Graduação, 1o Semestre de 2011
Prof. Silvio Seno Chibeni
Departamento de Filosofia - Unicamp
web-site: www.unicamp.br/~chibeni
- e-mail: chibeni@unicamp.br
Versão navegável
dos itens IV a VI do programa do curso, acompanhada dos textos de Hume,
elaborada pelo aluno André de Paula Von Ah.
Edições usadas:
· A Treatise of Human Nature e An
Enquiry concering Human Understanding: Edições de L.A. Selby-Bigge, de domínio público,
disponíveis no site The Online Library of Liberty:
o Treatise: https://oll.libertyfund.org/title/bigge-a-treatise-of-human-nature
· Abstract do Tratado: Edição de domínio público
disponível no site de Theodore Gracyk, Minnesota State University: http://web.mnstate.edu/gracyk/courses/web%20publishing/hume'sabstract.htm
Itens do Programa disponíveis
nesta compilação:
· IV. O projeto filosófico de Hume
· VI. Conhecimento inferencial de questões de fato
1. Hume: A
kind of history of my life: My own life; T Introdução; E 1; A 1-5
Letter
3: To DR GEORGE CHEYNE – “A kind of history of my life”
Hume: TLDH Vol 1 Ltr 3 To: Cheyne [34] p 12 , [March
or April 1734.]
Sir
Not being acquainted with this hand-writing, you will
probably look to the bottom to find the Subscription, & not finding any,
will certainly wonder at this strange method of addressing to you. I must here
in the beginning beg you to excuse it, & to perswade you to read what follows
with some Attention, must tell you, that this gives you an Opportunity to do a
very good-natur'd Action, which I believe is the most powerful Argument I can
use. I need not tell you, that I am your Countryman, a Scotchman; for without
any such tye, I dare rely upon your Humanity, even to a perfect Stranger, such
as I am. The Favour I beg of you is your Advice, & the reason why I address
myself in particular to you need not be told. As one must be a skilful
Physician, a man of Letters, of Wit, of Good Sense, & of great Humanity, to
give me a satisfying Answer, I wish Fame had pointed out to me more Persons, in
whom these Qualities are united, in order to have kept me some time in
Suspense. This I say in the Sincerity of my Heart, & without any Intention of
making a Complement: For tho' it may seem necessary, that in the beginning of
so unusual a Letter, I shou'd say some fine things, to bespeak your good
Opinion, & remove any prejudices you may conceive at it, yet such an
Endeavor to be witty, woud but ill suit with the present Condition of my Mind;
which, I must confess, is not without Anxiety concerning the Judgement you will
form of me. Trusting however to your Candor & Generosity, I shall, without
further Preface, proceed to open up to you the present Condition of my Health,
& to do that the more effectually shall give you a kind of History of my
Life, after which you will easily learn, why I keep my Name a Secret.
Hume: TLDH Vol 1 Ltr 3 To: Cheyne [34] p 13
You must
know then that from my earliest Infancy, I found alwise a strong Inclination to
Books & Letters. As our College Education in Scotland, extending little
further than the Languages, ends commonly when we are about 14 or 15 Years of
Age, I was after that left to my own Choice in my Reading, & found it
encline me almost equally to Books of Reasoning & Philosophy, & to
Poetry & the polite Authors. Every one, who is acquainted either with the
Philosophers or Critics, knows that there is nothing yet establisht in either
of these two Sciences, & that they contain little more than endless
Disputes, even in the most fundamental Articles. Upon Examination of these, I
found a certain Boldness of Temper, growing in me, which was not enclin'd to
submit to any Authority in these Subjects, but led me to seek out some new
Medium, by which Truth might be establisht. After much Study, & Reflection
on this, at last, when I was about 18 Years of Age, there seem'd to be open'd
up to me a new Scene of Thought, which transported me beyond Measure, &
made me, with an Ardor natural to young men, throw up every other Pleasure or
Business to apply entirely to it. The Law, which was the Business I design'd to
follow, appear'd nauseous to me, & I cou'd think of no other way of pushing
my Fortune in the World, but that of a Scholar & Philosopher. I was
infinitely happy in this Course of Life for some Months; till at last, about
the beginning of Septr 1729, all my Ardor seem'd in a moment to be extinguisht,
& I cou'd no longer raise my Mind to that pitch, which formerly gave me
such excessive Pleasure. I felt no Uneasyness or Want of Spirits, when I laid
aside my Book; & therefore never imagind there was any bodily Distemper in
the Case, but that my Coldness proceeded from a Laziness of Temper, which must
be overcome by redoubling my Application. In this Condition I remain'd for nine
Months, very uneasy to myself, as you may well imagine, but without growing any
worse, which was a Miracle.
Hume: TLDH Vol 1 Ltr 3 To: Cheyne [34] p 13
There
was another particular, which contributed more than any thing, to waste my
Spirits & bring on me this Distemper, which was, that having read many
Books of Morality, such as Cicero, Seneca & Plutarch, & being smit with
their beautiful Representations of Virtue & Philosophy, I undertook the Improvement
of my Temper & Will, along with my Reason & Understanding. I was
continually fortifying myself with Reflections against Death, & Poverty,
& Shame, & Pain, & all the other Calamities of Life. These no doubt
are exceeding useful, when join'd with an active Life; because the Occasion
being presented along with the Reflection, works it into the Soul, & makes
it take a deep Impression, but in Solitude they serve to little other Purpose,
than to waste the Spirits, the Force of the Mind meeting with no Resistance,
but wasting itself in the Air, like our Arm when it misses its Aim. This
however I did not learn but by Experience, & till I had already ruin'd my
Health, tho' I was not sensible of it.
Hume: TLDH Vol 1 Ltr 3 To: Cheyne [34] p 14
Some
Scurvy Spots broke out on my Fingers, the first Winter I fell ill, about which
I consulted a very knowing Physician, who gave me some Medicines, that remov'd
these Symptoms, & at the same time gave me a Warning against the Vapors,
which, tho I was laboring under at that time, I fancy'd myself so far remov'd
from, & indeed from any other Disease, except a slight Scurvy, that I
despis'd his Warning. At last about Aprile 1730, when I was 19 Years of Age, a
Symptom, which I had notic'd a little from the beginning, encreas'd
considerably, so that tho' it was no Uneasyness, the Novelty of it made me ask
Advice. It was what they call a Ptyalism or Watryness in the mouth. Upon my
mentioning it to my Physician, he laught at me, & told me I was now a
Brother, for that I had fairly got the Disease of the Learned. Of this he found
great Difficulty to perswade me, finding in myself nothing of that lowness of
Spirit, which those, who labor under that Distemper so much complain of.
However upon his Advice, I went under a Course of Bitters, & Anti-hysteric
Pills. Drunk an English Pint of Claret Wine every Day, & rode 8 or 10
Scotch Miles. This I continu'd for about 7 Months after.
Hume: TLDH Vol 1 Ltr 3 To: Cheyne [34] p 14
Tho I
was sorry to find myself engag'd with so tedious a Distemper yet the Knowledge
of it, set me very much at ease, by satisfying me that my former Coldness,
proceeded not from any Defect of Temper or Genius, but from a Disease, to which
any one may be subject. I now began to take some Indulgence to myself; studied
moderately, & only when I found my Spirits at their highest Pitch, leaving
off before I was weary, & trifling away the rest of my Time in the best
manner I could. In this way, I liv'd with Satisfaction enough; and on my return
to Town next Winter found my Spirits very much recruited, so that, tho they
sunk under me in the higher Flights of Genius, yet I was able to make
considerable Progress in my former Designs. I was very regular in my Diet &
way of Life from the beginning, & all that Winter, made it a constant Rule
to ride twice or thrice a week, & walk every day. For these Reasons, I
expected when I return'd to the Countrey, & cou'd renew my Exercise with
less Interruption, that I wou'd perfectly recover. But in this I was much
mistaken. For next Summer, about May 1731 there grew upon [me] a very ravenous
Appetite, & as quick a Digestion, which I at first took for a good Symptom,
& was very much surpriz'd to find it bring back a Palpitation of Heart,
which I had felt very little of before. This Appetite, however, had an Effect
very unusual, which was to nourish me extremely; so that in 6 weeks time I past
from the one extreme to the other, & being before tall, lean, &
rawbon'd became on a sudden, the most sturdy, robust, healthful-like Fellow you
have seen, with a ruddy Complexion & a chearful Countenance. In excuse for
my Riding, & care of my Health, I alwise said, that I was afraid of a
Consumption; which was readily believ'd from my Looks; but now every Body
congratulate me upon my thorow Recovery. This unnatural Appetite wore off by
degrees, but left me as a Legacy, the same Palpitation of the heart in a small
degree, & a good deal of Wind in my Stomach, which comes away easily, &
without any bad Goût, as is ordinary. However, these Symptoms are little or no
Uneasyness to me. I eat well; I sleep well. Have no lowness of Spirits; at
least never more than what one of the best Health may feel, from too full a
meal, from sitting too near a Fire, & even that degree I feel very seldom,
& never almost in the Morning or Forenoon. Those who live in the same
Family with me, & see me at all times, cannot observe the least Alteration
in my Humor, & rather think me a better Companion than I was before, as
choosing to pass more of my time with them. This gave me such Hopes, that I
scarce ever mist a days riding, except in the Winter-time; & last Summer
undertook a very laborious task, which was to travel 8 Miles every Morning
& as many in the Forenoon, to & from a mineral Well of some Reputation.
I renew'd the Bitters & Anti-hysteric Pills twice, along with
Anti-scorbutic Juices last Spring, but without any considerable Effect, except
abating the Symptoms for a little time.
Hume: TLDH Vol 1 Ltr 3 To: Cheyne [34] p 16
Thus I
have given you a full account of the Condition of my Body, & without
staying to ask Pardon, as I ought to do, for so tedious a Story, shall explain
to you how my Mind stood all this time, which on every Occasion, especially in
this Distemper, have a very near Connexion together. Having now Time & Leizure
to cool my inflam'd Imaginations, I began to consider seriously, how I shou'd
proceed in my Philosophical Enquiries. I found that the moral Philosophy
transmitted to us by Antiquity, labor'd under the same Inconvenience that has
been found in their natural Philosophy, of being entirely Hypothetical, &
depending more upon Invention than Experience. Every one consulted his Fancy in
erecting Schemes of Virtue & of Happiness, without regarding human Nature,
upon which every moral Conclusion must depend. This therefore I resolved to
make my principal Study, & the Source from which I wou'd derive every Truth
in Criticism as well as Morality. I believe 'tis a certain Fact that most of
the Philosophers who have gone before us, have been overthrown by the Greatness
of their Genius, & that little more is requir'd to make a man succeed in
this Study than to throw off all Prejudices either for his own Opinions or for
this of others. At least this is all I have to depend on for the Truth of my
Reasonings, which I have multiply'd to such a degree, that within these three
Years, I find I have scribled many a Quire of Paper, in which there is nothing
contain'd but my own Inventions. This with the Reading most of the celebrated
Books in Latin, French & English, & acquiring the Italian, you may
think a sufficient Business for one in perfect Health; & so it wou'd, had
it been done to any Purpose: But my Disease was a cruel Incumbrance on me. I
found that I was not able to follow out any Train of Thought, by one continued Stretch
of View, but by repeated Interruptions, & by refreshing my Eye from Time to
Time upon other Objects. Yet with this Inconvenience I have collected the rude
Materials for many Volumes; but in reducing these to Words, when one must bring
the Idea he comprehended in gross, nearer to him, so as to contemplate its
minutest Parts, & keep it steddily in his Eye, so as to copy these Parts in
Order, this I found impracticable for me, nor were my Spirits equal to so
severe an Employment. Here lay my greatest Calamity. I had no Hopes of
delivering my Opinions with such Elegance & Neatness, as to draw to me the
Attention of the World, & I wou'd rather live & dye in Obscurity than
produce them maim'd & imperfect.
Hume: TLDH Vol 1 Ltr 3 To: Cheyne [34] p 17
Such a
miserable Disappointment I scarce ever remember to have heard of. The small
Distance betwixt me & perfect Health makes me the more uneasy in my present
Situation. Tis a Weakness rather than a Lowness of Spirits which troubles me,
& there seems to be as great a Difference betwixt my Distemper & common
Vapors, as betwixt Vapors & Madness.
Hume: TLDH Vol 1 Ltr 3 To: Cheyne [34] p 17
I have
notic'd in the Writings of the French Mysticks, & in those of our Fanatics
here, that, when they give a History of the Situation of their Souls, they
mention a Coldness & Desertion of the Spirit, which frequently returns,
& some of them, at the beginning, have been tormented with it many Years.
As this kind of Devotion depends entirely on the Force of Passion, &
consequently of the Animal Spirits, I have often thought that their Case &
mine were pretty parralel, & that their rapturous Admirations might
discompose the Fabric of the Nerves & Brain, as much as profound
Reflections, & that warmth or Enthusiasm which is inseperable from them.
Hume: TLDH Vol 1 Ltr 3 To: Cheyne [34] p 17
However
this may be, I have not come out of the Cloud so well as they commonly tell us
they have done, or rather began to despair of ever recovering. To keep myself
from being Melancholy on so dismal a Prospect, my only Security was in peevish
Reflections on the Vanity of the World & of all humane Glory; which,
however just Sentiments they may be esteem'd, I have found can never be
sincere, except in those who are possest of them. Being sensible that all my
Philosophy wou'd never make me contented in my present Situation, I began to
rouze up myself; & being encourag'd by Instances of Recovery from worse
degrees of this Distemper, as well as by the Assurances of my Physicians, I
began to think of something more effectual, than I had hitherto try'd. I found,
that as there are two things very bad for this Distemper, Study & Idleness,
so there are two things very good, Business & Diversion; & that my
whole Time was spent betwixt the bad, with little or no Share of the Good. For
this reason I resolved to seek out a more active Life, & tho' I cou'd not
quit my Pretensions in Learning, but with my last Breath, to lay them aside for
some time, in order the more effectually to resume them.
Hume: TLDH Vol 1 Ltr 3 To: Cheyne [34] p 18
Upon
Examination I found my Choice confin'd to two kinds of Life; that of a
travelling Governor & that of a Merchant. The first, besides that it is in
some respects an idle Life, was, I found, unfit for me; & that because from
a sedentary & retir'd way of living, from a bashful Temper, & from a
narrow Fortune, I had been little accustom'd to general Companies, & had
not Confidence & Knowledge enough of the World to push my Fortune or be
serviceable in that way. I therefore fixt my Choice upon a Merchant; &
having got Recommendation to a considerable Trader in Bristol, I am just now
hastening thither, with a Resolution to forget myself, & every thing that
is past, to engage myself, as far as is possible, in that Course of Life, &
to toss about the World, from the one Pole to the other, till I leave this
Distemper behind me.
Hume: TLDH Vol 1 Ltr 3 To: Cheyne [34] p 18
As I am
come to London in my way to Bristol, I have resolved, if possible, to get your
Advice, tho' I shou'd take this absurd Method of procuring it. All the
Physicians, I have consulted, tho' very able, cou'd never enter into my
Distemper; because not being Persons of great Learning beyond their own
Profession, they were unacquainted with these Motions of the Mind. Your Fame
pointed you out as the properest Person to resolve my Doubts, & I was
determin'd to have some bodies Opinion, which I cou'd rest upon in all the
Varieties of Fears & Hopes, incident to so lingering a Distemper. I hope I
have been particular enough in describing the Symptoms to allow you to form a
Judgement; or rather perhaps have been too particular. But you know 'tis a
Symptom of this Distemper to delight in complaining & talking of itself.
Hume: TLDH Vol 1 Ltr 3 To: Cheyne [34] p 18
The
Questions I wou'd humbly propose to you are: Whether among all these Scholars,
you have been acquainted with, you have ever known any affected in this manner?
Whether I can ever hope for a Recovery? Whether I must long wait for it?
Whether my Recovery will ever be perfect, & my Spirits regain their former
Spring & Vigor, so as to endure the Fatigue of deep & abstruse
thinking? Whether I have taken a right way to recover? I believe all proper
Medicines have been us'd, & therefore I need mention nothing of them.
-------------------
Hume: MOL Para. 1/21 p. 1
It is difficult for a man to speak long of himself
without vanity; therefore, I shall be short. It may be thought an instance of
vanity that I pretend at all to write my life; but this Narrative shall contain
little more than the History of my Writings; as, indeed, almost all my life has
been spent in literary pursuits and occupations. The first success of most of
my writings was not such as to be an object of vanity.
Hume: MOL Para. 2/21 p. 1
I was born
the 26th of April 1711, old style, at Edinburgh. I was of a good family, both
by father and mother: my father's family is a branch of the Earl of Home's, or
Hume's; and my ancestors had been proprietors of the estate, which my brother
possesses, for several generations. My mother was daughter of Sir David
Falconer, President of the College of Justice: the title of Lord Halkerton came
by succession to her brother.
Hume: MOL Para. 3/21 p. 1
My
family, however, was not rich, and being myself a younger brother, my
patrimony, according to the mode of my country, was of course very slender. My
father, who passed for a man of parts, died when I was an infant, leaving me,
with an elder brother and a sister, under the care of our mother, a woman of
singular merit, who, though young and handsome, devoted herself entirely to the
rearing and educating of her children. I passed through the ordinary course of
education with success, and was seized very early with a passion for
literature, which has been the ruling passion of my life, and the great source
of my enjoyments. My studious disposition, my sobriety, and my industry, gave
my family a notion that the law was a proper profession for me; but I found an
unsurmountable aversion to every thing but the pursuits of philosophy and
general learning; and while they fancied I was poring upon Voet and Vinnius,
Cicero and Virgil were the authors which I was secretly devouring.
Hume: MOL Para. 4/21 p. 2
My very
slender fortune, however, being unsuitable to this plan of life, and my health
being a little broken by my ardent application, I was tempted, or rather
forced, to make a very feeble trial for entering into a more active scene of
life. In 1734, I went to Bristol, with some recommendations to eminent
merchants, but in a few months found that scene totally unsuitable to me. I
went over to France, with a view of prosecuting my studies in a country
retreat; and I there laid that plan of life, which I have steadily and
successfully pursued. I resolved to make a very rigid frugality supply my
deficiency of fortune, to maintain unimpaired my independency, and to regard
every object as contemptible, except the improvement of my talents in
literature.
Hume: MOL Para. 5/21 p. 2
During
my retreat in France, first at Reims, but chiefly at La Fleche, in Anjou, I
composed my Treatise of Human Nature. After passing three years very agreeably
in that country, I came over to London in 1737. In the end of 1738, I published
my Treatise, and immediately went down to my mother and my brother, who lived
at his country house, and was employing himself very judiciously and
successfully in the improvement of his fortune.
Hume: MOL Para. 6/21 p. 2
Never
literary attempt was more unfortunate than my Treatise of Human Nature. It fell
dead-born from the press, without reaching such distinction, as even to excite
a murmur among the zealots. But being naturally of a cheerful and sanguine
temper, I very soon recovered the blow, and prosecuted with great ardour my
studies in the country. In 1742, I printed at Edinburgh the first part of my
Essays: the work was favourably received, and soon made me entirely forget my
former disappointment. I continued with my mother and brother in the country,
and in that time recovered the knowledge of the Greek language, which I had too
much neglected in my early youth.
Hume: MOL Para. 7/21 p. 2
In 1745,
I received a letter from the Marquis of Annandale, inviting me to come and live
with him in England; I found also, that the friends and family of that young
nobleman were desirous of putting him under my care and direction, for the
state of his mind and health required it. I lived with him a twelvemonth. My
appointments during that time made a considerable accession to my small
fortune. I then received an invitation from General St. Clair to attend him as
a secretary to his expedition, which was at first meant against Canada, but
ended in an incursion on the coast of France. Next year, to wit, 1747, I
received an invitation from the General to attend him in the same station in
his military embassy to the courts of Vienna and Turin. I then wore the uniform
of an officer, and was introduced at these courts as aide-de-camp to the
general, along with Sir Harry Erskine and Captain Grant, now General Grant.
These two years were almost the only interruptions which my studies have
received during the course of my life: I passed them agreeably and in good
company; and my appointments, with my frugality, had made me reach a fortune,
which I called independent, though most of my friends were inclined to smile
when I said so; in short, I was now master of near a thousand pounds.
Hume: MOL Para. 8/21 p. 3
I had
always entertained a notion, that my want of success in publishing the Treatise
of Human Nature, had proceeded more from the manner than the matter, and that I
had been guilty of a very usual indiscretion, in going to the press too early.
I, therefore, cast the first part of that work anew in the Enquiry concerning
Human Understanding, which was published while I was at Turin. But this piece
was at first little more successful than the Treatise of Human Nature. On my
return from Italy, I had the mortification to find all England in a ferment, on
account of Dr. Middleton's Free Enquiry, while my performance was entirely
overlooked and neglected. A new edition, which had been published at London, of
my Essays, moral and political, met not with a much better reception.
Hume: MOL Para. 9/21 p. 3
Such is
the force of natural temper, that these disappointments made little or no
impression on me. I went down in 1749, and lived two years with my brother at
his country house, for my mother was now dead. I there composed the second part
of my Essays, which I called Political Discourses, and also my Enquiry
concerning the Principles of Morals, which is another part of my treatise that
I cast anew. Meanwhile, my bookseller, A. Millar, informed me, that my former
publications (all but the unfortunate Treatise) were beginning to be the
subject of conversation; that the sale of them was gradually increasing, and
that new editions were demanded. Answers by Reverends, and Right Reverends,
came out two or three in a year; and I found, by Dr. Warburton's railing, that
the books were beginning to be esteemed in good company. However, I had fixed a
resolution, which I inflexibly maintained, never to reply to any body; and not
being very irascible in my temper, I have easily kept myself clear of all
literary squabbles. These symptoms of a rising reputation gave me
encouragement, as I was ever more disposed to see the favourable than
unfavourable side of things; a turn of mind which it is more happy to possess,
than to be born to an estate of ten thousand a year.
Hume: MOL Para. 10/21 p. 4
In 1751,
I removed from the country to the town, the true scene for a man of letters. In
1752, were published at Edinburgh, where I then lived, my Political Discourses,
the only work of mine that was successful on the first publication. It was well
received abroad and at home. In the same year was published at London, my Enquiry
concerning the Principles of Morals; which, in my own opinion (who ought not to
judge on that subject), is of all my writings, historical, philosophical, or
literary, incomparably the best. It came unnoticed and unobserved into the
world.
Hume: MOL Para. 11/21 p. 4
In 1752,
the Faculty of Advocates chose me their Librarian, an office from which I
received little or no emolument, but which gave me the command of a large
library. I then formed the plan of writing the History of England; but being
frightened with the notion of continuing a narrative through a period of 1700
years, I commenced with the accession of the House of Stuart, an epoch when, I
thought, the misrepresentations of faction began chiefly to take place. I was,
I own, sanguine in my expectations of the success of this work. I thought that
I was the only historian, that had at once neglected present power, interest,
and authority, and the cry of popular prejudices; and as the subject was suited
to every capacity, I expected proportional applause. But miserable was my
disappointment: I was assailed by one cry of reproach, disapprobation, and even
detestation; English, Scotch, and Irish, Whig and Tory, churchman and sectary,
freethinker and religionist, patriot and courtier, united in their rage against
the man, who had presumed to shed a generous tear for the fate of Charles I.
and the Earl of Strafford; and after the first ebullitions of their fury were
over, what was still more mortifying, the book seemed to sink into oblivion.
Mr. Millar told me, that in a twelvemonth he sold only forty-five copies of it.
I scarcely, indeed, heard of one man in the three kingdoms, considerable for
rank or letters, that could endure the book. I must only except the primate of
England, Dr. Herring, and the primate of Ireland, Dr. Stone, which seem two odd
exceptions. These dignified prelates separately sent me messages not to be
discouraged.
Hume: MOL Para. 12/21 p. 5
I was,
however, I confess, discouraged; and had not the war been at that time breaking
out between France and England, I had certainly retired to some provincial town
of the former kingdom, have changed my name, and never more have returned to my
native country. But as this scheme was not now practicable, and the subsequent
volume was considerably advanced, I resolved to pick up courage and to
persevere.
Hume: MOL Para. 13/21 p. 5
In this
interval,†1 I published at London my Natural History of Religion, along with
some other small pieces: its public entry was rather obscure, except only that
Dr. Hurd wrote a pamphlet against it, with all the illiberal petulance,
arrogance, and scurrility which distinguish the Warburtonian school. This
pamphlet gave me some consolation for the otherwise indifferent reception of my
performance.
Hume: MOL Para. 14/21 p. 5
In 1756,
two years after the fall of the first volume, was published the second volume
of my History, containing the period from the death of Charles I. till the
Revolution. This performance happened to give less displeasure to the Whigs,
and was better received. It not only rose itself, but helped to buoy up its
unfortunate brother.
Hume: MOL Para. 15/21 p. 5
But
though I had been taught by experience, that the Whig party were in possession
of bestowing all places, both in the state and in literature, I was so little
inclined to yield to their senseless clamour, that in about a hundred
alterations, which farther study, reading, or reflection engaged me to make in
the reigns of the first two Stuarts, I have made all of them invariably to the
Tory side. It is ridiculous to consider the English constitution before that
period as a regular plan of liberty.
Hume: MOL Para. 16/21 p. 6
In 1759,
I published my History of the House of Tudor. The clamour against this
performance was almost equal to that against the History of the two first
Stuarts. The reign of Elizabeth was particularly obnoxious. But I was now
callous against the impressions of public folly, and continued very peaceably
and contentedly in my retreat at Edinburgh, to finish, in two volumes, the more
early part of the English History, which I gave to the public in 1761, with
tolerable, and but tolerable success.
Hume: MOL Para. 17/21 p. 6
But,
notwithstanding this variety of winds and seasons, to which my writings had
been exposed, they had still been making such advances, that the copy-money
given me by the booksellers, much exceeded any thing formerly known in England;
I was become not only independent, but opulent. I retired to my native country
of Scotland, determined never more to set my foot out of it; and retaining the
satisfaction of never having preferred a request to one great man, or even
making advances of friendship to any of them. As I was now turned of fifty, I
thought of passing all the rest of my life in this philosophical manner, when I
received, in 1763, an invitation from the Earl of Hertford, with whom I was not
in the least acquainted, to attend him on his embassy to Paris, with a near
prospect of being appointed secretary to the embassy; and, in the meanwhile, of
performing the functions of that office. This offer, however inviting, I at
first declined, both because I was reluctant to begin connexions with the
great, and because I was afraid that the civilities and gay company of Paris,
would prove disagreeable to a person of my age and humour: but on his
lordship's repeating the invitation, I accepted of it. I have every reason,
both of pleasure and interest, to think myself happy in my connexions with that
nobleman, as well as afterwards with his brother, General Conway.
Hume: MOL Para. 18/21 p. 6
Those
who have not seen the strange effects of modes, will never imagine the
reception I met with at Paris, from men and women of all ranks and stations.
The more I resiled from their excessive civilities, the more I was loaded with
them. There is, however, a real satisfaction in living at Paris, from the great
number of sensible, knowing, and polite company with which that city abounds
above all places in the universe. I thought once of settling there for life.
Hume: MOL Para. 19/21 p. 7
I was
appointed secretary to the embassy; and in summer 1765, Lord Hertford left me,
being appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. I was charge d'affaires till the
arrival of the Duke of Richmond, towards the end of the year. In the beginning
of 1766, I left Paris, and next summer went to Edinburgh, with the same view as
formerly, of burying myself in a philosophical retreat. I returned to that
place, not richer, but with much more money, and a much larger income, by means
of Lord Hertford's friendship, than I left it; and I was desirous of trying
what superfluity could produce, as I had formerly made an experiment of a
competency. But in 1767, I received from Mr. Conway an invitation to be
Under-secretary; and this invitation, both the character of the person, and my
connexions with Lord Hertford, prevented me from declining. I returned to
Edinburgh in 1769, very opulent (for I possessed a revenue of 1000 l. a year),
healthy, and though somewhat stricken in years, with the prospect of enjoying
long my ease, and of seeing the increase of my reputation.
Hume: MOL Para. 20/21 p. 7
In
spring 1775, I was struck with a disorder in my bowels, which at first gave me
no alarm, but has since, as I apprehend it, become mortal and incurable. I now
reckon upon a speedy dissolution. I have suffered very little pain from my
disorder; and what is more strange, have, notwithstanding the great decline of
my person, never suffered a moment's abatement of my spirits; insomuch, that
were I to name the period of my life, which I should most choose to pass over
again, I might be tempted to point to this later period. I possess the same
ardour as ever in study, and the same gaiety in company. I consider, besides,
that a man of sixty-five, by dying, cuts off only a few years of infirmities;
and though I see many symptoms of my literary reputation's breaking out at last
with additional lustre, I knew that I could have but few years to enjoy it. It
is difficult to be more detached from life than I am at present.
Hume: MOL Para. 21/21 p. 7
To
conclude historically with my own character. I am, or rather was (for that is
the style I must now use in speaking of myself, which emboldens me the more to
speak my sentiments); I was, I say, a man of mild dispositions, of command of
temper, of an open, social, and cheerful humour, capable of attachment, but
little susceptible of enmity, and of great moderation in all my passions. Even
my love of literary fame, my ruling passion, never soured my temper,
notwithstanding my frequent disappointments. My company was not unacceptable to
the young and careless, as well as to the studious and literary; and as I took
a particular pleasure in the company of modest women, I had no reason to be
displeased with the reception I met with from them. In a word, though most men
anywise eminent, have found reason to complain of calumny, I never was touched,
or even attacked by her baleful tooth: and though I wantonly exposed myself to
the rage of both civil and religious factions, they seemed to be disarmed in my
behalf of their wonted fury. My friends never had occasion to vindicate any one
circumstance of my character and conduct: not but that the zealots, we may well
suppose, would have been glad to invent and propagate any story to my
disadvantage, but they could never find any which they thought would wear the
face of probability. I cannot say there is no vanity in making this funeral
oration of myself, but I hope it is not a misplaced one; and this is a matter
of fact which is easily cleared and ascertained.
April 18, 1776.
Nothing is more usual and more natural for those, who pretend to discover any
thing new to the world in philosophy and the sciences, than to insinuate the
praises of their own systems, by decrying all those, which have been advanced
before them. And indeed were they content with lamenting that ignorance, which
we still lie under in the most important questions, that can come before the
tribunal of human reason, there are few, who have an acquaintance with the sciences,
that would not readily agree with them. ’Tis easy for one of judgment and
learning, to perceive the weak foundation even of those systems, which have
obtained the greatest credit, and have carried their pretensions highest to
accurate and profound reasoning. Principles taken upon trust, consequences
lamely deduced from them, want of coherence in the parts, and of evidence in
the whole, these are every where to be met with in the systems of the most
eminent philosophers, and seem to have drawn disgrace upon philosophy itself.
Nor is there requir’d such profound
knowledge to discover the present imperfect condition of the sciences, but even
the rabble without doors may judge from the noise and clamour, which they hear,
that all goes not well within. There is nothing which is not the subject of
debate, and in which men of learning are not of contrary opinions. The most
trivial question escapes not our controversy, and in the most momentous we are
not able to give any certain decision. Disputes are multiplied, as if every
thing was uncertain; and these disputes are managed with the greatest warmth,
as if every thing was certain. Amidst all this bustle ’tis not reason, which
carries the prize, but eloquence; and no man needs ever despair of gaining proselytes
to the most extravagant hypothesis, who has art enough to represent it in any
favourable colours. The victory is not gained by the men at arms, who manage
the pike and the sword; but by the trumpeters, drummers, and musicians of the
army.
From hence in my opinion arises that
common prejudice against metaphysical reasonings of all kinds, even amongst
those, who profess themselves scholars, and have a just value for every other
part of literature. By metaphysical reasonings, they do not understand those on
any particular branch of science, but every kind of argument, which is any way
abstruse, and requires some attention to be comprehended. We have so often lost
our labour in such researches, that we commonly reject them without hesitation,
and resolve, if we must for ever be a prey to errors and delusions, that they
shall at least be natural and entertaining. And indeed nothing but the most
determined scepticism, along with a great degree of indolence, can justify this
aversion to metaphysics. For if truth be at all within the reach of human
capacity, ’tis certain it must lie very deep and abstruse; and to hope we shall
arrive at it without pains, while the greatest geniuses have failed with the
utmost pains, must certainly be esteemed sufficiently vain and presumptuous. I
pretend to no such advantage in the philosophy I am going to unfold, and would
esteem it a strong presumption against it, were it so very easy and obvious.
’Tis evident, that all the sciences have
a relation, greater or less, to human nature; and that however wide any of them
may seem to run from it, they still return back by one passage or another. Even Mathematics, Natural Philosophy,
and Natural Religion, are in
some measure dependent on the science of Man; since they lie under the cognizance of
men, and are judged of by their powers and faculties. ’Tis impossible to tell
what changes and improvements we might make in these sciences were we
thoroughly acquainted with the extent and force of human understanding, and
cou’d explain the nature of the ideas we employ, and of the operations we
perform in our reasonings. And these improvements are the more to be hoped for
in natural religion, as it is not content with instructing us in the nature of
superior powers, but carries its views farther, to their disposition towards
us, and our duties towards them; and consequently we ourselves are not only the
beings, that reason, but also one of the objects, concerning which we reason.
If therefore the sciences of
Mathematics, Natural Philosophy, and Natural Religion, have such a dependence
on the knowledge of man, what may be expected in the other sciences, whose
connexion with human nature is more close and intimate? The sole end of logic
is to explain the principles and operations of our reasoning faculty, and the
nature of our ideas: morals and criticism regard our tastes and sentiments: and
politics consider men as united in society, and dependent on each other. In
these four sciences of Logic,
Morals, Criticism, and Politics, is
comprehended almost every thing, which it can any way import us to be
acquainted with, or which can tend either to the improvement or ornament of the
human mind.
Here then is the only expedient, from
which we can hope for success in our philosophical researches, to leave the
tedious lingring method, which we have hitherto followed, and instead of taking
now and then a castle or village on the frontier, to march up directly to the
capital or center of these sciences, to human nature itself; which being once
masters of, we may every where else hope for an easy victory. From this station
we may extend our conquests over all those sciences, which more intimately
concern human life, and may afterwards proceed at leisure to discover more
fully those, which are the objects of pure curiosity. There is no question of
importance, whose decision is not compriz’d in the science of man; and there is
none, which can be decided with any certainty, before we become acquainted with
that science. In pretending therefore to explain the principles of human
nature, we in effect propose a compleat system of the sciences, built on a
foundation almost entirely new, and the only one upon which they can stand with
any security.
And as the science of man is the only
solid foundation for the other sciences, so the only solid foundation we can
give to this science itself must be laid on experience and observation. ’Tis no
astonishing reflection to consider, that the application of experimental
philosophy to moral subjects should come after that to natural at the distance
of above a whole century; since we find in fact, that there was about the same
interval betwixt the origins of these sciences; and that reckoning from Thales to Socrates, the space of time is nearly equal to
that betwixt my Lord Bacon1 and some late philosophers in England, who have begun to put the science of
man on a new footing, and have engaged the attention, and excited the curiosity
of the public. So true it is, that however other nations may rival us in
poetry, and excel us in some other agreeable arts, the improvements in reason
and philosophy can only be owing to a land of toleration and of liberty.
Nor ought we to think, that this latter
improvement in the science of man will do less honour to our native country
than the former in natural philosophy, but ought rather to esteem it a greater
glory, upon account of the greater importance of that science, as well as the
necessity it lay under of such a reformation. For to me it seems evident, that
the essence of the mind being equally unknown to us with that of external
bodies, it must be equally impossible to form any notion of its powers and
qualities otherwise than from careful and exact experiments, and the
observation of those particular effects, which result from its different
circumstances and situations. And tho’ we must endeavour to render all our
principles as universal as possible, by tracing up our experiments to the
utmost, and explaining all effects from the simplest and fewest causes, ’tis
still certain we cannot go beyond experience; and any hypothesis, that pretends
to discover the ultimate original qualities of human nature, ought at first to
be rejected as presumptuous and chimerical.
I do not think a philosopher, who would
apply himself so earnestly to the explaining the ultimate principles of the
soul, would show himself a great master in that very science of human nature,
which he pretends to explain, or very knowing in what is naturally satisfactory
to the mind of man. For nothing is more certain, than that despair has almost
the same effect upon us with enjoyment, and that we are no sooner acquainted
with the impossibility of satisfying any desire, than the desire itself
vanishes. When we see, that we have arrived at the utmost extent of human
reason, we sit down contented; tho’ we be perfectly satisfied in the main of
our ignorance, and perceive that we can give no reason for our most general and
most refined principles, beside our experience of their reality; which is the
reason of the mere vulgar, and what it required no study at first to have
discovered for the most particular and most extraordinary phænomenon. And as
this impossibility of making any farther progress is enough to satisfy the
reader, so the writer may derive a more delicate satisfaction from the free
confession of his ignorance, and from his prudence in avoiding that error, into
which so many have fallen, of imposing their conjectures and hypotheses on the
world for the most certain principles. When this mutual contentment and
satisfaction can be obtained betwixt the master and scholar, I know not what
more we can require of our philosophy.
But if this impossibility of explaining
ultimate principles should be esteemed a defect in the science of man, I will
venture to affirm, that ’tis a defect common to it with all the sciences, and
all the arts, in which we can employ ourselves, whether they be such as are
cultivated in the schools of the philosophers, or practised in the shops of the
meanest artizans. None of them can go beyond experience, or establish any
principles which are not founded on that authority. Moral philosophy has,
indeed, this peculiar disadvantage, which is not found in natural, that in
collecting its experiments, it cannot make them purposely, with premeditation,
and after such a manner as to satisfy itself concerning every particular
difficulty which may arise. When I am at a loss to know the effects of one body
upon another in any situation, I need only put them in that situation, and
observe what results from it. But should I endeavour to clear up after the same
manner any doubt in moral philosophy, by placing myself in the same case with
that which I consider, ’tis evident this reflection and premeditation would so
disturb the operation of my natural principles, as must render it impossible to
form any just conclusion from the phænomenon. We must therefore glean up our
experiments in this science from a cautious observation of human life, and take
them as they appear in the common course of the world, by men’s behaviour in
company, in affairs, and in their pleasures. Where experiments of this kind are
judiciously collected and compared, we may hope to establish on them a science,
which will not be inferior in certainty, and will be much superior in utility
to any other of human comprehension.
[1 ]Mr. Locke, my Lord Shaftsbury, Dr. Mandeville, Mr. Hutchinson, Dr. Butler, &c.
1Moral philosophy, or the science of human nature, may be
treated after two different manners; each of which has its peculiar merit, and
may contribute to the entertainment, instruction, and reformation of mankind.
The one considers man chiefly as born for action; and as influenced in his
measures by taste and sentiment; pursuing one object, and avoiding another,
according to the value which these objects seem to possess, and according to the
light in which they present themselves. As virtue, of all objects, is allowed
to be the most valuable, this species of philosophers paint her in the most
amiable colours; borrowing all helps from poetry and eloquence, and treating
their subject in an easy and obvious manner, and such as is best fitted to
please the imagination, and engage the affections. They select the most
striking observations and instances from common life; place opposite characters
in a proper contrast; and alluring us into the paths of virtue by the views of
glory and happiness, direct our steps in these paths by the soundest precepts
and most illustrious examples. They make us feel the difference between
vice and virtue; they excite and regulate our sentiments; and so they can but
bend our hearts to the love of probity and true honour, they think, that they
have fully attained the end of all their labours.
2The other species of philosophers consider man in the
light of a reasonable rather than an active being, and endeavour to form his
understanding more than cultivate his manners. They regard human nature as a
subject of speculation; and with a narrow scrutiny examine it, in order to find
those principles, which regulate our understanding, excite our sentiments, and
make us approve or blame any particular object, action, or behaviour. They
think it a reproach to all literature, that philosophy should not yet have
fixed, beyond controversy, the foundation of morals, reasoning, and criticism;
and should for ever talk of truth and falsehood, vice and virtue, beauty and
deformity, without being able to determine the source of these distinctions.
While they attempt this arduous task, they are deterred by no difficulties; but
proceeding from particular instances to general principles, they still push on
their enquiries to principles more general, and rest not satisfied till they
arrive at those original principles, by which, in every science, all human
curiosity must be bounded. Though their speculations seem abstract, and even
unintelligible to common readers, they aim at the approbation of the learned
and the wise; and think themselves sufficiently compensated for the labour of
their whole lives, if they can discover some hidden truths, which may
contribute to the instruction of posterity.
