tongue and fingers, not over the heart or liver?
This question would never embarrass us, were we conscious
of a power in the former case, not in the latter. We should
then perceive, independent of experience, why the authority
of will over the organs of the body is circumscribed within
such particular limits. Being in that case fully acquainted
with the power or force, by which it operates, we should also
know, why its influence reaches precisely to such boundaries,
and no farther.
A man, suddenly struck with palsy in the leg or arm, or
who had newly lost those members, frequently endeavours,
at first to move them, and employ them, in their usual offices.
Here he is as much conscious of power to command such
limbs, as a man in perfect health is conscious of power to
actuate any member which remains in its natural state and
condition. But consciousness never deceives. Consequently,
neither in the one case nor in the other, are we ever
conscious of any power. We learn the influence of our will
from experience alone. And experience only teaches us,
how one event constantly follows another; without in-
structing us in the secret connexion, which binds them
together, and renders them inseparable.
Thirdly, We learn from anatomy, that the immediate
object of power in voluntary motion, is not the member
itself which is moved, but certain muscles, and nerves, and
animal spirits, and, perhaps, something still more minute
and more unknown, through which the motion is successively
propagated, ere it reach the member itself whose motion is
the immediate object of volition. Can there be a more
certain proof, that the power, by which this whole operation
is performed, so far from being directly and fully known by
an inward sentiment or consciousness is, to the last degree,
mysterious and unintelligible? Here the mind wills a certain
event. Immediately another event, unknown to ourselves,
and totally different from the one intended, is produced:
This event produces another, equally unknown: till at last,
through a long succession, the desired event is produced.
But if the original power were felt, it must be known: were
it known, its effect also must be known; since all power is
relative to its effect. And vice versa, if the effect be not
known, the power cannot be known nor felt. How indeed
can we be conscious of a power to move our limbs, when
we have no such power; but only that to move certain
animal spirits, which, though they produce at last the motion
of our limbs, yet operate in such a manner as is wholly
beyond our comprehension?
We may, therefore, conclude from the whole, I hope,
without any temerity, though with assurance; that our idea
of power is not copied from any sentiment or consciousness
of power within ourselves, when we give rise to animal
motion, or apply our limbs to their proper use and office.
That their motion follows the command of the will is a
matter of common experience, like other natural events:
But the power or energy by which this is effected, like that
in other natural events, is unknown and inconceivable.[3]
Shall we then assert, that we are conscious of a power or
energy in our own minds, when, by an act or command of
our will, we raise up a new idea, fix the mind to the con-
templation of it, turn it on all sides, and at last dismiss it
for some other idea, when we think that we have surveyed it
with sufficient accuracy? I believe the same arguments will
prove, that even this command of the will gives us no real
idea of force or energy.
First, It must be allowed, that, when we know a power,
we know that very circumstance in the cause, by which it is
enabled to produce the effect: for these are supposed to be
synonymous. We must, therefore, know both the cause and
effect, and the relation between them. But do we pretend
to be acquainted with the nature of the human soul and the
nature of an idea, or the aptitude of the one to produce the
other? This is a real creation; a production of something
out of nothing: which implies a power so great, that it may
seem, at first sight, beyond the reach of any being, less than
infinite. At least it must be owned, that such a power is
not felt, nor known, nor even conceivable by the mind.
We only feel the event, namely, the existence of an idea,
consequent to a command of the will: but the manner, in
which this operation is performed, the power by which it is
produced, is entirely beyond our comprehension.
Secondly, The command of the mind over itself is limited,
as well as its command over the body; and these limits are
not known by reason, or any acquaintance with the nature
of cause and effect, but only by experience and observation,
as in all other natural events and in the operation of external
objects. Our authority over our sentiments and passions is
much weaker than that over our ideas; and even the latter
authority is circumscribed within very narrow boundaries.
Will any one pretend to assign the ultimate reason of these
boundaries, or show why the power is deficient in one case,
not in another.
Thirdly, This self-command is very different at different
times. A man in health possesses more of it than one
languishing with sickness. We are more master of our
thoughts in the morning than in the evening: fasting, than
after a full meal. Can we give any reason for these varia-
tions, except experience? Where then is the power, of which
we pretend to be conscious? Is there not here, either in
a spiritual or material substance, or both, some secret mech-
anism or structure of parts, upon which the effect de-
pends, and which, being entirely unknown to us, renders
the power or energy of the will equally unknown and
incomprehensible?