3It is certain that the easy and obvious philosophy
will always, with the generality of mankind, have the preference above the
accurate and abstruse; and by many will be recommended, not only as more
agreeable, but more useful than the other. It enters more into common life;
moulds the heart and affections; and, by touching those principles which
actuate men, reforms their conduct, and brings them nearer to that model of
perfection which it describes. On the contrary, the abstruse philosophy, being
founded on a turn of mind, which cannot enter into business and action,
vanishes when the philosopher leaves the shade, and comes into open day; nor
can its principles easily retain any influence over our conduct and behaviour.
The feelings of our heart, the agitation of our passions, the vehemence of our
affections, dissipate all its conclusions, and reduce the profound philosopher
to a mere plebeian.
4This also must be confessed, that the most durable, as
well as justest fame, has been acquired by the easy philosophy, and that
abstract reasoners seem hitherto to have enjoyed only a momentary reputation,
from the caprice or ignorance of their own age, but have not been able to
support their renown with more equitable posterity. It is easy for a profound
philosopher to commit a mistake in his subtile reasonings; and one mistake is
the necessary parent of another, while he pushes on his consequences, and is
not deterred from embracing any conclusion, by its unusual appearance, or its
contradiction to popular opinion. But a philosopher, who purposes only to
represent the common sense of mankind in more beautiful and more engaging
colours, if by accident he falls into error, goes no farther; but renewing his
appeal to common sense, and the natural sentiments of the mind, returns into
the right path, and secures himself from any dangerous illusions. The fame of
Cicero flourishes at present; but that of Aristotle is utterly decayed. La
Bruyere passes the seas, and still maintains his reputation: But the glory of
Malebranche is confined to his own nation, and to his own age. And Addison,
perhaps, will be read with pleasure, when Locke shall be entirely forgotten.
The
mere philosopher is a character, which is commonly but little acceptable in the
world, as being supposed to contribute nothing either to the advantage or
pleasure of society; while he lives remote from communication with mankind, and
is wrapped up in principles and notions equally remote from their
comprehension. On the other hand, the mere ignorant is still more despised; nor
is any thing deemed a surer sign of an illiberal genius in an age and nation
where the sciences flourish, than to be entirely destitute of all relish for
those noble entertainments. The most perfect character is supposed to lie
between those extremes; retaining an equal ability and taste for books,
company, and business; preserving in conversation that discernment and delicacy
which arise from polite letters; and in business, that probity and accuracy
which are the natural result of a just philosophy. In order to diffuse and
cultivate so accomplished a character, nothing can be more useful than
compositions of the easy style and manner, which draw not too much from life,
require no deep application or retreat to be comprehended, and send back the
student among mankind full of noble sentiments and wise precepts, applicable to
every exigence of human life. By means of such compositions, virtue becomes
amiable, science agreeable, company instructive, and retirement entertaining.
Man
is a reasonable being; and as such, receives from science his proper food and
nourishment: But so narrow are the bounds of human understanding, that little
satisfaction can be hoped for in this particular, either from the extent of
security or his acquisitions. Man is a sociable, no less than a reasonable
being: But neither can he always enjoy company agreeable and amusing, or
preserve the proper relish for them. Man is also an active being; and from that
disposition, as well as from the various necessities of human life, must submit
to business and occupation: But the mind requires some relaxation, and cannot
always support its bent to care and industry. It seems, then, that nature has
pointed out a mixed kind of life as most suitable to the human race, and
secretly admonished them to allow none of these biasses 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.
5Were the generality of mankind contented to prefer the
easy philosophy to the abstract and profound, without throwing any blame or
contempt on the latter, it might not be improper, perhaps, to comply with this
general opinion, and allow every man to enjoy, without opposition, his own
taste and sentiment. But as the matter is often carried farther, even to the
absolute rejecting of all profound reasonings, or what is commonly called metaphysics,
we shall now proceed to consider what can reasonably be pleaded in their
behalf.
We
may begin with observing, that one considerable advantage, which results from
the accurate and abstract philosophy, is, its subserviency to the easy and
humane; which, without the former, can never attain a sufficient degree of
exactness in its sentiments, precepts, or reasonings. All polite letters are
nothing but pictures of human life in various attitudes and situations; and
inspire us with different sentiments, of praise or blame, admiration or
ridicule, according to the qualities of the object, which they set before us.
An artist must be better qualified to succeed in this undertaking, who, besides
a delicate taste and a quick apprehension, possesses an accurate knowledge of
the internal fabric, the operations of the understanding, the workings of the
passions, and the various species of sentiment which discriminate vice and
virtue. How painful soever this inward search or enquiry may appear, it
becomes, in some measure, requisite to those, who would describe with success
the obvious and outward appearances of life and manners. The anatomist presents
to the eye the most hideous and disagreeable objects; but his science is useful
to the painter in delineating even a Venus or an Helen. While the latter
employs all the richest colours of his art, and gives his figures the most
graceful and engaging airs; he must still carry his attention to the inward
structure of the human body, the position of the muscles, the fabric of the
bones, and the use and figure of every part or organ. Accuracy is, in every
case, advantageous to beauty, and just reasoning to delicate sentiment. In vain
would we exalt the one by depreciating the other.
Besides,
we may observe, in every art or profession, even those which most concern life
or action, that a spirit of accuracy, however acquired, carries all of them
nearer their perfection, and renders them more subservient to the interests of
society. And though a philosopher may live remote from business, the genius of
philosophy, if carefully cultivated by several, must gradually diffuse itself
throughout the whole society, and bestow a similar correctness on every art and
calling. The politician will acquire greater foresight and subtility, in the
subdividing and balancing of power; the lawyer more method and finer principles
in his reasonings; and the general more regularity in his discipline, and more
caution in his plans and operations. The stability of modern governments above
the ancient, and the accuracy of modern philosophy, have improved, and probably
will still improve, by similar gradations.
6Were 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 human race. The sweetest and most inoffensive
path of life leads through the avenues of science and learning; and whoever can
either remove any obstructions in this way, or open up any new prospect, ought
so far to be esteemed a benefactor to mankind. And though these researches may
appear painful and fatiguing, it is with some minds as with some bodies, which
being endowed with vigorous and florid health, require severe exercise, and
reap a pleasure from what, to the generality of mankind, may seem burdensome
and laborious. Obscurity, indeed, is painful to the mind as well as to the eye;
but to bring light from obscurity, by whatever labour, must needs be delightful
and rejoicing.
But
this obscurity in the profound and abstract philosophy, is objected to, not
only as painful and fatiguing, but as the inevitable source of uncertainty and
error. Here indeed lies the justest and most plausible objection against a
considerable part of metaphysics, that they are not properly a science; but
arise either from the fruitless efforts of human vanity, which would penetrate
into subjects utterly inaccessible to the understanding, or from the craft of
popular superstitions, which, being unable to defend themselves on fair ground,
raise these intangling brambles to cover and protect their weakness. Chaced
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.
7But is this a sufficient reason, why philosophers
should desist from such researches, and leave superstition still in possession
of her retreat? Is it not proper to draw an opposite conclusion, and perceive
the necessity of carrying the war into the most secret recesses of the enemy?
In vain do we hope, that men, from frequent disappointment, will at last
abandon such airy sciences, and discover the proper province of human reason.
For, besides, that many persons find too sensible an interest in perpetually
recalling such topics; besides this, I say, the motive of blind despair can
never reasonably have place in the sciences; since, however unsuccessful former
attempts may have proved, there is still room to hope, that the industry, good
fortune, or improved sagacity of succeeding generations may reach discoveries
unknown to former ages. Each adventurous genius will still leap at the arduous
prize, and find himself stimulated, rather that discouraged, by the failures of
his predecessors; while he hopes that the glory of achieving so hard an
adventure is reserved for him alone. The only method of freeing learning, at
once, from these abstruse questions, is to enquire seriously into the nature of
human understanding, and show, from an exact analysis of its powers and
capacity, that it is by no means fitted for such remote and abstruse subjects.
We must submit to this fatigue, in order to live at ease ever after: And must
cultivate true metaphysics with some care, in order to destroy the false and
adulterate. Indolence, which, to some persons, affords a safeguard against this
deceitful philosophy, is, with others, overbalanced by curiosity; and despair,
which, at some moments, prevails, may give place afterwards to sanguine hopes
and expectations. Accurate and just reasoning is the only catholic remedy,
fitted for all persons and all dispositions; and is alone able to subvert that
abstruse philosophy and metaphysical jargon, which, being mixed up with popular
superstition, renders it in a manner impenetrable to careless reasoners, and
gives it the air of science and wisdom.
8Besides this advantage of rejecting, after deliberate
enquiry, the most uncertain and disagreeable part of learning, there are many
positive advantages, which result from an accurate scrutiny into the powers and
faculties of human nature. It is remarkable concerning the operations of the
mind, that, though most intimately present to us, yet, whenever they become the
object of reflexion, they seem involved in obscurity; nor can the eye readily
find those lines and boundaries, which discriminate and distinguish them. The
objects are too fine to remain long in the same aspect or situation; and must
be apprehended in an instant, by a superior penetration, derived from nature,
and improved by habit and reflexion. It becomes, therefore, no inconsiderable
part of science barely to know the different operations of the mind, to
separate them from each other, to class them under their proper heads, and to
correct all that seeming disorder, in which they lie involved, when made the
object of reflexion and enquiry. This talk of ordering and distinguishing,
which has no merit, when performed with regard to external bodies, the objects
of our senses, rises in its value, when directed towards the operations of the
mind, in proportion to the difficulty and labour, which we meet with in
performing it. And if we can go no farther than this mental geography, or
delineation of the distinct parts and powers of the mind, it is at least a
satisfaction to go so far; and the more obvious this science may appear (and it
is by no means obvious) the more contemptible still must the ignorance of it be
esteemed, in all pretenders to learning and philosophy.
Nor
can there remain any suspicion, that this science is uncertain and chimerical;
unless we should entertain such a scepticism as is entirely subversive of all
speculation, and even action. It cannot be doubted, that the mind is endowed
with several powers and faculties, that these powers are distinct from each
other, that what is really distinct to the immediate perception may be
distinguished by reflexion; and consequently, that there is a truth and
falsehood in all propositions on this subject, and a truth and falsehood, which
lie not beyond the compass of human understanding. There are many obvious
distinctions of this kind, such as those between the will and understanding,
the imagination and passions, which fall within the comprehension of every
human creature; and the finer and more philosophical distinctions are no less
real and certain, though more difficult to be comprehended. Some instances,
especially late ones, of success in these enquiries, may give us a juster
notion of the certainty and solidity of this branch of learning. And shall we
esteem it worthy the labour of a philosopher to give us a true system of the
planets, and adjust the position and order of those remote bodies; while we
affect to overlook those, who, with so much success, delineate the parts of the
mind, in which we are so intimately concerned?
9But may we not hope, that philosophy, if cultivated
with care, and encouraged by the attention of the public, may carry its
researches still farther, and discover, at least in some degree, the secret
springs and principles, by which the human mind is actuated in its operations?
Astronomers had long contented themselves with proving, from the phaenomena,
the true motions, order, and magnitude of the heavenly bodies: Till a
philosopher, at last, arose, who seems, from the happiest reasoning, to have
also determined the laws and forces, by which the revolutions of the planets
are governed and directed. The like has been performed with regard to other
parts of nature. And there is no reason to despair of equal success in our
enquiries concerning the mental powers and economy, if prosecuted with equal
capacity and caution. It is probable, that one operation and principle of the
mind depends on another; which, again, may be resolved into one more general
and universal: And how far these researches may possibly be carried, it will be
difficult for us, before, or even after, a careful trial, exactly to determine.
This is certain, that attempts of this kind are every day made even by those
who philosophize the most negligently: And nothing can be more requisite than
to enter upon the enterprize with thorough care and attention; that, if it lie
within the compass of human understanding, it may at last be happily achieved;
if not, it may, however, be rejected with some confidence and security. This
last conclusion, surely, is not desirable; nor ought it to be embraced too
rashly. For how much must we diminish from the beauty and value of this species
of philosophy, upon such a supposition? Moralists have hitherto been
accustomed, when they considered the vast multitude and diversity of those
actions that excite our approbation or dislike, to search for some common
principle, on which this variety of sentiments might depend. And though they
have sometimes carried the matter too far, by their passion for some one
general principle; it must, however, be confessed, that they are excusable in
expecting to find some general principles, into which all the vices and virtues
were justly to be resolved. The like has been the endeavour of critics,
logicians, and even politicians: Nor have their attempts been wholly
unsuccessful; though perhaps longer time, greater accuracy, and more ardent
application may bring these sciences still nearer their perfection. To throw up
at once all pretensions of this kind may justly be deemed more rash,
precipitate, and dogmatical, than even the boldest and most affirmative
philosophy, that has ever attempted to impose its crude dictates and principles
on mankind.
10What 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!
1. This book seems to be written upon the
same plan with several other works that have had a great vogue of late years in
England. The philosophical spirit, which has been so much improved all over
Europe within these last fourscore years, has been carried to as great a length
in this kingdom as in any other. Our writers seem even to have started a new
kind of philosophy, which promises more, both to the entertainment and
advantage of mankind, than any other with which the world has been yet
acquainted. Most of the philosophers of antiquity who treated of human nature
have shown more of a delicacy of sentiment, a just sense of morals, or a
greatness of soul, than a depth of reasoning and reflection. They content
themselves with representing the common sense of mankind in the strongest
lights, and with the best turn of thought and expression, without following out
steadily a chain of propositions, or forming the several truths into a regular
science. But it is at least worth while to try if the science of man will not admit
of the same accuracy, which several parts of natural philosophy are found
susceptible of. There seems to be all the reason in the world to imagine that
it may he carried to the greatest degree of exactness. If, in examining several
phenomena, we find that they resolve themselves into one common principle, and
can trace this principle into another, we shall at last arrive at those few
simple principles on which all the rest depend. And though we can never arrive
at the ultimate principles, it is a satisfaction to go as far as our faculties
will allow us.
2. This seems to have been the aim of our
late philosophers, and, among the rest, of this author. He proposes to
anatomize human nature in a regular manner, and promises to draw no conclusions
but where he is authorized by experience. He talks with contempt of hypotheses;
and insinuates that such of our countrymen as have banished them from moral
philosophy, have done a more signal service to the world than my Lord Bacon,
whom he considers as the father of experimental physics. He mentions, on this
occasion, Mr. Locke, my Lord Shaftesbury, Dr.
Mandeville, Mr. Hutcheson, Dr. Butler, who, though they differ in many points
among themselves, seem all to agree in founding their accurate disquisitions of
human nature entirely upon experience.
3. Beside the satisfaction of being
acquainted with what most nearly concerns us, it may be safely affirmed that
almost all the sciences are comprehended in the science of human nature, and
are dependent on it. The sole end of logic is to explain the principles and
operations of our reasoning faculty, and the nature of our ideas; morals and
criticism regard our tastes and sentiments; and politics consider men as united in society, and dependent on
each other. This treatise, therefore, of human nature seems
intended for a system of the sciences. The author has finished what regards
logic, and has laid the foundation of the other parts in his account of the
passions.
4. The celebrated Monsieur Leibnitz has observed it to be a defect in the common systems
of logic that they are very copious when they explain the operations of the
understanding in the forming of demonstrations, but are too concise when they
treat of probabilities, and those other measures of evidence on which life and
action entirely depend, and which are our guides even in most of our
philosophical speculations. In this censure he comprehends The Essay on Human Understanding, Le Recherche de la Verité, and L’Art de Penser. The author of the Teatise of Human Nature
seems to have been sensible of this defect in these philosophers, and has
endeavoured, as much as he can, to supply it. As his book contains a great
number of speculations very new and remarkable, it will be impossible to give
the reader a just notion of the whole. We shall, therefore, chiefly confine
ourselves to his explication of our reasonings from cause and effect. If we can
make this intelligible to the reader, it may serve as a specimen of the whole.
5. Our author begins with some definitions. He
calls a perception whatever can be present to the mind, whether we employ
our senses, or are actuated with passion, or exercise our thought and
reflection. He divides our perceptions into two kinds, viz. impressions and ideas. When we feel a passion or emotion of any kind, or have
the images of external objects conveyed by our senses, the perception of the
mind is what he calls an impression, which is a word that he employs in a new
sense. When we reflect on a passion or an object which is not present, this
perception is an idea. Impressions, therefore, are our lively and strong
perceptions; ideas are the fainter and weaker. This distinction is evident; as
evident as that betwixt feeling and thinking.
1. Origem
das ideias: T 1.1.1-3; E 2
2. Associação
de ideias: T 1.1.4; E 3
3. Relações
de ideias e questões de fato: E 4.1-2; T 1.1.5, 1.3.1
1. Origem
das ideias: T 1.1.1, 2 e 3; E 2
All the perceptions of the human mind resolve themselves into two distinct
kinds, which I shall call Impressions and Ideas. The difference betwixt these consists
in the degrees of force and liveliness with which they strike upon the mind,
and make their way into our thought or consciousness. Those perceptions, which
enter with most force and violence, we may name impressions; and under this name I comprehend all
our sensations, passions and emotions, as they make their first appearance in
the soul. By ideas I mean the faint images of these in
thinking and reasoning; such as, for instance, are all the perceptions excited
by the present discourse, excepting only, those which arise from the sight and
touch, and excepting the immediate pleasure or uneasiness it may occasion. I
believe it will not be very necessary to employ many words in explaining this
distinction. Every one of himself will readily perceive the difference betwixt
feeling and thinking. The common degrees of these are easily distinguished;
tho’ it is not impossible but in particular instances they may very nearly
approach to each other. Thus in sleep, in a fever, in madness, or in any very
violent emotions of soul, our ideas may approach to our impressions: As on the
other hand it sometimes happens, that our impressions are so faint and low,
that we cannot distinguish them from our ideas. But notwithstanding this near
resemblance in a few instances, they are in general so very different, that
no-one can make a scruple to rank them under distinct heads, and assign to each
a peculiar name to mark the difference1 .
There is another division of our
perceptions, which it will be convenient to observe, and which extends itself
both to our impressions and ideas. This division is into Simple and Complex. Simple perceptions or impressions and
ideas are such as admit of no distinction nor separation. The complex are the
contrary to these, and may be distinguished into parts. Tho’ a particular
colour, taste, and smell are qualities all united together in this apple, ’tis
easy to perceive they are not the same, but are at least distinguishable from
each other.
Having by these divisions given an order
and arrangement to our objects, we may now apply ourselves to consider with the
more accuracy their qualities and relations. The first circumstance, that
strikes my eye, is the great resemblance betwixt our impressions and ideas in
every other particular, except their degree of force and vivacity. The one seem
to be in a manner the reflexion of the other; so that all the perceptions of
the mind are double, and appear both as impressions and ideas. When I shut my
eyes and think of my chamber, the ideas I form are exact representations of the
impressions I felt; nor is there any circumstance of the one, which is not to
be found in the other. In running over my other perceptions, I find still the
same resemblance and representation. Ideas and impressions appear always to
correspond to each other. This circumstance seems to me remarkable, and engages
my attention for a moment.
Upon a more accurate survey I find I
have been carried away too far by the first appearance, and that I must make
use of the distinction of perceptions into simple
and complex, to limit this
general decision, that all our
ideas and impressions are resembling. I
observe, that many of our complex ideas never had impressions, that
corresponded to them, and that many of our complex impressions never are
exactly copied in ideas. I can imagine to myself such a city as the New Jerusalem, whose pavement is gold and walls are
rubies, tho’ I never saw any such. I have seen Paris; but shall I affirm I can form such an
idea of that city, as will perfectly represent all its streets and houses in
their real and just proportions?
I perceive, therefore, that tho’ there
is in general a great resemblance betwixt our complex impressions and ideas, yet the rule is
not universally true, that they are exact copies of each other. We may next
consider how the case stands with our simple perceptions. After the most accurate
examination, of which I am capable, I venture to affirm, that the rule here
holds without any exception, and that every simple idea has a simple
impression, which resembles it; and every simple impression a correspondent
idea. That idea of red, which we form in the dark, and that impression, which
strikes our eyes in sun-shine, differ only in degree, not in nature. That the
case is the same with all our simple impressions and ideas, ’tis impossible to
prove by a particular enumeration of them. Every one may satisfy himself in
this point by running over as many as he pleases. But if any one should deny
this universal resemblance, I know no way of convincing him, but by desiring
him to shew a simple impression, that has not a correspondent idea, or a simple
idea, that has not a correspondent impression. If he does not answer this
challenge, as ’tis certain he cannot, we may from his silence and our own
observation establish our conclusion.
Thus we find, that all simple ideas and
impressions resemble each other; and as the complex are formed from them, we
may affirm in general, that these two species of perception are exactly
correspondent. Having discover’d this relation, which requires no farther
examination, I am curious to find some other of their qualities. Let us
consider how they stand with regard to their existence, and which of the
impressions and ideas are causes, and which effects.
The full examination of this question is the
subject of the present treatise; and therefore we shall here content ourselves
with establishing one general proposition, That
all our simple ideas in their first appearance are deriv’d from simple
impressions, which are correspondent to them, and which they exactly represent.
In seeking for phænomena to prove this
proposition, I find only those of two kinds; but in each kind the phænomena are
obvious, numerous, and conclusive. I first make myself certain, by a new
review, of what I have already asserted, that every simple impression is
attended with a correspondent idea, and every simple idea with a correspondent
impression. From this constant conjunction of resembling perceptions I
immediately conclude, that there is a great connexion betwixt our correspondent
impressions and ideas, and that the existence of the one has a considerable
influence upon that of the other. Such a constant conjunction, in such an
infinite number of instances, can never arise from chance; but clearly proves a
dependence of the impressions on the ideas, or of the ideas on the impressions.
That I may know on which side this dependence lies, I consider the order of
their first appearance; and find by constant experience, that
the simple impressions always take the precedence of their correspondent ideas,
but never appear in the contrary order. To give a child an idea of scarlet or
orange, of sweet or bitter, I present the objects, or in other words, convey to
him these impressions; but proceed not so absurdly, as to endeavour to produce
the impressions by exciting the ideas. Our ideas upon their appearance produce
not their correspondent impressions, nor do we perceive any colour, or feel any
sensation merely upon thinking of them. On the other hand we find, that any
impressions either of the mind or body is constantly followed by an idea, which
resembles it, and is only different in the degrees of force and liveliness. The
constant conjunction of our resembling perceptions, is a convincing proof, that
the one are the causes of the other; and this priority of the impressions is an
equal proof, that our impressions are the causes of our ideas, not our ideas of
our impressions.
To confirm this I consider another plain
and convincing phænomenon; which is, that where-ever by any accident the
faculties, which give rise to any impressions, are obstructed in their
operations, as when one is born blind or deaf; not only the impressions are
lost, but also their correspondent ideas; so that there never appear in the
mind the least traces of either of them. Nor is this only true, where the
organs of sensation are entirely destroy’d, but likewise where they have never
been put in action to produce a particular impression. We cannot form to
ourselves a just idea of the taste of a pine-apple, without having actually
tasted it.
There is however one contradictory
phænomenon, which may prove, that ’tis not absolutely impossible for ideas to
go before their correspondent impressions. I believe it will readily be
allow’d, that the several distinct ideas of colours, which enter by the eyes,
or those of sounds, which are convey’d by the hearing, are really different from
each other, tho’ at the same time resembling. Now if this be true of different
colours, it must be no less so of the different shades of the same colour, that
each of them produces a distinct idea, independent of the rest. For if this
shou’d be deny’d, ’tis possible, by the continual gradation of shades, to run a
colour insensibly into what is most remote from it; and if you will not allow
any of the means to be different, you cannot without absurdity deny the
extremes to be the same. Suppose therefore a person to have enjoyed his sight
for thirty years, and to have become perfectly well acquainted with colours of
all kinds, excepting one particular shade of blue, for instance, which it never
has been his fortune to meet with. Let all the different shades of that colour,
except that single one, be plac’d before him, descending gradually from the
deepest to the lightest; ’tis plain, that he will perceive a blank, where that
shade is wanting, and will be sensible, that there is a greater distance in
that place betwixt the continguous colours, than in any other. Now I ask,
whether ’tis possible for him, from his own imagination, to supply this
deficiency, and raise up to himself the idea of that particular shade, tho’ it
had never been conveyed to him by his senses? I believe there are few but will
be of opinion that he can; and this may serve as a proof, that the simple ideas
are not always derived from the correspondent impressions; tho’ the instance is
so particular and singular, that ’tis scarce worth our observing, and does not
merit that for it alone we should alter our general maxim.
But besides this exception, it may not
be amiss to remark on this head, that the principle of the priority of
impressions to ideas must be understood with another limitation, viz. that as our ideas are images of our
impressions, so we can form secondary ideas, which are images of the primary;
as appears from this very reasoning concerning them. This is not, properly
speaking, an exception to the rule so much as an explanation of it. Ideas
produce the images of themselves in new ideas; but as the first ideas are
supposed to be derived from impressions, it still remains true, that all our
simple ideas proceed either mediately or immediately from their correspondent
impressions.
This then is the first principle I
establish in the science of human nature; nor ought we to despise it because of
the simplicity of its appearance. For ’tis remarkable, that the present
question concerning the precedency of our impressions or ideas, is the same
with what has made so much noise in other terms, when it has been disputed
whether there be any innate
ideas, or whether all ideas
be derived from sensation and reflexion. We may observe, that in order to prove
the ideas of extension and colour not to be innate, philosophers do nothing but
shew, that they are conveyed by our senses. To prove the ideas of passion and
desire not to be innate, they observe that we have a preceding experience of
these emotions in ourselves. Now if we carefully examine these arguments, we
shall find that they prove nothing but that ideas are preceded by other more
lively perceptions, from which they are derived, and which they represent. I
hope this clear stating of the question will remove all disputes concerning it,
and will render this principle of more use in our reasonings, than it seems
hitherto to have been.
[1 ]I here make use of these terms, impression
and idea, in a sense
different from what is usual, and I hope this liberty will be allowed me.
Perhaps I rather restore the word, idea, to its original sense, from which Mr. Locke had perverted it, in making it stand
for all our perceptions. By the term of impression I would not be understood to
express the manner, in which our lively perceptions are produced in the soul,
but merely the perceptions themselves; for which there is no particular name
either in the English or any other language, that I know of.
Since it appears, that our simple impressions are prior to their correspondent
ideas, and that the exceptions are very rare, method seems to require we should
examine our impressions, before we consider our ideas. Impressions may be
divided into two kinds, those of Sensation and those of Reflexion. The first kind arises in the soul
originally, from unknown causes. The second is derived in a great measure from
our ideas, and that in the following order. An impression first strikes upon
the senses, and makes us perceive heat or cold, thirst or hunger, pleasure or
pain of some kind or other. Of this impression there is a copy taken by the
mind, which remains after the impression ceases; and this we call an idea. This
idea of pleasure or pain, when it returns upon the soul, produces the new
impressions of desire and aversion, hope and fear, which may properly be called
impressions of reflexion, because derived from it. These again are copied by
the memory and imagination, and become ideas; which perhaps in their turn give
rise to other impressions and ideas. So that the impressions of reflexion are
only antecedent to their correspondent ideas; but posterior to those of
sensation, and deriv’d from them. The examination of our sensations belongs
more to anatomists and natural philosophers than to moral; and therefore shall
not at present be enter’d upon. And as the impressions of reflexion, viz. passions, desires, and emotions, which
principally deserve our attention, arise mostly from ideas, ’twill be necessary
to reverse that method, which at first sight seems most natural; and in order
to explain the nature and principles of the human mind, give a particular
account of ideas, before we proceed to impressions. For this reason I have here
chosen to begin with ideas.
We find by experience, that when any impression has been present with the
mind, it again makes its appearance there as an idea; and this it may do after
two different ways: either when in its new appearance it retains a considerable
degree of its first vivacity, and is somewhat intermediate betwixt an impression
and an idea; or when it entirely loses that vivacity, and is a perfect idea.
The faculty, by which we repeat our impressions in the first manner, is called
the Memory, and the other the Imagination. ’Tis evident at first sight, that the
ideas of the memory are much more lively and strong than those of the
imagination, and that the former faculty paints its objects in more distinct
colours, than any which are employ’d by the latter. When we remember any past
event, the idea of it flows in upon the mind in a forcible manner; whereas in
the imagination the perception is faint and languid, and cannot without
difficulty be preserv’d by the mind steddy and uniform for any considerable
time. Here then is a sensible difference betwixt one species of ideas and another.
But of this more fully hereafter1 .
There is another difference betwixt
these two kinds of ideas, which is no less evident, namely that tho’ neither
the ideas of the memory nor imagination, neither the lively nor faint ideas can
make their appearance in the mind, unless their correspondent impressions have
gone before to prepare the way for them, yet the imagination is not restrain’d
to the same order and form with the original impressions; while the memory is
in a manner ty’d down in that respect, without any power of variation.
’Tis evident, that the memory preserves
the original form, in which its objects were presented, and that where-ever we
depart from it in recollecting any thing, it proceeds from some defect or
imperfection in that faculty. An historian may, perhaps, for the more
convenient carrying on of his narration, relate an event before another, to
which it was in fact posterior; but then he takes notice of this disorder, if
he be exact; and by that means replaces the idea in its due position. ’Tis the
same case in our recollection of those places and persons, with which we were
formerly acquainted. The chief exercise of the memory is not to preserve the
simple ideas, but their order and position. In short, this principle is
supported by such a number of common and vulgar phænomena, that we may spare
ourselves the trouble of insisting on it any farther.
The same evidence follows us in our
second principle, of the
liberty of the imagination to transpose and change its ideas. The fables we meet with in poems and
romances put this entirely out of question. Nature there is totally confounded,
and nothing mentioned but winged horses, fiery dragons, and monstrous giants.
Nor will this liberty of the fancy appear strange, when we consider, that all
our ideas are copy’d from our impressions, and that there are not any two
impressions which are perfectly inseparable. Not to mention, that this is an
evident consequence of the division of ideas into simple and complex.
Where-ever the imagination perceives a difference among ideas, it can easily
produce a separation.
Every one will readily allow, that there is a considerable
difference between the perceptions of the mind, when a man feels the pain of
excessive heat, or the pleasure of moderate warmth, and when he afterwards
recalls to his memory this sensation, or anticipates it by his imagination.
These faculties may mimic or copy the perceptions of the senses; but they never
can entirely reach the force and vivacity of the original sentiment. The utmost
we say of them, even when they operate with greatest vigour, is, that they
represent their object in so lively a manner, that we could almost say we feel or see it: But, except the
mind be disordered by disease or madness, they never can arrive at such a pitch
of vivacity, as to render these perceptions altogether undistinguishable. All
the colours of poetry, however splendid, can never paint natural objects in
such a manner as to make the description be taken for a real landskip. The most
lively thought is still inferior to the dullest sensation.
We may observe a like distinction to run through all
the other perceptions of the mind. A man in a fit of anger, is actuated in a
very different manner from one who only thinks of that emotion. If you tell me,
that any person is in love, I easily understand your meaning, and form a just
conception of his situation; but never can mistake that conception for the real
disorders and agitations of the passion. When we reflect on our past sentiments
and affections, our thought is a faithful mirror, and copies its objects truly;
but the colours which it employs are faint and dull, in comparison of those in
which our original perceptions were clothed. It requires no nice discernment or
metaphysical head to mark the distinction between them.
Here therefore we may divide all the perceptions of
the mind into two classes or species, which are distinguished by their
different degrees of force and vivacity. The less forcible and lively are
commonly denominated Thoughts or Ideas. The other species want a name in our
language, and in most others; I suppose, because it was not requisite for any,
but philosophical purposes, to rank them under a general term or appellation.
Let us, therefore, use a little freedom, and call them Impressions; employing that word in a sense
somewhat different from the usual. By the term impression, then, I mean all our more lively
perceptions, when we hear, or see, or feel, or love, or hate, or desire, or
will. And impressions are distinguished from ideas, which are the less lively
perceptions, of which we are conscious, when we reflect on any of those
sensations or movements above mentioned.
Nothing, at first view, may seem more unbounded than
the thought of man, which not only escapes all human power and authority, but
is not even restrained within the limits of nature and reality. To form
monsters, and join incongruous shapes and appearances, costs the imagination no
more trouble than to conceive the most natural and familiar objects. And while
the body is confined to one planet, along which it creeps with pain and
difficulty; the thought can in an instant transport us into the most distant
regions of the universe; or even beyond the universe, into the unbounded chaos,
where nature is supposed to lie in total confusion. What never was seen, or
heard of, may yet be conceived; nor is any thing beyond the power of thought,
except what implies an absolute contradiction.
But though our thought seems to possess this unbounded
liberty, we shall find, upon a nearer examination, that it is really confined
within very narrow limits, and that all this creative power of the mind amounts
to no more than the faculty of compounding, transposing, augmenting, or
diminishing the materials afforded us by the senses and experience. When we
think of a golden mountain, we only join two consistent ideas, gold, and mountain, with which we were formerly
acquainted. A virtuous horse we can conceive; because, from our own feeling, we
can conceive virtue; and this we may unite to the figure and shape of a horse,
which is an animal familiar to us. In short, all the materials of thinking are
derived either from our outward or inward sentiment: the mixture and
composition of these belongs alone to the mind and will. Or, to express myself
in philosophical language, all our ideas or more feeble perceptions are copies
of our impressions or more lively ones.
To prove this, the two following arguments will, I
hope, be sufficient. First, when we analyze our thoughts or ideas, however
compounded or sublime, we always find that they resolve themselves into such
simple ideas as were copied from a precedent feeling or sentiment. Even those
ideas, which, at first view, seem the most wide of this origin, are found, upon
a nearer scrutiny, to be derived from it. The idea of God, as meaning an
infinitely intelligent, wise, and good Being, arises from reflecting on the
operations of our own mind, and augmenting, without limit, those qualities of
goodness and wisdom. We may prosecute this enquiry to what length we please;
where we shall always find, that every idea which we examine is copied from a
similar impression. Those who would assert that this position is not
universally true nor without exception, have only one, and that an easy method
of refuting it; by producing that idea, which, in their opinion, is not derived
from this source. It will then be incumbent on us, if we would maintain our
doctrine, to produce the impression, or lively perception, which corresponds to
it.
Secondly. If it happen, from a defect of the organ,
that a man is not susceptible of any species of sensation, we always find that
he is as little susceptible of the correspondent ideas. A blind man can form no
notion of colours; a deaf man of sounds. Restore either of them that sense in
which he is deficient; by opening this new inlet for his sensations, you also
open an inlet for the ideas; and he finds no difficulty in conceiving these
objects. The case is the same, if the object, proper for exciting any
sensation, has never been applied to the organ. A Laplander or Negro has no
notion of the relish of wine. And though there are few or no instances of a
like deficiency in the mind, where a person has never felt or is wholly
incapable of a sentiment or passion that belongs to his species; yet we find
the same observation to take place in a less degree. A man of mild manners can
form no idea of inveterate revenge or cruelty; nor can a selfish heart easily
conceive the heights of friendship and generosity. It is readily allowed, that
other beings may possess many senses of which we can have no conception;
because the ideas of them have never been introduced to us in the only manner
by which an idea can have access to the mind, to wit, by the actual feeling and
sensation.
There is, however, one contradictory phenomenon, which
may prove that it is not absolutely impossible for ideas to arise, independent
of their correspondent impressions. I believe it will readily be allowed, that
the several distinct ideas of colour, which enter by the eye, or those of
sound, which are conveyed by the ear, are really different from each other;
though, at the same time, resembling. Now if this be true of different colours,
it must be no less so of the different shades of the same colour; and each
shade produces a distinct idea, independent of the rest. For if this should be
denied, it is possible, by the continual gradation of shades, to run a colour
insensibly into what is most remote from it; and if you will not allow any of
the means to be different, you cannot, without absurdity, deny the extremes to
be the same. Suppose, therefore, a person to have enjoyed his sight for thirty
years, and to have become perfectly acquainted with colours of all kinds except
one particular shade of blue, for instance, which it never has been his fortune
to meet with. Let all the different shades of that colour, except that single
one, be placed before him, descending gradually from the deepest to the
lightest; it is plain that he will perceive a blank, where that shade is
wanting, and will be sensible that there is a greater distance in that place
between the contiguous colours than in any other. Now I ask, whether it be
possible for him, from his own imagination, to supply this deficiency, and
raise up to himself the idea of that particular shade, though it had never been
conveyed to him by his senses? I believe there are few but will be of opinion
that he can: and this may serve as a proof that the simple ideas are not
always, in every instance, derived from the correspondent impressions; though
this instance is so singular, that it is scarcely worth our observing, and does
not merit that for it alone we should alter our general maxim.
Here, therefore, is a proposition, which not only
seems, in itself, simple and intelligible; but, if a proper use were made of
it, might render every dispute equally intelligible, and banish all that
jargon, which has so long taken possession of metaphysical reasonings, and
drawn disgrace upon them. All ideas, especially abstract ones, are naturally
faint and obscure: the mind has but a slender hold of them: they are apt to be
confounded with other resembling ideas; and when we have often employed any
term, though without a distinct meaning, we are apt to imagine it has a
determinate idea annexed to it. On the contrary, all impressions, that is, all
sensations, either outward or inward, are strong and vivid: the limits between
them are more exactly determined: nor is it easy to fall into any error or
mistake with regard to them. When we entertain, therefore, any suspicion that a
philosophical term is employed without any meaning or 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 reality1 .
[1]It is probable that no more was meant by those, who
denied innate ideas, than that all ideas were copies of our impressions; though
it must be confessed, that the terms, which they employed, were not chosen with
such caution, nor so exactly defined, as to prevent all mistakes about their
doctrine. For what is meant by innate? If innate be equivalent to natural,
then all the perceptions and ideas of the mind must be allowed to be innate or
natural, in whatever sense we take the latter word, whether in opposition to
what is uncommon, artificial, or miraculous. If by innate be meant, contemporary
to our birth, the dispute seems to be frivolous; nor is it worth while to
enquire at what time thinking begins, whether before, at, or after our birth.
Again, the word idea, seems to be commonly taken in a very
loose sense, by Locke and others; as standing for any of our
perceptions, our sensations and passions, as well as thoughts. Now in this
sense, I should desire to know, what can be meant by asserting, that self-love,
or resentment of injuries, or the passion between the sexes is not innate?
But admitting these terms, impressions and ideas, in the sense above explained, and
understanding by innate, what is original or copied from no
precedent perception, then may we assert that all our impressions are innate,
and our ideas not innate.
To be ingenuous, I must own it to be my opinion, that Locke was betrayed into this question by the
schoolmen, who, making use of undefined terms, draw out their disputes to a
tedious length, without ever touching the point in question. A like ambiguity
and circumlocution seem to run through that philosopher’s reasonings on this as
well as most other subjects.
2. Associação
de ideias: T 1.1.4; E 3
As all simple ideas may be separated by the imagination, and may be united
again in what form it pleases, nothing wou’d be more unaccountable than the
operations of that faculty, were it not guided by some universal principles,
which render it, in some measure, uniform with itself in all times and places.
Were ideas entirely loose and unconnected, chance alone wou’d join them; and
’tis impossible the same simple ideas should fall regularly into complex ones
(as they commonly do) without some bond of union among them, some associating
quality, by which one idea naturally introduces another. This uniting principle
among ideas is not to be consider’d as an inseparable connexion; for that has
been already excluded from the imagination: nor yet are we to conclude, that
without it the mind cannot join two ideas; for nothing is more free than that
faculty: but we are only to regard it as a gentle force, which commonly
prevails, and is the cause why, among other things, languages so nearly
correspond to each other; nature in a manner pointing out to every one those
simple ideas, which are most proper to be united into a complex one. The
qualities, from which this association arises, and by which the mind is after
this manner convey’d from one idea to another, are three, viz.Resemblance, Contiguity in time or place, and Cause and Effect.
I believe it will not be very necessary
to prove, that these qualities produce an association among ideas, and upon the
appearance of one idea naturally introduce another. ’Tis plain, that in the
course of our thinking, and in the constant revolution of our ideas, our
imagination runs easily from one idea to any other that resembles it, and that this quality alone is to
the fancy a sufficient bond and association. ’Tis likewise evident, that as the
senses, in changing their objects, are necessitated to change them regularly,
and take them as they lie contiguous to each other, the imagination must by
long custom acquire the same method of thinking, and run along the parts of
space and time in conceiving its objects. As to the connexion, that is made by
the relation of cause and
effect, we shall have
occasion afterwards to examine it to the bottom, and therefore shall not at
present insist upon it. ’Tis sufficient to observe, that there is no relation,
which produces a stronger connexion in the fancy, and makes one idea more
readily recall another, than the relation of cause and effect betwixt their
objects.
That we may understand the full extent
of these relations, we must consider, that two objects are connected together
in the imagination, not only when the one is immediately resembling, contiguous
to, or the cause of the other, but also when there is interposed betwixt them a
third object, which bears to both of them any of these relations. This may be
carried on to a great length; tho’ at the same time we may observe, that each
remove considerably weakens the relation. Cousins in the fourth degree are
connected bycausation, if
I may be allowed to use that term; but not so closely as brothers, much less as
child and parent. In general we may observe, that all the relations of blood
depend upon cause and effect, and are esteemed near or remote, according to the
number of connecting causes interpos’d betwixt the persons.
Of the three relations above-mention’d
this of causation is the most extensive. Two objects may be consider’d as
plac’d in this relation, as well when one is the cause of any of the actions or
motions of the other, as when the former is the cause of the existence of the
latter. For as that action or motion is nothing but the object itself,
consider’d in a certain light, and as the object continues the same in all its
different situations, ’tis easy to imagine how such an influence of objects
upon one another may connect them in the imagination.
We may carry this farther, and remark,
not only that two objects are connected by the relation of cause and effect,
when the one produces a motion or any action in the other, but also when it has
a power of producing it. And this we may observe to be the source of all the
relations of interest and duty, by which men influence each other in society,
and are plac’d in the ties of government and subordination. A master is
such-a-one as by his situation, arising either from force or agreement, has a
power of directing in certain particulars the actions of another, whom we call
servant. A judge is one, who in all disputed cases can fix by his opinion the
possession or property of any thing betwixt any members of the society. When a
person is possess’d of any power, there is no more required to convert it into
action, but the exertion of the will; and that in every case is consider’d as
possible, and in many as probable; especially in the case of authority, where
the obedience of the subject is a pleasure and advantage to the superior.
These are therefore the principles of
union or cohesion among our simple ideas, and in the imagination supply the
place of that inseparable connexion, by which they are united in our memory.
Here is a kind of Attraction, which in the mental world will be
found to have as extraordinary effects as in the natural, and to shew itself in
as many and as various forms. Its effects are every where conspicuous; but as
to its causes, they are mostly unknown, and must be resolv’d into original qualities of human nature, which I
pretend not to explain. Nothing is more requisite for a true philosopher, than
to restrain the intemperate desire of searching into causes, and having
establish’d any doctrine upon a sufficient number of experiments, rest
contented with that, when he sees a farther examination would lead him into
obscure and uncertain speculations. In that case his enquiry wou’d be much
better employ’d in examining the effects than the causes of his principle.
Amongst the effects of this union or
association of ideas, there are none more remarkable, than those complex ideas,
which are the common subjects of our thoughts and reasoning, and generally
arise from some principle of union among our simple ideas. These complex ideas
may be divided into Relations,
Modes, and Substances. We shall briefly examine each of these
in order, and shall subjoin some considerations concerning our general and particular ideas, before we leave the present
subject, which may be consider’d as the elements of this philosophy.
It is evident that there is a principle of connexion between the different
thoughts or ideas of the mind, and that, in their appearance to the memory or
imagination, they introduce each other with a certain degree of method and
regularity. In our more serious thinking or discourse this is so observable
that any particular thought, which breaks in upon the regular tract or chain of
ideas, is immediately remarked and rejected. And even in our wildest and most
wandering reveries, nay in our very dreams, we shall find, if we reflect, that
the imagination ran not altogether at adventures, but that there was still a
connexion upheld among the different ideas, which succeeded each other. Were
the loosest and freest conversation to be transcribed, there would immediately
be observed something which connected it in all its transitions. Or where this
is wanting, the person who broke the thread of discourse might still inform
you, that there had secretly revolved in his mind a succession of thought,
which had gradually led him from the subject of conversation. Among different
languages, even where we cannot suspect the least connexion or communication,
it is found, that the words, expressive of ideas, the most compounded, do yet
nearly correspond to each other: a certain proof that the simple ideas,
comprehended in the compound ones, were bound together by some universal
principle, which had an equal influence on all mankind.
Though it be too obvious to escape
observation, that different ideas are connected together; I do not find that
any philosopher has attempted to enumerate or class all the principles of
association; a subject, however, that seems worthy of curiosity. To me, there
appear to be only three principles of connexion among ideas, namely, Resemblance, Contiguity in time or place, and Cause or Effect.
That these principles serve to connect
ideas will not, I believe, be much doubted. A picture naturally leads our
thoughts to the original1 : the mention of one apartment in a building naturally
introduces an enquiry or discourse concerning the others2 : and if we think of a wound, we can scarcely forbear
reflecting on the pain which follows it3 . 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 possible4 . The more instances we examine, and the more care we
employ, the more assurance shall we acquire, that the enumeration, which we
form from the whole, is complete and entire.
[1 ]Resemblance.
[2 ]Contiguity.
[3 ]Cause and effect.
[4 ]For instance, Contrast or Contrariety is also a connexion among Ideas:
but it may, perhaps, be considered as a mixture of Causation and Resemblance. Where two objects are contrary, the
one destroys the other; that is, the cause of its annihilation, and the idea of
the annihilation of an object, implies the idea of its former existence.
3. Relações
de ideias e questões de fato: E 4.1-2; T 1.1.5,
1.3.1
All the objects of human reason or enquiry may naturally be divided into two
kinds, to wit, Relations of
Ideas, and Matters of Fact. Of the first kind are the sciences of
Geometry, Algebra, and Arithmetic; and in short, every affirmation which is
either intuitively or demonstratively certain. That the square of the hypothenuse
is equal to the square of the two sides, is
a proposition which expresses a relation between these figures. That three times five is equal to
the half of thirty, expresses
a relation between these numbers. Propositions of this kind are discoverable by
the mere operation of thought, without dependence on what is anywhere existent
in the universe. Though there never were a circle or triangle in nature, the
truths demonstrated by Euclid would for ever retain their certainty and
evidence.
Matters of fact, which are the second
objects of human reason, are not ascertained in the same manner; nor is our
evidence of their truth, however great, of a like nature with the foregoing.
The contrary of every matter of fact is still possible; because it can never
imply a contradiction, and is conceived by the mind with the same facility and
distinctness, as if ever so conformable to reality. That the sun will not rise
to-morrow is no less
intelligible a proposition, and implies no more contradiction than the
affirmation, that it will rise. We should in vain, therefore, attempt
to demonstrate its falsehood. Were it demonstratively false, it would imply a
contradiction, and could never be distinctly conceived by the mind.
The word Relation is commonly used in two senses
considerably different from each other. Either for that quality, by which two
ideas are connected together in the imagination, and the one naturally
introduces the other, after the manner above-explained; or for that particular
circumstance, in which, even upon the arbitrary union of two ideas in the
fancy, we may think proper to compare them. In common language the former is
always the sense, in which we use the word, relation; and ’tis only in
philosophy, that we extend it to mean any particular subject of comparison,
without a connecting principle. Thus distance will be allowed by philosophers
to be a true relation, because we acquire an idea of it by the comparing of
objects: But in a common way we say, that
nothing can be more distant than such or such things from each other, nothing
can have less relation; as if
distance and relation were incompatible.
It may perhaps be esteemed an endless
task to enumerate all those qualities, which make objects admit of comparison, and
by which the ideas of philosophical relation are produced. But if we
diligently consider them, we shall find that without difficulty they may be
compriz’d under seven general heads, which may be considered as the sources of
all philosophical relation.
1. The first is resemblance: And this is a relation, without which
no philosophical relation can exist; since no objects will admit of comparison,
but what have some degree of resemblance. But tho’ resemblance be necessary to
all philosophical relation, it does not follow, that it always produces a
connexion or association of ideas. When a quality becomes very general, and is
common to a great many individuals, it leads not the mind directly to any one
of them; but by presenting at once too great a choice, does thereby prevent the
imagination from fixing on any single object.
2. Identity may be esteem’d a second species of relation. This relation I here
consider as apply’d in its strictest sense to constant and unchangeable
objects; without examining the nature and foundation of personal identity,
which shall find its place afterwards. Of all relations the most universal is
that of identity, being common to every being, whose existence has any
duration.
3. After identity the most universal and comprehensive relations
are those of Space and Time, which are the sources of an infinite
number of comparisons, such as distant,
contiguous, above, below, before, after, &c.
4. All those objects, which admit of quantity, or number, may be compar’d in that particular; which
is another very fertile source of relation.
5. When any two objects possess the same quality in common, the degrees, in which they possess it, form a fifth
species of relation. Thus of two objects, which are both heavy, the one may be
either of greater, or less weight than with the other. Two colours, that are of
the same kind, may yet be of different shades, and in that respect admit of
comparison.
6. The relation of contrariety may at first sight be regarded as an
exception to the rule, that no
relation of any kind can subsist without some degree of resemblance. But let us consider, that no two ideas
are in themselves contrary, except those of existence and non-existence, which
are plainly resembling, as implying both of them an idea of the object; tho’
the latter excludes the object from all times and places, in which it is
supposed not to exist.
7. All other objects, such as fire and water, heat, and
cold, are only found to be contrary from experience, and from the contrariety
of their causes or effects; which relation of cause and effect is
a seventh philosophical relation, as well as a natural one. The resemblance
implied in this relation, shall be explain’d afterwards.
It might naturally be expected, that I
should join difference to the other relations. But that I
consider rather as a negation of relation, than as any thing real or positive.
Difference is of two kinds as oppos’d either to identity or resemblance. The
first is called a difference of number; the other of kind.
There are1 seven different kinds of philosophical relation, viz. resemblance, identity,
relations of time and place, proportion in quantity or number, degrees in any
quality, contrariety, and causation. These
relations may be divided into two classes; into such as depend entirely on the
ideas, which we compare together, and such as may be chang’d without any change
in the ideas. ’Tis from the idea of a triangle, that we discover the relation
of equality, which its three angles bear to two right ones; and this relation
is invariable, as long as our idea remains the same. On the contrary, the
relations of continguity and distance betwixt two objects may be chang’d
merely by an alteration of their place, without any change on the objects
themselves or on their ideas; and the place depends on a hundred different
accidents, which cannot be foreseen by the mind. ’Tis the same case with identity and causation. Two objects, tho’ perfectly resembling
each other, and even appearing in the same place at different times, may be
numerically different: And as the power, by which one object produces another,
is never discoverable merely from their idea, ’tis evident cause and effect are relations, of which we receive
information from experience, and not from any abstract reasoning or reflexion.
There is no single phænomenon, even the most simple, which can be accounted for
from the qualities of the objects, as they appear to us; or which we cou’d
foresee without the help of our memory and experience.
It appears, therefore, that of these
seven philosophical relations, there remain only four, which depending solely
upon ideas, can be the objects of knowledge and certainty. These four are resemblance, contrariety, degrees
in quality, and proportions in quantity or number. Three of these relations are
discoverable at first sight, and fall more properly under the province of
intuition than demonstration. When any objects resemble each other, the resemblance will at
first strike the eye, or rather the mind; and seldom requires a second
examination. The case is the same with contrariety, and with the degrees of any quality. No one can once doubt but existence
and non-existence destroy each other, and are perfectly incompatible and
contrary. And tho’ it be impossible to judge exactly of the degrees of any
quality, such as colour, taste, heat, cold, when the difference betwixt them is
very small; yet ’tis easy to decide, that any of them is superior or inferior
to another, when their difference is considerable. And this decision we always
pronounce at first sight, without any enquiry or reasoning.
We might proceed, after the same manner,
in fixing the proportions of quantity or number, and might at one view observe a
superiority or inferiority betwixt any numbers, or figures; especially where
the difference is very great and remarkable. As to equality or any exact
proportion, we can only guess at it from a single consideration; except in very
short numbers, or very limited portions of extension; which are comprehended in
an instant, and where we perceive an impossibility of falling into any
considerable error. In all other cases we must settle the proportions with some
liberty, or proceed in a more artificial manner.
I have already observ’d, that geometry,
or the art, by which we fix the proportions of
figures; tho’ it much excels, both in universality and exactness, the loose
judgments of the senses and imagination; yet never attains a perfect precision
and exactness. Its first principles are still drawn from the general appearance
of the objects; and that appearance can never afford us any security, when we
examine the prodigious minuteness of which nature is susceptible. Our ideas
seem to give a perfect assurance, that no two right lines can have a common
segment; but if we consider these ideas, we shall find, that they always
suppose a sensible inclination of the two lines, and that where the angle they
form is extremely small, we have no standard of a right line so precise, as to
assure us of the truth of this proposition. ’Tis the same case with most of the
primary decisions of the mathematics.
There remain, therefore, algebra and
arithmetic as the only sciences, in which we can carry on a chain of reasoning
to any degree of intricacy, and yet preserve a perfect exactness and certainty.
We are possest of a precise standard, by which we can judge of the equality and
proportion of numbers; and according as they correspond or not to that
standard, we determine their relations, without any possibility of error. When
two numbers are so combin’d, as that the one has always an unite answering to
every unite of the other, we pronounce them equal; and ’tis for want of such a
standard of equality in extension, that geometry can scarce be esteem’d a
perfect and infallible science.
But here it may not be amiss to obviate
a difficulty, which may arise from my asserting, that tho’ geometry falls short
of that perfect precision and certainty, which are peculiar to arithmetic and
algebra, yet it excels the imperfect judgments of our senses and imagination.
The reason why I impute any defect to geometry, is, because its original and
fundamental principles are deriv’d merely from appearances; and it may perhaps
be imagin’d, that this defect must always attend it, and keep it from ever
reaching a greater exactness in the comparison of objects or ideas, than what
our eye or imagination alone is able to attain. I own that this defect so far
attends it, as to keep it from ever aspiring to a full certainty: But since
these fundamental principles depend on the easiest and least deceitful
appearances, they bestow on their consequences a degree of exactness, of which
these consequences are singly incapable. ’Tis impossible for the eye to
determine the angles of a chiliagon to be equal to 1996 right angles, or make
any conjecture, that approaches this proportion; but when it determines, that
right lines cannot concur; that we cannot draw more than one right line between
two given points; its mistakes can never be of any consequence. And this is the
nature and use of geometry, to run us up to such appearances, as, by reason of
their simplicity, cannot lead us into any considerable error.
I shall here take occasion to propose a
second observation concerning our demonstrative reasonings, which is suggested
by the same subject of the mathematics. ’Tis usual with mathematicians, to
pretend, that those ideas, which are their objects, are of so refin’d and
spiritual a nature, that they fall not under the conception of the fancy, but
must be comprehended by a pure and intellectual view, of which the superior
faculties of the soul are alone capable. The same notion runs thro’ most parts
of philosophy, and is principally made use of to explain our abstract ideas,
and to shew how we can form an idea of a triangle, for instance, which shall
neither be an isosceles nor scalenum, nor be confin’d to any particular length
and proportion of sides. ’Tis easy to see, why philosophers are so fond of this
notion of some spiritual and refin’d perceptions; since by that means they
cover many of their absurdities, and may refuse to submit to the decisions of
clear ideas, by appealing to such as are obscure and uncertain. But to destroy
this artifice, we need but reflect on that principle so oft insisted on, that all our ideas are copy’d from
our impressions. For from
thence we may immediately conclude, that since all impressions are clear and
precise, the ideas, which are copy’d from them, must be of the same nature, and
can never, but from our fault, contain any thing so dark and intricate. An idea
is by its very nature weaker and fainter than an impression; but being in every
other respect the same, cannot imply any very great mystery. If its weakness
render it obscure, ’tis our business to remedy that defect, as much as
possible, by keeping the idea steady and precise; and till we have done so,
’tis in vain to pretend to reasoning and philosophy.
[1 ]Part I. sect. 5.
1. Papel
da relação causal I (análise preliminar): E 4.3-5;
T 1.3.2.1-4; A
8
2.
Conhecimento da relação causal: E 4.6-13,
5.1-9; T
1.3.2.5-16; A 9
3. Papel
da relação causal II (inferências causais): E
4.14-23, 5.1-9; T 1.3.3, 4,
5 e 6
4. A
ideia de crença: T 1.3.7, 8, 9
e 10; E
5.10-22
5.
Probabilidade: T 1.3.11, 12 e 13; E 6
6. A
ideia de conexão necessária: T 1.3.14;
E 7
1. Papel da
relação causal I (análise preliminar): E 4.3-5; T
1.3.2.1-4; A 8
It may, therefore, be a subject worthy of curiosity, to enquire what is
the nature of that evidence which assures us of any real existence and matter
of fact, beyond the present testimony of our senses, or the records of our
memory. This part of philosophy, it is observable, has been little cultivated,
either by the ancients or moderns; and therefore our doubts and errors, in the
prosecution of so important an enquiry, may be the more excusable; while we
march through such difficult paths without any guide or direction. They may
even prove useful, by exciting curiosity, and destroying that implicit faith
and security, which is the bane of all reasoning and free enquiry. The
discovery of defects in the common philosophy, if any such there be, will not,
I presume, be a discouragement, but rather an incitement, as is usual, to
attempt something more full and satisfactory than has yet been proposed to the
public.
All reasonings concerning matter of fact seem to be
founded on the relation of Cause
and Effect. By means of that
relation alone we can go beyond the evidence of our memory and senses. If you
were to ask a man, why he believes any matter of fact, which is absent; for
instance, that his friend is in the country, or in France; he would give you a
reason; and this reason would be some other fact; as a letter received from
him, or the knowledge of his former resolutions and promises. A man finding a
watch or any other machine in a desert island, would conclude that there had
once been men in that island. All our reasonings concerning fact are of the
same nature. And here it is constantly supposed that there is a connexion
between the present fact and that which is inferred from it. Were there nothing
to bind them together, the inference would be entirely precarious. The hearing
of an articulate voice and rational discourse in the dark assures us of the
presence of some person: Why? because these are the effects of the human make
and fabric, and closely connected with it. If we anatomize all the other
reasonings of this nature, we shall find that they are founded on the relation
of cause and effect, and that this relation is either near or remote, direct or
collateral. Heat and light are collateral effects of fire, and the one effect
may justly be inferred from the other.
If we would satisfy ourselves, therefore, concerning
the nature of that evidence, which assures us of matters of fact, we must
enquire how we arrive at the knowledge of cause and effect.
This is all I think necessary to observe concerning those
four relations, which are the foundation of science; but as to the other three,
which depend not upon the idea, and may be absent or present even while that remains the same, ’twill be proper to
explain them more particularly. These three relations are identity, the situations in time
and place, and causation.
All kinds of reasoning consist in nothing but a comparison, and a discovery of those relations,
either constant or inconstant, which two or more objects bear to each other.
This comparison we may make, either when both the objects are present to the
senses, or when neither of them is present, or when only one. When both the
objects are present to the senses along with the relation, we call this perception rather than reasoning; nor
is there in this case any exercise of the thought, or any action, properly
speaking, but a mere passive admission of the impressions thro’ the organs of
sensation. According to this way of thinking, we ought not to receive as
reasoning any of the observations we may make concerning identity, and the relations of time and place; since in none of them the mind can go
beyond what is immediately present to the senses, either to discover the real
existence or the relations of objects. ’Tis only causation, which produces such a connexion, as to
give us assurance from the existence or action of one object, that ’twas
follow’d or preceded by any other existence or action; nor can the other two
relations be ever made use of in reasoning, except so far as they either affect
or are affected by it. There is nothing in any objects to perswade us, that
they are either always remote or alwayscontiguous; and when from experience and
observation we discover, that their relation in this particular is invariable,
we always conclude there is some secret cause, which separates or unites them. The
same reasoning extends to identity. We readily suppose an object may
continue individually the same, tho’ several times absent from and present to
the senses; and ascribe to it an identity, notwithstanding the interruption of
the perception, whenever we conclude, that if we had kept our eye or hand
constantly upon it, it wou’d have convey’d an invariable and uninterrupted
perception. But this conclusion beyond the impressions of our senses can be
founded only on the connexion of cause
and effect; nor can we
otherwise have any security, that the object is not chang’d upon us, however
much the new object may resemble that which was formerly present to the senses.
Whenever we discover such a perfect resemblance, we consider, whether it be
common in that species of objects; whether possibly or probably any cause cou’d
operate in producing the change and resemblance; and according as we determine
concerning these causes and effects, we form our judgment concerning the
identity of the object.
Here then it appears, that of those three relations,
which depend not upon the mere ideas, the only one, that can be trac’d beyond
our senses, and informs us of existences and objects, which we do not see or
feel, is causation. This relation, therefore, we shall
endeavour to explain fully before we leave the subject of the understanding.
To begin regularly, we must consider the idea of causation, and see from what origin it is
deriv’d. ’Tis impossible to reason justly, without understanding perfectly the
idea concerning which we reason; and ’tis impossible perfectly to understand
any idea, without tracing it up to its origin, and examining that primary
impression, from which it arises. The examination of the impression bestows a
clearness on the idea; and the examination of the idea bestows a like clearness
on all our reasoning.
It is evident that all reasonings concerning matter of fact are founded on the relation of cause and
effect, and that we can never infer the existence of one object from another,
unless they be connected together, either mediately or immediately. In order,
therefore, to understand these reasonings, we must be perfectly acquainted with
the idea of a cause; and in order to that, must look about us to find something
that is the cause of another.
2. Conhecimento
da relação causal: E 4.6-13, 5.1-9; T 1.3.2.5-16; A 9
I shall venture to affirm, as a general proposition,
which admits of no exception, that the knowledge of this relation is not, in
any instance, attained by reasonings a
priori; but arises entirely
from experience, when we find that any particular objects are constantly
conjoined with each other. Let an object be presented to a man of ever so
strong natural reason and abilities; if that object be entirely new to him, he
will not be able, by the most accurate examination of its sensible qualities,
to discover any of its causes or effects. Adam, though his rational faculties
be supposed, at the very first, entirely perfect, could not have inferred from
the fluidity and transparency of water that it would suffocate him, or from the
light and warmth of fire that it would consume him. No object ever discovers,
by the qualities which appear to the senses, either the causes which produced
it, or the effects which will arise from it; nor can our reason, unassisted by
experience, ever draw any inference concerning real existence and matter of
fact.
This proposition, that
causes and effects are discoverable, not by reason but by experience, will readily be admitted with regard
to such objects, as we remember to have once been altogether unknown to us;
since we must be conscious of the utter inability, which we then lay under, of
foretelling what would arise from them. Present two smooth pieces of marble to
a man who has no tincture of natural philosophy; he will never discover that
they will adhere together in such a manner as to require great force to
separate them in a direct line, while they make so small a resistance to a
lateral pressure. Such events, as bear little analogy to the common course of
nature, are also readily confessed to be known only by experience; nor does any
man imagine that the explosion of gunpowder, or the attraction of a loadstone,
could ever be discovered by arguments a
priori. In like manner, when
an effect is supposed to depend upon an intricate machinery or secret structure
of parts, we make no difficulty in attributing all our knowledge of it to
experience. Who will assert that he can give the ultimate reason, why milk or
bread is proper nourishment for a man, not for a lion or a tiger?
But the same truth may not appear, at first sight, to
have the same evidence with regard to events, which have become familiar to us
from our first appearance in the world, which bear a close analogy to the whole
course of nature, and which are supposed to depend on the simple qualities of
objects, without any secret structure of parts. We are apt to imagine that we
could discover these effects by the mere operation of our reason, without
experience. We fancy, that were we brought on a sudden into this world, we
could at first have inferred that one Billiard-ball would communicate motion to
another upon impulse; and that we needed not to have waited for the event, in
order to pronounce with certainty concerning it. Such is the influence of
custom, that, where it is strongest, it not only covers our natural ignorance,
but even conceals itself, and seems not to take place, merely because it is
found in the highest degree.
But to convince us that all the laws of nature, and
all the operations of bodies without exception, are known only by experience,
the following reflections may, perhaps, suffice. Were any object presented to
us, and were we required to pronounce concerning the effect, which will result
from it, without consulting past observation; after what manner, I beseech you,
must the mind proceed in this operation? It must invent or imagine some event,
which it ascribes to the object as its effect; and it is plain that this
invention must be entirely arbitrary. The mind can never possibly find the
effect in the supposed cause, by the most accurate scrutiny and examination.
For the effect is totally different from the cause, and consequently can never
be discovered in it. Motion in the second Billiard-ball is a quite distinct
event from motion in the first; nor is there anything in the one to suggest the
smallest hint of the other. A stone or piece of metal raised into the air, and
left without any support, immediately falls: but to consider the matter a priori, is there anything we discover in this
situation which can beget the idea of a downward, rather than an upward, or any
other motion, in the stone or metal?
And as the first imagination or invention of a
particular effect, in all natural operations, is arbitrary, where we consult
not experience; so must we also esteem the supposed tie or connexion between
the cause and effect, which binds them together, and renders it impossible that
any other effect could result from the operation of that cause. When I see, for
instance, a Billiard-ball moving in a straight line towards another; even
suppose motion in the second ball should by accident be suggested to me, as the
result of their contact or impulse; may I not conceive, that a hundred
different events might as well follow from that cause? May not both these balls
remain at absolute rest? May not the first ball return in a straight line, or
leap off from the second in any line or direction? All these suppositions are
consistent and conceivable. Why then should we give the preference to one,
which is no more consistent or conceivable than the rest? All our reasonings a priori will never be able to show us any
foundation for this preference.
In a word, then, every effect is a distinct event from
its cause. It could not, therefore, be discovered in the cause, and the first
invention or conception of it, a
priori, must be entirely
arbitrary. And even after it is suggested, the conjunction of it with the cause
must appear equally arbitrary; since there are always many other effects,
which, to reason, must seem fully as consistent and natural. In vain,
therefore, should we pretend to determine any single event, or infer any cause
or effect, without the assistance of observation and experience.
Hence we may discover the reason why no philosopher,
who is rational and modest, has ever pretended to assign the ultimate cause of
any natural operation, or to show distinctly the action of that power, which
produces any single effect in the universe. It is confessed, that the utmost
effort of human reason is to reduce the principles, productive of natural
phenomena, to a greater simplicity, and to resolve the many particular effects
into a few general causes, by means of reasonings from analogy, experience, and
observation. But as to the causes of these general causes, we should in vain
attempt their discovery; nor shall we ever be able to satisfy ourselves, by any
particular explication of them. These ultimate springs and principles are
totally shut up from human curiosity and enquiry. Elasticity, gravity, cohesion
of parts, communication of motion by impulse; these are probably the ultimate
causes and principles which we shall ever discover in nature; and we may esteem
ourselves sufficiently happy, if, by accurate enquiry and reasoning, we can
trace up the particular phenomena to, or near to, these general principles. The
most perfect philosophy of the natural kind only staves off our ignorance a
little longer: as perhaps the most perfect philosophy of the moral or
metaphysical kind serves only to discover larger portions of it. Thus the
observation of human blindness and weakness is the result of all philosophy,
and meets us at every turn, in spite of our endeavours to elude or avoid it.
Nor is geometry, when taken into the assistance of
natural philosophy, ever able to remedy this defect, or lead us into the
knowledge of ultimate causes, by all that accuracy of reasoning for which it is
so justly celebrated. Every part of mixed mathematics proceeds upon the
supposition that certain laws are established by nature in her operations; and
abstract reasonings are employed, either to assist experience in the discovery
of these laws, or to determine their influence in particular instances, where
it depends upon any precise degree of distance and quantity. Thus, it is a law
of motion, discovered by experience, that the moment or force of any body in
motion is in the compound ratio or proportion of its solid contents and its
velocity; and consequently, that a small force may remove the greatest obstacle
or raise the greatest weight, if, by any contrivance or machinery, we can
increase the velocity of that force, so as to make it an overmatch for its
antagonist. Geometry assists us in the application of this law, by giving us
the just dimensions of all the parts and figures which can enter into any
species of machine; but still the discovery of the law itself is owing merely
to experience, and all the abstract reasonings in the world could never lead us
one step towards the knowledge of it. When we reason a priori, and consider merely any object or
cause, as it appears to the mind, independent of all observation, it never
could suggest to us the notion of any distinct object, such as its effect; much
less, show us the inseparable and inviolable connexion between them. A man must
be very sagacious who could discover by reasoning that crystal is the effect of
heat, and ice of cold, without being previously acquainted with the operation
of these qualities.
The passion for philosophy, like that for religion, seems
liable to this inconvenience, that, though it aims at the correction of our
manners, and extirpation of our vices, it may only serve, by imprudent
management, to foster a predominant inclination, and push the mind, with more
determined resolution, towards that side which already draws too much, by the bias and propensity
of the natural temper. It is certain that, while we aspire to the magnanimous
firmness of the philosophic sage, and endeavour to confine our pleasures
altogether within our own minds, we may, at last, render our philosophy like
that of Epictetus, and other Stoics, only a more refined system of
selfishness, and reason ourselves out of all virtue as well as social
enjoyment. While we study with attention the vanity of human life, and turn all
our thoughts towards the empty and transitory nature of riches and honours, we
are, perhaps, all the while flattering our natural indolence, which, hating the
bustle of the world, and drudgery of business, seeks a pretence of reason to
give itself a full and uncontrolled indulgence. There is, however, one species
of philosophy which seems little liable to this inconvenience, and that because
it strikes in with no disorderly passion of the human mind, nor can mingle
itself with any natural affection or propensity; and that is the Academic or
Sceptical philosophy. The academics always talk of doubt and suspense of
judgement, of danger in hasty determinations, of confining to very narrow
bounds the enquiries of the understanding, and of renouncing all speculations
which lie not within the limits of common life and practice. Nothing,
therefore, can be more contrary than such a philosophy to the supine indolence
of the mind, its rash arrogance, its lofty pretensions, and its superstitious
credulity. Every passion is mortified by it, except the love of truth; and that
passion never is, nor can be, carried to too high a degree. It is surprising,
therefore, that this philosophy, which, in almost every instance, must be
harmless and innocent, should be the subject of so much groundless reproach and
obloquy. But, perhaps, the very circumstance which renders it so innocent is
what chiefly exposes it to the public hatred and resentment. By flattering no
irregular passion, it gains few partizans: By opposing so many vices and
follies, it raises to itself abundance of enemies, who stigmatize it as
libertine profane, and irreligious.
Nor need we fear that this philosophy, while it endeavours to limit our
enquiries to common life, should ever undermine the reasonings of common life,
and carry its doubts so far as to destroy all action, as well as speculation.
Nature will always maintain her rights, and prevail in the end over any
abstract reasoning whatsoever. Though we should conclude, for instance, as in
the foregoing section, that, in all reasonings from experience, there is a step
taken by the mind which is not supported by any argument or process of the
understanding; there is no danger that these reasonings, on which almost all
knowledge depends, will ever be affected by such a discovery. If the mind be
not engaged by argument to make this step, it must be induced by some other
principle of equal weight and authority; and that principle will preserve its
influence as long as human nature remains the same. What that principle is may
well be worth the pains of enquiry.
Suppose a person, though endowed with the strongest faculties of reason
and reflection, to be brought on a sudden into this world; he would, indeed,
immediately observe a continual succession of objects, and one event following
another; but he would not be able to discover anything farther. He would not,
at first, by any reasoning, be able to reach the idea of cause and effect;
since the particular powers, by which all natural operations are performed,
never appear to the senses; nor is it reasonable to conclude, merely because
one event, in one instance, precedes another, that therefore the one is the
cause, the other the effect. Their conjunction may be arbitrary and casual.
There may be no reason to infer the existence of one from the appearance of the
other. And in a word, such a person, without more experience, could never
employ his conjecture or reasoning concerning any matter of fact, or be assured
of anything beyond what was immediately present to his memory and senses.
Suppose, again, that he has acquired more experience, and has lived so
long in the world as to have observed familiar objects or events to be
constantly conjoined together; what is the consequence of this experience? He
immediately infers the existence of one object from the appearance of the
other. Yet he has not, by all his experience, acquired any idea or knowledge of
the secret power by which the one object produces the other; nor is it, by any
process of reasoning, he is engaged to draw this inference. But still he finds
himself determined to draw it: And though he should be convinced that his
understanding has no part in the operation, he would nevertheless continue in
the same course of thinking. There is some other principle which determines him
to form such a conclusion.
This principle is Custom or Habit. For wherever the repetition of any
particular act or operation produces a propensity to renew the same act or
operation, without being impelled by any reasoning or process of the
understanding, we always say, that this propensity is the effect of Custom. By employing that word, we pretend not
to have given the ultimate reason of such a propensity. We only point out a
principle of human nature, which is universally acknowledged, and which is well
known by its effects. Perhaps we can push our enquiries no farther, or pretend
to give the cause of this cause; but must rest contented with it as the
ultimate principle, which we can assign, of all our conclusions from
experience. It is sufficient satisfaction, that we can go so far, without
repining at the narrowness of our faculties because they will carry us no
farther. And it is certain we here advance a very intelligible proposition at
least, if not a true one, when we assert that, after the constant conjunction of
two objects—heat and flame, for instance, weight and solidity—we
are determined by custom alone to expect the one from the appearance of the
other. This hypothesis seems even the only one which explains the difficulty,
why we draw, from a thousand instances, an inference which we are not able to
draw from one instance, that is, in no respect, different from them. Reason is
incapable of any such variation. The conclusions which it draws from
considering one circle are the same which it would form upon surveying all the
circles in the universe. But no man, having seen only one body move after being
impelled by another, could infer that every other body will move after a like
impulse. All inferences from experience, therefore, are effects of custom, not
of reasoning1 .
Custom, then, is the great guide of human life. It is that principle
alone which renders our experience useful to us, and makes us expect, for the
future, a similar train of events with those which have appeared in the past.
Without the influence of custom, we should be entirely ignorant of every matter
of fact beyond what is immediately present to the memory and senses. We should
never know how to adjust means to ends, or to employ our natural powers in the
production of any effect. There would be an end at once of all action, as well
as of the chief part of speculation.
But here it may be proper to remark, that though our conclusions from
experience carry us beyond our memory and senses, and assure us of matters of
fact which happened in the most distant places and most remote ages, yet some
fact must always be present to the senses or memory, from which we may first
proceed in drawing these conclusions. A man, who should find in a desert
country the remains of pompous buildings, would conclude that the country had,
in ancient times, been cultivated by civilized inhabitants; but did nothing of
this nature occur to him, he could never form such an inference. We learn the
events of former ages from history; but then we must peruse the volumes in
which this instruction is contained, and thence carry up our inferences from
one testimony to another, till we arrive at the eyewitnesses and spectators of
these distant events. In a word, if we proceed not upon some fact, present to
the memory or senses, our reasonings would be merely hypothetical; and however
the particular links might be connected with each other, the whole chain of
inferences would have nothing to support it, nor could we ever, by its means,
arrive at the knowledge of any real existence. If I ask why you believe any
particular matter of fact, which you relate, you must tell me some reason; and
this reason will be some other fact, connected with it. But as you cannot
proceed after this manner, in
infinitum, you must at last
terminate in some fact, which is present to your memory or senses; or must
allow that your belief is entirely without foundation.
What, then, is the conclusion of the whole matter? A simple one; though,
it must be confessed, pretty remote from the common theories of philosophy. All
belief of matter of fact or real existence is derived merely from some object,
present to the memory or senses, and a customary conjunction between that and
some other object. Or in other words; having found, in many instances, that any
two kinds of objects—flame and heat, snow and cold—have always been
conjoined together; if flame or snow be presented anew to the senses, the mind
is carried by custom to expect heat or cold, and to believe that such a quality does exist, and
will discover itself upon a nearer approach. This belief is the necessary
result of placing the mind in such circumstances. It is an operation of the
soul, when we are so situated, as unavoidable as to feel the passion of love,
when we receive benefits; or hatred, when we meet with injuries. All these
operations are a species of natural instincts, which no reasoning or process of
the thought and understanding is able either to produce or to prevent.
At this point, it would be very allowable for us to stop our
philosophical researches. In most questions we can never make a single step
farther; and in all questions we must terminate here at last, after our most
restless and curious enquiries. But still our curiosity will be pardonable,
perhaps commendable, if it carry us on to still farther researches, and make us
examine more accurately the nature of this belief, and of the customary conjunction, whence it is derived. By this means we
may meet with some explications and analogies that will give satisfaction; at
least to such as love the abstract sciences, and can be entertained with
speculations, which, however accurate, may still retain a degree of doubt and
uncertainty. As to readers of a different taste; the remaining part of this
section is not calculated for them, and the following enquiries may well be
understood, though it be neglected.
[1]Nothing is more useful than for writers, even, on moral, political, or physical subjects, to distinguish between reason and experience, and to suppose, that these species of
argumentation are entirely different from each other. The former are taken for
the mere result of our intellectual faculties, which, by considering à priori the nature of things, and examining
the effects, that must follow from their operation, establish particular
principles of science and philosophy. The latter are supposed to be derived
entirely from sense and observation, by which we learn what has actually
resulted from the operation of particular objects, and are thence able to
infer, what will, for the future, result from them. Thus, for instance, the
limitations and restraints of civil government, and a legal constitution, may
be defended, either from reason, which reflecting on the great frailty
and corruption of human nature, teaches, that no man can safely be trusted with
unlimited authority; or from experience and history, which inform us of the
enormous abuses, that ambition, in every age and country, has been found to
make of so imprudent a confidence.
The same distinction between reason and experience is maintained in all our
deliberations concerning the conduct of life; while the experienced statesman,
general, physician, or merchant is trusted and followed; and the unpractised
novice, with whatever natural talents endowed, neglected and despised. Though
it be allowed, that reason may form very plausible conjectures with regard to
the consequences of such a particular conduct in such particular circumstances;
it is still supposed imperfect, without the assistance of experience, which is
alone able to give stability and certainty to the maxims, derived from study
and reflection.
But notwithstanding that this distinction be thus universally received, both in
the active speculative scenes of life, I shall not scruple to pronounce, that
it is, at bottom, erroneous, at least, superficial.
If we examine those arguments, which, in any of the sciences above mentioned,
are supposed to be the mere effects of reasoning and reflection, they will be
found to terminate, at last, in some general principle or conclusion, for which
we can assign no reason but observation and experience. The only difference
between them and those maxims, which are vulgarly esteemed the result of pure
experience, is, that the former cannot be established without some process of
thought, and some reflection on what we have observed, in order to distinguish
its circumstances, and trace its consequences: Whereas in the latter, the
experienced event is exactly and fully familiar to that which we infer as the
result of any particular situation. The history of a Tiberius or a Nero makes us dread a like tyranny, were
our monarchs freed from the restraints of laws and senates: But the observation
of any fraud or cruelty in private life is sufficient, with the aid of a little
thought, to give us the same apprehension; while it serves as an instance of
the general corruption of human nature, and shows us the danger which we must
incur by reposing an entire confidence in mankind. In both cases, it is
experience which is ultimately the foundation of our inference and conclusion.
There is no man so young and unexperienced, as not to have formed, from
observation, many general and just maxims concerning human affairs and the
conduct of life; but it must be confessed, that, when a man comes to put these
in practice, he will be extremely liable to error, till time and farther
experience both enlarge these maxims, and teach him their proper use and
application. In every situation or incident, there are many particular and
seemingly minute circumstances, which the man of greatest talent is, at first,
apt to overlook, though on them the justness of his conclusions, and
consequently the prudence of his conduct, entirely depend. Not to mention,
that, to a young beginner, the general observations and maxims occur not always
on the proper occasions, nor can be immediately applied with due calmness and
distinction. The truth is, an unexperienced reasoner could be no reasoner at
all, were he absolutely unexperienced; and when we assign that character to any
one, we mean it only in a comparative sense, and suppose him possessed of
experience, in a smaller and more imperfect degree.
Let us therefore cast our eye on any two
objects, which we call cause and effect, and turn them on all sides, in order
to find that impression, which produces an idea of such prodigious consequence.
At first sight I perceive, that I must not search for it in any of the
particular qualities of the objects; since, which-ever of
these qualities I pitch on, I find some object, that is not possest of it, and
yet falls under the denomination of cause or effect. And indeed there is
nothing existent, either externally or internally, which is not to be
consider’d either as a cause or an effect; tho’ ’tis plain there is no one
quality, which universally belongs to all beings, and gives them a title to
that denomination.