Volition is surely an act of the mind, with which we are
sufficiently acquainted. Reflect upon it. Consider it on
all sides. Do you find anything in it like this creative power,
by which it raises from nothing a new idea, and with a kind
of Fiat, imitates the omnipotence of its Maker, if I may be
allowed so to speak, who called forth into existence all the
various scenes of nature? So far from being conscious of
this energy in the will, it requires as certain experience as
that of which we are possessed, to convince us that such ex-
traordinary effects do ever result from a simple act of
volition.
The generality of mankind never find any difficulty in
accounting for the more common and familiar operations of
nature--such as the descent of heavy bodies, the growth
of plants, the generation of animals, or the nourishment of
bodies by food: but suppose that, in all these cases, they
perceive the very force or energy of the cause, by which it is
connected with its effect, and is for ever infallible in its
operation. They acquire, by long habit, such a turn of
mind, that, upon the appearance of the cause, they immedi-
ately expect with assurance its usual attendant, and hardly
conceive it possible that any other event could result from
it. It is only on the discovery of extraordinary phaenomena,
such as earthquakes, pestilence, and prodigies of any kind,
that they find themselves at a loss to assign a proper cause,
and to explain the manner in which the effect is produced
by it. It is usual for men, in such difficulties, to have re-
course to some invisible intelligent principle[4] as the imme-
diate cause of that event which surprises them, and which,
they think, cannot be accounted for from the common
powers of nature. But philosophers, who carry their scrutiny
a little farther, immediately perceive that, even in the most
familiar events, the energy of the cause is as unintelligible
as in the most unusual, and that we only learn by experience
the frequent Conjunction of objects, without being ever able
to comprehend anything like Connexion between them.
Here, then, many philosophers think themselves obliged by
reason to have recourse, on all occasions, to the same
principle, which the vulgar never appeal to but in cases
that appear miraculous and supernatural. They acknowledge
mind and intelligence to be, not only the ultimate and
original cause of all things, but the immediate and sole cause
of every event which appears in nature. They pretend
that those objects which are commonly denominated causes,
are in reality nothing but occasions; and that the true and
direct principle of every effect is not any power or force in
nature, but a volition of the Supreme Being, who wills that
such particular objects should for ever be conjoined with
each other. Instead of saying that one billiard-ball moves
another by a force which it has derived from the author of
nature, it is the Deity himself, they say, who, by a particular
volition, moves the second ball, being determined to this
operation by the impulse of the first ball, in consequence
of those general laws which he has laid down to himself in
the government of the universe. But philosophers advanc-
ing still in their inquiries, discover that, as we are totally
ignorant of the power on which depends the mutual opera-
tion of bodies, we are no less ignorant of that power on
which depends the operation of mind on body, or of body
on mind, nor are we able, either from our senses or con-
sciousness, to assign the ultimate principle in one case more
than in the other. The same ignorance, therefore, reduces
them to the same conclusion. They assert that the Deity
is the immediate cause of the union between soul and body;
and that they are not the organs of sense, which, being
agitated by external objects, produce sensations in the mind;
but that it is a particular volition of our omnipotent Maker,
which excites such a sensation, in consequence of such a
motion in the organ. In like manner, it is not any energy
in the will that produces local motion in our members: it
is God himself, who is pleased to second our will, in itself
impotent, and to command that motion which we erro-
neously attribute to our own power and efficacy. Nor do
philosophers stop at this conclusion. They sometimes extend
the same inference to the mind itself, in its internal opera-
tions. Our mental vision or conception of ideas is noth-
ing but a revelation made to us by our Maker. When
we voluntarily turn our thoughts to any object, and raise up
its image in the fancy, it is not the will which creates that
idea: it is the universal Creator, who discovers it to the
mind, and renders it present to us.
Thus, according to these philosophers, every thing is full
of God. Not content with the principle, that nothing exists
but by his will, that nothing possesses any power but by his
concession: they rob nature, and all created beings, of
every power, in order to render their dependence on the
Deity still more sensible and immediate. They consider
not that, by this theory, they diminish, instead of magni-
fying, the grandeur of those attributes, which they affect so
much to celebrate. It argues surely more power in the
Deity to delegate a certain degree of power to inferior
creatures than to produce every thing by his own im-
mediate volition. It argues more wisdom to contrive at
first the fabric of the world with such perfect foresight
that, of itself, and by its proper operation, it may serve all
the purposes of providence, than if the great Creator were
obliged every moment to adjust its parts, and animate by
his breath all the wheels of that stupendous machine.