The idea, then, of causation must be deriv’d from some relation among objects; and that relation we
must now endeavour to discover. I find in the first place, that whatever
objects are consider’d as causes or effects, are contiguous; and that nothing can operate in a time
or place, which is ever so little remov’d from those of its existence. Tho’
distant objects may sometimes seem productive of each other, they are commonly
found upon examination to be link’d by a chain of causes, which are contiguous
among themselves, and to the distant objects; and when in any particular
instance we cannot discover this connexion, we still presume it to exist. We
may therefore consider the relation of contiguity as essential to that of causation; at
least may suppose it such, according to the general opinion, till we can find a
more1 proper occasion to clear up this matter, by examining
what objects are or are not susceptible of juxtaposition and conjunction.
The second relation I shall observe as essential to
causes and effects, is not so universally acknowledg’d, but is liable to some
controversy. ’Tis that of priority of time in the cause before the effect.
Some pretend that ’tis not absolutely necessary a cause shou’d precede its
effect; but that any object or action, in the very first moment of its
existence, may exert its productive quality, and give rise to another object or
action, perfectly co-temporary with itself. But beside that experience in most
instances seems to contradict this opinion, we may establish the relation of
priority by a kind of inference or reasoning. ’Tis an establish’d maxim both in
natural and moral philosophy, that an object, which exists for any time in its
full perfection without producing another, is not its sole cause; but is
assisted by some other principle, which pushes it from its state of inactivity,
and makes it exert that energy, of which it was secretly possest. Now if any
cause may be perfectly co-temporary with its effect, ’tis certain, according to
this maxim, that they must all of them be so; since any one of them, which
retards its operation for a single moment, exerts not itself at that very
individual time, in which it might have operated; and therefore is no proper
cause. The consequence of this wou’d be no less than the destruction of that
succession of causes, which we observe in the world; and indeed, the utter
annihilation of time. For if one cause were co-temporary with its effect, and
this effect with its effect, and so on, ’tis plain there
wou’d be no such thing as succession, and all objects must be co-existent.
If this argument appear satisfactory, ’tis well. If
not, I beg the reader to allow me the same liberty, which I have us’d in the
preceding case, of supposing it such. For he shall find, that the affair is of
no great importance.
Having thus discover’d or suppos’d the two relations
of contiguity and succession to be essential to causes and effects,
I find I am stopt short, and can proceed no farther in considering any single
instance of cause and effect. Motion in one body is regarded upon impulse as
the cause of motion in another. When we consider these objects with the utmost
attention, we find only that the one body approaches the other; and that the
motion of it precedes that of the other, but without any sensible interval.
’Tis in vain to rack ourselves with farther thought and reflexion upon this
subject. We can go no farther in considering this particular
instance.
Shou’d any one leave this instance, and pretend to
define a cause, by saying it is something productive of another, ’tis evident
he wou’d say nothing. For what does he mean by production? Can he give any
definition of it, that will not be the same with that of causation? If he can;
I desire it may be produc’d. If he cannot; he here runs in a circle, and gives
a synonimous term instead of a definition.
Shall we then rest contented with these two relations
of contiguity and succession, as affording a compleat idea of causation? By no
means. An object may be contiguous and prior to another, without being
consider’d as its cause. There is a necessary connexion to be taken into consideration; and
that relation is of much greater importance, than any of the other two
above-mention’d.
Here again I turn the object on all sides, in order to
discover the nature of this necessary connexion, and find the impression, or
impressions, from which its idea may be deriv’d. When I cast my eye on the known qualities of objects, I immediately discover
that the relation of cause and effect depends not in the least on them. When I consider their relations, I can find none but those of
contiguity and succession; which I have already regarded as imperfect and
unsatisfactory. Shall the despair of success make me assert, that I am here
possest of an idea, which is not preceded by any similar impression? This wou’d
be too strong a proof of levity and inconstancy; since the contrary principle
has been already so firmly establish’d, as to admit of no farther doubt; at
least, till we have more fully examin’d the present difficulty.
We must, therefore, proceed like those, who being in
search of any thing that lies conceal’d from them, and not finding it in the
place they expected, beat about all the neighbouring fields, without any
certain view or design, in hopes their good fortune will at last guide them to
what they search for. ’Tis necessary for us to leave the direct survey of this
question concerning the nature of that necessary
connexion, which enters into
our idea of cause and effect; and endeavour to find some other questions, the
examination of which will perhaps afford a hint, that may serve to clear up the
present difficulty. Of these questions there occur two, which I shall proceed
to examine, viz.
First, For what reason we pronounce it necessary, that every thing whose existence has a
beginning, shou’d also have a cause?
Secondly, Why we conclude, that such particular causes
must necessarily have such particular effects; and what
is the nature of that inference we draw from the one to the other, and
of the belief we repose in it?
I shall only observe before I proceed any farther,
that tho’ the ideas of cause and effect be deriv’d from the impressions of reflexion
as well as from those of sensation, yet for brevity’s sake, I commonly mention
only the latter as the origin of these ideas; tho’ I desire that whatever I say
of them may also extend to the former. Passions are connected with their
objects and with one another; no less than external bodies are connected
together. The same relation, then, of cause and effect, which belongs to one,
must be common to all of them.
[1 ]Part IV. sect. 5.
Here is a billiard-ball lying on the
table, and another ball moving towards it with rapidity. They strike; and the
ball which was formerly at rest now acquires a motion. This is as perfect an
instance of the relation of cause and effect as any which we know, either by
sensation or reflection. Let us therefore examine it. It is evident that the
two balls touched one another before the motion was communicated, and that
there was no interval betwixt the shock and the motion. Contiguity in time and place is therefore a requisite
circumstance to the operation of all causes. It is evident, likewise, that the
motion which was the cause is prior to the motion which was the effect. Priority in time is therefore another requisite
circumstance in every cause. But this is not all. Let us try any other balls of
the same kind in a like situation, and we shall always find that the impulse of
the one produces motion in the other. Here, therefore, is a third circumstance, viz. that of a constant conjunction betwixt the cause and effect. Every object
like the cause produces always some object like the effect. Beyond these three
circumstances of contiguity, priority, and constant conjunction, I can discover
nothing in this cause. The first ball is in motion; touches the second;
immediately the second is in motion: and when I try the experiment with the
same or like balls, in the same or like circumstances, I find that upon the motion
and touch of the one ball, motion always follows in the other. In whatever
shape I turn this matter, and however I examine it, I can find nothing farther.
3. Papel
da relação causal II (inferências causais): E 4.14-23, 5.1-9; T
1.3.3, 4, 5 e 6
But we have not yet attained any tolerable
satisfaction with regard to the question first proposed. Each solution still
gives rise to a new question as difficult as the foregoing, and leads us on to
farther enquiries. When it is asked, What
is the nature of all our reasonings concerning matter of fact? the proper answer seems to be, that
they are founded on the relation of cause and effect. When again it is asked, What is the foundation of all our
reasonings and conclusions concerning that relation? it may be replied in one word,
Experience. But if we still carry on our sifting humour, and ask, What is the foundation of all
conclusions from experience? this
implies a new question, which may be of more difficult solution and
explication. Philosophers, that give themselves airs of superior wisdom and
sufficiency, have a hard task when they encounter persons of inquisitive
dispositions, who push them from every corner to which they retreat, and who
are sure at last to bring them to some dangerous dilemma. The best expedient to
prevent this confusion, is to be modest in our pretensions; and even to
discover the difficulty ourselves before it is objected to us. By this means,
we may make a kind of merit of our very ignorance.
I shall content myself, in this section, with an easy
task, and shall pretend only to give a negative answer to the question here
proposed. I say then, that, even after we have experience of the operations of
cause and effect, our conclusions from that experience are notfounded on reasoning, or any
process of the understanding. This answer we must endeavour both to explain and
to defend.
It must certainly be allowed, that nature has kept us
at a great distance from all her secrets, and has afforded us only the
knowledge of a few superficial qualities of objects; while she conceals from us
those powers and principles on which the influence of those objects entirely
depends. Our senses inform us of the colour, weight, and consistence of bread;
but neither sense nor reason can ever inform us of those qualities which fit it
for the nourishment and support of a human body. Sight or feeling conveys an
idea of the actual motion of bodies; but as to that wonderful force or power,
which would carry on a moving body for ever in a continued change of place, and
which bodies never lose but by communicating it to others; of this we cannot
form the most distant conception. But notwithstanding this ignorance of natural
powers1 and principles, we always presume, when we see like
sensible qualities, that they have like secret powers, and expect that effects,
similar to those which we have experienced, will follow from them. If a body of
like colour and consistence with that bread, which we have formerly eat, be
presented to us, we make no scruple of repeating the experiment, and foresee,
with certainty, like nourishment and support. Now this is a process of the mind
or thought, of which I would willingly know the foundation. It is allowed on
all hands that there is no known connexion between the sensible qualities and
the secret powers; and consequently, that the mind is not led to form such a
conclusion concerning their constant and regular conjunction, by anything which
it knows of their nature. As to past Experience, it can be allowed to give direct and certain information of those precise objects
only, and that precise period of time, which fell under its cognizance: but why
this experience should be extended to future times, and to other objects, which
for aught we know, may be only in appearance similar; this is the main question
on which I would insist. The bread, which I formerly eat, nourished me; that
is, a body of such sensible qualities was, at that time, endued with such
secret powers: but does it follow, that other bread must also nourish me at
another time, and that like sensible qualities must always be attended with
like secret powers? The consequence seems nowise necessary. At least, it must
be acknowledged that there is here a consequence drawn by the mind; that there
is a certain step taken; a process of thought, and an inference, which wants to
be explained. These two propositions are far from being the same, I have found that such an object
has always been attended with such an effect, and I
foresee, that other objects, which are, in appearance, similar, will be
attended with similar effects. I
shall allow, if you please, that the one proposition may justly be inferred
from the other: I know, in fact, that it always is inferred. But if you insist
that the inference is made by a chain of reasoning, I desire you to produce
that reasoning. The connexion between these propositions is not intuitive.
There is required a medium, which may enable the mind to draw such an
inference, if indeed it be drawn by reasoning and argument. What that medium
is, I must confess, passes my comprehension; and it is incumbent on those to
produce it, who assert that it really exists, and is the origin of all our
conclusions concerning matter of fact.
This negative argument must certainly, in process of
time, become altogether convincing, if many penetrating and able philosophers shall
turn their enquiries this way and no one be ever able to discover any
connecting proposition or intermediate step, which supports the understanding
in this conclusion. But as the question is yet new, every reader may not trust
so far to his own penetration, as to conclude, because an argument escapes his
enquiry, that therefore it does not really exist. For this reason it may be
requisite to venture upon a more difficult task; and enumerating all the
branches of human knowledge, endeavour to show that none of them can afford
such an argument.
All reasonings may be divided into two kinds, namely,
demonstrative reasoning, or that concerning relations of ideas, and moral
reasoning, or that concerning matter of fact and existence. That there are no
demonstrative arguments in the case seems evident; since it implies no
contradiction that the course of nature may change, and that an object,
seemingly like those which we have experienced, may be attended with different
or contrary effects. May I not clearly and distinctly conceive that a body,
falling from the clouds, and which, in all other respects, resembles snow, has
yet the taste of salt or feeling of fire? Is there any more intelligible
proposition than to affirm, that all the trees will flourish in December and
January, and decay in May and June? Now whatever is intelligible, and can be
distinctly conceived, implies no contradiction, and can never be proved false
by any demonstrative argument or abstract reasoning à priori.
If we be, therefore, engaged by arguments to put trust
in past experience, and make it the standard of our future judgement, these
arguments must be probable only, or such as regard matter of fact and real
existence, according to the division above mentioned. But that there is no argument
of this kind, must appear, if our explication of that species of reasoning be
admitted as solid and satisfactory. We have said that all arguments concerning
existence are founded on the relation of cause and effect; that our knowledge
of that relation is derived entirely from experience; and that all our
experimental conclusions proceed upon the supposition that the future will be
conformable to the past. To endeavour, therefore, the proof of this last
supposition by probable arguments, or arguments regarding existence, must be
evidently going in a circle, and taking that for granted, which is the very
point in question.
In reality, all arguments from experience are founded
on the similarity which we discover among natural objects, and by which we are
induced to expect effects similar to those which we have found to follow from
such objects. And though none but a fool or madman will ever pretend to dispute
the authority of experience, or to reject that great guide of human life, it
may surely be allowed a philosopher to have so much curiosity at least as to
examine the principle of human nature, which gives this mighty authority to
experience, and makes us draw advantage from that similarity which nature has
placed among different objects. From causes which appear similar we expect similar effects. This is the
sum of all our experimental conclusions. Now it seems evident that, if this
conclusion were formed by reason, it would be as perfect at first, and upon one
instance, as after ever so long a course of experience. But the case is far
otherwise. Nothing so like as eggs; yet no one, on account of this appearing
similarity, expects the same taste and relish in all of them. It is only after
a long course of uniform experiments in any kind, that we attain a firm
reliance and security with regard to a particular event. Now where is that
process of reasoning which, from one instance, draws a conclusion, so different
from that which it infers from a hundred instances that are nowise different
from that single one? This question I propose as much for the sake of
information, as with an intention of raising difficulties. I cannot find, I
cannot imagine any such reasoning. But I keep my mind still open to
instruction, if any one will vouchsafe to bestow it on me.
Should it be said that, from a number of uniform
experiments, we infer a connexion between the sensible
qualities and the secret powers; this, I must confess, seems the same
difficulty, couched in different terms. The question still recurs, on what
process of argument this inference is founded? Where is the medium, the
interposing ideas, which join propositions so very wide of each other? It is
confessed that the colour, consistence, and other sensible qualities of bread
appear not, of themselves, to have any connexion with the secret powers of
nourishment and support. For otherwise we could infer these secret powers from
the first appearance of these sensible qualities, without the aid of
experience; contrary to the sentiment of all philosophers, and contrary to
plain matter of fact. Here, then, is our natural state of ignorance with regard
to the powers and influence of all objects. How is this remedied by experience?
It only shows us a number of uniform effects, resulting from certain objects,
and teaches us that those particular objects, at that particular time, were
endowed with such powers and forces. When a new object, endowed with similar
sensible qualities, is produced, we expect similar powers and forces, and look
for a like effect. From a body of like colour and consistence with bread we
expect like nourishment and support. But this surely is a step or progress of
the mind, which wants to be explained. When a man says, I have found, in all past
instances, such sensible qualities conjoined with such secret powers: And when he says, Similar sensible qualities will
always be conjoined with similar secret powers, he is not guilty of a tautology, nor
are these propositions in any respect the same. You say that the one
proposition is an inference from the other. But you must confess that the
inference is not intuitive; neither is it demonstrative: Of what nature is it,
then? To say it is experimental, is begging the question. For all inferences
from experience suppose, as their foundation, that the future will resemble the
past, and that similar powers will be conjoined with similar sensible
qualities. If there be any suspicion that the course of nature may change, and
that the past may be no rule for the future, all experience becomes useless,
and can give rise to no inference or conclusion. It is impossible, therefore,
that any arguments from experience can prove this resemblance of the past to
the future; since all these arguments are founded on the supposition of that
resemblance. Let the course of things be allowed hitherto ever so regular; that
alone, without some new argument or inference, proves not that, for the future,
it will continue so. In vain do you pretend to have learned the nature of
bodies from your past experience. Their secret nature, and consequently all
their effects and influence, may change, without any change in their sensible
qualities. This happens sometimes, and with regard to some objects: Why may it
not happen always, and with regard to all objects? What logic, what process of
argument secures you against this supposition? My practice, you say, refutes my
doubts. But you mistake the purport of my question. As an agent, I am quite
satisfied in the point; but as a philosopher, who has some share of curiosity,
I will not say scepticism, I want to learn the foundation of this inference. No
reading, no enquiry has yet been able to remove my difficulty, or give me
satisfaction in a matter of such importance. Can I do better than propose the
difficulty to the public, even though, perhaps, I have small hopes of obtaining
a solution? We shall at least, by this means, be sensible of our ignorance, if
we do not augment our knowledge.
I must confess that a man is guilty of unpardonable
arrogance who concludes, because an argument has escaped his own investigation,
that therefore it does not really exist. I must also confess that, though all
the learned, for several ages, should have employed themselves in fruitless
search upon any subject, it may still, perhaps, be rash to conclude positively
that the subject must, therefore, pass all human comprehension. Even though we
examine all the sources of our knowledge, and conclude them unfit for such a
subject, there may still remain a suspicion, that the enumeration is not
complete, or the examination not accurate. But with regard to the present
subject, there are some considerations which seem to remove all this accusation
of arrogance or suspicion of mistake.
It is certain that the most ignorant and stupid
peasants—nay infants, nay even brute beasts—improve by experience,
and learn the qualities of natural objects, by observing the effects which
result from them. When a child has felt the sensation of pain from touching the
flame of a candle, he will be careful not to put his hand near any candle; but
will expect a similar effect from a cause which is similar in its sensible
qualities and appearance. If you assert, therefore, that the understanding of
the child is led into this conclusion by any process of argument or
ratiocination, I may justly require you to produce that argument; nor have you
any pretence to refuse so equitable a demand. You cannot say that the argument
is abstruse, and may possibly escape your enquiry; since you confess that it is
obvious to the capacity of a mere infant. If you hesitate, therefore, a moment,
or if, after reflection, you produce any intricate or profound argument, you,
in a manner, give up the question, and confess that it is not reasoning which
engages us to suppose the past resembling the future, and to expect similar effects
from causes which are, to appearance, similar. This is the proposition which I
intended to enforce in the present section. If I be right, I pretend not to
have made any mighty discovery. And if I be wrong, I must acknowledge myself to
be indeed a very backward scholar; since I cannot now discover an argument
which, it seems, was perfectly familiar to me long before I was out of my
cradle.
[1 ]The word, Power, is here used in a loose and popular sense. The more
accurate explication of it would give additional evidence to this argument. See
Sect. 7.
The passion for philosophy, like that for religion, seems
liable to this inconvenience, that, though it aims at the correction of our
manners, and extirpation of our vices, it may only serve, by imprudent
management, to foster a predominant inclination, and push the mind, with more
determined resolution, towards that side which already draws too much, by the bias and propensity
of the natural temper. It is certain that, while we aspire to the magnanimous
firmness of the philosophic sage, and endeavour to confine our pleasures
altogether within our own minds, we may, at last, render our philosophy like
that of Epictetus, and other Stoics, only a more refined system of
selfishness, and reason ourselves out of all virtue as well as social enjoyment.
While we study with attention the vanity of human life, and turn all our
thoughts towards the empty and transitory nature of riches and honours, we are,
perhaps, all the while flattering our natural indolence, which, hating the
bustle of the world, and drudgery of business, seeks a pretence of reason to
give itself a full and uncontrolled indulgence. There is, however, one species
of philosophy which seems little liable to this inconvenience, and that because
it strikes in with no disorderly passion of the human mind, nor can mingle
itself with any natural affection or propensity; and that is the Academic or
Sceptical philosophy. The academics always talk of doubt and suspense of
judgement, of danger in hasty determinations, of confining to very narrow
bounds the enquiries of the understanding, and of renouncing all speculations
which lie not within the limits of common life and practice. Nothing,
therefore, can be more contrary than such a philosophy to the supine indolence
of the mind, its rash arrogance, its lofty pretensions, and its superstitious
credulity. Every passion is mortified by it, except the love of truth; and that
passion never is, nor can be, carried to too high a degree. It is surprising,
therefore, that this philosophy, which, in almost every instance, must be
harmless and innocent, should be the subject of so much groundless reproach and
obloquy. But, perhaps, the very circumstance which renders it so innocent is
what chiefly exposes it to the public hatred and resentment. By flattering no
irregular passion, it gains few partizans: By opposing so many vices and
follies, it raises to itself abundance of enemies, who stigmatize it as
libertine profane, and irreligious.
Nor need we fear that this philosophy, while it
endeavours to limit our enquiries to common life, should ever undermine the
reasonings of common life, and carry its doubts so far as to destroy all
action, as well as speculation. Nature will always maintain her rights, and
prevail in the end over any abstract reasoning whatsoever. Though we should
conclude, for instance, as in the foregoing section, that, in all reasonings
from experience, there is a step taken by the mind which is not supported by
any argument or process of the understanding; there is no danger that these reasonings,
on which almost all knowledge depends, will ever be affected by such a
discovery. If the mind be not engaged by argument to make this step, it must be
induced by some other principle of equal weight and authority; and that
principle will preserve its influence as long as human nature remains the same.
What that principle is may well be worth the pains of enquiry.
Suppose a person, though endowed with the strongest
faculties of reason and reflection, to be brought on a sudden into this world;
he would, indeed, immediately observe a continual succession of objects, and
one event following another; but he would not be able to discover anything
farther. He would not, at first, by any reasoning, be able to reach the idea of
cause and effect; since the particular powers, by which all natural operations
are performed, never appear to the senses; nor is it reasonable to conclude,
merely because one event, in one instance, precedes another, that therefore the
one is the cause, the other the effect. Their conjunction may be arbitrary and
casual. There may be no reason to infer the existence of one from the
appearance of the other. And in a word, such a person, without more experience,
could never employ his conjecture or reasoning concerning any matter of fact,
or be assured of anything beyond what was immediately present to his memory and
senses.
Suppose, again, that he has acquired more experience,
and has lived so long in the world as to have observed familiar objects or
events to be constantly conjoined together; what is the consequence of this
experience? He immediately infers the existence of one object from the
appearance of the other. Yet he has not, by all his experience, acquired any
idea or knowledge of the secret power by which the one object produces the
other; nor is it, by any process of reasoning, he is engaged to draw this
inference. But still he finds himself determined to draw it: And though he
should be convinced that his understanding has no part in the operation, he
would nevertheless continue in the same course of thinking. There is some other
principle which determines him to form such a conclusion.
This principle is Custom or Habit. For wherever the
repetition of any particular act or operation produces a propensity to renew
the same act or operation, without being impelled by any reasoning or process
of the understanding, we always say, that this propensity is the effect of Custom. By employing that word, we pretend not
to have given the ultimate reason of such a propensity. We only point out a
principle of human nature, which is universally acknowledged, and which is well
known by its effects. Perhaps we can push our enquiries no farther, or pretend
to give the cause of this cause; but must rest contented with it as the
ultimate principle, which we can assign, of all our conclusions from
experience. It is sufficient satisfaction, that we can go so far, without
repining at the narrowness of our faculties because they will carry us no
farther. And it is certain we here advance a very intelligible proposition at
least, if not a true one, when we assert that, after the constant conjunction
of two objects—heat and flame, for instance, weight and solidity—we
are determined by custom alone to expect the one from the appearance of the other.
This hypothesis seems even the only one which explains the difficulty, why we
draw, from a thousand instances, an inference which we are not able to draw
from one instance, that is, in no respect, different from them. Reason is
incapable of any such variation. The conclusions which it draws from
considering one circle are the same which it would form upon surveying all the
circles in the universe. But no man, having seen only one body move after being
impelled by another, could infer that every other body will move after a like
impulse. All inferences from experience, therefore, are effects of custom, not
of reasoning1 .
Custom, then, is the great guide of human life. It is
that principle alone which renders our experience useful to us, and makes us
expect, for the future, a similar train of events with those which have
appeared in the past. Without the influence of custom, we should be entirely
ignorant of every matter of fact beyond what is immediately present to the
memory and senses. We should never know how to adjust means to ends, or to
employ our natural powers in the production of any effect. There would be an
end at once of all action, as well as of the chief part of speculation.
But here it may be proper to remark, that though our
conclusions from experience carry us beyond our memory and senses, and assure
us of matters of fact which happened in the most distant places and most remote
ages, yet some fact must always be present to the senses or memory, from which
we may first proceed in drawing these conclusions. A man, who should find in a
desert country the remains of pompous buildings, would conclude that the
country had, in ancient times, been cultivated by civilized inhabitants; but
did nothing of this nature occur to him, he could never form such an inference.
We learn the events of former ages from history; but then we must peruse the
volumes in which this instruction is contained, and thence carry up our
inferences from one testimony to another, till we arrive at the eyewitnesses
and spectators of these distant events. In a word, if we proceed not upon some
fact, present to the memory or senses, our reasonings would be merely
hypothetical; and however the particular links might be connected with each
other, the whole chain of inferences would have nothing to support it, nor
could we ever, by its means, arrive at the knowledge of any real existence. If
I ask why you believe any particular matter of fact, which you relate, you must
tell me some reason; and this reason will be some other fact, connected with
it. But as you cannot proceed after this manner, in infinitum, you must at last terminate in some
fact, which is present to your memory or senses; or must allow that your belief
is entirely without foundation.
What, then, is the conclusion of the whole matter? A
simple one; though, it must be confessed, pretty remote from the common
theories of philosophy. All belief of matter of fact or real existence is
derived merely from some object, present to the memory or senses, and a
customary conjunction between that and some other object. Or in other words;
having found, in many instances, that any two kinds of objects—flame and
heat, snow and cold—have always been conjoined together; if flame or snow
be presented anew to the senses, the mind is carried by custom to expect heat
or cold, and to believe that such a quality does exist, and
will discover itself upon a nearer approach. This belief is the necessary
result of placing the mind in such circumstances. It is an operation of the
soul, when we are so situated, as unavoidable as to feel the passion of love,
when we receive benefits; or hatred, when we meet with injuries. All these
operations are a species of natural instincts, which no reasoning or process of
the thought and understanding is able either to produce or to prevent.
At this point, it would be very allowable for us to
stop our philosophical researches. In most questions we can never make a single
step farther; and in all questions we must terminate here at last, after our
most restless and curious enquiries. But still our curiosity will be
pardonable, perhaps commendable, if it carry us on to still farther researches,
and make us examine more accurately the nature of this belief, and of the customary conjunction, whence it is derived. By this means we
may meet with some explications and analogies that will give satisfaction; at
least to such as love the abstract sciences, and can be entertained with
speculations, which, however accurate, may still retain a degree of doubt and
uncertainty. As to readers of a different taste; the remaining part of this
section is not calculated for them, and the following enquiries may well be
understood, though it be neglected.
[1]Nothing is more useful than for writers, even, on moral, political, or physical subjects, to distinguish between reason and experience, and to suppose, that these species of
argumentation are entirely different from each other. The former are taken for
the mere result of our intellectual faculties, which, by considering à priori the nature of things, and examining
the effects, that must follow from their operation, establish particular
principles of science and philosophy. The latter are supposed to be derived
entirely from sense and observation, by which we learn what has actually
resulted from the operation of particular objects, and are thence able to
infer, what will, for the future, result from them. Thus, for instance, the
limitations and restraints of civil government, and a legal constitution, may
be defended, either from reason, which reflecting on the great frailty
and corruption of human nature, teaches, that no man can safely be trusted with
unlimited authority; or from experience and history, which inform us of the
enormous abuses, that ambition, in every age and country, has been found to
make of so imprudent a confidence.
The same distinction between reason and experience is maintained in all our
deliberations concerning the conduct of life; while the experienced statesman,
general, physician, or merchant is trusted and followed; and the unpractised
novice, with whatever natural talents endowed, neglected and despised. Though
it be allowed, that reason may form very plausible conjectures with regard to
the consequences of such a particular conduct in such particular circumstances;
it is still supposed imperfect, without the assistance of experience, which is
alone able to give stability and certainty to the maxims, derived from study
and reflection.
But notwithstanding that this distinction be thus universally received, both in
the active speculative scenes of life, I shall not scruple to pronounce, that
it is, at bottom, erroneous, at least, superficial.
If we examine those arguments, which, in any of the sciences above mentioned,
are supposed to be the mere effects of reasoning and reflection, they will be
found to terminate, at last, in some general principle or conclusion, for which
we can assign no reason but observation and experience. The only difference
between them and those maxims, which are vulgarly esteemed the result of pure
experience, is, that the former cannot be established without some process of
thought, and some reflection on what we have observed, in order to distinguish
its circumstances, and trace its consequences: Whereas in the latter, the
experienced event is exactly and fully familiar to that which we infer as the
result of any particular situation. The history of a Tiberius or a Nero makes us dread a like tyranny, were
our monarchs freed from the restraints of laws and senates: But the observation
of any fraud or cruelty in private life is sufficient, with the aid of a little
thought, to give us the same apprehension; while it serves as an instance of
the general corruption of human nature, and shows us the danger which we must
incur by reposing an entire confidence in mankind. In both cases, it is
experience which is ultimately the foundation of our inference and conclusion.
There is no man so young and unexperienced, as not to have formed, from observation,
many general and just maxims concerning human affairs and the conduct of life;
but it must be confessed, that, when a man comes to put these in practice, he
will be extremely liable to error, till time and farther experience both
enlarge these maxims, and teach him their proper use and application. In every
situation or incident, there are many particular and seemingly minute
circumstances, which the man of greatest talent is, at first, apt to overlook,
though on them the justness of his conclusions, and consequently the prudence
of his conduct, entirely depend. Not to mention, that, to a young beginner, the
general observations and maxims occur not always on the proper occasions, nor
can be immediately applied with due calmness and distinction. The truth is, an
unexperienced reasoner could be no reasoner at all, were he absolutely
unexperienced; and when we assign that character to any one, we mean it only in
a comparative sense, and suppose him possessed of experience, in a smaller and
more imperfect degree.
To begin with the first question concerning the necessity
of a cause: ’Tis a general maxim in philosophy, that whatever begins to exist, must have
a cause of existence. This is
commonly taken for granted in all reasonings, without any proof given or
demanded. ’Tis suppos’d to be founded on intuition, and to be one of those
maxims, which tho’ they may be deny’d with the lips, ’tis impossible for men in
their hearts really to doubt of. But if we examine this maxim by the idea of
knowledge above-explain’d, we shall discover in it no mark of any such
intuitive certainty; but on the contrary shall find, that ’tis of a nature
quite foreign to that species of conviction.
All certainty arises from the comparison of ideas, and
from the discovery of such relations as are unalterable, so long as the ideas
continue the same. These relations are resemblance,
proportions in quantity and number, degrees of any quality, and contrariety; none of which are imply’d in this
proposition, Whatever has a
beginning has also a cause of existence. That
proposition therefore is not intuitively certain. At least any one, who wou’d
assert it to be intuitively certain, must deny these to be the only infallible
relations, and must find some other relation of that kind to be imply’d in it;
which it will then be time enough to examine.
But here is an argument, which proves at once, that
the foregoing proposition is neither intuitively nor demonstrably certain. We
can never demonstrate the necessity of a cause to every new existence, or new
modification of existence, without shewing at the same time the impossibility
there is, that any thing can ever begin to exist without some productive
principle; and where the latter proposition cannot be prov’d, we must despair
of ever being able to prove the former. Now that the latter proposition is
utterly incapable of a demonstrative proof, we may satisfy ourselves by
considering, that as all distinct ideas are separable from each other, and as
the ideas of cause and effect are evidently distinct, ’twill be easy for us to
conceive any object to be non-existent this moment, and existent the next,
without conjoining to it the distinct idea of a cause or productive principle.
The separation, therefore, of the idea of a cause from that of a beginning of
existence, is plainly possible for the imagination; and consequently the actual
separation of these objects is so far possible, that it implies no
contradiction nor absurdity; and is therefore incapable of being refuted by any
reasoning from mere ideas; without which ’tis impossible to demonstrate the
necessity of a cause.
Accordingly we shall find upon examination, that every
demonstration, which has been produc’d for the necessity of a cause, is
fallacious and sophistical. All the points of time and place,1 say some philosophers, in which we can suppose any
object to begin to exist, are in themselves equal; and unless there be some
cause, which is peculiar to one time and to one place, and which by that means
determines and fixes the existence, it must remain in eternal suspence; and the
object can never begin to be, for want of something to fix its beginning. But I
ask; Is there any more difficulty in supposing the time and place to be fix’d
without a cause, than to suppose the existence to be determin’d in that manner?
The first question that occurs on this subject is always, whether the object shall exist or not: The
next, when and where it shall begin to exist. If the
removal of a cause be intuitively absurd in the one case, it must be so in the
other: And if that absurdity be not clear without a proof in the one case, it
will equally require one in the other. The absurdity, then, of the one
supposition can never be a proof of that of the other; since they are both upon
the same footing, and must stand or fall by the same reasoning.
The second argument, 2 which I find us’d on this head, labours under an equal
difficulty. Every thing, ’tis said, must have a cause; for if any thing wanted
a cause, it wou’d produce itself; that is, exist before it existed;
which is impossible. But this reasoning is plainly unconclusive; because it
supposes, that in our denial of a cause we still grant what we expressly deny, viz. that there must be a cause; which
therefore is taken to be the object itself; and that, no doubt, is an evident contradiction.
But to say that any thing is produc’d, or to express myself more properly,
comes into existence, without a cause, is not to affirm, that ’tis itself its
own cause; but on the contrary in excluding all external causes, excludes a fortiori the thing itself which is created. An
object, that exists absolutely without any cause, certainly is not its own
cause; and when you assert, that the one follows from the other, you suppose
the very point in question, and take it for granted, that ’tis utterly
impossible any thing can ever begin to exist without a cause, but that upon the
exclusion of one productive principle, we must still have recourse to another.
’Tis exactly the same case with the 1 third argument, which has been employ’d to demonstrate
the necessity of a cause. Whatever is produc’d without any cause, is produc’d
by nothing; or in other words, has nothing for its
cause. But nothing can never be a cause, no more than it can be something, or
equal to two right angles. By the same intuition, that we perceive nothing not
to be equal to two right angles, or not to be something, we perceive, that it
can never be a cause; and consequently must perceive, that every object has a
real cause of its existence.
I believe it will not be necessary to employ many
words in shewing the weakness of this argument, after what I have said of the
foregoing. They are all of them founded on the same fallacy, and are deriv’d
from the same turn of thought. ’Tis sufficient only to observe, that when we
exclude all causes we really do exclude them, and neither suppose nothing nor
the object itself to be the causes of the existence; and consequently can draw
no argument from the absurdity of these suppositions to prove the absurdity of
that exclusion. If every thing must have a cause, it follows, that upon the
exclusion of other causes we must accept of the object itself or of nothing as
causes. But ’tis the very point in question, whether every thing must have a cause
or not; and therefore, according to all just reasoning, it ought never to be
taken for granted.
They are still more frivolous, who say, that every
effect must have a cause, because ’tis imply’d in the very idea of effect.
Every effect necessarily pre-supposes a cause; effect being a relative term, of
which cause is the correlative. But this does not prove, that every being must
be preceded by a cause; no more than it follows, because every husband must
have a wife, that therefore every man must be marry’d. The true state of the
question is, whether every object, which begins to exist, must owe its
existence to a cause; and this I assert neither to be intuitively nor
demonstratively certain, and hope to have prov’d it sufficiently by the
foregoing arguments.
Since it is not from knowledge or any scientific
reasoning, that we derive the opinion of the necessity of a cause to every new
production, that opinion must necessarily arise from observation and
experience. The next question, then, shou’d naturally be, how experience gives rise to such a
principle? But as I find it
will be more convenient to sink this question in the following, Why we conclude, that such
particular causes must necessarily have such particular effects, and why we
form an inference from one to another? we
shall make that the subject of our future enquiry. ’Twill, perhaps, be found in
the end, that the same answer will serve for both questions.
[1 ]Mr. Hobbes.
[2 ]Dr. Clarke and others.
[1 ]Mr. Locke.
Tho’ the mind in its reasonings from causes or effects
carries its view beyond those objects, which it sees or remembers, it must
never lose sight of them entirely, nor reason merely upon its own ideas, without
some mixture of impressions, or at least of ideas of the memory, which are
equivalent to impressions. When we infer effects from causes, we must establish
the existence of these causes; which we have only two ways of doing, either by
an immediate perception of our memory or senses, or by an inference from other
causes; which causes again we must ascertain in the same manner, either by a
present impression, or by an inference from their causes, and so on, till we arrive at
some object, which we see or remember. ’Tis impossible for us to carry on our
inferences in infinitum;and
the only thing, that can stop them, is an impression of the memory or senses,
beyond which there is no room for doubt or enquiry.
To give an instance of this, we may chuse any point of
history, and consider for what reason we either believe or reject it. Thus we
believe that Cæsar was kill’d in the senate-house on the ides of March; and that because this fact is
establish’d on the unanimous testimony of historians, who agree to assign this
precise time and place to that event. Here are certain characters and letters
present either to our memory or senses; which characters we likewise remember
to have been us’d as the signs of certain ideas; and these ideas were either in
the minds of such as were immediately present at that action, and receiv’d the
ideas directly from its existence; or they were deriv’d from the testimony of
others, and that again from another testimony, by a visible gradation, ’till we
arrive at those who were eye-witnesses and spectators of the event. ’Tis
obvious all this chain of argument or connexion of causes and effects, is at
first founded on those characters or letters, which are seen or remember’d, and
that without the authority either of the memory or senses our whole reasoning
wou’d be chimerical and without foundation. Every link of the chain wou’d in
that case hang upon another; but there wou’d not be any thing fix’d to one end
of it, capable of sustaining the whole; and consequently there wou’d be no
belief nor evidence. And this actually is the case with all hypothetical arguments, or reasonings upon a
supposition; there being in them, neither any present impression, nor belief of
a real existence.
I need not observe, that ’tis no just objection to the
present doctrine, that we can reason upon our past conclusions or principles,
without having recourse to those impressions, from which they first arose. For
even supposing these impressions shou’d be entirely effac’d from the memory,
the conviction they produc’d may still remain; and ’tis equally true, that all
reasonings concerning causes and effects are originally deriv’d from some
impression; in the same manner, as the assurance of a demonstration proceeds
always from a comparison of ideas, tho’ it may continue after the comparison is
forgot.
In this kind of reasoning, then, from causation, we
employ materials, which are of a mix’d and heterogeneous nature, and which,
however connected, are yet essentially different from each other. All our
arguments concerning causes and effects consist both of an impression of the
memory or senses, and of the idea of that existence, which produces the object
of the impression, or is produc’d by it. Here therefore we have three things to
explain, viz. First, The original impression. Secondly, The transition to the idea of the
connected cause or effect. Thirdly, The nature and qualities of that idea.
As to those impressions, which arise from the senses, their ultimate cause is, in my
opinion, perfectly inexplicable by human reason, and ’twill always be
impossible to decide with certainty, whether they arise immediately from the
object, or are produc’d by the creative power of the mind, or are deriv’d from
the author of our being. Nor is such a question any way material to our present
purpose. We may draw inferences from the coherence of our perceptions, whether
they be true or false; whether they represent nature justly, or be mere
illusions of the senses.
When we search for the characteristic, which
distinguishes the memory from the imagination, we must
immediately perceive, that it cannot lie in the simple ideas it presents to us;
since both these faculties borrow their simple ideas from the impressions, and
can never go beyond these original perceptions. These faculties are as little
distinguish’d from each other by the arrangement of their complex ideas. For
tho’ it be a peculiar property of the memory to preserve the original order and
position of its ideas, while the imagination transposes and changes them, as it
pleases; yet this difference is not sufficient to distinguish them in their
operation, or make us know the one from the other; it being impossible to recal
the past impressions, in order to compare them with our present ideas, and see
whether their arrangement be exactly similar. Since therefore the memory is
known, neither by the order of its complex ideas, nor the nature of its simple ones; it follows, that the difference
betwixt it and the imagination lies in its superior force and vivacity. A man
may indulge his fancy in feigning any past scene of adventures; nor wou’d there
be any possibility of distinguishing this from a remembrance of a like kind,
were not the ideas of the imagination fainter and more obscure.
A painter, who intended to represent a passion or
emotion of any kind, wou’d endeavour to get a sight of a person actuated by a
like emotion, in order to enliven his ideas, and give them a force and vivacity
superior to what is found in those, which are mere fictions of the imagination.
The more recent this memory is, the clearer is the idea; and when after a long
interval he would return to the contemplation of his object, he always finds
its idea to be much decay’d, if not wholly obliterated. We are frequently in
doubt concerning the ideas of the memory, as they become very weak and feeble;
and are at a loss to determine whether any image proceeds from the fancy or the
memory, when it is not drawn in such lively colours as distinguish that latter
faculty. I think, I remember such an event, says one; but am not sure. A long
tract of time has almost worn it out of my memory, and leaves me uncertain
whether or not it be the pure offspring of my fancy.
And as an idea of the memory, by losing its force and
vivacity, may degenerate to such a degree, as to be taken for an idea of the
imagination; so on the other hand an idea of the imagination may acquire such a
force and vivacity, as to pass for an idea of the memory, and counterfeit its
effects on the belief and judgment. This is noted in the case of liars; who by
the frequent repetition of their lies, come at last to believe and remember
them, as realities; custom and habit having in this case, as in many others,
the same influence on the mind as nature, and infixing the idea with equal
force and vigour.
Thus it appears, that the belief or assent, which always attends the memory and
senses, is nothing but the vivacity of those perceptions they present; and that
this alone distinguishes them from the imagination. To believe is in this case
to feel an immediate impression of the senses, or a repetition of that
impression in the memory. ’Tis merely the force and liveliness of the
perception, which constitutes the first act of the judgment, and lays the
foundation of that reasoning, which we build upon it, when we trace the
relation of cause and effect.
’Tis easy to observe, that in tracing this
relation, the inference we draw from cause to effect, is not deriv’d merely
from a survey of these particular objects, and from such a penetration into
their essences as may discover the dependance of the one upon the other. There
is no object, which implies the existence of any other if we consider these
objects in themselves, and never look beyond the ideas which we form of them.
Such an inference wou’d amount to knowledge, and wou’d imply the absolute
contradiction and impossibility of conceiving any thing different. But as all
distinct ideas are separable, ’tis evident there can be no impossibility of
that kind. When we pass from a present impression to the idea of any object, we
might possibly have separated the idea from the impression, and have substituted
any other idea in its room.
’Tis therefore by experience only, that we can infer the existence
of one object from that of another. The nature of experience is this. We
remember to have had frequent instances of the existence of one species of
objects; and also remember, that the individuals of another species of objects
have always attended them, and have existed in a regular order of contiguity
and succession with regard to them. Thus we remember to have seen that species
of object we call flame, and to have felt that species of
sensation we call heat.We
likewise call to mind their constant conjunction in all past instances. Without
any farther ceremony, we call the one cause and the other effect, and infer the existence of the one
from that of the other. In all those instances, from which we learn the
conjunction of particular causes and effects, both the causes and effects have
been perceiv’d by the senses, and are remember’d: But in all cases, wherein we
reason concerning them, there is only one perceiv’d or remember’d, and the
other is supply’d in conformity to our past experience.
Thus in advancing we have insensibly discover’d a new
relation betwixt cause and effect, when we least expected it, and were entirely
employ’d upon another subject. This relation is their constant conjunction. Contiguity and succession are not
sufficient to make us pronounce any two objects to be cause and effect, unless
we perceive, that these two relations are preserv’d in several instances. We
may now see the advantage of quitting the direct survey of this relation, in
order to discover the nature of that necessary
connexion, which makes so
essential a part of it. There are hopes, that by this means we may at last
arrive at our propos’d end; tho’ to tell the truth, this new-discover’d
relation of a constant conjunction seems to advance us but very little in our
way. For it implies no more than this, that like objects have always been
plac’d in like relations of contiguity and succession; and it seems evident, at
least at first sight, that by this means we can never discover any new idea,
and can only multiply, but not enlarge the objects of our mind. It may be
thought, that what we learn not from one object, we can never learn from a
hundred, which are all of the same kind, and are perfectly resembling in every
circumstance. As our senses shew us in one instance two bodies, or motions, or
qualities in certain relations of succession and contiguity; so our memory
presents us only with a multitude of instances, wherein we always find like
bodies, motions, or qualities in like relations. From the mere repetition of
any past impression, even to infinity, there never will arise any new original
idea, such as that of a necessary connexion; and the number of impressions has
in this case no more effect than if we confin’d ourselves to one only. But tho’
this reasoning seems just and obvious; yet as it wou’d be folly to despair too
soon, we shall continue the thread of our discourse; and having found, that
after the discovery of the constant conjunction of any objects, we always draw
an inference from one object to another, we shall now examine the nature of
that inference, and of the transition from the impression to the idea. Perhaps
’twill appear in the end, that the necessary connexion depends on the
inference, instead of the inference’s depending on the necessary connexion.
Since it appears, that the transition from an
impression present to the memory or senses to the idea of an object, which we
call cause or effect, is founded on past experience, and on our remembrance of their constant conjunction, the next question is, Whether
experience produces the idea by means of the understanding or of the
imagination; whether we are determin’d by reason to make the transition, or by
a certain association and relation of perceptions. If reason determin’d us, it
wou’d proceed upon that principle, that
instances, of which we have had no experience, must resemble those, of which we
have had experience, and that the course of nature continues always uniformly
the same. In order therefore
to clear up this matter, let us consider all the arguments, upon which such a
proposition may be suppos’d to be founded; and as these must be deriv’d either
from knowledge or probability, let us cast our eye on each of these
degrees of evidence, and see whether they afford any just conclusion of this
nature.
Our foregoing method of reasoning will easily convince
us, that there can be no demonstrative arguments to prove, that those instances, of which we
have had no experience, resemble those, of which we have had experience. We can at least conceive a change in
the course of nature; which sufficiently proves, that such a change is not
absolutely impossible. To form a clear idea of any thing, is an undeniable
argument for its possibility, and is alone a refutation of any pretended
demonstration against it.
Probability, as it discovers not the relations of
ideas, consider’d as such, but only those of objects, must in some respects be
founded on the impressions of our memory and senses, and in some respects on
our ideas. Were there no mixture of any impression in our probable reasonings,
the conclusion wou’d be entirely chimerical: And were there no mixture of
ideas, the action of the mind, in observing the relation, wou’d, properly
speaking, be sensation, not reasoning. ’Tis therefore necessary, that in all
probable reasonings there be something present to the mind, either seen or
remember’d; and that from this we infer something connected with it, which is
not seen nor remember’d.
The only connexion or relation of objects, which can
lead us beyond the immediate impressions of our memory and senses, is that of
cause and effect; and that because ’tis the only one, on which we can found a
just inference from one object to another. The idea of cause and effect is
deriv’d from experience, which informs us, that such particular
objects, in all past instances, have been constantly conjoin’d with each other:
And as an object similar to one of these is suppos’d to be immediately present
in its impression, we thence presume on the existence of one similar to its
usual attendant. According to this account of things, which is, I think, in
every point unquestionable, probability is founded on the presumption of a
resemblance betwixt those objects, of which we have had experience, and those,
of which we have had none; and therefore ’tis impossible this presumption can
arise from probability. The same principle cannot be both the cause and effect
of another; and this is, perhaps, the only proposition concerning that
relation, which is either intuitively or demonstratively certain.
Shou’d any one think to elude this argument; and
without determining whether our reasoning on this subject be deriv’d from
demonstration or probability, pretend that all conclusions from causes and
effects are built on solid reasoning: I can only desire, that this reasoning
may be produc’d, in order to be expos’d to our examination. It may, perhaps, be
said, that after experience of the constant conjunction of certain objects, we
reason in the following manner. Such an object is always found to produce
another. ’Tis impossible it cou’d have this effect, if it was not endow’d with
a power of production. The power necessarily implies the effect; and therefore
there is a just foundation for drawing a conclusion from the existence of one
object to that of its usual attendant. The past production implies a power: The
power implies a new production: And the new production is what we infer from
the power and the past production.
’Twere easy for me to shew the weakness of this
reasoning, were I willing to make use of those observations I have already
made, that the idea of production is the same with that of causation, and that no existence certainly and
demonstratively implies a power in any other object; or were it proper to
anticipate what I shall have occasion to remark afterwards concerning the idea
we form of power and efficacy. But as such a method of proceeding may
seem either to weaken my system, by resting one part of it on another, or to
breed a confusion in my reasoning, I shall endeavour to maintain my present
assertion without any such assistance.
It shall therefore be allow’d for a moment, that the
production of one object by another in any one instance implies a power; and
that this power is connected with its effect. But it having been already
prov’d, that the power lies not in the sensible qualities of the cause; and
there being nothing but the sensible qualities present to us; I ask, why in
other instances you presume that the same power still exists, merely upon the
appearance of these qualities? Your appeal to past experience decides nothing
in the present case; and at the utmost can only prove, that that very object,
which produc’d any other, was at that very instant endow’d with such a power;
but can never prove, that the same power must continue in the same object or
collection of sensible qualities; much less, that a like power is always
conjoin’d with like sensible qualities. Shou’d it be said, that we have
experience, that the same power continues united with the same object, and that
like objects are endow’d with like powers, I wou’d renew my question, why from this experience we form
any conclusion beyond those past instances, of which we have had experience. If you answer this question in the
same manner as the preceding, your answer gives still occasion to a new
question of the same kind, even in
infinitum; which clearly
proves, that the foregoing reasoning had no just foundation.
Thus not only our reason fails us in the discovery of
the ultimate connexion of causes and effects, but even after
experience has inform’d us of their constant
conjunction, ’tis impossible
for us to satisfy ourselves by our reason, why we shou’d extend that experience
beyond those particular instances, which have fallen under our observation. We
suppose, but are never able to prove, that there must be a resemblance betwixt
those objects, of which we have had experience, and those which lie beyond the
reach of our discovery.
We have already taken notice of certain relations,
which make us pass from one object to another, even tho’ there be no reason to
determine us to that transition; and this we may establish for a general rule,
that wherever the mind constantly and uniformly makes a transition without any
reason, it is influenc’d by these relations. Now this is exactly the present
case. Reason can never shew us the connexion of one object with another, tho’
aided by experience, and the observation of their constant conjunction in all
past instances. When the mind, therefore, passes from the idea or impression of
one object to the idea or belief of another, it is not determin’d by reason,
but by certain principles, which associate together the ideas of these objects,
and unite them in the imagination. Had ideas no more union in the fancy than
objects seem to have to the understanding, we cou’d never draw any inference
from causes to effects, nor repose belief in any matter of fact. The inference,
therefore, depends solely on the union of ideas.
The principles of union among ideas I have reduc’d to
three general ones, and have asserted, that the idea or impression of any
object naturally introduces the idea of any other object, that is resembling,
contiguous to, or connected with it. These principles I allow to be neither the infallible nor the sole causes of an union among ideas. They
are not the infallible causes. For one may fix his attention during some time
on any one object without looking farther. They are not the sole causes. For
the thought has evidently a very irregular motion in running along its objects,
and may leap from the heavens to the earth, from one end of the creation to the
other, without any certain method or order. But tho’ I allow this weakness in
these three relations, and this irregularity in the imagination; yet I assert
that the only general principles, which associate ideas, are
resemblance, contiguity and causation.
There is indeed a principle of union among ideas,
which at first sight may be esteem’d different from any of these, but will be
found at the bottom to depend on the same origin. When ev’ry individual of any
species of objects is found by experience to be constantly united with an
individual of another species, the appearance of any new individual of either
species naturally conveys the thought to its usual attendant. Thus because such
a particular idea is commonly annex’d to such a particular word, nothing is
requir’d but the hearing of that word to produce the correspondent idea; and
’twill scarce be possible for the mind, by its utmost efforts, to prevent that
transition. In this case it is not absolutely necessary, that upon hearing such
a particular sound, we shou’d reflect on any past experience, and consider what
idea has been usually connected with the sound. The imagination of itself
supplies the place of this reflection, and is so accustom’d to pass from the
word to the idea, that it interposes not a moment’s delay betwixt the hearing
of the one, and the conception of the other.
But tho’ I acknowledge this to be a true principle of
association among ideas, I assert it to be the very same with that betwixt the
ideas of cause and effect, and to be an essential part in all our reasonings
from that relation. We have no other notion of cause and effect, but that of
certain objects, which have been always
conjoin’d together, and which
in all past instances have been found inseparable. We cannot penetrate into the
reason of the conjunction. We only observe the thing itself, and always find
that from the constant conjunction the objects acquire an union in the
imagination. When the impression of one becomes present to us, we immediately
form an idea of its usual attendant; and consequently we may establish this as
one part of the definition of an opinion or belief, that ’tis an idea related to or associated
with a present impression.
Thus tho’ causation be a philosophical relation, as implying contiguity,
succession, and constant conjunction, yet ’tis only so far as it is a natural relation, and produces an union among
our ideas, that we are able to reason upon it, or draw any inference from it.
4. A ideia
de crença: T 1.3.7, 8, 9 e 10;
E 5.10-22
The idea of an object is an essential part of the belief of it, but not the
whole. We conceive many things, which we do not believe. In order then to
discover more fully the nature of belief, or the qualities of those ideas we
assent to, let us weigh the following considerations.
’Tis evident, that all reasonings from
causes or effects terminate in conclusions, concerning matter of fact; that is,
concerning the existence of objects or of their qualities. ’Tis also evident,
that the idea of existence is nothing different from the idea of any object,
and that when after the simple conception of any thing we wou’d conceive it as
existent, we in reality make no addition to or alteration on our first idea.
Thus when we affirm, that God is existent, we simply form the idea of such a
being, as he is represented to us; nor is the existence, which we attribute to
him, conceiv’d by a particular idea, which we join to the idea of his other
qualities, and can again separate and distinguish from them. But I go farther;
and not content with asserting, that the conception of the existence of any
object is no addition to the simple conception of it, I likewise maintain, that
the belief of the existence joins no new ideas to those, which compose the idea
of the object. When I think of God, when I think of him as existent, and when I
believe him to be existent, my idea of him neither encreases nor diminishes.
But as ’tis certain there is a great difference betwixt the simple conception
of the existence of an object, and the belief of it, and as this difference
lies not in the parts or composition of the idea, which we conceive; it
follows, that it must lie in the manner, in which we conceive it.
Suppose a person present with me, who
advances propositions, to which I do not assent, that Cæsar dy’d in his bed, that silver is
more fusible than lead, or mercury heavier than gold; ’tis evident, that notwithstanding my
incredulity, I clearly understand his meaning, and form all the same ideas,
which he forms. My imagination is endow’d with the same powers as his; nor is
it possible for him to conceive any idea, which I cannot conceive; or conjoin
any, which I cannot conjoin. I therefore ask, Wherein consists the difference
betwixt believing and disbelieving any proposition? The answer is easy with
regard to propositions, that are prov’d by intuition or demonstration. In that
case, the person, who assents, not only conceives the ideas according to the
proposition, but is necessarily determin’d to conceive them in that particular
manner, either immediately or by the interposition of other ideas. Whatever is
absurd is unintelligible; nor is it possible for the imagination to conceive
any thing contrary to a demonstration. But as in reasonings from causation, and
concerning matters of fact, this absolute necessity cannot take place, and the
imagination is free to conceive both sides of the question, I still ask, Wherein consists the difference
betwixt incredulity and belief? since
in both cases the conception of the idea is equally possible and requisite.
’Twill not be a satisfactory answer to
say, that a person, who does not assent to a proposition you advance; after
having conceiv’d the object in the same manner with you; immediately conceives
it in a different manner, and has different ideas of it. This answer is
unsatisfactory; not because it contains any falsehood, but because it discovers
not all the truth. ’Tis confest, that in all cases, wherein we dissent from any
person, we conceive both sides of the question; but as we can believe only one,
it evidently follows, that the belief must make some difference betwixt that
conception to which we assent, and that from which we dissent. We may mingle,
and unite, and separate, and confound, and vary our ideas in a hundred
different ways; but ’till there appears some principle, which fixes one of
these different situations, we have in reality no opinion: And this principle,
as it plainly makes no addition to our precedent ideas, can only change the manner of our conceiving them.
All the perceptions of the mind are of
two kinds, viz. impressions and ideas, which differ
from each other only in their different degrees of force and vivacity. Our
ideas are copy’d from our impressions, and represent them in all their parts.
When you wou’d any way vary the idea of a particular object, you can only
encrease or diminish its force and vivacity. If you make any other change on it,
it represents a different object or impression. The case is the same as in
colours. A particular shade of any colour may acquire a new degree of
liveliness or brightness without any other variation. But when you produce any
other variation, ’tis no longer the same shade or colour. So that as belief
does nothing but vary the manner, in which we conceive any object, it can only
bestow on our ideas an additional force and vivacity. An opinion, therefore, or
belief may be most accurately defin’d, A Lively Idea Related To Or
Associated With A Present Impression1 .
Here are the heads of those arguments,
which lead us to this conclusion. When we infer the existence of an object from
that of others, some object must always be present either to the memory or
senses, in order to be the foundation of our reasoning; since the mind cannot
run up with its inferences in
infinitum. Reason can never
satisfy us that the existence of any one object does ever imply that of
another; so that when we pass from the impression of one to the idea or belief
of another, we are not determin’d by reason, but by custom or a principle of
association. But belief is somewhat more than a simple idea. ’Tis a particular
manner of forming an idea: And as the same idea can only be vary’d by a
variation of its degrees of force and vivacity; it follows upon the whole, that
belief is a lively idea produc’d by a relation to a present impression,
according to the foregoing definition.
This definition will also be found to be
entirely conformable to every one’s feeling and experience. Nothing is more
evident, than that those ideas, to which we assent, are more strong, firm and
vivid, than the loose reveries of a castle-builder. If one person sits down to
read a book as a romance, and another as a true history, they plainly receive
the same ideas, and in the same order; nor does the incredulity of the one, and
the belief of the other hinder them from putting the very same sense upon their
author. His words produce the same ideas in both; tho’ his testimony has not
the same influence on them. The latter has a more lively conception of all the
incidents. He enters deeper into the concerns of the persons: represents to
himself their actions, and characters, and friendships, and enmities: He even
goes so far as to form a notion of their features, and air, and person. While
the former, who gives no credit to the testimony of the author, has a more
faint and languid conception of all these particulars; and except on account of
the style and ingenuity of the composition, can receive little entertainment
from it.
[1 ]We may here take occasion to observe a very remarkable error, which
being frequently inculcated in the schools, has become a kind of establish’d
maxim, and is universally received by all logicians. This error consists in the
vulgar division of the acts of the understanding, into conception, judgment and reasoning, and in the definitions we give of
them. Conception is defin’d to be the simple survey of one or more ideas:
Judgment to be the separating or uniting of different ideas: Reasoning to be
the separating or uniting of different ideas by the interposition of others,
which show the relation they bear to each other. But these distinctions and
definitions are faulty in very considerable articles. For first, ’tis far from being true, that in
every judgment, which we form, we unite two different ideas; since in that
proposition, God is, or indeed any other, which regards
existence, the idea of existence is no distinct idea, which we unite with that
of the object, and which is capable of forming a compound idea by the union. Secondly, As we can thus form a proposition,
which contains only one idea, so we may exert our reason without employing more
than two ideas, and without having recourse to a third to serve as a medium
betwixt them. We infer a cause immediately from its effect; and this inference
is not only a true species of reasoning, but the strongest of all others, and
more convincing than when we interpose another idea to connect the two
extremes. What we may in general affirm concerning these three acts of the
understanding is, that taking them in a proper light, they all resolve
themselves into the first, and are nothing but particular ways of conceiving
our objects. Whether we consider a single object, or several; whether we dwell
on these objects, or run from them to others; and in whatever form or order we
survey them, the act of the mind exceeds not a simple conception; and the only
remarkable difference, which occurs on this occasion, is, when we join belief
to the conception, and are perswaded of the truth of what we conceive. This act
of the mind has never yet been explain’d by any philosopher; and therefore I am
at liberty to propose my hypothesis concerning it; which is, that ’tis only a
strong and steady conception of any idea, and such as approaches in some
measure to an immediate impression.
Having thus explain’d the nature of belief, and shewn that it consists in a
lively idea related to a present impression; let us now proceed to examine from
what principles it is deriv’d, and what bestows the vivacity on the idea.
I wou’d willingly establish it as a
general maxim in the science of human nature, that
when any impression becomes present to us, it not only transports the mind to
such ideas as are related to it, but likewise communicates to them a share of
its force and vivacity. All
the operations of the mind depend in a great measure on its disposition, when
it performs them; and according as the spirits are more or less elevated, and
the attention more or less fix’d, the action will always have more or less
vigour and vivacity. When therefore any object is presented, which elevates and
enlivens the thought, every action, to which the mind applies itself, will be
more strong and vivid, as long as that disposition continues. Now ’tis evident
the continuance of the disposition depends entirely on the objects, about which
the mind is employ’d; and that any new object naturally gives a new direction
to the spirits, and changes the disposition; as on the contrary, when the mind
fixes constantly on the same object, or passes easily and insensibly along
related objects, the disposition has a much longer duration. Hence it happens,
that when the mind is once inliven’d by a present impression, it proceeds to
form a more lively idea of the related objects, by a natural transition of the
disposition from the one to the other. The change of the objects is so easy,
that the mind is scarce sensible of it, but applies itself to the conception of
the related idea with all the force and vivacity it acquir’d from the present
impression.
If in considering the nature of
relation, and that facility of transition, which is essential to it, we can
satisfy ourselves concerning the reality of this phænomenon, ’tis well: But I
must confess I place my chief confidence in experience to prove so material a
principle. We may, therefore, observe, as the first experiment to our present
purpose, that upon the appearance of the picture of an absent friend, our idea
of him is evidently inliven’d by the resemblance, and that every passion, which that
idea occasions, whether of joy or sorrow, acquires new force and vigour. In
producing this effect there concur both a relation and a present impression.
Where the picture bears him no resemblance, or at least was not intended for
him, it never so much as conveys our thought to him: And where it is absent, as
well as the person; tho’ the mind may pass from the thought of the one to that
of the other; it feels its idea to be rather weaken’d than inliven’d by that
transition. We take a pleasure in viewing the picture of a friend, when ’tis
set before us; but when ’tis remov’d, rather choose to consider him directly,
than by reflexion in an image, which is equally distant and obscure.
The ceremonies of the Roman Catholic religion may be consider’d as
experiments of the same nature. The devotees of that strange superstition
usually plead in excuse of the mummeries, with which they are upbraided, that
they feel the good effect of those external motions, and postures, and actions,
in inlivening their devotion, and quickening their fervour, which otherwise
wou’d decay away, if directed entirely to distant and immaterial objects. We
shadow out the objects of our faith, say they, in sensible types and images,
and render them more present to us by the immediate presence of these types,
than ’tis possible for us to do, merely by an intellectual view and
contemplation. Sensible objects have always a greater influence on the fancy
than any other; and this influence they readily convey to those ideas, to which
they are related, and which they resemble. I shall only infer from these
practices, and this reasoning, that the effect of resemblance in inlivening the
idea is very common; and as in every case a resemblance and a present
impression must concur, we are abundantly supply’d with experiments to prove
the reality of the foregoing principle.
We may add force to these experiments by
others of a different kind, in considering the effects of contiguity, as well as of resemblance. ’Tis certain, that distance diminishes
the force of every idea, and that upon our approach to any object; tho’ it does
not discover itself to our senses; it operates upon the mind with an influence
that imitates an immediate impression. The thinking on any object readily
transports the mind to what is contiguous; but ’tis only the actual presence of
an object that transports it with a superior vivacity. When I am a few miles
from home, whatever relates to it touches me more nearly than when I am two
hundred leagues distant; tho’ even at that distance the reflecting on any thing
in the neighbourhood of my friends and family naturally produces an idea of
them. But as in this latter case, both the objects of the mind are ideas;
notwithstanding there is an easy transition betwixt them; that transition alone
is not able to give a superior vivacity to any of the ideas, for want of some
immediate impression.
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 relicts of saints and holy men, for the
same reason that they seek after types and images, in order to inliven their
devotion, and give them a more intimate and strong conception of those
exemplary lives, which they desire to imitate. Now ’tis evident, one of the
best relicks a devotee cou’d procure, wou’d be the handywork of a saint; and if
his cloaths and furniture are ever to be consider’d in this light, ’tis because
they were once at his disposal, and were mov’d and affected by him; in which
respect they are to be consider’d as imperfect effects, and as connected with
him by a shorter chain of consequences than any of those, from which we learn
the reality of his existence. This phænomenon clearly proves, that a present
impression with a relation of causation may enliven any idea, and consequently
produce belief or assent, according to the precedent definition of it.
But why need we seek for other arguments
to prove, that a present impression with a relation or transition of the fancy
may inliven any idea, when this very instance of our reasonings from cause and
effect will alone suffice to that purpose? ’Tis certain we must have an idea of
every matter of fact, which we believe. ’Tis certain, that this idea arises
only from a relation to a present impression. ’Tis certain, that the belief
super-adds nothing to the idea, but only changes our manner of conceiving it,
and renders it more strong and lively. The present conclusion concerning the
influence of relation is the immediate consequence of all these steps; and
every step appears to me sure and infallible. There enters nothing into this
operation of the mind but a present impression, a lively idea, and a relation
or association in the fancy betwixt the impression and idea; so that there can
be no suspicion of mistake.
In order to put this whole affair in a
fuller light, let us consider it as a question in natural philosophy, which we
must determine by experience and observation. I suppose there is an object
presented, from which I draw a certain conclusion, and form to myself ideas,
which I am said to believe or assent to. Here ’tis evident, that however that
object, which is present to my senses, and that other, whose existence I infer
by reasoning, may be thought to influence each other by their particular powers
or qualities; yet as the phænomenon of belief, which we at present examine, is
merely internal, these powers and qualities, being entirely unknown, can have
no hand in producing it. ’Tis the present impression, which is to be consider’d
as the true and real cause of the idea, and of the belief which attends it. We
must therefore endeavour to discover by experiments the particular qualities,
by which ’tis enabled to produce so extraordinary an effect.
First then I observe, that the present
impression has not this effect by its own proper power and efficacy, and when
consider’d alone, as a single perception, limited to the present moment. I
find, that an impression, from which, on its first appearance, I can draw no
conclusion, may afterwards become the foundation of belief, when I have had
experience of its usual consequences. We must in every case have observ’d the
same impression in past instances, and have found it to be constantly conjoin’d
with some other impression. This is confirm’d by such a multitude of
experiments, that it admits not of the smallest doubt.
From a second observation I conclude,
that the belief, which attends the present impression, and is produc’d by a
number of past impressions and conjunctions; that this belief, I say, arises
immediately, without any new operation of the reason or imagination. Of this I
can be certain, because I never am conscious of any such operation, and find
nothing in the subject, on which it can be founded. Now as we call every thing custom, which
proceeds from a past repetition, without any new reasoning or conclusion, we
may establish it as a certain truth, that all the belief, which follows upon
any present impression, is deriv’d solely from that origin. When we are
accustom’d to see two impressions conjoin’d together, the appearance or idea of
the one immediately carries us to the idea of the other.
Being fully satisfy’d on this head, I
make a third set of experiments, in order to know, whether any thing be
requisite, beside the customary transition, towards the production of this
phænomenon of belief. I therefore change the first impression into an idea; and
observe, that tho’ the customary transition to the correlative idea still
remains, yet there is in reality no belief nor perswasion. A present
impression, then, is absolutely requisite to this whole operation; and when
after this I compare an impression with an idea, and find that their only
difference consists in their different degrees of force and vivacity, I
conclude upon the whole, that belief is a more vivid and intense conception of
an idea, proceeding from its relation to a present impression.
Thus all probable reasoning is nothing
but a species of sensation. ’Tis not solely in poetry and music, we must follow
our taste and sentiment, but likewise in philosophy. When I am convinc’d of any
principle, ’tis only an idea, which strikes more strongly upon me. When I give
the preference to one set of arguments above another, I do nothing but decide
from my feeling concerning the superiority of their influence. Objects have no
discoverable connexion together; nor is it from any other principle but custom
operating upon the imagination, that we can draw any inference from the
appearance of one to the existence of another.
’Twill here be worth our observation,
that the past experience, on which all our judgments concerning cause and
effect depend, may operate on our mind in such an insensible manner as never to
be taken notice of, and may even in some measure be unknown to us. A person,
who stops short in his journey upon meeting a river in his way, foresees the consequences
of his proceeding forward; and his knowledge of these consequences is convey’d
to him by past experience, which informs him of such certain conjunctions of
causes and effects. But can we think, that on this occasion he reflects on any
past experience, and calls to remembrance instances, that he has seen or heard
of, in order to discover the effects of water on animal bodies? No surely; this
is not the method in which he proceeds in his reasoning. The idea of sinking is
so closely connected with that of water, and the idea of suffocating with that
of sinking, that the mind makes the transition without the assistance of the
memory. The custom operates before we have time for reflexion. The objects seem
so inseparable, that we interpose not a moment’s delay in passing from the one
to the other. But as this transition proceeds from experience, and not from any
primary connexion betwixt the ideas, we must necessarily acknowledge, that
experience may produce a belief and a judgment of causes and effects by a
secret operation, and without being once thought of. This removes all pretext,
if there yet remains any, for asserting that the mind is convinc’d by reasoning
of that principle, that
instances of which we have no experience, must necessarily resemble those, of
which we have. For we here
find, that the understanding or imagination can draw inferences from past
experience, without reflecting on it; much more without forming any principle
concerning it, or reasoning upon that principle.
In general we may observe, that in all
the most establish’d and uniform conjunctions of causes and effects, such as
those of gravity, impulse, solidity, &c., the mind never carries its view
expressly to consider any past experience: Tho’ in other associations of objects,
which are more rare and unusual, it may assist the custom and transition of
ideas by this reflexion. Nay we find in some cases, that the reflexion produces
the belief without the custom; or more properly speaking, that the reflexion
produces the custom in an obliqueand artificial manner. I explain myself. ’Tis
certain, that not only in philosophy, but even in common life, we may attain
the knowledge of a particular cause merely by one experiment, provided it be
made with judgment, and after a careful removal of all foreign and superfluous
circumstances. Now as after one experiment of this kind, the mind, upon the
appearance either of the cause or the effect, can draw an inference concerning
the existence of its correlative; and as a habit can never be acquir’d merely
by one instance; it may be thought, that belief cannot in this case be esteem’d
the effect of custom. But this difficulty will vanish, if we consider, that
tho’ we are here suppos’d to have had only one experiment of a particular
effect, yet we have many millions to convince us of this principle; that like objects, plac’d in like
circumstances, will always produce like effects; and as this principle has establish’d
itself by a sufficient custom, it bestows an evidence and firmness on any
opinion, to which it can be apply’d. The connexion of the ideas is not habitual
after one experiment; but this connexion is comprehended under another
principle, that is habitual; which brings us back to our hypothesis. In all
cases we transfer our experience to instances, of which we have no experience,
either expressly or tacitly, eitherdirectly or indirectly.
I must not conclude this subject without
observing, that ’tis very difficult to talk of the operations of the mind with
perfect propriety and exactness; because common language has seldom made any
very nice distinctions among them, but has generally call’d by the same term
all such as nearly resemble each other. And as this is a source almost
inevitable of obscurity and confusion in the author; so it may frequently give
rise to doubts and objections in the reader, which otherwise he wou’d never
have dream’d of. Thus my general position, that an opinion or belief is nothing but a strong and lively
idea deriv’d from a present impression related to it, may be liable to the following
objection, by reason of a little ambiguity in those words strong and lively. It may be said, that not only an
impression may give rise to reasoning, but that an idea may also have the same
influence; especially upon my principle, that
all our ideas are deriv’d from correspondent impressions. For suppose I form at present an idea,
of which I have forgot the correspondent impression, I am able to conclude from
this idea, that such an impression did once exist; and as this conclusion is
attended with belief, it may be ask’d, from whence are the qualities of force
and vivacity deriv’d, which constitute this belief? And to this I answer very
readily, from the present
idea. For as this idea is not
here consider’d as the representation of any absent object, but as a real
perception in the mind, of which we are intimately conscious, it must be able
to bestow on whatever is related to it the same quality, call itfirmness, or
solidity, or force, or vivacity, with
which the mind reflects upon it, and is assur’d of its present existence. The
idea here supplies the place of an impression, and is entirely the same, so far
as regards our present purpose.
Upon the same principles we need not be
surpriz’d to hear of the remembrance of an idea; that is, of the idea of an
idea, and of its force and vivacity superior to the loose conceptions of the
imagination. In thinking of our past thoughts we not only delineate out the
objects, of which we were thinking, but also conceive the action of the mind in
the meditation, that certain je-ne-scai-quoi, of which ’tis impossible to give any
definition or description, but which every one sufficiently understands. When
the memory offers an idea of this, and represents it as past, ’tis easily
conceiv’d how that idea may have more vigour and firmness, than when we think
of a past thought, of which we have no remembrance.
After this any one will understand how
we may form the idea of an impression and of an idea, and how we may believe
the existence of an impression and of an idea.
However convincing the foregoing arguments may appear, we must not rest
contented with them, but must turn the subject on every side, in order to find
some new points of view, from which we may illustrate and confirm such
extraordinary, and such fundamental principles. A scrupulous hesitation to
receive any new hypothesis is so laudable a disposition in philosophers, and so
necessary to the examination of truth, that it deserves to be comply’d with,
and requires that every argument be produc’d, which may tend to their
satisfaction, and every objection remov’d, which may stop them in their
reasoning.
I have often observ’d, that, beside
cause and effect, the two relations of resemblance and contiguity, are to be
consider’d as associating principles of thought, and as capable of conveying
the imagination from one idea to another. I have also observ’d, that when of
two objects connected together by any of these relations, one is immediately
present to the memory or senses, not only the mind is convey’d to its
co-relative by means of the associating principle; but likewise conceives it
with an additional force and vigour, by the united operation of that principle,
and of the present impression. All this I have observ’d, in order to confirm by
analogy, my explication of our judgments concerning cause and effect. But this
very argument may, perhaps, be turn’d against me, and instead of a confirmation
of my hypothesis, may become an objection to it. For it may be said, that if
all the parts of that hypothesis be true, viz.
that these three species of
relation are deriv’d from the same principles; that their effects in inforcing and
inlivening our ideas are the same; and that belief is nothing but a more forcible
and vivid conception of an idea; it shou’d follow, that that action of the mind
may not only be deriv’d from the relation of cause and effect, but also from
those of contiguity and resemblance. But as we find by experience, that belief
arises only from causation, and that we can draw no inference from one object
to another, except they be connected by this relation, we may conclude, that
there is some error in that reasoning, which leads us into such difficulties.
This is the objection; let us now
consider its solution. ’Tis evident, that whatever is present to the memory,
striking upon the mind with a vivacity, which resembles an immediate
impression, must become of considerable moment in all the operations of the mind,
and must easily distinguish itself above the mere fictions of the imagination.
Of these impressions or ideas of the memory we form a kind of system,
comprehending whatever we remember to have been present, either to our internal
perception or senses; and every particular of that system join’d, to the
present impressions, we are pleas’d to call a reality. But the mind stops not here. For
finding, that with this system of perceptions, there is another connected by
custom, or if you will, by the relation of cause or effect, it proceeds to the
consideration of their ideas; and as it feels that ’tis in a manner necessarily
determin’d to view these particular ideas, and that the custom or relation, by
which it is determin’d, admits not of the least change, it forms them into a
new system, which it likewise dignifies with the title of realities. The first of these systems is the
object of the memory and senses; the second of the judgment.
’Tis this latter principle which peoples
the world, and brings us acquainted with such existences, as by their removal
in time and place, lie beyond the reach of the senses and memory. By means of
it I paint the universe in my imagination, and fix my attention on any part of
it I please. I form an idea of Rome, which I neither see nor remember; but
which is connected with such impressions as I remember to have received from
the conversation and books of travellers and historians. This idea of Rome I place in a certain situation on the
idea of an object, which I call the globe. I join to it the conception of a
particular government, and religion, and manners. I look backward and consider
its first foundation; its several revolutions, successes, and misfortunes. All
this, and every thing else, which I believe, are nothing but ideas; tho’ by
their force and settled order, arising from custom and the relation of cause
and effect, they distinguish themselves from the other ideas, which are merely
the offspring of the imagination.
As to the influence of contiguity and
resemblance, we may observe, that if the continguous and resembling object be
comprehended in this system of realities, there is no doubt but these two
relations will assist that of cause and effect, and infix the related idea with
more force in the imagination. This I shall enlarge upon presently. Mean while
I shall carry my observation a step farther, and assert, that even where the
related object is but feign’d, the relation will serve to enliven the idea, and
encrease its influence. A poet, no doubt, will be the better able to form a
strong description of the Elysian fields, that he prompts his
imagination by the view of a beautiful meadow or garden; as at another time he
may by his fancy place himself in the midst of these fabulous regions, that by
the feign’d continguity he may enliven his imagination.
But tho’ I cannot altogether exclude the
relations of resemblance and contiguity from operating on the fancy in this
manner, ’tis observable that, when single, their influence is very feeble and
uncertain. As the relation of cause and effect is requisite to persuade us of
any real existence, so is this persuasion requisite to give force to these
other relations. For where upon the appearance of an impression we not only
feign another object, but likewise arbitrarily, and of our mere good-will and
pleasure give it a particular relation to the impression, this can have but a
small effect upon the mind; nor is there any reason, why, upon the return of
the same impression, we shou’d be determin’d to place the same object in the
same relation to it. There is no manner of necessity for the mind to feign any
resembling and continguous objects; and if it feigns such, there is as little
necessity for it always to confine itself to the same, without any difference
or variation. And indeed such a fiction is founded on so little reason, that
nothing but pure caprice can determine the mind to form it; and
that principle being fluctuating and uncertain, ’tis impossible it can ever
operate with any considerable degree of force and constancy. The mind forsees
and anticipates the change; and even from the very first instant feels the
looseness of its actions, and the weak hold it has of its objects. And as this
imperfection is very sensible in every single instance, it still encreases by
experience and observation, when we compare the several instances we may
remember, and form a general
rule against the reposing any
assurance in those momentary glimpses of light, which arise in the imagination
from a feign’d resemblance and contiguity.
The relation of cause and effect has all
the opposite advantages. The objects it presents are fixt and unalterable. The
impressions of the memory never change in any considerable degree; and each
impression draws along with it a precise idea, which takes its place in the
imagination, as something solid and real, certain and invariable. The thought
is always determin’d to pass from the impression to the idea, and from that
particular impression to that particular idea, without any choice or
hesitation.
But not content with removing this
objection, I shall endeavour to extract from it a proof of the present
doctrine. Contiguity and resemblance have an effect much inferior to causation;
but still have some effect, and augment the conviction of any opinion, and the
vivacity of any conception. If this can be prov’d in several new instances,
beside what we have already observ’d, ’twill be allow’d no inconsiderable
argument, that belief is nothing but a lively idea related to a present
impression.
To begin with contiguity; it has been
remark’d among the Mahometans as well as Christians, that those pilgrims, who have seen Mecca or the Holy Land are ever after more faithful and
zealous believers, than those who have not had that advantage. A man, whose
memory presents him with a lively image of the Red-Sea, and the Desert, and
Jerusalem, and Galilee, can
never doubt of any miraculous events, which are related either by Moses or the Evangelists. The lively idea of the places passes
by an easy transition to the facts, which are suppos’d to have been related to
them by contiguity, and encreases the belief by encreasing the vivacity of the
conception. The remembrance of these fields and rivers has the same influence
on the vulgar as a new argument; and from the same causes.
We may form a like observation
concerning resemblance. We have remark’d, that the conclusion,
which we draw from a present object to its absent cause or effect, is never
founded on any qualities, which we observe in that object, consider’d in
itself; or, in other words, that ’tis impossible to determine, otherwise than
by experience, what will result from any phænomenon, or what has preceded it.
But tho’ this be so evident in itself, that it seem’d not to require any proof;
yet some philosophers have imagin’d that there is an apparent cause for the
communication of motion, and that a reasonable man might immediately infer the
motion of one body from the impulse of another, without having recourse to any
past observation. That this opinion is false will admit of an easy proof. For
if such an inference may be drawn merely from the ideas of body, of motion, and
of impulse, it must amount to a demonstration, and must imply the absolute
impossibility of any contrary supposition. Every effect, then, beside the
communication of motion, implies a formal contradiction: and ’tis impossible
not only that it can exist, but also that it can be conceiv’d. But we may soon
satisfy ourselves of the contrary, by forming a clear and consistent idea of
one body’s moving upon another, and of its rest immediately upon the contact;
or of its returning back in the same line, in which it came; or of its
annihilation; or circular or elliptical motion: and in short, of an infinite
number of other changes, which we may suppose it to undergo. These suppositions
are all consistent and natural; and the reason, why we imagine the
communication of motion to be more consistent and natural not only than those
suppositions, but also than any other natural effect, is founded on the
relation of resemblance betwixt the cause and effect, which is
here united to experience, and binds the objects in the closest and most
intimate manner to each other, so as to make us imagine them to be absolutely
inseparable. Resemblance, then, has the same or a parallel influence with
experience; and as the only immediate effect of experience is to associate our
ideas together, it follows, that all belief arises from the association of
ideas, according to my hypothesis.