But if we would have a more philosophical confutation
of this theory, perhaps the two following reflections may
suffice:
First, it seems to me that this theory of the universal
energy and operation of the Supreme Being is too bold
ever to carry conviction with it to a man, sufficiently ap-
prized of the weakness of human reason, and the narrow
limits to which it is confined in all its operations. Though
the chain of arguments which conduct to it were ever so
logical, there must arise a strong suspicion, if not an
absolute assurance, that it has carried us quite beyond the
reach of our faculties, when it leads to conclusions so
extraordinary, and so remote from common life and ex-
perience. We are got into fairy land, long ere we have
reached the last steps of our theory; and there we have no
reason to trust our common methods of argument, or to
think that our usual analogies and probabilities have any
authority. Our line is too short to fathom such immense
abysses. And however we may flatter ourselves that we
are guided, in every step which we take, by a kind of ver-
isimilitude and experience, we may be assured that this
fancied experience has no authority when we thus apply
it to subjects that lie entirely out of the sphere of ex-
perience. But on this we shall have occasion to touch
afterwards.[5]
Secondly, I cannot perceive any force in the arguments
on which this theory is founded. We are ignorant, it is
true, of the manner in which bodies operate on each other:
their force or energy is entirely incomprehensible: but are
we not equally ignorant of the manner or force by which
a mind, even the supreme mind, operates either on itself or
on body? Whence, I beseech you, do we acquire any idea
of it? We have no sentiment or consciousness of this power
in ourselves. We have no idea of the Supreme Being but
what we learn from reflection on our own faculties. Were
our ignorance, therefore, a good reason for rejecting any
thing, we should be led into that principle of denying all
energy in the Supreme Being as much as in the grossest
matter. We surely comprehend as little the operations of
one as of the other. Is it more difficult to conceive that
motion may arise from impulse than that it may arise from
volition? All we know is our profound ignorance in both
cases.[6]
PART II
BUT to hasten to a conclusion of this argument, which is
already drawn out to too great a length: we have sought
in vain for an idea of power or necessary connexion in all
the sources from which we could suppose it to be derived.
It appears that, in single instances of the operation of bodies,
we never can, by our utmost scrutiny, discover any thing
but one event following another, without being able to com-
prehend any force or power by which the cause operates, or
any connexion between it and its supposed effect. The same
difficulty occurs in contemplating the operations of mind on
body--where we observe the motion of the latter to follow
upon the volition of the former, but are not able to observe
or conceive the tie which binds together the motion and
volition, or the energy by which the mind produces this
effect. The authority of the will over its own faculties and
ideas is not a whit more comprehensible: so that, upon the
whole, there appears not, throughout all nature, any one in-
stance of connexion which is conceivable by us. All events
seem entirely loose and separate. One event follows an-
other; but we never can observe any tie between them. They
seem conjoined, but never connected. And as we can have
no idea of any thing which never appeared to our outward
sense or inward sentiment, the necessary conclusion seems to
be that we have no idea of connexion or power at all, and
that these words are absolutely, without any meaning, when
employed either in philosophical reasonings or common life.
But there still remains one method of avoiding this con-
clusion, and one source which we have not yet examined.
When any natural object or event is presented, it is im-
possible for us, by any sagacity or penetration, to discover,
or even conjecture, without experience, what event will
result from it, or to carry our foresight beyond that object
which is immediately present to the memory and senses.
Even after one instance or experiment where we have ob-
served a particular event to follow upon another, we are not
entitled to form a general rule, or foretell what will happen
in like cases; it being justly esteemed an unpardonable
temerity to judge of the whole course of nature from one
single experiment, however accurate or certain. But when
one particular species of event has always, in all instances,
been conjoined with another, we make no longer any scruple
of foretelling one upon the appearance of the other, and of
employing that reasoning, which can alone assure us of any
matter of fact or existence. We then call the one object,
Cause; the other, Effect. We suppose that there is some
connexion between them; some power in the one, by which
it infallibly produces the other, and operates with the great-
est certainty and strongest necessity.