’Tis universally allow’d by the writers
on optics, that the eye at all times sees an equal number of physical points,
and that a man on the top of a mountain has no larger an image presented to his
senses, that when he is cooped up in the narrowest court or chamber. ’Tis only
by experience that he infers the greatness of the object from some peculiar
qualities of the image; and this inference of the judgment he confounds with
sensation, as is common on other occasions. Now ’tis evident, that the
inference of the judgment is here much more lively than what is usual in our
common reasonings, and that a man has a more vivid conception of the vast
extent of the ocean from the image he receives by the eye, when he stands on
the top of the high promontory, than merely from hearing the roaring of the
waters. He feels a more sensible pleasure from its magnificence; which is a
proof of a more lively idea: And he confounds his judgment with sensation;
which is another proof of it. But as the inference is equally certain and
immediate in both cases, this superior vivacity of our conception in one case
can proceed from nothing but this, that in drawing an inference from the sight,
beside the customary conjunction, there is also a resemblance betwixt the image
and the object we infer; which strengthens the relation, and conveys the
vivacity of the impression to the related idea with an easier and more natural
movement.
No weakness of human nature is more
universal and conspicuous than what we commonly call Credulity, or a too easy faith in the testimony
of others; and this weakness is also very naturally accounted for from the
influence of resemblance. When we receive any matter of fact upon human
testimony, our faith arises from the very same origin as our inferences from
causes to effects, and from effects to causes; nor is there any thing but our experience of the governing principles of human
nature, which can give us any assurance of the veracity of men. But tho’
experience be the true standard of this, as well as of all other judgments, we
seldom regulate ourselves entirely by it; but have a remarkable propensity to
believe whatever is reported, even concerning apparitions, enchantments, and
prodigies, however contrary to daily experience and observation. The words or
discourses of others have an intimate connexion with certain ideas in their
mind; and these ideas have also a connexion with the facts or objects, which
they represent. This latter connexion is generally much over-rated, and
commands our assent beyond what experience will justify; which can proceed from
nothing beside the resemblance betwixt the ideas and the facts. Other effects
only point out their causes in an oblique manner; but the testimony of men does
it directly, and is to be consider’d as an image as well as an effect. No
wonder, therefore, we are so rash in drawing our inferences from it, and are
less guided by experience in our judgments concerning it, than in those upon
any other subject.
As resemblance, when conjoin’d with
causation, fortifies our reasonings; so the want of it in any very great degree
is able almost entirely to destroy them. Of this there is a remarkable instance
in the universal carelessness and stupidity of men with regard to a future
state, where they show as obstinate an incredulity, as they do a blind
credulity on other occasions. There is not indeed a more ample matter of wonder
to the studious, and of regret to the pious man, than to observe the negligence
of the bulk of mankind concerning their approaching condition; and ’tis with
reason, that many eminent theologians have not scrupled to affirm, that tho’
the vulgar have no formal principles of infidelity, yet they are really
infidels in their hearts, and have nothing like what we can call a belief of
the eternal duration of their souls. For let us consider on the one hand what divines
have display’d with such eloquence concerning the importance of eternity; and
at the same time reflect, that tho’ in matters of rhetoric we ought to lay our
account with some exaggeration, we must in this case allow, that the strongest
figures are infinitely inferior to the subject: And after this let us view on
the other hand the prodigious security of men in this particular: I ask, if
these people really believe what is inculcated on them, and what they pretend
to affirm; and the answer is obviously in the negative. As belief is an act of
the mind arising from custom, ’tis not strange the want of resemblance shou’d
overthrow what custom has establish’d, and diminish the force of the idea, as
much as that latter principle encreases it. A future state is so far remov’d
from our comprehension, and we have so obscure an idea of the manner, in which
we shall exist after the dissolution of the body, that all the reasons we can
invent, however strong in themselves, and however much assisted by education,
are never able with slow imaginations to surmount this difficulty, or bestow a
sufficient authority and force on the idea. I rather choose to ascribe this
incredulity to the faint idea we form of our future condition, deriv’d from its
want of resemblance to the present life, than to that deriv’d from its
remoteness. For I observe, that men are every where concern’d about what may
happen after their death, provided it regard this world; and that there are few
to whom their name, their family, their friends, and their country are in any
period of time entirely indifferent.
And indeed the want of resemblance in
this case so entirely destroys belief, that except those few, who upon cool
reflection on the importance of the subject, have taken care by repeated
meditation to imprint in their minds the arguments for a future state, there
scarce are any, who believe the immortality of the soul with a true and
establish’d judgment; such as is deriv’d from the testimony of travellers and
historians. This appears very conspicuously wherever men have occasion to
compare the pleasures and pains, the rewards and punishments of this life with
those of a future; even tho’ the case does not concern themselves, and there is
no violent passion to disturb their judgment. The Roman Catholicks are certainly the most zealous of any
sect in the christian world; and yet you’ll find few among the more sensible
people of that communion, who do not blame the Gunpowder-treason, and the massacre of St. Bartholomew, as cruel and barbarous, tho’ projected
or executed against those very people, whom without any scruple they condemn to
eternal and infinite punishments. All we can say in excuse for this
inconsistency is, that they really do not believe what they affirm concerning a
future state; nor is there any better proof of it than the very inconsistency.
We may add to this a remark; that in
matters of religion men take a pleasure in being terrify’d, and that no
preachers are so popular, as those who excite the most dismal and gloomy
passions. In the common affairs of life, where we feel and are penetrated with
the solidity of the subject, nothing can be more disagreeable than fear and
terror; and ’tis only in dramatic performances and in religious discourses,
that they ever give pleasure. In these latter cases the imagination reposes
itself indolently on the idea; and the passion, being soften’d by the want of
belief in the subject, has no more than the agreeable effect of enlivening the
mind, and fixing the attention.
The present hypothesis will receive
additional confirmation, if we examine the effects of other kinds of custom, as
well as of other relations. To understand this we must consider, that custom,
to which I attribute all belief and reasoning, may operate upon the mind in
invigorating an idea after two several ways. For supposing that in all past
experience we have found two objects to have been always conjoin’d together,
’tis evident, that upon the appearance of one of these objects in an
impression, we must from custom make an easy transition to the idea of that
object, which usually attends it; and by means of the present impression and
easy transition must conceive that idea in a stronger and more lively manner,
than we do any loose floating image of the fancy. But let us next suppose, that
a mere idea alone, without any of this curious and almost artificial
preparation, shou’d frequently make its appearance in the mind, this idea must
by degrees acquire a facility and force; and both by its firm hold and easy
introduction distinguish itself from any new and unusual idea. This is the only
particular, in which these two kinds of custom agree; and if it appear, that
their effects on the judgment are similar and proportionable, we may certainly
conclude, that the foregoing explication of that faculty is satisfactory. But
can we doubt of this agreement in their influence on the judgment, when we
consider the nature and effects of education?
All those opinions and notions of
things, to which we have been accustom’d from our infancy, take such deep root,
that ’tis impossible for us, by all the powers of reason and experience, to
eradicate them; and this habit not only approaches in its influence, but even
on many occasions prevails over that which arises from the constant and
inseparable union of causes and effects. Here we must not be contented with
saying, that the vividness of the idea produces the belief: We must maintain
that they are individually the same. The frequent repetition of any idea
infixes it in the imagination; but cou’d never possibly of itself produce
belief, if that act of the mind was, by the original constitution of our
natures, annex’d only to a reasoning and comparison of ideas. Custom may lead
us into some false comparison of ideas. This is the utmost effect we can conceive
of it. But ’tis certain it cou’d never supply the place of that comparison, nor
produce any act of the mind, which naturally belong’d to that principle.
A person, that has lost a leg or an arm
by amputation, endeavours for a long time afterwards to serve himself with
them. After the death of any one, ’tis a common remark of the whole family, but
especially of the servants, that they can scarce believe him to be dead, but
still imagine him to be in his chamber or in any other place, where they were
accustom’d to find him. I have often heard in conversation, after talking of a
person, that is any way celebrated, that one, who has no acquaintance with him,
will say, I have never seen
such-a-one, but almost fancy I have; so often have I heard talk of him. All these are parallel instances.
If we consider this argument from education in a proper light, ’twill appear very
convincing; and the more so, that ’tis founded on one of the most common
phænomena, that is any where to be met with. I am persuaded, that upon examination
we shall find more than one half of those opinions, that prevail among mankind,
to be owing to education, and that the principles, which are thus implicitely
embrac’d, over-ballance those, which are owing either to abstract reasoning or
experience. As liars, by the frequent repetition of their lies, come at last to
remember them; so the judgment, or rather the imagination, by the like means,
may have ideas so strongly imprinted on it, and conceive them in so full a
light, that they may operate upon the mind in the same manner with those, which
the senses, memory or reason present to us. But as education is an artificial
and not a natural cause, and as its maxims are frequently contrary to reason,
and even to themselves in different times and places, it is never upon that
account recogniz’d by philosophers; tho’ in reality it be built almost on the
same foundation of custom and repetition as our reasonings from causes and
effects1 .
[1 ]In general we may observe, that as our assent to all probable reasonings
is founded on the vivacity of ideas, it resembles many of those whimsies and
prejudices, which are rejected under the opprobrious character of being the
offspring of the imagination. By this expression it appears that the word,
imagination, is commonly us’d in two different senses; and tho’ nothing be more
contrary to true philosophy, than this inaccuracy, yet in the following
reasonings I have often been oblig’d to fall into it. When I oppose the
imagination to the memory, I mean the faculty, by which we form our fainter
ideas. When I oppose it to reason, I mean the same faculty, excluding only our
demonstrative and probable reasonings. When I oppose it to neither, ’tis
indifferent whether it be taken in the larger or more limited sense, or at
least the context will sufficiently explain the meaning.
But tho’ education be disclaim’d by philosophy, as a fallacious ground of
assent to any opinion, it prevails nevertheless in the world, and is the cause
why all systems are apt to be rejected at first as new and unusual. This
perhaps will be the fate of what I have here advanc’d concerning belief, and tho’ the proofs I have produc’d
appear to me perfectly conclusive, I expect not to make many proselytes to my
opinion. Men will scarce ever be persuaded, that effects of such consequence
can flow from principles, which are seemingly so inconsiderable, and that the
far greatest part of our reasonings, with all our actions and passions, can be
deriv’d from nothing but custom and habit. To obviate this objection, I shall
here anticipate a little what wou’d more properly fall under our consideration
afterwards, when we come to treat of the passions and the sense of beauty.
There is implanted in the human mind a
perception of pain and pleasure, as the chief spring and moving principle of
all its actions. But pain and pleasure have two ways of making their appearance
in the mind; of which the one has effects very different from the other. They
may either appear in impression to the actual feeling, or only in idea, as at
present when I mention them. ’Tis evident the influence of these upon our
actions is far from being equal. Impressions always actuate the soul, and that
in the highest degree; but ’tis not every idea which has the same effect.
Nature has proceeded with caution in this case, and seems to have carefully
avoided the inconveniences of two extremes. Did impressions alone influence the
will, we should every moment of our lives be subject to the greatest
calamities; because, tho’ we foresaw their approach, we should not be provided
by nature with any principle of action, which might impel us to avoid them. On
the other hand, did every idea influence our actions, our condition would not
be much mended. For such is the unsteadiness and activity of thought, that the
images of every thing, especially of goods and evils, are always wandering in
the mind; and were it mov’d by every idle conception of this kind, it would
never enjoy a moment’s peace and tranquillity.
Nature has, therefore, chosen a medium,
and has neither bestow’d on every idea of good and evil the power of actuating
the will, nor yet has entirely excluded them from this influence. Tho’ an idle
fiction has no efficacy, yet we find by experience, that the ideas of those
objects, which we believe either are or will be existent, produce in a lesser
degree the same effect with those impressions, which are immediately present to
the senses and perception. The effect, then, of belief is to raise up a simple
idea to an equality with our impressions, and bestow on it a like influence on
the passions. This effect it can only have by making an idea approach an
impression in force and vivacity. For as the different degrees of force make
all the original difference betwixt an impression and an idea, they must of
consequence be the source of all the differences in the effects of these
perceptions, and their removal, in whole or in part, the cause of every new
resemblance they acquire. Wherever we can make an idea approach the impressions
in force and vivacity, it will likewise imitate them in its influence on the
mind; and vice versa, where it imitates them in that
influence, as in the present case, this must proceed from its approaching them
in force and vivacity. Belief, therefore, since it causes an idea to imitate
the effects of the impressions, must make it resemble them in these qualities,
and is nothing but a morevivid
and intense conception of any idea. This,
then, may both serve as an additional argument for the present system, and may
give us a notion after what manner our reasonings from causation are able to
operate on the will and passions.
As belief is almost absolutely requisite
to the exciting our passions, so the passions in their turn are very favourable
to belief; and not only such facts as convey agreeable emotions, but very often
such as give pain, do upon that account become more readily the objects of
faith and opinion. A coward, whose fears are easily awaken’d, readily assents
to every account of danger he meets with; as a person of a sorrowful and
melancholy disposition is very credulous of every thing that nourishes his
prevailing passion. When any affecting object is presented, it gives the alarm,
and excites immediately a degree of its proper passion; especially in persons
who are naturally inclined to that passion. This emotion passes by an easy
transition to the imagination; and diffusing itself over our idea of the
affecting object, makes us form that idea with greater force and vivacity, and
consequently assent to it, according to the precedent system. Admiration and
surprize have the same effect as the other passions; and accordingly we may
observe, that among the vulgar, quacks and projectors meet with a more easy
faith upon account of their magnificent pretensions, than if they kept
themselves within the bounds of moderation. The first astonishment, which
naturally attends their miraculous relations, spreads itself over the whole
soul, and so vivifies and enlivens the idea, that it resembles the inferences
we draw from experience. This is a mystery, with which we may be already a
little acquainted, and which we shall have farther occasion to be let into in
the progress of this treatise.
After this account of the influence of
belief on the passions, we shall find less difficulty in explaining its effects
on the imagination, however extraordinary they may appear. ’Tis certain we
cannot take pleasure in any discourse, where our judgment gives no assent to
those images which are presented to our fancy. The conversation of those, who
have acquir’d a habit of lying, tho’ in affairs of no moment, never gives any
satisfaction; and that because those ideas they present to us, not being
attended with belief, make no impression upon the mind. Poets themselves, tho’
liars by profession, always endeavour to give an air of truth to their
fictions; and where that is totally neglected, their performances, however
ingenious, will never be able to afford much pleasure. In short, we may
observe, that even when ideas have no manner of influence on the will and
passions, truth and reality are still requisite, in order to make them
entertaining to the imagination.
But if we compare together all the
phænomena that occur on this head, we shall find, that truth, however necessary
it may seem in all works of genius, has no other effect than to procure an easy
reception for the ideas, and to make the mind acquiesce in them with
satisfaction, or at least without reluctance. But as this is an effect, which
may easily be supposed to flow from that solidity and force, which, according
to my system, attend those ideas that are establish’d by reasonings from
causation; it follows, that all the influence of belief upon the fancy may be
explained from that system. Accordingly we may observe, that wherever that
influence arises from any other principles beside truth or reality, they supply
its place, and give an equal entertainment to the imagination. Poets have
form’d what they call a poetical system of things, which tho’ it be believ’d
neither by themselves nor readers, is commonly esteem’d a sufficient foundation
for any fiction. We have been so much accustom’d to the names of Mars, Jupiter, Venus, that in the same manner as education
infixes any opinion, the constant repetition of these ideas makes them enter
into the mind with facility, and prevail upon the fancy, without influencing
the judgment. In like manner tragedians always borrow their fable, or at least
the names of their principal actors, from some known passage in history; and
that not in order to deceive the spectators; for they will frankly confess,
that truth is not in any circumstance inviolably observed; but in order to
procure a more easy reception into the imagination for those extraordinary
events, which they represent. But this is a precaution, which is not required
of comic poets, whose personages and incidents, being of a more familiar kind,
enter easily into the conception, and are received without any such formality,
even tho’ at first sight they be known to be fictitious, and the pure offspring
of the fancy.
This mixture of truth and falshood in
the fables of tragic poets not only serves our present purpose, by shewing,
that the imagination can be satisfy’d without any absolute belief or assurance;
but may in another view be regarded as a very strong confirmation of this
system. ’Tis evident, that poets make use of this artifice of borrowing the
names of their persons, and the chief events of their poems, from history, in
order to procure a more easy reception for the whole, and cause it to make a
deeper impression on the fancy and affections. The several incidents of the
piece acquire a kind of relation by being united into one poem or
representation; and if any of these incidents be an object of belief, it
bestows a force and vivacity on the others, which are related to it. The
vividness of the first conception diffuses itself along the relations, and is
convey’d, as by so many pipes or canals, to every idea that has any
communication with the primary one. This, indeed, can never amount to a perfect
assurance; and that because the union among the ideas is, in a manner,
accidental: But still it approaches so near, in its influence, as may convince
us, that they are deriv’d from the same origin. Belief must please the
imagination by means of the force and vivacity which attends it; since every
idea, which has force and vivacity, is found to be agreeable to that faculty.
To confirm this we may observe, that the
assistance is mutual betwixt the judgment and fancy, as well as betwixt the
judgment and passion; and that belief not only gives vigour to the imagination,
but that a vigorous and strong imagination is of all talents the most proper to
procure belief and authority. ’Tis difficult for us to withold our assent from
what is painted out to us in all the colours of eloquence; and the vivacity
produc’d by the fancy is in many cases greater than that which arises from
custom and experience. We are hurried away by the lively imagination of our
author or companion; and even he himself is often a victim to his own fire and
genius.
Nor will it be amiss to remark, that as
a lively imagination very often degenerates into madness or folly, and bears it
a great resemblance in its operations; so they influence the judgment after the
same manner, and produce belief from the very same principles. When the
imagination, from any extraordinary ferment of the blood and spirits, acquires
such a vivacity as disorders all its powers and faculties, there is no means of
distinguishing betwixt truth and falshood; but every loose fiction or idea,
having the same influence as the impressions of the memory, or the conclusions
of the judgment, is receiv’d on the same footing, and operates with equal force
on the passions. A present impression and a customary transition are now no
longer necessary to inliven our ideas. Every chimera of the brain is as vivid
and intense as any of those inferences, which we formerly dignify’d with the
name of conclusions concerning matters of fact, and sometimes as the present
impressions of the senses.
We may observe the same effect of poetry
in a lesser degree; only with this difference, that the least reflection
dissipates the illusions of poetry, and places the objects in their proper
light. ’Tis however certain, that in the warmth of a poetical enthusiasm, a
poet has a counterfeit belief, and even a kind of vision of his objects: And if
there be any shadow of argument to support this belief, nothing contributes
more to his full conviction than a blaze of poetical figures and images, which
have their effect upon the poet himself, as well as upon his readers.
Nothing is more free than the
imagination of man; and though it cannot exceed that original stock of ideas
furnished by the internal and external senses, it has unlimited power of
mixing, compounding, separating, and dividing these ideas, in all the varieties
of fiction and vision. It can feign a train of events, with all the appearance
of reality, ascribe to them a particular time and place, conceive them as
existent, and paint them out to itself with every circumstance, that belongs to
any historical fact, which it believes with the greatest certainty. Wherein,
therefore, consists the difference between such a fiction and belief? It lies
not merely in any peculiar idea, which is annexed to such a conception as
commands our assent, and which is wanting to every known fiction. For as the
mind has authority over all its ideas, it could voluntarily annex this
particular idea to any fiction, and consequently be able to believe whatever it
pleases; contrary to what we find by daily experience. We can, in our
conception, join the head of a man to the body of a horse; but it is not in our
power to believe that such an animal has ever really existed.
It follows, therefore, that the
difference between fiction and belief lies in some sentiment or feeling,
which is annexed to the latter, not to the former, and which depends not on the
will, nor can be commanded at pleasure. It must be excited by nature, like all
other sentiments; and must arise from the particular situation, in which the
mind is placed at any particular juncture. Whenever any object is presented to
the memory or senses, it immediately, by the force of custom, carries the
imagination to conceive that object, which is usually conjoined to it; and this
conception is attended with a feeling or sentiment, different from the loose
reveries of the fancy. In this consists the whole nature of belief. For as
there is no matter of fact which we believe so firmly that we cannot conceive
the contrary, there would be no difference between the conception assented to
and that which is rejected, were it not for some sentiment which distinguishes
the one from the other. If I see a billiard-ball moving towards another, on a
smooth table, I can easily conceive it to stop upon contact. This conception
implies no contradiction; but still it feels very differently from that
conception by which I represent to myself the impulse and the communication of
motion from one ball to another.
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 descriptionof this sentiment;
in hopes we may, by that means, arrive at some analogies, which may afford a
more perfect explication of it. I say, then, that belief is nothing but a more
vivid, lively, forcible, firm, steady conception of an object, than what the
imagination alone is ever able to attain. This variety of terms, which may seem
so unphilosophical, is intended only to express that act of the mind, which
renders realities, or what is taken for such, more present to us than fictions,
causes them to weigh more in the thought, and gives them a superior influence
on the passions and imagination. Provided we agree about the thing, it is
needless to dispute about the terms. The imagination has the command over all
its ideas, and can join and mix and vary them, in all the ways possible. It may
conceive fictitious objects with all the circumstances of place and time. It
may set them, in a manner, before our eyes, in their true colours, just as they
might have existed. But as it is impossible that this faculty of imagination
can ever, of itself, reach belief, it is evident that belief consists not in the
peculiar nature or order of ideas, but in the manner of their conception, and in their feeling to the mind. I confess, that it is
impossible perfectly to explain this feeling or manner of conception. We may
make use of words which express something near it. But its true and proper
name, as we observed before, is belief; which is a term that every one
sufficiently understands in common life. And in philosophy, we can go no
farther than assert, that belief is something felt by the mind, which
distinguishes the ideas of the judgement from the fictions of the imagination.
It gives them more weight and influence; makes them appear of greater
importance; enforces them in the mind; and renders them the governing principle
of our actions. I hear at present, for instance, a person’s voice, with whom I
am acquainted; and the sound comes as from the next room. This impression of my
senses immediately conveys my thought to the person, together with all the
surrounding objects. I paint them out to myself as existing at present, with
the same qualities and relations, of which I formerly knew them possessed.
These ideas take faster hold of my mind than ideas of an enchanted castle. They
are very different to the feeling, and have a much greater influence of every
kind, either to give pleasure or pain, joy or sorrow.
Let us, then, take in the whole compass
of this doctrine, and allow, that the sentiment of belief is nothing but a
conception more intense and steady than what attends the mere fictions of the
imagination, and that this manner of conception arises from a customary
conjunction of the object with something present to the memory or senses: I
believe that it will not be difficult, upon these suppositions, to find other
operations of the mind analogous to it, and to trace up these phenomena to
principles still more general.
We have already observed that nature has
established connexions among particular ideas, and that no sooner one idea
occurs to our thoughts than it introduces its correlative, and carries our
attention towards it, by a gentle and insensible movement. These principles of
connexion or association we have reduced to three, namely, Resemblance, Contiguity and Causation; which are the only bonds that unite
our thoughts together, and beget that regular train of reflection or discourse,
which, in a greater or less degree, takes place among all mankind. Now here
arises a question, on which the solution of the present difficulty will depend.
Does it happen, in all these relations, that, when one of the objects is
presented to the senses or memory, the mind is not only carried to the
conception of the correlative, but reaches a steadier and stronger conception
of it than what otherwise it would have been able to attain? This seems to be
the case with that belief which arises from the relation of cause and effect.
And if the case be the same with the other relations or principles of
associations, this may be established as a general law, which takes place in
all the operations of the mind.
We may, therefore, observe, as the first
experiment to our present purpose, that, upon the appearance of the picture of
an absent friend, our idea of him is evidently enlivened by the resemblance, and that every passion, which that
idea occasions, whether of joy or sorrow, acquires new force and vigour. In
producing this effect, there concur both a relation and a present impression.
Where the picture bears him no resemblance, at least was not intended for him,
it never so much as conveys our thought to him: And where it is absent, as well
as the person, though the mind may pass from the thought of the one to that of
the other, it feels its idea to be rather weakened than enlivened by that
transition. We take a pleasure in viewing the picture of a friend, when it is
set before us; but when it is removed, rather choose to consider him directly
than by reflection in an image, which is equally distant and obscure.
The ceremonies of the Roman Catholic
religion may be considered as instances of the same nature. The devotees of
that superstition usually plead in excuse for the mummeries, with which they
are upbraided, that they feel the good effect of those external motions, and
postures, and actions, in enlivening their devotion and quickening their
fervour, which otherwise would decay, if directed entirely to distant and
immaterial objects. We shadow out the objects of our faith, say they, in
sensible types and images, and render them more present to us by the immediate
presence of these types, than it is possible for us to do merely by an
intellectual view and contemplation. Sensible objects have always a greater
influence on the fancy than any other; and this influence they readily convey
to those ideas to which they are related, and which they resemble. I shall only
infer from these practices, and this reasoning, that the effect of resemblance
in enlivening the ideas is very common; and as in every case a resemblance and
a present impression must concur, we are abundantly supplied with experiments
to prove the reality of the foregoing principle.
We may add force to these experiments by
others of a different kind, in considering the effects of contiguity as well as of resemblance. It is certain that distance diminishes
the force of every idea, and that, upon our approach to any object; though it
does not discover itself to our senses; it operates upon the mind with an
influence, which imitates an immediate impression. The thinking on any object
readily transports the mind to what is contiguous; but it is only the actual
presence of an object, that transports it with a superior vivacity. When I am a
few miles from home, whatever relates to it touches me more nearly than when I
am two hundred leagues distant; though even at that distance the reflecting on
any thing in the neighbourhood of my friends or family naturally produces an
idea of them. But as in this latter case, both the objects of the mind are
ideas; notwithstanding there is an easy transition between them; that
transition alone is not able to give a superior vivacity to any of the ideas,
for want of some immediate impression1
No one can doubt but causation has the
same influence as the other two relations of resemblance and contiguity.
Superstitious people are fond of the reliques of saints and holy men, for the
same reason, that they seek after types or images, in order to enliven their
devotion, and give them a more intimate and strong conception of those
exemplary lives, which they desire to imitate. Now it is evident, that one of
the best reliques, which a devotee could procure, would be the handywork of a
saint; and if his cloaths and furniture are ever to be considered in this
light, it is because they were once at his disposal, and were moved and
affected by him; in which respect they are to be considered as imperfect
effects, and as connected with him by a shorter chain of consequences than any
of those, by which we learn the reality of his existence.
Suppose, that the son of a friend, who
had been long dead or absent, were presented to us; it is evident, that this
object would instantly revive its correlative idea, and recal to our thoughts
all past intimacies and familiarities, in more lively colours than they would
otherwise have appeared to us. This is another phaenomenon, which seems to
prove the principle above mentioned.
We may observe, that, in these
phaenomena, the belief of the correlative object is always presupposed; without
which the relation could have no effect. The influence of the picture supposes,
that we believe our friend to have once existed.
Contiguity to home can never excite our ideas of home, unless we believe that it really exists. Now I assert,
that this belief, where it reaches beyond the memory or senses, is of a similar
nature, and arises from similar causes, with the transition of thought and
vivacity of conception here explained. When I throw a piece of dry wood into a
fire, my mind is immediately carried to conceive, that it augments, not
extinguishes the flame. This transition of thought from the cause to the effect
proceeds not from reason. It derives its origin altogether from custom and
experience. And as it first begins from an object, present to the senses, it
renders the idea or conception of flame more strong and lively than any loose,
floating reverie of the imagination. That idea arises immediately. The thought
moves instantly towards it, and conveys to it all that force of conception, which
is derived from the impression present to the senses. When a sword is levelled
at my breast, does not the idea of wound and pain strike me more strongly, than
when a glass of wine is presented to me, even though by accident this idea
should occur after the appearance of the latter object? But what is there in
this whole matter to cause such a strong conception, except only a present
object and a customary transition to the idea of another object, which we have
been accustomed to conjoin with the former? This is the whole operation of the
mind, in all our conclusions concerning matter of fact and existence; and it is
a satisfaction to find some analogies, by which it may be explained. The
transition from a present object does in all cases give strength and solidity
to the related idea.
Here, then, is a kind of pre-established
harmony between the course of nature and the succession of our ideas; and
though the powers and forces, by which the former is governed, be wholly
unknown to us; yet our thoughts and conceptions have still, we find, gone on in
the same train with the other works of nature. Custom is that principle, by
which this correspondence has been effected; so necessary to the subsistence of
our species, and the regulation of our conduct, in every circumstance and
occurrence of human life. Had not the presence of an object, instantly excited
the idea of those objects, commonly conjoined with it, all our knowledge must
have been limited to the narrow sphere of our memory and senses; and we should never
have been able to adjust means to ends, or employ our natural powers, either to
the producing of good, or avoiding of evil. Those, who delight in the discovery
and contemplation of final
causes, have here ample
subject to employ their wonder and admiration.
I shall add, for a further confirmation
of the foregoing theory, that, as this operation of the mind, by which we infer
like effects from like causes, and vice
versa, is so essential to the
subsistence of all human creatures, it is not probable, that it could be
trusted to the fallacious deductions of our reason, which is slow in its
operations; appears not, in any degree, during the first years of infancy; and
at best is, in every age and period of human life, extremely liable to error
and mistake. It is more conformable to the ordinary wisdom of nature to secure
so necessary an act of the mind, by some instinct or mechanical tendency, which
may be infallible in its operations, may discover itself at the first
appearance of life and thought, and may be independent of all the laboured
deductions of the understanding. As nature has taught us the use of our limbs,
without giving us the knowledge of the muscles and nerves, by which they are
actuated; so has she implanted in us an instinct, which carries forward the
thought in a correspondent course to that which she has established among
external objects; though we are ignorant of those powers and forces, on which
this regular course and succession of objects totally depends.
[1]‘Naturane nobis,
inquit, datum dicam, an errore quodam, ut, cum ea loca videamus, in quibus
memoria dignos viros acceperimus multum esse versatos, magis moveamur, quam
siquando eorum ipsorum aut facta audiamus aut scriptum aliquod legamus? Velut
ego nunc moveor. Venit enim mihi Plato in mentem, quem accepimus primum hic
disputare solitum: cuius etiam illi hortuli propinqui non memoriam solum mihi
afferunt, sed ipsum videntur in conspectu meo hic ponere. Hic Speusippus, hic
Xenocrates, hic eius auditor Polemo; cuius ipsa illa sessio fuit, quam videmus.
Equidem etiam curiam nostram, Hostiliam dico, non hanc novam, quae mihi minor
esse videtur postquam est maior, solebam intuens, Scipionem, Catonem, Laelium,
nostrum vero in primis avum cogitare. Tanta vis admonitionis est in locis; ut
non sine causa ex his memoriae deducta sit disciplina.’
Cicero de Finibus. Lib. v.
5. Probabilidade:
T 1.3.11, 12 e 13; E 6
But in order to bestow on this system its full force and evidence, we must
carry our eye from it a moment to consider its consequences, and explain from
the same principles some other species of reasoning, which are deriv’d from the
same origin.
Those philosophers, who have divided
human reason into knowledge
and probability, and have
defin’d the first to be that
evidence, which arises from the comparison of ideas, are oblig’d to comprehend all our
arguments from causes or effects under the general term of probability. But
tho’ every one be free to use his terms in what sense he pleases; and
accordingly in the precedent part of this discourse, I have follow’d this
method of expression; ’tis however certain, that in common discourse we readily
affirm, that many arguments from causation exceed probability, and may be
receiv’d as a superior kind of evidence. One wou’d appear ridiculous, who wou’d
say, that ’tis only probable the sun will rise to-morrow, or that all men must
dye; tho’ ’tis plain we have no further assurance of these facts, than what experience
affords us. For this reason, ’twould perhaps be more convenient, in order at
once to preserve the common signification of words, and mark the several
degrees of evidence, to distinguish human reason into three kinds, viz. that from knowledge, from proofs,
and from probabilities. By
knowledge, I mean the assurance arising from the comparison of ideas. By
proofs, those arguments, which are deriv’d from the relation of cause and
effect, and which are entirely free from doubt and uncertainty. By probability,
that evidence, which is still attended with uncertainty. ’Tis this last species
of reasoning, I proceed to examine.
Probability or reasoning from conjecture
may be divided into two kinds, viz. that which is founded on chance, and that which arises from causes. We shall consider each of these in
order.
The idea of cause and effect is deriv’d
from experience, which presenting us with certain objects constantly conjoin’d
with each other, produces such a habit of surveying them in that relation, that
we cannot without a sensible violence survey them in any other. On the other
hand, as chance is nothing real in itself, and, properly speaking, is merely
the negation of a cause, its influence on the mind is contrary to that of
causation; and ’tis essential to it, to leave the imagination perfectly
indifferent, either to consider the existence or non-existence of that object,
which is regarded as contingent. A cause traces the way to our thought, and in
a manner forces us to survey such certain objects, in such certain relations.
Chance can only destroy this determination of the thought, and leave the mind
in its native situation of indifference; in which, upon the absence of a cause,
’tis instantly re-instated.
Since therefore an entire indifference
is essential to chance, no one chance can possibly be superior to another,
otherwise than as it is compos’d of a superior number of equal chances. For if
we affirm that one chance can, after any other manner, be superior to another,
we must at the same time affirm, that there is something, which gives it the
superiority, and determines the event rather to that side than the other: That
is, in other words, we must allow of a cause, and destroy the supposition of
chance; which we had before establish’d. A perfect and total indifference is
essential to chance, and one total indifference can never in itself be either
superior or inferior to another. This truth is not peculiar to my system, but
is acknowledg’d by every one, that forms calculations concerning chances.
And here ’tis remarkable, that tho’
chance and causation be directly contrary, yet ’tis impossible for us to
conceive this combination of chances, which is requisite to render one hazard
superior to another, without supposing a mixture of causes among the chances,
and a conjunction of necessity in some particulars, with a total indifference
in others. Where nothing limits the chances, every notion, that the most
extravagant fancy can form, is upon a footing of equality; nor can there be any
circumstance to give one the advantage above another. Thus unless we allow,
that there are some causes to make the dice fall, and preserve their form in
their fall, and lie upon some one of their sides, we can form no calculation
concerning the laws of hazard. But supposing these causes to operate, and
supposing likewise all the rest to be indifferent and to be determin’d by
chance, ’tis easy to arrive at a notion of a superior combination of chances. A
dye, that has four sides mark’d with a certain number of spots, and only two
with another, affords us an obvious and easy instance of this superiority. The
mind is here limited by the causes to such a precise number and quality of the
events; and at the same time is undetermin’d in its choice of any particular
event.
Proceeding then in that reasoning,
wherein we have advanc’d three steps; that chance is merely the negation of a
cause, and produces a total indifference in the mind; that one negation of a cause and one total
indifference can never be superior or inferior to another; and that there must always be a mixture of
causes among the chances, in order to be the foundation of any reasoning: We
are next to consider what effect a superior combination of chances can have
upon the mind, and after what manner it influences our judgment and opinion.
Here we may repeat all the same arguments we employ’d in examining that belief,
which arises from causes; and may prove after the same manner, that a superior
number of chances produces our assent neither by demonstration nor probability. ’Tis indeed evident, that we can never
by the comparison of mere ideas make any discovery, which can be of consequence
in this affair, and that ’tis impossible to prove with certainty, that any
event must fall on that side where there is a superior number of chances. To
suppose in this case any certainty, were to overthrow what we have establish’d
concerning the opposition of chances, and their perfect equality and
indifference.
Shou’d it be said, that tho’ in an
opposition of chances ’tis impossible to determine with certainty, on which side the event will fall, yet
we can pronounce with certainty, that ’tis more likely and probable, ’twill be
on that side where there is a superior number of chances, than where there is
an inferior: Shou’d this be said, I wou’d ask, what is here meant by likelihood and probability? The likelihood and probability of
chances is a superior number of equal chances; and consequently when we say
’tis likely the event will fall on the side, which is superior, rather than on
the inferior, we do no more than affirm, that where there is a superior number
of chances there is actually a superior, and where there is an inferior there
is an inferior; which are identical propositions, and of no consequence. The
question is, by what means a superior number of equal chances operates upon the
mind, and produces belief or assent; since it appears, that ’tis neither by
arguments deriv’d from demonstration, nor from probability.
In order to clear up this difficulty, we
shall suppose a person to take a dye, form’d after such a manner as that four
of its sides are mark’d with one figure, or one number of spots, and two with
another; and to put this dye into the box with an intention of throwing it:
’Tis plain, he must conclude the one figure to be more probable than the other,
and give the preference to that which is inscrib’d on the greatest number of
sides. He in a manner believes, that this will lie uppermost; tho’ still with
hesitation and doubt, in proportion to the number of chances, which are contrary:
And according as these contrary chances diminish, and the superiority encreases
on the other side, his belief acquires new degrees of stability and assurance.
This belief arises from an operation of the mind upon the simple and limited
object before us; and therefore its nature will be the more easily discover’d
and explain’d. We have nothing but one single dye to contemplate, in order to
comprehend one of the most curious operations of the understanding.
This dye form’d as above, contains three
circumstances worthy of our attention. First, Certain causes, such as gravity,
solidity, a cubical figure, &c. which determine it to fall, to
preserve its form in its fall, and to turn up one of its sides. Secondly, A certain number of sides, which are
suppos’d indifferent. Thirdly, A certain figure, inscrib’d on each
side. These three particulars form the whole nature of the dye, so far as
relates to our present purpose; and consequently are the only circumstances
regarded by the mind in its forming a judgment concerning the result of such a
throw. Let us, therefore, consider gradually and carefully what must be the
influence of these circumstances on the thought and imagination.
First, We have already observ’d, that
the mind is determin’d by custom to pass from any cause to its effect, and that
upon the appearance of the one, ’tis almost impossible for it not to form an
idea of the other. Their constant conjunction in past instances has produc’d
such a habit in the mind, that it always conjoins them in its thought, and
infers the existence of the one from that of its usual attendant. When it
considers the dye as no longer supported by the box, it cannot without violence
regard it as suspended in the air; but naturally places it on the table, and
views it as turning up one of its sides. This is the effect of the intermingled
causes, which are requisite to our forming any calculation concerning chances.
Secondly, ’Tis suppos’d, that tho’ the
dye be necessarily determin’d to fall, and turn up one of its sides, yet there
is nothing to fix the particular side, but that this is determin’d entirely by
chance. The very nature and essence of chance is a negation of causes, and the
leaving the mind in a perfect indifference among those events, which are
suppos’d contingent. When therefore the thought is determin’d by the causes to
consider the dye as falling and turning up one of its sides, the chances
present all these sides as equal, and make us consider every one of them, one
after another, as alike probable and possible. The imagination passes from the
cause, viz. the throwing of the dye, to the
effect, viz. the turning up one of the six sides;
and feels a kind of impossibility both of stopping short in the way, and of
forming any other idea. But as all these six sides are incompatible, and the
dye cannot turn up above one at once, this principle directs us not to consider
all of them at once as lying uppermost; which we look upon as impossible:
Neither does it direct us with its entire force to any particular side; for in
that case this side wou’d be consider’d as certain and inevitable; but it
directs us to the whole six sides after such a manner as to divide its force
equally among them. We conclude in general, that some one of them must result
from the throw: We run all of them over in our minds: The determination of the
thought is common to all; but no more of its force falls to the share of any
one, than what is suitable to its proportion with the rest. ’Tis after this
manner the original impulse, and consequently the vivacity of thought, arising
from the causes, is divided and split in pieces by the intermingled chances.
We have already seen the influence of
the two first qualities of the dye, viz. the causes, and the number and indifference of the sides, and have learn’d how
they give an impulse to the thought, and divide that impulse into as many parts
as there are unites in the number of sides. We must now consider the effects of
the third particular, viz. the figures inscrib’d on each side. ’Tis evident
that where several sides have the same figure inscrib’d on them, they must
concur in their influence on the mind, and must unite upon one image or idea of
a figure all those divided impulses, that were dispers’d over the several
sides, upon which that figure is inscrib’d. Were the question only what side
will be turn’d up, these are all perfectly equal, and no one cou’d ever have
any advantage above another. But as the question is concerning the figure, and
as the same figure is presented by more than one side; ’tis evident, that the
impulses belonging to all these sides must re-unite in that one figure, and
become stronger and more forcible by the union. Four sides are suppos’d in the
present case to have the same figure inscrib’d on them, and two to have another
figure. The impulses of the former are, therefore, superior to those of the
latter. But as the events are contrary, and ’tis impossible both these figures
can be turn’d up; the impulses likewise become contrary, and the inferior
destroys the superior, as far as its strength goes. The vivacity of the idea is
always proportionable to the degrees of the impulse or tendency to the
transition; and belief is the same with the vivacity of the idea, according to
the precedent doctrine.
What I have said concerning the probability of chances can serve to no other
purpose, than to assist us in explaining the probability of causes; since ’tis
commonly allow’d by philosophers, that what the vulgar call chance is nothing
but a secret and conceal’d cause. That species of probability, therefore, is
what we must chiefly examine.
The probabilities of causes are of
several kinds; but are all deriv’d from the same origin, viz. the association of ideas to a
present impression. As the
habit, which produces the association, arises from the frequent conjunction of
objects, it must arrive at its perfection by degrees, and must acquire new
force from each instance, that falls under our observation. The first instance
has little or no force: The second makes some addition to it: The third becomes
still more sensible; and ’tis by these slow steps, that our judgment arrives at
a full assurance. But before it attains this pitch of perfection, it passes
thro’ several inferior degrees, and in all of them is only to be esteem’d a
presumption or probability. The gradation, therefore, from probabilities to
proofs is in many cases insensible; and the difference betwixt these kinds of
evidence is more easily perceiv’d in the remote degrees, than in the near and
contiguous.
’Tis worthy of remark on this occasion,
that tho’ the species of probability here explain’d be the first in order, and
naturally takes place before any entire proof can exist, yet no one, who is
arriv’d at the age of maturity, can any longer be acquainted with it. ’Tis
true, nothing is more common than for people of the most advanc’d knowledge to
have attain’d only an imperfect experience of many particular events; which
naturally produces only an imperfect habit and transition: But then we must
consider, that the mind, having form’d another observation concerning the
connexion of causes and effects, gives new force to its reasoning from that
observation; and by means of it can build an argument on one single experiment,
when duly prepar’d and examin’d. What we have found once to follow from any
object, we conclude will for ever follow from it; and if this maxim be not
always built upon as certain, ’tis not for want of a sufficient number of
experiments, but because we frequently meet with instances to the contrary;
which leads us to the second species of probability, where there is a contrariety in our experience and observation.
’Twou’d be very happy for men in the
conduct of their lives and actions, were the same objects always conjoin’d
together, and we had nothing to fear but the mistakes of our own judgment,
without having any reason to apprehend the uncertainty of nature. But as ’tis
frequently found, that one observation is contrary to another, and that causes
and effects follow not in the same order, of which we have had experience, we
are oblig’d to vary our reasoning on account of this uncertainty, and take into
consideration the contrariety of events. The first question, that occurs on
this head, is concerning the nature and causes of the contrariety.
The vulgar, who take things according to
their first appearance, attribute the uncertainty of events to such an
uncertainty in the causes, as makes them often fail of their usual influence,
tho’ they meet with no obstacle nor impediment in their operation. But
philosophers observing, that almost in every part of nature there is contain’d
a vast variety of springs and principles, which are hid, by reason of their
minuteness or remoteness, find that ’tis at least possible the contrariety of
events may not proceed from any contingency in the cause, but from the secret
operation of contrary causes. This possibility is converted into certainty by
farther observation, when they remark, that upon an exact scrutiny, a contrariety
of effects always betrays a contrariety of causes, and proceeds from their
mutual hindrance and opposition. A peasant can give no better reason for the
stopping of any clock or watch than to say, that commonly it does not go right:
But an artizan easily perceives, that the same force in the spring or pendulum
has always the same influence on the wheels; but fails of its usual effect,
perhaps by reason of a grain of dust, which puts a stop to the whole movement.
From the observation of several parallel instances, philosophers form a maxim,
that the connexion betwixt all causes and effects is equally necessary, and
that its seeming uncertainty in some instances proceeds from the secret
opposition of contrary causes.
But however philosophers and the vulgar
may differ in their explication of the contrariety of events, their inferences
from it are always of the same kind, and founded on the same principles. A
contrariety of events in the past may give us a kind of hesitating belief for
the future after two several ways. First, By producing an imperfect habit and
transition from the present impression to the related idea. When the
conjunction of any two objects is frequent, without being entirely constant,
the mind is determin’d to pass from one object to the other; but not with so
entire a habit, as when the union is uninterrupted, and all the instances we
have ever met with are uniform and of a piece. We find from common experience,
in our actions as well as reasonings, that a constant perseverance in any
course of life produces a strong inclination and tendency to continue for the
future; tho’ there are habits of inferior degrees of force, proportion’d to the
inferior degrees of steadiness and uniformity in our conduct.
There is no doubt but this principle
sometimes takes place, and produces those inferences we draw from contrary
phænomena; tho’ I am perswaded, that upon examination we shall not find it to
be the principle, that most commonly influences the mind in this species of
reasoning. When we follow only the habitual determination of the mind, we make
the transition without any reflection, and interpose not a moments delay
betwixt the view of one object and the belief of that, which is often found to
attend it. As the custom depends not upon any deliberation, it operates
immediately, without allowing any time for reflection. But this method of
proceeding we have but few instances of in our probable reasonings; and even
fewer than in those, which are deriv’d from the uninterrupted conjunction of objects.
In the former species of reasoning we commonly take knowingly into
consideration the contrariety of past events; we compare the different sides of
the contrariety, and carefully weigh the experiments, which we have on each
side: Whence we may conclude, that our reasonings of this kind arise not directly from the habit, but in an oblique manner; which we must now endeavour to
explain.
’Tis evident, that when an object is
attended with contrary effects, we judge of them only by our past experience,
and always consider those as possible, which we have observ’d to follow from
it. And as past experience regulates our judgment concerning the possibility of
these effects, so it does that concerning their probability; and that effect,
which has been the most common, we always esteem the most likely. Here then are
two things to be consider’d, viz. the reasons which determine us to make the past a
standard for the future, and the manner how we extract a single judgment from
a contrariety of past events.
First we may observe, that the
supposition, that the future
resembles the past, is not
founded on arguments of any kind, but is deriv’d entirely from habit, by which
we are determin’d to expect for the future the same train of objects, to which
we have been accustom’d. This habit or determination to transfer the past to
the future is full and perfect; and consequently the first impulse of the
imagination in this species of reasoning is endow’d with the same qualities.
But, secondly, when in considering past experiments
we find them of a contrary nature, this determination, tho’ full and perfect in
itself, presents us with no steady object, but offers us a number of
disagreeing images in a certain order and proportion. The first impulse,
therefore, is here broke into pieces, and diffuses itself over all those
images, of which each partakes an equal share of that force and vivacity, that
is deriv’d from the impulse. Any of these past events may again happen; and we
judge, that when they do happen, they will be mix’d in the same proportion as
in the past.
If our intention, therefore, be to
consider the proportions of contrary events in a great number of instances, the
images presented by our past experience must remain in their first form, and preserve their first proportions.
Suppose, for instance, I have found by long observation, that of twenty ships,
which go to sea, only nineteen return. Suppose I see at present twenty ships
that leave the port: I transfer my past experience to the future, and represent
to myself nineteen of these ships as returning in safety, and one as perishing.
Concerning this there can be no difficulty. But as we frequently run over those
several ideas of past events, in order to form a judgment concerning one single
event, which appears uncertain; this consideration must change the first form of our ideas, and draw together the
divided images presented by experience; since ’tis to it we refer the determination of that
particular event, upon which we reason. Many of these images are suppos’d to
concur, and a superior number to concur on one side. These agreeing images
unite together, and render the idea more strong and lively, not only than a
mere fiction of the imagination, but also than any idea, which is supported by
a lesser number of experiments. Each new experiment is as a new stroke of the
pencil, which bestows an additional vivacity on the colours, without either
multiplying or enlarging the figure. This operation of the mind has been so
fully explain’d in treating of the probability of chance, that I need not here
endeavour to render it more intelligible. Every past experiment may be
consider’d as a kind of chance; it being uncertain to us, whether the object
will exist conformable to one experiment or another: And for this reason every
thing that has been said on the one subject is applicable to both.
Thus upon the whole, contrary
experiments produce an imperfect belief, either by weakening the habit, or by
dividing and afterwards joining in different parts, that perfect habit, which makes us conclude in
general, that instances, of which we have no experience, must necessarily
resemble those of which we have.
To justify still farther this account of
the second species of probability, where we reason with knowledge and
reflection from a contrariety of past experiments, I shall propose the
following considerations, without fearing to give offence by that air of
subtilty, which attends them. Just reasoning ought still, perhaps, to retain
its force, however subtile; in the same manner as matter preserves its solidity
in the air, and fire, and animal spirits, as well as in the grosser and more
sensible forms.
First, We may observe, that there is no
probability so great as not to allow of a contrary possibility; because
otherwise ’twou’d cease to be a probability, and wou’d become a certainty. That
probability of causes, which is most extensive, and which we at present
examine, depends on a contrariety of experiments; and ’tis evident an
experiment in the past proves at least a possibility for the future.
Secondly, The component parts of this
possibility and probability are of the same nature, and differ in number only,
but not in kind. It has been observ’d, that all single chances are entirely
equal, and that the only circumstance, which can give any event, that is
contingent, a superiority over another, is a superior number of chances. In
like manner, as the uncertainty of causes is discover’d by experience, which
presents us with a view of contrary events, ’tis plain, that when we transfer
the past to the future, the known to the unknown, every past experiment has the
same weight, and that ’tis only a superior number of them, which can throw the
ballance on any side. The possibility, therefore, which enters into every
reasoning of this kind, is compos’d of parts, which are of the same nature both
among themselves, and with those, that compose the opposite probability.
Thirdly, We may establish it as a
certain maxim, that in all moral as well as natural phænomena, wherever any
cause consists of a number of parts, and the effect encreases or diminishes,
according to the variation of that number, the effect, properly speaking, is a
compounded one, and arises from the union of the several effects, that proceed
from each part of the cause. Thus because the gravity of a body encreases or
diminishes by the encrease or diminution of its parts, we conclude that each
part contains this quality and contributes to the gravity of the whole. The
absence or presence of a part of the cause is attended with that of a proportionable
part of the effect. This connexion or constant conjunction sufficiently proves
the one part to be the cause of the other. As the belief, which we have of any
event, encreases or diminishes according to the number of chances or past
experiments, ’tis to be consider’d as a compounded effect, of which each part
arises from a proportionable number of chances or experiments.
Let us now join these three
observations, and see what conclusion we can draw from them. To every
probability there is an opposite possibility. This possibility is compos’d of
parts, that are entirely of the same nature with those of the probability; and
consequently have the same influence on the mind and understanding. The belief,
which attends the probability, is a compounded effect, and is form’d by the
concurrence of the several effects, which proceed from each part of the
probability. Since therefore each part of the probability contributes to the
production of the belief, each part of the possibility must have the same influence
on the opposite side; the nature of these parts being entirely the same. The
contrary belief, attending the possibility, implies a view of a certain object,
as well as the probability does an opposite view. In this particular both these
degrees of belief are alike. The only manner then, in which the superior number
of similar component parts in the one can exert its influence, and prevail
above the inferior in the other, is by producing a stronger and more lively
view of its object. Each part presents a particular view; and all these views
uniting together produce one general view, which is fuller and more distinct by
the greater number of causes or principles, from which it is deriv’d.
The component parts of the probability
and possibility, being alike in their nature, must produce like effects; and
the likeness of their effects consists in this, that each of them presents a
view of a particular object. But tho’ these parts be alike in their nature,
they are very different in their quantity and number; and this difference must
appear in the effect as well as the similarity. Now as the view they present is
in both cases full and entire, and comprehends the object in all its parts,
’tis impossible that in this particular there can be any difference; nor is there
any thing but a superior vivacity in the probability, arising from the
concurrence of a superior number of views, which can distinguish these effects.
Here is almost the same argument in a
different light. All our reasonings concerning the probability of causes are
founded on the transferring of past to future. The transferring of any past
experiment to the future is sufficient to give us a view of the object; whether
that experiment be single, or combin’d with others of the same kind; whether it
be entire, or oppos’d by others of a contrary kind. Suppose, then, it acquires
both these qualities of combination and opposition, it loses not upon that
account its former power of presenting a view of the object, but only concurs
with and opposes other experiments, that have a like influence. A question,
therefore, may arise concerning the manner both of the concurrence and
opposition. As to the concurrence, there is only the choice left betwixt
these two hypotheses. First, That the view of the object, occasion’d
by the transference of each past experiment, preserves itself entire, and only
multiplies the number of views. Or, secondly, That it runs into the other similar
and correspondent views, and gives them a superior degree of force and
vivacity. But that the first hypothesis is erroneous, is evident from
experience, which informs us, that the belief, attending any reasoning,
consists in one conclusion, not in a multitude of similar ones, which wou’d
only distract the mind, and in many cases wou’d be too numerous to be
comprehended distinctly by any finite capacity. It remains, therefore, as the
only reasonable opinion, that these similar views run into each other, and
unite their forces; so as to produce a stronger and clearer view, than what
arises from any one alone. This is the manner, in which past experiments
concur, when they are transfer’d to any future event. As to the manner of their opposition, ’tis evident, that as the contrary
views are incompatible with each other, and ’tis impossible the object can at
once exist conformable to both of them, their influence becomes mutually
destructive, and the mind is determin’d to the superior only with that force,
which remains after subtracting the inferior.
I am sensible how abstruse all this
reasoning must appear to the generality of readers, who not being accustom’d to
such profound reflections on the intellectual faculties of the mind, will be
apt to reject as chimerical whatever strikes not in with the common receiv’d
notions, and with the easiest and most obvious principles of philosophy. And no
doubt there are some pains requir’d to enter into these arguments; tho’ perhaps
very little are necessary to perceive the imperfection of every vulgar
hypothesis on this subject, and the little light, which philosophy can yet
afford us in such sublime and such curious speculations. Let men be once fully
perswaded of these two principles, That
there is nothing in any object, consider’d in itself, which can afford us a
reason for drawing a conclusion beyond it; and, That
even after the observation of the frequent or constant conjunction of objects,
we have no reason to draw any inference concerning any object beyond those of
which we have had experience; I
say, let men be once fully convinc’d of these two principles, and this will
throw them so loose from all common systems, that they will make no difficulty
of receiving any, which may appear the most extraordinary. These principles we
have found to be sufficiently convincing, even with regard to our most certain
reasonings from causation: But I shall venture to affirm, that with regard to
these conjectural or probable reasonings they still acquire a new degree of
evidence.
First, ’Tis obvious, that in reasonings
of this kind, ’tis not the object presented to us, which, consider’d in itself,
affords us any reason to draw a conclusion concerning any other object or
event. For as this latter object is suppos’d uncertain, and as the uncertainty
is deriv’d from a conceal’d contrariety of causes in the former, were any of the
causes plac’d in the known qualities of that object, they wou’d no longer be
conceal’d, nor wou’d our conclusion be uncertain.
But, secondly, ’tis equally obvious in this species
of reasoning, that if the transference of the past to the future were founded
merely on a conclusion of the understanding, it cou’d never occasion any belief
or assurance. When we transfer contrary experiments to the future, we can only
repeat these contrary experiments with their particular proportions; which
cou’d not produce assurance in any single event, upon which we reason, unless
the fancy melted together all those images that concur, and extracted from them
one single idea or image, which is intense and lively in proportion to the
number of experiments from which it is deriv’d, and their superiority above
their antagonists. Our past experience presents no determinate object; and as
our belief, however faint, fixes itself on a determinate object, ’tis evident
that the belief arises not merely from the transference of past to future, but
from some operation of the fancy conjoin’d with it. This may lead us to
conceive the manner, in which that faculty enters into all our reasonings.
I shall conclude this subject with two
reflections, which may deserve our attention. The first may be explain’d after this manner.
When the mind forms a reasoning concerning any matter of fact, which is only
probable, it casts its eye backward upon past experience, and transferring it
to the future, is presented with so many contrary views of its object, of which
those that are of the same kind uniting together, and running into one act of
the mind, serve to fortify and inliven it. But suppose that this multitude of
views or glimpses of an object proceeds not from experience, but from a
voluntary act of the imagination; this effect does not follow, or at least,
follows not in the same degree. For tho’ custom and education produce belief by
such a repetition, as is not deriv’d from experience, yet this requires a long
tract of time, along with a very frequent and undesign’d repetition. In general we may
pronounce, that a person, who wou’d 1voluntarily repeat any idea in his mind, tho’ supported by one past experience,
wou’d be no more inclin’d to believe the existence of its object, than if he
had contented himself with one survey of it. Beside the effect of design; each
act of the mind, being separate and independent, has a separate influence, and
joins not its force with that of its fellows. Not being united by any common
object, producing them, they have no relation to each other; and consequently
make no transition or union of forces. This phænomenon we shall understand
better afterwards.
My second reflection is founded on those large
probabilities, which the mind can judge of, and the minute differences it can
observe betwixt them. When the chances or experiments on one side amount to ten
thousand, and on the other to ten thousand and one, the judgment gives the
preference to the latter, upon account of that superiority; tho’ ’tis plainly
impossible for the mind to run over every particular view, and distinguish the
superior vivacity of the image arising from the superior number, where the
difference is so inconsiderable. We have a parallel instance in the affections.
’Tis evident, according to the principles abovemention’d, that when an object
produces any passion in us, which varies according to the different quantity of
the object; I say, ’tis evident, that the passion, properly speaking, is not a
simple emotion, but a compounded one, of a great number of weaker passions,
deriv’d from a view of each part of the object. For otherwise ’twere impossible
the passion shou’d encrease by the encrease of these parts. Thus a man, who
desires a thousand pound, has in reality a thousand or more desires, which
uniting together, seem to make only one passion; tho’ the composition evidently
betrays itself upon every alteration of the object, by the preference he gives
to the larger number, if superior only by an unite. Yet nothing can be more
certain, than that so small a difference wou’d not be discernible in the
passions, nor cou’d render them distinguishable from each other. The
difference, therefore, of our conduct in preferring the greater number depends
not upon our passions, but upon custom, and general
rules. We have found in a
multitude of instances, that the augmenting the numbers of any sum augments the
passion, where the numbers are precise and the difference sensible. The mind
can perceive from its immediate feeling, that three guineas produce a greater
passion than two; and this it transfers to larger numbers,
because of the resemblance; and by a general rule assigns to a thousand
guineas, a stronger passion than to nine hundred and ninety nine. These general
rules we shall explain presently.
But beside these two species of
probability, which are deriv’d from an imperfect experience and from contrary causes, there is a third arising from Analogy, which differs from them in some
material circumstances. According to the hypothesis above explain’d all kinds
of reasoning from causes or effects are founded on two particulars, viz. the constant conjunction of any two
objects in all past experience, and the resemblance of a present object to any
one of them. The effect of these two particulars is, that the present object
invigorates and inlivens the imagination; and the resemblance, along with the
constant union, conveys this force and vivacity to the related idea; which we
are therefore said to believe, or assent to. If you weaken either the union or
resemblance, you weaken the principle of transition, and of consequence that
belief, which arises from it. The vivacity of the first impression cannot be
fully convey’d to the related idea, either where the conjunction of their
objects is not constant, or where the present impression does not perfectly
resemble any of those, whose union we are accustom’d to observe. In those
probabilities of chance and causes above-explain’d, ’tis the constancy of the
union, which is diminish’d; and in the probability deriv’d from analogy, ’tis
the resemblance only, which is affected. Without some degree of resemblance, as
well as union, ’tis impossible there can be any reasoning: but as this
resemblance admits of many different degrees, the reasoning becomes
proportionably more or less firm and certain. An experiment loses of its force,
when transferr’d to instances, which are not exactly resembling; tho’ ’tis
evident it may still retain as much as may be the foundation of probability, as
long as there is any resemblance remaining.
[1 ]Pages xxii, xxiii.
All these kinds of probability are receiv’d by philosophers, and allow’d to
be reasonable foundations of belief and opinion. But there are others, that are
deriv’d from the same principles, tho’ they have not had the good fortune to
obtain the same sanction. The firstprobability
of this kind may be accounted for thus. The diminution of the union, and of the
resemblance, as above explained, diminishes the facility of the transition, and
by that means weakens the evidence; and we may farther observe, that the same
diminution of the evidence will follow from a diminution of the impression, and
from the shading of those colours, under which it appears to the memory or
senses. The argument, which we found on any matter of fact we remember, is more
or less convincing, according as the fact is recent or remote; and tho’ the
difference in these degrees of evidence be not receiv’d by philosophy as solid
and legitimate; because in that case an argument must have a different force to
day, from what it shall have a month hence; yet notwithstanding the opposition
of philosophy, ’tis certain, this circumstance has a considerable influence on
the understanding, and secretly changes the authority of the same argument,
according to the different times, in which it is propos’d to us. A greater
force and vivacity in the impression naturally conveys a greater to the related
idea; and ’tis on the degrees of force and vivacity, that the belief depends,
according to the foregoing system.
There is a second difference, which we may frequently
observe in our degrees of belief and assurance, and which never fails to take
place, tho’ disclaimed by philosophers. An experiment, that is recent and fresh
in the memory, affects us more than one that is in some measure obliterated;
and has a superior influence on the judgment, as well as on the passions. A
lively impression produces more assurance than a faint one; because it has more
original force to communicate to the related idea, which thereby acquires a
greater force and vivacity. A recent observation has a like effect; because the
custom and transition is there more entire, and preserves better the original
force in the communication. Thus a drunkard, who has seen his companion die of
a debauch, is struck with that instance for some time, and dreads a like
accident for himself: But as the memory of it decays away by degrees, his
former security returns, and the danger seems less certain and real.
I add, as a third instance of this kind, that tho’ our
reasonings from proofs and from probabilities be considerably different from
each other, yet the former species of reasoning often degenerates insensibly
into the latter, by nothing but the multitude of connected arguments. ’Tis
certain, that when an inference is drawn immediately from an object, without
any intermediate cause or effect, the conviction is much stronger, and the
persuasion more lively, than when the imagination is carry’d thro’ a long chain
of connected arguments, however infallible the connexion of each link may be
esteem’d. ’Tis from the original impression, that the vivacity of all the ideas
is deriv’d, by means of the customary transition of the imagination; and ’tis
evident this vivacity must gradually decay in proportion to the distance, and
must lose somewhat in each transition. Sometimes this distance has a greater
influence than even contrary experiments wou’d have; and a man may receive a
more lively conviction from a probable reasoning, which is close and immediate,
than from a long chain of consequences, tho’ just and conclusive in each part.
Nay ’tis seldom such reasonings produce any conviction; and one must have a very
strong and firm imagination to preserve the evidence to the end, where it
passes thro’ so many stages.
But here it may not be amiss to remark a
very curious phænomenon, which the present subject suggests to us. ’Tis evident
there is no point of ancient history, of which we can have any assurance, but
by passing thro’ many millions of causes and effects, and thro’ a chain of
arguments of almost an immeasurable length. Before the knowledge of the fact
cou’d come to the first historian, it must be convey’d thro’ many mouths; and
after it is committed to writing, each new copy is a new object, of which the
connexion with the foregoing is known only by experience and observation.
Perhaps, therefore, it may be concluded from the precedent reasoning, that the evidence
of all ancient history must now be lost; or at least, will be lost in time, as
the chain of causes encreases, and runs on to a greater length. But as it seems
contrary to common sense to think, that if the republic of letters, and the art
of printing continue on the same footing as at present, our posterity, even
after a thousand ages, can ever doubt if there has been such a man as Julius Cæsar;this may be
consider’d as an objection to the present system. If belief consisted only in a
certain vivacity, convey’d from an original impression, it wou’d decay by the
length of the transition, and must at last be utterly extinguish’d: And vice versa, if belief on some occasions be not
capable of such an extinction; it must be something different from that vivacity.
Before I answer this objection I shall
observe, that from this topic there has been borrow’d a very celebrated
argument against the Christian
Religion; but with this
difference, that the connexion betwixt each link of the chain in human
testimony has been there suppos’d not to go beyond probability, and to be
liable to a degree of doubt and uncertainty. And indeed it must be confest,
that in this manner of considering the subject, (which however is not a true
one) there is no history or tradition, but what must in the end lose all its
force and evidence. Every new probability diminishes the original conviction;
and however great that conviction may be suppos’d, ’tis impossible it can
subsist under such reiterated diminutions. This is true in general; tho’ we
shall find1 afterwards, that there is one very memorable
exception, which is of vast consequence in the present subject of the
understanding.
Mean while to give a solution of the
preceding objection upon the supposition, that historical evidence amounts at
first to an entire proof; let us consider, that tho’ the links are innumerable,
that connect any original fact with the present impression, which is the
foundation of belief; yet they are all of the same kind, and depend on the
fidelity of Printers and Copists. One edition passes into another, and that
into a third, and so on, till we come to that volume we peruse at present.
There is no variation in the steps. After we know one, we know all of them; and
after we have made one, we can have no scruple as to the rest. This
circumstance alone preserves the evidence of history, and will perpetuate the
memory of the present age to the latest posterity. If all the long chain of
causes and effects, which connect any past event with any volume of history,
were compos’d of parts different from each other, and which ’twere necessary
for the mind distinctly to conceive, ’tis impossible we shou’d preserve to the
end any belief or evidence. But as most of these proofs are perfectly
resembling, the mind runs easily along them, jumps from one part to another
with facility, and forms but a confus’d and general notion of each link. By
this means a long chain of argument, has as little effect in diminishing the
original vivacity, as a much shorter wou’d have, if compos’d of parts, which
were different from each other, and of which each requir’d a distinct consideration.
A fourth unphilosophical species of
probability is that deriv’d from general
rules, which we rashly form
to ourselves, and which are the source of what we properly call Prejudice. An Irishman cannot have wit, and a Frenchman cannot have solidity; for which
reason, tho’ the conversation of the former in any instance be visibly very
agreeable, and of the latter very judicious, we have entertain’d such a
prejudice against them, that they must be dunces or fops in spite of sense and
reason. Human nature is very subject to errors of this kind; and perhaps this
nation as much as any other.
Shou’d it be demanded why men form
general rules, and allow them to influence their judgment, even contrary to
present observation and experience, I shou’d reply, that in my opinion it
proceeds from those very principles, on which all judgments concerning causes
and effects depend. Our judgments concerning cause and effect are deriv’d from
habit and experience; and when we have been accustom’d to see one object united
to another, our imagination passes from the first to the second, by a natural
transition, which precedes reflection, and which cannot be prevented by it. Now
’tis the nature of custom not only to operate with its full force, when objects
are presented, that are exactly the same with those to which we have been
accustom’d; but also to operate in an inferior degree, when we discover such as
are similar; and tho’ the habit loses somewhat of its force by every
difference, yet ’tis seldom entirely destroy’d, where any considerable
circumstances remain the same. A man, who has contracted a custom of eating
fruit by the use of pears or peaches, will satisfy himself with melons, where
he cannot find his favourite fruit; as one, who has become a drunkard by the
use of red wines, will be carried almost with the same violence to white, if
presented to him. From this principle I have accounted for that species of
probability, deriv’d from analogy, where we transfer our experience in past
instances to objects which are resembling, but are not exactly the same with
those concerning which we have had experience. In proportion as the resemblance
decays, the probability diminishes; but still has some force as long as there
remain any traces of the resemblance.
This observation we may carry farther;
and may remark, that tho’ custom be the foundation of all our judgments, yet
sometimes it has an effect on the imagination in opposition to the judgment,
and produces a contrariety in our sentiments concerning the same object. I
explain myself. In almost all kinds of causes there is a complication of
circumstances, of which some are essential, and others superfluous; some are
absolutely requisite to the production of the effect, and others are only
conjoin’d by accident. Now we may observe, that when these superfluous
circumstances are numerous, and remarkable, and frequently conjoin’d with the
essential, they have such an influence on the imagination, that even in the
absence of the latter they carry us on to the conception of the usual effect,
and give to that conception a force and vivacity, which make it superior to the
mere fictions of the fancy. We may correct this propensity by a reflection on
the nature of those circumstances; but ’tis still certain, that custom takes
the start, and gives a biass to the imagination.
To illustrate this by a familiar
instance, let us consider the case of a man, who being hung out from a high
tower in a cage of iron cannot forbear trembling, when he surveys the precipice
below him, tho’ he knows himself to be perfectly secure from falling, by his
experience of the solidity of the iron, which supports him; and tho’ the ideas
of fall and descent, and harm and death, be deriv’d solely from custom and
experience. The same custom goes beyond the instances, from which it is
deriv’d, and to which it perfectly corresponds; and influences his ideas of
such objects as are in some respect resembling, but fall not precisely under
the same rule. The circumstances of depth and descent strike so strongly upon
him, that their influence cannot be destroy’d by the contrary circumstances of
support and solidity, which ought to give him a perfect security. His
imagination runs away with its object, and excites a passion proportion’d to
it. That passion returns back upon the imagination and inlivens the idea; which
lively idea has a new influence on the passion, and in its turn augments its
force and violence; and both his fancy and affections, thus mutually supporting
each other, cause the whole to have a very great influence upon him.
But why need we seek for other
instances, while the present subject of [philosophical]1 probabilities offers us so obvious an one, in the
opposition betwixt the judgment and imagination arising from these effects of
custom? According to my system, all reasonings are nothing but the effects of
custom; and custom has no influence, but by inlivening the imagination, and
giving us a strong conception of any object. It may, therefore, be concluded,
that our judgment and imagination can never be contrary, and that custom cannot
operate on the latter faculty after such a manner, as to render it opposite to
the former. This difficulty we can remove after no other manner, than by
supposing the influence of general rules. We shall afterwards2 take notice of some general rules, by which we ought
to regulate our judgment concerning causes and effects; and these rules are
form’d on the nature of our understanding, and on our experience of its operations
in the judgments we form concerning objects. By them we learn to distinguish
the accidental circumstances from the efficacious causes; and when we find that
an effect can be produc’d without the concurrence of any particular
circumstance, we conclude that that circumstance makes not a part of the
efficacious cause, however frequently conjoin’d with it. But as this frequent
conjunction necessarily makes it have some effect on the imagination, in spite
of the opposite conclusion from general rules, the opposition of these two
principles produces a contrariety in our thoughts, and causes us to ascribe the
one inference to our judgment, and the other to our imagination. The general
rule is attributed to our judgment; as being more extensive and constant. The
exception to the imagination; as being more capricious and uncertain.
Thus our general rules are in a manner
set in opposition to each other. When an object appears, that resembles any
cause in very considerable circumstances, the imagination naturally carries us
to a lively conception of the usual effect, tho’ the object be different in the
most material and most efficacious circumstances from that cause. Here is the
first influence of general rules. But when we take a review of this act of the
mind, and compare it with the more general and authentic operations of the
understanding, we find it to be of an irregular nature, and destructive of all
the most establish’d principles of reasonings; which is the cause of our
rejecting it. This is a second influence of general rules, and implies the
condemnation of the former. Sometimes the one, sometimes the other prevails,
according to the disposition and character of the person. The vulgar are
commonly guided by the first, and wise men by the second. Mean while the
sceptics may here have the pleasure of observing a new and signal contradiction
in our reason, and of seeing all philosophy ready to be subverted by a
principle of human nature, and again sav’d by a new direction of the very same
principle. The following of general rules is a very unphilosophical species of
probability; and yet ’tis only by following them that we can correct this, and
all other unphilosophical probabilities.
Since we have instances, where general
rules operate on the imagination even contrary to the judgment, we need not be
surpriz’d to see their effects encrease, when conjoin’d with that latter
faculty, and to observe that they bestow on the ideas they present to us a
force superior to what attends any other. Every one knows, there is an indirect
manner of insinuating praise or blame, which is much less shocking than the
open flattery or censure of any person. However he may communicate his
sentiments by such secret insinuations, and make them known with equal
certainty as by the open discovery of them, ’tis certain that their influence
is not equally strong and powerful. One who lashes me with conceal’d strokes of
satire, moves not my indignation to such a degree, as if he flatly told me I
was a fool and coxcomb; tho’ I equally understand his meaning, as if he did.
This difference is to be attributed to the influence of general rules.
Whether a person openly abuses me, or
slyly intimates his contempt, in neither case do I immediately perceive his
sentiment or opinion; and ’tis only by signs, that is, by its effects, I become
sensible of it. The only difference, then, betwixt these two cases consists in
this, that in the open discovery of his sentiments he makes use of signs, which
are general and universal; and in the secret intimation employs such as are
more singular and uncommon. The effect of this circumstance is, that the
imagination, in running from the present impression to the absent idea, makes
the transition with greater facility, and consequently conceives the object
with greater force, where the connexion is common and universal, than where it
is more rare and particular. Accordingly we may observe, that the open
declaration of our sentiments is call’d the taking off the mask, as the secret
intimation of our opinions is said to be the veiling of them. The difference
betwixt an idea produc’d by a general connexion, and that arising from a
particular one is here compar’d to the difference betwixt an impression and an
idea. This difference in the imagination has a suitable effect on the passions;
and this effect is augmented by another circumstance. A secret intimation of
anger or contempt shews that we still have some consideration for the person,
and avoid the directly abusing him. This makes a conceal’d satire less
disagreeable; but still this depends on the same principle. For if an idea were
not more feeble, when only intimated, it wou’d never be esteem’d a mark of
greater respect to proceed in this method than in the other.
Sometimes scurrility is less displeasing
than delicate satire, because it revenges us in a manner for the injury at the
very time it is committed, by affording us a just reason to blame and contemn
the person, who injures us. But this phænomenon likewise depends upon the same
principle. For why do we blame all gross and injurious language, unless it be,
because we esteem it contrary to good breeding and humanity? And why is it
contrary, unless it be more shocking than any delicate satire? The rules of
good-breeding condemn whatever is openly disobliging, and gives a sensible pain
and confusion to those, with whom we converse. After this is once establish’d,
abusive language is universally blam’d, and gives less pain upon account of its
coarseness and incivility, which render the person despicable, that employs it.
It becomes less disagreeable, merely because originally it is more so; and ’tis
more disagreeable, because it affords an inference by general and common rules,
that are palpable and undeniable.
To this explication of the different
influence of open and conceal’d flattery or satire, I shall add the
consideration of another phænomenon, which is analogous to it. There are many
particulars in the point of honour both of men and women, whose violations,
when open and avow’d, the world never excuses, but which it is more apt to
overlook, when the appearances are sav’d, and the transgression is secret and
conceal’d. Even those, who know with equal certainty, that the fault is
committed, pardon it more easily, when the proofs seem in some measure oblique
and equivocal, than when they are direct and undeniable. The same idea is
presented in both cases, and, properly speaking, is equally assented to by the
judgment; and yet its influence is different, because of the different manner,
in which it is presented.
Now if we compare these two cases, of
the open and conceal’d violations of the laws of honour, we
shall find, that the difference betwixt them consists in this, that in the
first case the sign, from which we infer the blameable action, is single, and
suffices alone to be the foundation of our reasoning and judgment; whereas in
the latter the signs are numerous, and decide little or nothing when alone and
unaccompany’d with many minute circumstances; which are almost imperceptible.
But ’tis certainly true, that any reasoning is always the more convincing, the
more single and united it is to the eye, and the less exercise it gives to the
imagination to collect all its parts, and run from them to the correlative
idea, which forms the conclusion. The labour of the thought disturbs the
regular progress of the sentiments, as we shall observe presently1 . The idea strikes not on us with such vivacity; and
consequently has no such influence on the passion and imagination.
From the same principles we may account
for those observations of the Cardinal De Retz,that
there are many things, in which the world wishes to be deceiv’d; and that
it more easily excuses a person in acting than in talking contrary to the
decorum of his profession and character. A
fault in words is commonly more open and distinct than one in actions, which
admit of many palliating excuses, and decide not so clearly concerning the
intention and views of the actor.
Thus it appears upon the whole, that
every kind of opinion or judgment, which amounts not to knowledge, is deriv’d
entirely from the force and vivacity of the perception, and that these qualities
constitute in the mind, what we call the belief of the existence of any object. This
force and this vivacity are most conspicuous in the memory; and therefore our
confidence in the veracity of that faculty is the greatest imaginable, and
equals in many respects the assurance of a demonstration. The next degree of
these qualities is that deriv’d from the relation of cause and effect; and this
too is very great, especially when the conjunction is found by experience to be
perfectly constant, and when the object, which is present to us, exactly
resembles those, of which we have had experience. But below this degree of
evidence there are many others, which have an influence on the passions and
imagination, proportion’d to that degree of force and vivacity, which they
communicate to the ideas. ’Tis by habit we make the transition from cause to
effect; and ’tis from some present impression we borrow that vivacity, which we
diffuse over the correlative idea. But when we have not observ’d a sufficient
number of instances, to produce a strong habit; or when these instances are
contrary to each other; or when the resemblance is not exact; or the present
impression is faint and obscure; or the experience in some measure obliterated
from the memory; or the connexion dependent on a long chain of objects; or the
inference deriv’d from general rules, and yet not conformable to them: In all
these cases the evidence diminishes by the diminution of the force and
intenseness of the idea. This therefore is the nature of the judgment and
probability.
What principally gives authority to this
system is, beside the undoubted arguments, upon which each part is founded, the
agreement of these parts, and the necessity of one to explain another. The
belief, which attends our memory, is of the same nature with that, which is
deriv’d from our judgments: Nor is there any difference betwixt that judgment,
which is deriv’d from a constant and uniform connexion of causes and effects,
and that which depends upon an interrupted and uncertain. ’Tis indeed evident,
that in all determinations, where the mind decides from contrary experiments,
’tis first divided within itself, and has an inclination to either side in
proportion to the number of experiments we have seen and remember. This contest
is at last determin’d to the advantage of that side, where we observe a
superior number of these experiments; but still with a diminution of force in
the evidence correspondent to the number of the opposite experiments. Each
possibility, of which the probability is compos’d, operates separately upon the
imagination; and ’tis the larger collection of possibilities, which at last
prevails, and that with a force proportionable to its superiority. All these
phænomena lead directly to the precedent system; nor will it ever be possible
upon any other principles to give a satisfactory and consistent explication of
them. Without considering these judgments as the effects of custom on the
imagination, we shall lose ourselves in perpetual contradiction and absurdity.
[1 ]Part IV. sect. 1.
[1 ][unphilosophical?].
[2 ]Sect. 15.
[1 ]Part IV. sect. 1.
Though there be no such thing as Chance in the world; our ignorance of the
real cause of any event has the same influence on the understanding, and begets
a like species of belief or opinion.
There is certainly a probability, which
arises from a superiority of chances on any side; and according as this
superiority encreases, and surpasses the opposite chances, the probability
receives a proportionable encrease, and begets still a higher degree of belief
or assent to that side, in which we discover the superiority. If a dye were
marked with one figure or number of spots on four sides, and with another figure
or number of spots on the two remaining sides, it would be more probable, that
the former would turn up than the latter; though, if it had a thousand sides
marked in the same manner, and only one side different, the probability would
be much higher, and our belief or expectation of the event more steady and
secure. This process of the thought or reasoning may seem trivial and obvious;
but to those who consider it more narrowly, it may, perhaps, afford matter for
curious speculation.
It seems evident, that, when the mind
looks forward to discover the event, which may result from the throw of such a
dye, it considers the turning up of each particular side as alike probable; and
this is the very nature of chance, to render all the particular events,
comprehended in it, entirely equal. But finding a greater number of sides
concur in the one event than in the other, the mind is carried more frequently
to that event, and meets it oftener, in revolving the various possibilities or
chances, on which the ultimate result depends. This concurrence of several
views in one particular event begets immediately, by an inexplicable
contrivance of nature, the sentiment of belief, and gives that event the
advantage over its antagonist, which is supported by a smaller number of views,
and recurs less frequently to the mind. If we allow, that belief is nothing but
a firmer and stronger conception of an object than what attends the mere
fictions of the imagination, this operation may, perhaps, in some measure, be
accounted for. The concurrence of these several views or glimpses imprints the
idea more strongly on the imagination; gives it superior force and vigour;
renders its influence on the passions and affections more sensible; and in a
word, begets that reliance or security, which constitutes the nature of belief
and opinion.