It appears, then, that this idea of a necessary connexion
among events arises from a number of similar instances
which occur of the constant conjunction of these events;
nor can that idea ever be suggested by any one of these
instances, surveyed in all possible lights and positions. But
there is nothing in a number of instances, different from
every single instance, which is supposed to be exactly
similar; except only, that after a repetition of similar in-
stances, the mind is carried by habit, upon the appearance
of one event, to expect its usual attendant, and to believe
that it will exist. This connexion, therefore, which we feel
in the mind, this customary transition of the imagination
from one object to its usual attendant, is the sentiment or
impression from which we form the idea of power or neces-
sary connexion. Nothing farther is in the case. Contem-
plate the subject on all sides; you will never find any other
origin of that idea. This is the sole difference between one
instance, from which we can never receive the idea of con-
nexion, and a number of similar instances, by which it is
suggested. The first time a man saw the communication of
motion by impulse, as by the shock of two billiard balls, he
could not pronounce that the one event was connected: but
only that it was conjoined with the other. After he has ob-
served several instances of this nature, he then pronounces
them to be connected. What alteration has happened to give
rise to this new idea of connexion? Nothing but that he
now feels these events to be connected in his imagination, and
can readily foretell the existence of one from the appearance
of the other. When we say, therefore, that one object is
connected with another, we mean only that they have ac-
quired a connexion in our thought, and give rise to this
inference, by which they become proofs of each other's ex-
istence: A conclusion which is somewhat extraordinary, but
which seems founded on sufficient evidence. Nor will its
evidence be weakened by any general diffidence of the un-
derstanding, or sceptical suspicion concerning every con-
clusion which is new and extraordinary. No conclusions
can be more agreeable to scepticism than such as make dis-
coveries concerning the weakness and narrow limits of
human reason and capacity.
And what stronger instance can be produced of the sur-
prising ignorance and weakness of the understanding than
the present. For surely, if there be any relation among
objects which it imports to us to know perfectly, it is that of
cause and effect. On this are founded all our reasonings
concerning matter of fact or existence. By means of it
alone we attain any assurance concerning objects which are
removed from the present testimony of our memory and
senses. The only immediate utility of all sciences, is to
teach us, how to control and regulate future events by their
causes. Our thoughts and enquiries are, therefore, every
moment, employed about this relation: yet so imperfect are
the ideas which we form concerning it, that it is impossible
to give any just definition of cause, except what is drawn
from something extraneous and foreign to it. Similar ob-
jects are always conjoined with similar. Of this we have
experience. Suitably to this experience, therefore, we may
define a cause to be an object, followed by another, and
where all the objects similar to the first are followed by
objects similar to the second. Or in other words where, if
the first object had not been, the second never had existed.
The appearance of a cause always conveys the mind, by a
customary transition, to the idea of the effect. Of this also
we have experience. We may, therefore, suitably to this
experience, form another definition of cause, and call it,
an object followed by another, and whose appearance always
conveys the thought to that other. But though both these
definitions be drawn from circumstances foreign to the
cause, we cannot remedy this inconvenience, or attain any
more perfect definition, which may point out that circum-
stance in the cause, which gives it a connexion with its
effect. We have no idea of this connexion, nor even any
distant notion what it is we desire to know, when we en-
deavour at a conception of it. We say, for instance, that
the vibration of this string is the cause of this particular
sound. But what do we mean by that affirmation? We
either mean that this vibration is followed by this sound, and
that all similar vibrations have been followed by similar
sounds; or, that this vibration is followed by this sound, and
that upon the appearance of one the mind anticipates the
senses, and forms immediately an idea of the other. We
may consider the relation of cause and effect in either of
these two lights; but beyond these, we have no idea of it.[7]
To recapitulate, therefore, the reasonings of this section:
Every idea is copied from some preceding impression or
sentiment; and where we cannot find any impression, we
may be certain that there is no idea. In all single instances
of the operation of bodies or minds, there is nothing that
produces any impression, nor consequently can suggest any
idea of power or necessary connexion. But when many
uniform instances appear, and the same object is always
followed by the same event; we then begin to entertain
the notion of cause and connexion. We then feel a new
sentiment or impression, to wit, a customary connexion in
the thought or imagination between one object and its
usual attendant; and this sentiment is the original of that
idea which we seek for. For as this idea arises from
a number of similar instances, and not from any single
instance, it must arise from that circumstance, in which
the number of instances differ from every individual in-
stance. But this customary connexion or transition of the
imagination is the only circumstance in which they dif-
fer. In every other particular they are alike. The first
instance which we saw of motion communicated by the
shock of two billiard balls (to return to this obvious illustra-
tion) is exactly similar to any instance that may, at present,
occur to us; except only, that we could not, at first, infer
one event from the other; which we are enabled to do
at present, after so long a course of uniform experience.
I know not whether the reader will readily apprehend this
reasoning. I am afraid that, should I multiply words about
it, or throw it into a greater variety of lights, it would only
become more obscure and intricate. In all abstract reason-
ings there is one point of view which, if we can happily
hit, we shall go farther towards illustrating the subject
than by all the eloquence and copious expression in the
world. This point of view we should endeavour to reach,
and reserve the flowers of rhetoric for subjects which are
more adapted to them.
[1] Section II.
[2] Mr. Locke, in his chapter of power, says that, finding from experience,
that there are several new productions in matter, and concluding that there
must somewhere be a power capable of producing them, we arrive at last
by this reasoning at the idea of power. But no reasoning can ever give us
a new, original, simple idea; as this philosopher himself confesses. This,
therefore, can never be the origin of that idea.
[3] It may be pretended, that the resistance which we meet with in bodies,
obliging us frequently to exert our force, and call up all our power, this
gives us the idea of force and power. It is this nisus, or strong endeavour, of which we are conscious, that is the original impression from which this
idea is copied. But, first, we attribute power to a vast number of objects,
where we never can suppose this resistance or exertion of force to take
place; to the Supreme Being, who never meets with any resistance; to
the mind in its command over its ideas and limbs, in common thinking
and motion, where the effect follows immediately upon the will, without
any exertion or summoning up of force; to inanimate matter, which is not
capable of this sentiment. Secondly, This sentiment of an endeavour to
overcome resistance has no known connexion with any event: What follows
it, we know by experience; but could not know it a priori. It must, how-
ever, be confessed, that the animal nisus, which we experience, though it
can afford no accurate precise idea of power, enters very much into that
vulgar, inaccurate idea, which is formed by it.
[4] [three greek words]
[5] Section XII.
[6] I need not examine at length the vis inertiae which is so much talked
of in the new philosophy, and which is ascribed to matter. We find by
experience, that a body at rest or in motion continues for ever in its present
state, till put from it by some new cause; and that a body impelled takes
as much motion from the impelling body as it acquires itself. These are
facts. When we call this a vis inertiae, we only mark these facts, without
pretending to have any idea of the inert power; in the same manner as,
when we talk of gravity, we mean certain effects, without comprehending
that active power. It was never the meaning of Sir ISAAC NEWTON to rob
second causes of all force or energy; though some of his followers have
endeavoured to establish that theory upon his authority. On the contrary,
that great philosopher had recourse to an etherial active fluid to explain his universal attraction; though he was so cautious and modest as to allow,
that it was a mere hypothesis, no to be insisted on, without more experi-
ments. I must confess, that there is something in the fate of opinions a
little extraordinary. DES CARTES insinuated that doctrine of the universal
and sole efficacy of the Deity, without insisting on it. MALEBRANCHE and other
CARTESIANS made it the foundation of all their philosophy. It had, however,
no authority in England. LOCKE, CLARKE, and CUDWORTH, never so much
as notice of it, but suppose all along, that matter has a real, though
subordinate and derived power. By what means has it become so prevalent
among our modern metaphysicians?
[7] According to these explications and definitions, the idea of power is
relative as much as that of cause; and both have a reference to an effect, or
some other event constantly conjoined with the former. When we consider
the unknown circumstance of an object, by which the degree or quantity
of its effect is fixed and determined, we call that its power: and accordingly,
it is allowed by all philosophers, that the effect is the measure of the power.
But if they had any idea of power, as it is in itself, why could not they
Measure it in itself? The dispute whether the force of a body in motion
be as its velocity, or the square of its velocity; this dispute, I say, need not
be decided by comparing its effects in equal or unequal times; but by a
direct mensuration and comparison.
As to the frequent use of the words, Force, Power, Energy, &c., which
every where occur in common conversation, as well as in philosophy; that is
no proof, that we are acquainted, in any instance, with the connecting
principle between cause and effect, or can account ultimately for the pro-
duction of one thing to another. These words, as commonly used, have
very loose meanings annexed to them; and their ideas are very uncertain
and confused. No animal can put external bodies in motion without the
sentiment of a nisus or endeavour; and every animal has a sentiment or
feeling from the stroke or blow of an external object, that is in motion.
These sensations, which are merely animal, and from which we can a priori
draw no inference, we are apt to transfer to inanimate objects, and to sup-
pose, that they have some such feelings, whenever they transfer or receive
motion. With regard to energies, which are exerted, without our annexing
to them any idea of communicated motion, we consider only the constant
experienced conjunction of the events; and as we feel a customary con-
nexion between the ideas, we transfer that feeling to the objects; as nothing
is more usual than to apply to external bodies every internal sensation,
which they occasion.