The case is the same with the
probability of causes, as with that of chance. There are some causes, which are
entirely uniform and constant in producing a particular effect; and no instance
has ever yet been found of any failure or irregularity in their operation. Fire
has always burned, and water suffocated every human creature: The production of
motion by impulse and gravity is an universal law, which has hitherto admitted
of no exception. But there are other causes, which have been found more
irregular and uncertain; nor has rhubarb always proved a purge, or opium a
soporific to every one, who has taken these medicines. It is true, when any
cause fails of producing its usual effect, philosophers ascribe not this to any
irregularity in nature; but suppose, that some secret causes, in the particular
structure of parts, have prevented the operation. Our reasonings, however, and
conclusions concerning the event are the same as if this principle had no
place. Being determined by custom to transfer the past to the future, in all
our inferences; where the past has been entirely regular and uniform, we expect
the event with the greatest assurance, and leave no room for any contrary
supposition. But where different effects have been found to follow from causes,
which are to appearance exactly similar, all these various
effects must occur to the mind in transferring the past to the future, and
enter into our consideration, when we determine the probability of the event. Though
we give the preference to that which has been found most usual, and believe
that this effect will exist, we must not overlook the other effects, but must
assign to each of them a particular weight and authority, in proportion as we
have found it to be more or less frequent. It is more probable, in almost every
country of Europe, that there will be frost sometime in January, than that the
weather will continue open throughout that whole month; though this probability
varies according to the different climates, and approaches to a certainty in
the more northern kingdoms. Here then it seems evident, that, when we transfer
the past to the future, in order to determine the effect, which will result
from any cause, we transfer all the different events, in the same proportion as
they have appeared in the past, and conceive one to have existed a hundred
times, for instance, another ten times, and another once. As a great number of
views do here concur in one event, they fortify and confirm it to the imagination,
beget that sentiment which we call belief, and give its object the preference
above the contrary event, which is not supported by an equal number of
experiments, and recurs not so frequently to the thought in transferring the
past to the future. Let any one try to account for this operation of the mind
upon any of the received systems of philosophy, and he will be sensible of the
difficulty. For my part, I shall think it sufficient, if the present hints
excite the curiosity of philosophers, and make them sensible how defective all
common theories are in treating of such curious and such sublime subjects.
[1 ]Mr. Locke divides all arguments into demonstrative and probable. In this
view, we must say, that it is only probable 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 intodemonstrations, proofs, and probabilities. By proofs meaning such arguments from
experience as leave no room for doubt or opposition.
6. A ideia
de conexão necessária: T 1.3.14; E 7
Having thus explain’d the manner, in
which we reason beyond our immediate impressions, and conclude that such
particular causes must have such particular effects; we must now return upon our footsteps
to examine that question, which1 first occur’d to us, and which we dropt in our way, viz. What is our idea of necessity,
when we say that two objects are necessarily connected together. Upon this head I repeat what I have
often had occasion to observe, that as we have no idea, that is not deriv’d
from an impression, we must find some impression, that gives rise to this idea
of necessity, if we assert we have really such an idea. In order to this I
consider, in what objects necessity is commonly suppos’d to lie; and finding
that it is always ascrib’d to causes and effects, I turn my eye to two objects suppos’d
to be plac’d in that relation; and examine them in all the situations, of which
they are susceptible. I immediately perceive, that they are contiguous in time and place, and that the object
we call cause precedes the other we call effect. In no one
instance can I go any farther, nor is it possible for me to discover any third
relation betwixt these objects. I therefore enlarge my view to comprehend
several instances; where I find like objects always existing in like relations
of contiguity and succession. At first sight this seems to serve but little to
my purpose. The reflection on several instances only repeats the same objects;
and therefore can never give rise to a new idea. But upon farther enquiry I
find, that the repetition is not in every particular the same, but produces a
new impression, and by that means the idea, which I at present examine. For
after a frequent repetition, I find, that upon the appearance of one of the
objects, the mind is determin’d by custom to consider its usual attendant,
and to consider it in a stronger light upon account of its relation to the
first object. ’Tis this impression, then, or determination, which affords me the idea of
necessity.
I doubt not but these consequences will
at first sight be receiv’d without difficulty, as being evident deductions from
principles, which we have already establish’d, and which we have often employ’d
in our reasonings. This evidence both in the first principles, and in the
deductions, may seduce us unwarily into the conclusion, and make us imagine it
contains nothing extraordinary, nor worthy of our curiosity. But tho’ such an
inadvertence may facilitate the reception of this reasoning, ’twill make it be
the more easily forgot; for which reason I think it proper to give warning, that
I have just now examin’d one of the most sublime questions in philosophy, viz. that concerning the power and
efficacy of causes; where all
the sciences seem so much interested. Such a warning will naturally rouze up
the attention of the reader, and make him desire a more full account of my
doctrine, as well as of the arguments, on which it is founded. This request is
so reasonable, that I cannot refuse complying with it; especially as I am
hopeful that these principles, the more they are examin’d, will acquire the
more force and evidence.
There is no question, which on account
of its importance, as well as difficulty, has caus’d more disputes both among
antient and modern philosophers, than this concerning the efficacy of causes,
or that quality which makes them be followed by their effects. But before they
enter’d upon these disputes, methinks it wou’d not have been improper to have
examin’d what idea we have of that efficacy, which is the subject of the
controversy. This is what I find principally wanting in their reasonings, and
what I shall here endeavour to supply.
I begin with observing that the terms of efficacy, agency, power, force,
energy, necessity, connexion, and productive quality, are all nearly synonimous; and
therefore ’tis an absurdity to employ any of them in defining the rest. By this
observation we reject at once all the vulgar definitions, which philosophers
have given of power and efficacy; and instead of searching for the idea in
these definitions, must look for it in the impressions, from which it is
originally deriv’d. If it be a compound idea, it must arise from compound
impressions. If simple, from simple impressions.
I believe the most general and most
popular explication of this matter, is to say,1 that finding from experience, that there are several
new productions in matter, such as the motions and variations of body, and concluding
that there must somewhere be a power capable of producing them, we arrive at
last by this reasoning at the idea of power and efficacy. But to be convinc’d
that this explication is more popular than philosophical, we need but reflect
on two very obvious principles. First, That reason alone can never give rise
to any original idea, and secondly, that reason, as distinguish’d from
experience, can never make us conclude, that a cause or productive quality is
absolutely requisite to every beginning of existence. Both these considerations
have been sufficiently explain’d; and therefore shall not at present be any
farther insisted on.
I shall only infer from them, that since
reason can never give rise to the idea of efficacy, that idea must be deriv’d
from experience, and from some particular instances of this efficacy, which
make their passage into the mind by the common channels of sensation or
reflection. Ideas always represent their objects or impressions; and vice versa, there are some objects necessary to
give rise to every idea. If we pretend, therefore, to have any just idea of
this efficacy, we must produce some instance, wherein the efficacy is plainly
discoverable to the mind, and its operations obvious to our consciousness or
sensation. By the refusal of this, we acknowledge, that the idea is impossible
and imaginary; since the principle of innate ideas, which alone can save us
from this dilemma, has been already refuted, and is now almost universally
rejected in the learned world. Our present business, then, must be to find some
natural production, where the operation and efficacy of a cause can be clearly
conceiv’d and comprehended by the mind, without any danger of obscurity or
mistake.
In this research we meet with very
little encouragement from that prodigious diversity, which is found in the
opinions of those philosophers, who have pretended to explain the secret force
and energy of causes1 . There are some, who maintain, that bodies operate by
their substantial form; others, by their accidents or qualities; several, by
their matter and form; some, by their form and accidents; others, by certain
virtues and faculties distinct from all this. All these sentiments again are
mix’d and vary’d in a thousand different ways; and form a strong presumption,
that none of them have any solidity or evidence, and that the supposition of an
efficacy in any of the known qualities of matter is entirely without
foundation. This presumption must encrease upon us, when we consider, that
these principles of substantial forms, and accidents, and faculties, are not in
reality any of the known properties of bodies, but are perfectly unintelligible
and inexplicable. For ’tis evident philosophers wou’d never have had recourse
to such obscure and uncertain principles had they met with any satisfaction in
such as are clear and intelligible; especially in such an affair as this, which
must be an object of the simplest understanding, if not of the senses. Upon the
whole, we may conclude, that ’tis impossible in any one instance to shew the
principle, in which the force and agency of a cause is plac’d; and that the
most refin’d and most vulgar understandings are equally at a loss in this
particular. If any one think proper to refute this assertion, he need not put
himself to the trouble of inventing any long reasonings; but may at once shew
us an instance of a cause, where we discover the power or operating principle.
This defiance we are oblig’d frequently to make use of, as being almost the
only means of proving a negative in philosophy.
The small success, which has been met
with in all the attempts to fix this power, has at last oblig’d philosophers to
conclude, that the ultimate force and efficacy of nature is perfectly unknown
to us, and that ’tis in vain we search for it in all the known qualities of
matter. In this opinion they are almost unanimous; and ’tis only in the
inference they draw from it, that they discover any difference in their
sentiments. For some of them, as the Cartesians in particular, having establish’d it
as a principle, that we are perfectly acquainted with the essence of matter,
have very naturally inferr’d, that it is endow’d with no efficacy, and that
’tis impossible for it of itself to communicate motion, or produce any of those
effects, which we ascribe to it. As the essence of matter consists in
extension, and as extension implies not actual motion, but only mobility; they
conclude, that the energy, which produces the motion, cannot lie in the
extension.
This conclusion leads them into another,
which they regard as perfectly unavoidable. Matter, say they, is in itself
entirely unactive, and depriv’d of any power, by which it may produce, or
continue, or communicate motion: But since these effects are evident to our
senses, and since the power, that produces them, must be plac’d somewhere, it
must lie in the Deity, or that divine being, who contains in
his nature all excellency and perfection. ’Tis the deity, therefore, who is the
prime mover of the universe, and who not only first created matter, and gave it
it’s original impulse, but likewise by a continu’d exertion of omnipotence,
supports its existence, and successively bestows on it all those motions, and
configurations, and qualities, with which it is endow’d.
This opinion is certainly very curious,
and well worth our attention; but ’twill appear superfluous to examine it in
this place, if we reflect a moment on our present purpose in taking notice of
it. We have establish’d it as a principle, that as all ideas are deriv’d from
impressions, or some precedent perceptions, ’tis impossible we can have any idea
of power and efficacy, unless some instances can be produc’d, wherein this
power is perceiv’d to exert itself. Now as these
instances can never be discover’d in body, the Cartesians,proceeding upon
their principle of innate ideas, have had recourse to a supreme spirit or
deity, whom they consider as the only active being in the universe, and as the
immediate cause of every alteration in matter. But the principle of innate
ideas being allow’d to be false, it follows, that the supposition of a deity
can serve us in no stead, in accounting for that idea of agency, which we
search for in vain in all the objects, which are presented to our senses, or
which we are internally conscious of in our own minds. For if every idea be
deriv’d from an impression, the idea of a deity proceeds from the same origin;
and if no impression, either of sensation or reflection, implies any force or
efficacy, ’tis equally impossible to discover or even imagine any such active
principle in the deity. Since these philosophers, therefore, have concluded,
that matter cannot be endow’d with any efficacious principle, because ’tis
impossible to discover in it such a principle; the same course of reasoning
shou’d determine them to exclude it from the supreme being. Or if they estem
that opinion absurd and impious, as it really is, I shall tell them how they
may avoid it; and that is, by concluding from the very first, that they have no
adequate idea of power or efficacy in any object; since neither in body nor
spirit, neither in superior nor inferior natures, are they able to discover one
single instance of it.
The same conclusion is unavoidable upon
the hypothesis of those, who maintain the efficacy of second causes, and
attribute a derivative, but a real power and energy to matter. For as they
confess, that this energy lies not in any of the known qualities of matter, the
difficulty still remains concerning the origin of its idea. If we have really
an idea of power, we may attribute power to an unknown quality: But as ’tis
impossible, that that idea can be deriv’d from such a quality, and as there is
nothing in known qualities, which can produce it; it follows that we deceive
ourselves, when we imagine we are possest of any idea of this kind, after the
manner we commonly understand it. All ideas are deriv’d from, and represent impressions.
We never have any impression, that contains any power or efficacy. We never
therefore have any idea of power.
It has been establish’d as a certain
principle, that general or abstract ideas are nothing but individual ones taken
in a certain light, and that, in reflecting on any object, ’tis as impossible
to exclude from our thought all particular degrees of quantity and quality as
from the real nature of things. If we be possest, therefore, of any idea of
power in general, we must also be able to conceive some particular species of
it; and as power cannot subsist alone, but is always regarded as an attribute
of some being or existence, we must be able to place this power in some
particular being, and conceive that being as endow’d with a real force and
energy, by which such a particular effect necessarily results from its
operation. We must distinctly and particularly conceive the connexion betwixt
the cause and effect, and be able to pronounce, from a simple view of the one,
that it must be follow’d or preceded by the other. This is the true manner of
conceiving a particular power in a particular body: and a general idea being
impossible without an individual; where the latter is impossible, ’tis certain
the former can never exist. Now nothing is more evident, than that the human
mind cannot form such an idea of two objects, as to conceive any connexion
betwixt them, or comprehend distinctly that power or efficacy, by which they
are united. Such a connexion wou’d amount to a demonstration, and wou’d imply
the absolute impossibility for the one object not to follow, or to be conceiv’d
not to follow upon the other: Which kind of connexion has already been rejected
in all cases. If any one is of a contrary opinion, and thinks he has attain’d a
notion of power in any particular object, I desire he may point out to me that
object. But till I meet with such-a-one, which I despair of, I cannot forbear
concluding, that since we can never distinctly conceive how any particular
power can possibly reside in any particular object, we deceive ourselves in
imagining we can form any such general idea.
Thus upon the whole we may infer, that
when we talk of any being, whether of a superior or inferior nature, as endow’d
with a power or force, proportion’d to any effect; when we speak of a necessary
connexion betwixt objects, and suppose, that this connexion depends upon an
efficacy or energy, with which any of these objects are endow’d; in all these
expressions, so apply’d, we have really no distinct meaning,
and make use only of common words, without any clear and determinate ideas. But
as ’tis more probable, that these expressions do here lose their true meaning
by being wrong apply’d, than that they never have any meaning;
’twill be proper to bestow another consideration on this subject, to see if
possibly we can discover the nature and origin of those ideas, we annex to
them.
Suppose two objects to be presented to
us, of which the one is the cause and the other the effect; ’tis plain, that
from the simple consideration of one, or both these objects we never shall
perceive the tie, by which they are united, or be able certainly to pronounce,
that there is a connexion betwixt them. ’Tis not, therefore, from any one
instance, that we arrive at the idea of cause and effect, of a necessary
connexion of power, of force, of energy, and of efficacy. Did we never see any
but particular conjunctions of objects, entirely different from each other, we
shou’d never be able to form any such ideas.
But again; suppose we observe several instances,
in which the same objects are always conjoin’d together, we immediately
conceive a connexion betwixt them, and begin to draw an inference from one to
another. This multiplicity of resembling instances, therefore, constitutes the
very essence of power or connexion, and is the source, from which the idea of
it arises. In order, then, to understand the idea of power, we must consider
that multiplicity; nor do I ask more to give a solution of that difficulty,
which has so long perplex’d us. For thus I reason. The repetition of perfectly
similar instances can never alone give rise to an original idea,
different from what is to be found in any particular instance, as has been
observ’d, and as evidently follows from our fundamental principle, that all ideas are copy’d from
impressions. Since therefore
the idea of power is a new original idea, not to be found in any one instance,
and which yet arises from the repetition of several instances, it follows, that
the repetition alone has not that effect, but must either discover orproduce something new, which is the source of
that idea. Did the repetition neither discover nor produce any thing new, our
ideas might be multiply’d by it, but wou’d not be enlarg’d above what they are
upon the observation of one single instance. Every enlargement, therefore,
(such as the idea of power or connexion) which arises from the multiplicity of
similar instances, is copy’d from some effects of the multiplicity, and will be
perfectly understood by understanding these effects. Wherever we find any thing
new to be discover’d or produc’d by the repetition, there we must place the
power, and must never look for it in any other object.
But ’tis evident, in the first place,
that the repetition of like objects in like relations of succession and
contiguity discovers nothing new in any one of them; since
we can draw no inference from it, nor make it a subject either of our
demonstrative or probable reasonings;1 as has been already prov’d. Nay suppose we cou’d draw
an inference, ’twou’d be of no consequence in the present case; since no kind
of reasoning can give rise to a new idea, such as this of power is; but
wherever we reason, we must antecedently be possest of clear ideas, which may
be the objects of our reasoning. The conception always precedes the
understanding; and where the one is obscure, the other is uncertain; where the
one fails, the other must fail also.
Secondly, ’Tis certain that this
repetition of similar objects in similar situations produces nothing new either in these objects,
or in any external body. For ’twill readily be allow’d, that the several
instances we have of the conjunction of resembling causes and effects are in
themselves entirely independent, and that the communication of motion, which I
see result at present from the shock of two billiard-balls, is totally distinct
from that which I saw result from such an impulse a twelve-month ago. These
impulses have no influence on each other. They are entirely divided by time and
place; and the one might have existed and communicated motion, tho’ the other
never had been in being.
There is, then, nothing new either
discover’d or produc’d in any objects by their constant conjunction, and by the
uninterrupted resemblance of their relations of succession and contiguity. But
’tis from this resemblance, that the ideas of necessity, of power, and of
efficacy, are deriv’d. These ideas, therefore, represent not any thing, that
does or can belong to the objects, which are constantly conjoin’d. This is an
argument, which, in every view we can examine it, will be found perfectly
unanswerable. Similar instances are still the first source of our idea of power
or necessity; at the same time that they have no influence by their similarity
either on each other, or on any external object. We must therefore, turn
ourselves to some other quarter to seek the origin of that idea.
Tho’ the several resembling instances,
which give rise to the idea of power, have no influence on each other, and can
never produce any new quality in
the object, which can be the
model of that idea, yet the observation of this resemblance produces a new
impressionin the mind, which
is its real model. For after we have observ’d the resemblance in a sufficient
number of instances, we immediately feel a determination of the mind to pass
from one object to its usual attendant, and to conceive it in a stronger light
upon account of that relation. This determination is the only effect of the
resemblance; and therefore must be the same with power or efficacy, whose idea
is deriv’d from the resemblance. The several instances of resembling
conjunctions leads us into the notion of power and necessity. These instances
are in themselves totally distinct from each other, and have no union but in
the mind, which observes them, and collects their ideas. Necessity, then, is
the effect of this observation, and is nothing but an internal impression of
the mind, or a determination to carry our thoughts from one object to another.
Without considering it in this view, we can never arrive at the most distant
notion of it, or be able to attribute it either to external or internal objects,
to spirit or body, to causes or effects.
The necessary connexion betwixt causes
and effects is the foundation of our inference from one to the other. The
foundation of our inference is the transition arising from the accustom’d
union. These are, therefore, the same.
The idea of necessity arises from some
impression. There is no impression convey’d by our senses, which can give rise
to that idea. It must, therefore, be deriv’d from some internal impression, or
impression of reflexion. There is no internal impression, which has any
relation to the present business, but that propensity, which custom produces,
to pass from an object to the idea of its usual attendant. This therefore is
the essence of necessity. Upon the whole, necessity is something, that exists
in the mind, not in objects; nor is it possible for us ever to form the most
distant idea of it, consider’d as a quality in bodies. Either we have no idea
of necessity, or necessity is nothing but that determination of the thought to
pass from causes to effects and from effects to causes, according to their
experienc’d union.
Thus as the necessity, which makes two
times two equal to four, or three angles of a triangle equal to two right ones,
lies only in the act of the understanding, by which we consider and compare
these ideas; in like manner the necessity or power, which unites causes and
effects, lies in the determination of the mind to pass from the one to the
other. The efficacy or energy of causes is neither plac’d in the causes
themselves, nor in the deity, nor in the concurrence of these two principles;
but belongs entirely to the soul, which considers the union of two or more
objects in all past instances. ’Tis here that the real power of causes is
plac’d, along with their connexion and necessity.
I am sensible, that of all the
paradoxes, which I have had, or shall hereafter have occasion to advance in the
course of this treatise, the present one is the most violent, and that ’tis
merely by dint of solid proof and reasoning I can ever hope it will have
admission, and overcome the inveterate prejudices of mankind. Before we are
reconcil’d to this doctrine, how often must we repeat to ourselves, that the simple view of any two objects or
actions, however related, can never give us any idea of power, or of a
connexion betwixt them:that this
idea arises from the repetition of their union: that the repetition neither discovers nor
causes any thing in the objects, but has an influence only on the mind, by that
customary transition it produces: that this customary transition is,
therefore, the same with the power and necessity; which are consequently
qualities of perceptions, not of objects, and are internally felt by the soul,
and not perceiv’d externally in bodies? There is commonly an astonishment attending
every thing extraordinary; and this astonishment changes immediately into the
highest degree of esteem or contempt, according as we approve or disapprove of
the subject. I am much afraid, that tho’ the foregoing reasoning appears to me
the shortest and most decisive imaginable; yet with the generality of readers
the biass of the mind will prevail, and give them a prejudice against the
present doctrine.
This contrary biass is easily accounted
for. ’Tis a common observation, that the mind has a great propensity to spread
itself on external objects, and to conjoin with them any internal impressions,
which they occasion, and which always make their appearance at the same time
that these objects discover themselves to the senses. Thus as certain sounds
and smells are always found to attend certain visible objects, we naturally
imagine a conjunction, even in place, betwixt the objects and qualities, tho’
the qualities be of such a nature as to admit of no such conjunction, and
really exist no where. But of this more fully1 hereafter. Mean while ’tis sufficient to observe, that
the same propensity is the reason, why we suppose necessity and power to lie in
the objects we consider, not in our mind, that considers them; notwithstanding
it is not possible for us to form the most distant idea of that quality, when
it is not taken for the determination of the mind, to pass from the idea of an
object to that of its usual attendant.
But tho’ this be the only reasonable
account we can give of necessity, the contrary notion is so riveted in the mind
from the principles above-mention’d, that I doubt not but my sentiments will be
treated by many as extravagant and ridiculous. What! the efficacy of causes lie
in the determination of the mind! As if causes did not operate entirely
independent of the mind, and wou’d not continue their operation, even tho’
there was no mind existent to contemplate them, or reason concerning them.
Thought may well depend on causes for its operation, but not causes on thought.
This is to reverse the order of nature, and make that secondary, which is
really primary. To every operation there is a power proportion’d; and this
power must be plac’d on the body, that operates. If we remove the power from
one cause, we must ascribe it to another: But to remove it from all causes, and
bestow it on a being, that is no ways related to the cause or effect, but by
perceiving them, is a gross absurdity, and contrary to the most certain
principles of human reason.
I can only reply to all these arguments,
that the case is here much the same, as if a blind man shou’d pretend to find a
great many absurdities in the supposition, that the colour of scarlet is not
the same with the sound of a trumpet, nor light the same with solidity. If we
have really no idea of a power or efficacy in any object, or of any real
connexion betwixt causes and effects, ’twill be to little purpose to prove,
that an efficacy is necessary in all operations. We do not understand our own
meaning in talking so, but ignorantly confound ideas, which are entirely
distinct from each other. I am, indeed, ready to allow, that there may be
several qualities both in material and immaterial objects, with which we are
utterly unacquainted; and if we please to call these power or efficacy, ’twill be of little consequence to the
world. But when, instead of meaning these unknown qualities, we make the terms of
power and efficacy signify something, of which we have a clear idea, and which
is incompatible with those objects, to which we apply it, obscurity and error
begin then to take place, and we are led astray by a false philosophy. This is
the case, when we transfer the determination of the thought to external
objects, and suppose any real intelligible connexion betwixt them; that being a
quality, which can only belong to the mind that considers them.
As to what may be said, that the
operations of nature are independent of our thought and reasoning, I allow it;
and accordingly have observ’d, that objects bear to each other the relations of
contiguity and succession; that like objects may be observ’d in several
instances to have like relations; and that all this is independent of, and
antecedent to the operations of the understanding. But if we go any farther,
and ascribe a power or necessary connexion to these objects; this is what we
can never observe in them, but must draw the idea of it from what we feel internally
in contemplating them. And this I carry so far, that I am ready to convert my
present reasoning into an instance of it, by a subtility, which it will not be
difficult to comprehend.
When any object is presented to us, it
immediately conveys to the mind a lively idea of that object, which is usually
found to attend it; and this determination of the mind forms the necessary
connexion of these objects. But when we change the point of view, from the
objects to the perceptions; in that case the impression is to be considered as
the cause, and the lively idea as the effect; and their necessary connexion is
that new determination, which we feel to pass from the idea of the one to that
of the other. The uniting principle among our internal perceptions is as
unintelligible as that among external objects, and is not known to us any other
way than by experience. Now the nature and effects of experience have been
already sufficiently examin’d and explain’d. It never gives us any insight into
the internal structure or operating principle of objects, but only accustoms
the mind to pass from one to another.
’Tis now time to collect all the
different parts of this reasoning, and by joining them together form an exact
definition of the relation of cause and effect, which makes the subject of the
present enquiry. This order wou’d not have been excusable, of first examining
our inference from the relation before we had explain’d the relation itself,
had it been possible to proceed in a different method. But as the nature of the
relation depends so much on that of the inference, we have been oblig’d to
advance in this seemingly preposterous manner, and make use of terms before we
were able exactly to define them, or fix their meaning. We shall now correct
this fault by giving a precise definition of cause and effect.
There may two definitions be given of
this relation, which are only different, by their presenting a different view
of the same object, and making us consider it either as a philosophical or as a natural relation; either as a comparison of
two ideas, or as an association betwixt them. We may define a cause to
be ‘An object precedent and contiguous to another, and where all the objects
resembling the former are plac’d in like relations of precedency and contiguity
to those objects, that resemble the latter.’ If this definition be esteem’d
defective, because drawn from objects foreign to the cause, we may substitute
this other definition in its place, viz. ‘A cause is an object precedent and contiguous
to another, and so united with it, that the idea of the one determines the mind
to form the idea of the other, and the impression of the one to form a more
lively idea of the other.’ Shou’d this definition also be rejected for the same
reason, I know no other remedy, than that the persons, who express this
delicacy, should substitute a juster definition in its place. But for my part I
must own my incapacity for such an undertaking. When I examine with the utmost
accuracy those objects, which are commonly denominated causes and effects, I
find, in considering a single instance, that the one object is precedent and
contiguous to the other; and in inlarging my view to consider several
instances, I find only, that like objects are constantly plac’d in like
relations of succession and contiguity. Again, when I consider the influence of
this constant conjunction, I perceive, that such a relation can never be an
object of reasoning, and can never operate upon the mind, but by means of
custom, which determines the imagination to make a transition from the idea of
one object to that of its usual attendant, and from the impression of one to a
more lively idea of the other. However extraordinary these sentiments may
appear, I think it fruitless to trouble myself with any farther enquiry or
reasoning upon the subject, but shall repose myself on them as on establish’d
maxims.
’Twill only be proper, before we leave
this subject, to draw some corrollaries from it, by which we may remove several
prejudices and popular errors, that have very much prevail’d in philosophy.
First, We may learn from the foregoing doctrine, that all causes are of the
same kind, and that in particular there is no foundation for that distinction,
which we sometimes make betwixt efficient causes, and causes sine qua non; or betwixt efficient causes, and
formal, and material, and exemplary, and final causes. For as our idea of
efficiency is deriv’d from the constant conjunction of two objects, wherever
this is observ’d, the cause is efficient; and where it is not, there can never
be a cause of any kind. For the same reason we must reject the distinction
betwixt cause and occasion, when suppos’d to signify any thing
essentially different from each other. If constant conjunction be imply’d in
what we call occasion, ’tis a real cause. If not, ’tis no relation at all, and
cannot give rise to any argument or reasoning.
Secondly, The same course of reasoning
will make us conclude, that there is but one kind of necessity, as there is but one kind of cause, and
that the common distinction betwixt moral and physical necessity is without any foundation in
nature. This clearly appears from the precedent explication of necessity. ’Tis
the constant conjunction of objects, along with the determination of the mind,
which constitutes a physical necessity: And the removal of these is the same
thing with chance. As objects must either be conjoin’d or
not, and as the mind must either be determin’d or not to pass from one object
to another, ’tis impossible to admit of any medium betwixt chance and an
absolute necessity. In weakening this conjunction and determination you do not
change the nature of the necessity; since even in the operation of bodies,
these have different degrees of constancy and force, without producing a
different species of that relation.
The distinction, which we often make
betwixt power and the exercise of it, is equally without foundation.
Thirdly, We may now be able fully to
overcome all that repugnance, which ’tis so natural for us to entertain against
the foregoing reasoning, by which we endeavour’d to prove, that the necessity
of a cause to every beginning of existence is not founded on any arguments
either demonstrative or intuitive. Such an opinion will not appear strange
after the foregoing definitions. If we define a cause to be an object precedent and contiguous
to another, and where all the objects resembling the former are plac’d in a
like relation of priority and contiguity to those objects, that resemble the
latter; we may easily
conceive, that there is no absolute nor metaphysical necessity, that every
beginning of existence shou’d be attended with such an object. If we define a
cause to be, An object
precedent and contiguous to another, and so united with it in the imagination,
that the idea of the one determines the mind to form the idea of the other, and
the impression of the one to form a more lively idea of the other; we shall make still less difficulty of
assenting to this opinion. Such an influence on the mind is in itself perfectly
extraordinary and incomprehensible; nor can we be certain of its reality, but
from experience and observation.
I shall add as a fourth corrollary, that
we can never have reason to believe that any object exists, of which we cannot
form an idea. For as all our reasonings concerning existence are deriv’d from
causation, and as all our reasonings concerning causation are deriv’d from the
experienc’d conjunction of objects, not from any reasoning or reflexion, the
same experience must give us a notion of these objects, and must remove all
mystery from our conclusions. This is so evident, that ’twou’d scarce have
merited our attention, were it not to obviate certain objections of this kind,
which might arise against the following reasonings concerning matter and substance. I need not observe, that a full
knowledge of the object is not requisite, but only of those qualities of it,
which we believe to exist.
[1 ]Sect. 2.
[1 ]See Mr. Locke; chapter of power.
[1 ]See Father Malbranche, Book VI. Part ii. chap. 3, and the
illustrations upon it.
[1 ]Sect. 6.
[1 ]Part IV. sect. 5.
The great advantage of the mathematical sciences above the moral consists in
this, that the ideas of the former, being sensible, are always clear and
determinate, the smallest distinction between them is immediately perceptible,
and the same terms are still expressive of the same ideas, without ambiguity or
variation. An oval is never mistaken for a circle, nor an hyperbola for an
ellipsis. The isosceles and scalenum are distinguished by boundaries more exact
than vice and virtue, right and wrong. If any term be defined in geometry, the
mind readily, of itself, substitutes, on all occasions, the definition for the
term defined: Or even when no definition is employed, the object itself may be
presented to the senses, and by that means be steadily and clearly apprehended.
But the finer sentiments of the mind, the operations of the understanding, the
various agitations of the passions, though really in themselves distinct,
easily escape us, when surveyed by reflection; nor is it in our power to recal
the original object, as often as we have occasion to contemplate it. Ambiguity,
by this means, is gradually introduced into our reasonings: Similar objects are
readily taken to be the same: And the conclusion becomes at last very wide of
the premises.
One may safely, however, affirm, that,
if we consider these sciences in a proper light, their advantages and
disadvantages nearly compensate each other, and reduce both of them to a state
of equality. If the mind, with greater facility, retains the ideas of geometry
clear and determinate, it must carry on a much longer and more intricate chain
of reasoning, and compare ideas much wider of each other, in order to reach the
abstruser truths of that science. And if moral ideas are apt, without extreme
care, to fall into obscurity and confusion, the inferences are always much
shorter in these disquisitions, and the intermediate steps, which lead to the
conclusion, much fewer than in the sciences which treat of quantity and number.
In reality, there is scarcely a proposition in Euclid so simple, as not to
consist of more parts, than are to be found in any moral reasoning which runs
not into chimera and conceit. Where we trace the principles of the human mind
through a few steps, we may be very well satisfied with our progress;
considering how soon nature throws a bar to all our enquiries concerning
causes, and reduces us to an acknowledgment of our ignorance. The chief
obstacle, therefore, to our improvement in the moral or metaphysical sciences
is the obscurity of the ideas, and ambiguity of the terms. The principal
difficulty in the mathematics is the length of inferences and compass of
thought, requisite to the forming of any conclusion. And, perhaps, our progress
in natural philosophy is chiefly retarded by the want of proper experiments and
phaenomena, which are often discovered by chance, and cannot always be found,
when requisite, even by the most diligent and prudent enquiry. As moral
philosophy seems hitherto to have received less improvement than either
geometry or physics, we may conclude, that, if there be any difference in this
respect among these sciences, the difficulties, which obstruct the progress of
the former, require superior care and capacity to be surmounted.
There are no ideas, which occur in
metaphysics, more obscure and uncertain, than those of power, force, energy or necessary
connexion, of which it is
every moment necessary for us to treat in all our disquisitions. We shall,
therefore, endeavour, in this section, to fix, if possible, the precise meaning
of these terms, and thereby remove some part of that obscurity, which is so
much complained of in this species of philosophy.
It seems a proposition, which will not
admit of much dispute, that all our ideas are nothing but copies of our
impressions, or, in other words, that it is impossible for us to think of any thing, which we have not
antecedently felt, either by our external or internal
senses. I have endeavoured1 to explain and prove this proposition, and have
expressed my hopes, that, by a proper application of it, men may reach a
greater clearness and precision in philosophical reasonings, than what they
have hitherto been able to attain. Complex ideas may, perhaps, be well known by
definition, which is nothing but an enumeration of those parts or simple ideas,
that compose them. But when we have pushed up definitions to the most simple
ideas, and find still some ambiguity and obscurity; what resource are we then
possessed of? By what invention can we throw light upon these ideas, and render
them altogether precise and determinate to our intellectual view? Produce the
impressions or original sentiments, from which the ideas are copied. These
impressions are all strong and sensible. They admit not of ambiguity. They are
not only placed in a full light themselves, but may throw light on their
correspondent ideas, which lie in obscurity. And by this means, we may,
perhaps, attain a new microscope or species of optics, by which, in the moral
sciences, the most minute, and most simple ideas may be so enlarged as to fall
readily under our apprehension, and be equally known with the grossest and most
sensible ideas, that can be the object of our enquiry.
To be fully acquainted, therefore, with
the idea of power or necessary connexion, let us examine its impression; and in
order to find the impression with greater certainty, let us search for it in
all the sources, from which it may possibly be derived.
When we look about us towards external
objects, and consider the operation of causes, we are never able, in a single
instance, to discover any power or necessary connexion; any quality, which
binds the effect to the cause, and renders the one an infallible consequence of
the other. We only find, that the one does actually, in fact, follow the other.
The impulse of one billiard-ball is attended with motion in the second. This is
the whole that appears to the outward senses. The mind feels no sentiment or inward impression from this succession of
objects: Consequently, there is not, in any single, particular instance of
cause and effect, any thing which can suggest the idea of power or necessary
connexion.
From the first appearance of an object,
we never can conjecture what effect will result from it. But were the power or
energy of any cause discoverable by the mind, we could foresee the effect, even
without experience; and might, at first, pronounce with certainty concerning
it, by mere dint of thought and reasoning.
In reality, there is no part of matter,
that does ever, by its sensible qualities, discover any power or energy, or
give us ground to imagine, that it could produce any thing, or be followed by
any other object, which we could denominate its effect. Solidity, extension,
motion; these qualities are all complete in themselves, and never point out any
other event which may result from them. The scenes of the universe are
continually shifting, and one object follows another in an uninterrupted
succession; but the power of force, which actuates the whole machine, is entirely
concealed from us, and never discovers itself in any of the sensible qualities
of body. We know, that, in fact, heat is a constant attendant of flame; but
what is the connexion between them, we have no room so much as to conjecture or
imagine. It is impossible, therefore, that the idea of power can be derived
from the contemplation of bodies, in single instances of their operation;
because no bodies ever discover any power, which can be the original of this
idea1 .
Since, therefore, external objects as
they appear to the senses, give us no idea of power or necessary connexion, by
their operation in particular instances, let us see, whether this idea be
derived from reflection on the operations of our own minds, and be copied from
any internal impression. It may be said, that we are every moment conscious of
internal power; while we feel, that, by the simple command of our will, we can
move the organs of our body, or direct the faculties of our mind. An act of
volition produces motion in our limbs, or raises a new idea in our imagination.
This influence of the will we know by consciousness. Hence we acquire the idea
of power or energy; and are certain, that we ourselves and all other
intelligent beings are possessed of power. This idea, then, is an idea of
reflection, since it arises from reflecting on the operations of our own mind,
and on the command which is exercised by will, both over the organs of the body
and faculties of the soul.
We shall proceed to examine this
pretension; and first with regard to the influence of volition over the organs
of the body. This influence, we may observe, is a fact, which, like all other
natural events, can be known only by experience, and can never beforeseen from
any apparent energy or power in the cause, which connects it with the effect,
and renders the one an infallible consequence of the other. The motion of our
body follows upon the command of our will. Of this we are every moment
conscious. But the means, by which this is effected; the energy, by which the
will performs so extraordinary an operation; of this we are so far from being
immediately conscious, that it must for ever escape our most diligent enquiry.
For first; is there any principle in all nature
more mysterious than the union of soul with body; by which a supposed spiritual
substance acquires such an influence over a material one, that the most refined
thought is able to actuate the grossest matter? Were we empowered, by a secret
wish, to remove mountains, or control the planets in their orbit; this
extensive authority would not be more extraordinary, nor more beyond our
comprehension. But if by consciousness we perceived any power or energy in the
will, we must know this power; we must know its connexion with the effect; we
must know the secret union of soul and body, and the nature of both these
substances; by which the one is able to operate, in so many instances, upon the
other.
Secondly, We are not able to move all the organs of the body
with a like authority; though we cannot assign any reason besides experience,
for so remarkable a difference between one and the other. Why has the will an
influence over the tongue and fingers, not over the heart or liver? This
question would never embarrass us, were we conscious of a power in the former
case, not in the latter. We should then perceive, independent of experience,
why the authority of will over the organs of the body is circumscribed within
such particular limits. Being in that case fully acquainted with the power or
force, by which it operates, we should also know, why its influence reaches
precisely to such boundaries, and no farther.
A man, suddenly struck with palsy in the
leg or arm, or who had newly lost those members, frequently endeavours, at
first to move them, and employ them in their usual offices. Here he is as much
conscious of power to command such limbs, as a man in perfect health is
conscious of power to actuate any member which remains in its natural state and
condition. But consciousness never deceives. Consequently, neither in the one
case nor in the other, are we ever conscious of any power. We learn the
influence of our will from experience alone. And experience only teaches us,
how one event constantly follows another; without instructing us in the secret
connexion, which binds them together, and renders them inseparable.
Thirdly, We learn from anatomy, that the immediate object of
power in voluntary motion, is not the member itself which is moved, but certain
muscles, and nerves, and animal spirits, and, perhaps, something still more
minute and more unknown, through which the motion is successively propagated,
ere it reach the member itself whose motion is the immediate object of
volition. Can there be a more certain proof, that the power, by which this
whole operation is performed, so far from being directly and fully known by an
inward sentiment or consciousness, is, to the last degree, mysterious and
unintelligible? Here the mind wills a certain event: Immediately another event,
unknown to ourselves, and totally different from the one intended, is produced:
This event produces another, equally unknown: Till at last, through a long
succession, the desired event is produced. But if the original power were felt,
it must be known: Were it known, its effect also must be known; since all power
is relative to its effect. And vice
versa, if the effect be not
known, the power cannot be known nor felt. How indeed can we be conscious of a
power to move our limbs, when we have no such power; but only that to move
certain animal spirits, which, though they produce at last the motion of our
limbs, yet operate in such a manner as is wholly beyond our comprehension?
We may, therefore, conclude from the
whole, I hope, without any temerity, though with assurance; that our idea of
power is not copied from any sentiment or consciousness of power within
ourselves, when we give rise to animal motion, or apply our limbs to their
proper use and office. That their motion follows the command of the will is a
matter of common experience, like other natural events: But the power or energy
by which this is effected, like that in other natural events, is unknown and
inconceivable1 .
Shall we then assert, that we are
conscious of a power or energy in our own minds, when, by an act or command of
our will, we raise up a new idea, fix the mind to the contemplation of it, turn
it on all sides, and at last dismiss it for some other idea, when we think that
we have surveyed it with sufficient accuracy? I believe the same arguments will
prove, that even this command of the will gives us no real idea of force or
energy.
First, It must be allowed, that, when we know a power, we
know that very circumstance in the cause, by which it is enabled to produce the
effect: For these are supposed to be synonimous. We must, therefore, know both
the cause and effect, and the relation between them. But do we pretend to be
acquainted with the nature of the human soul and the nature of an idea, or the
aptitude of the one to produce the other? This is a real creation; a production
of something out of nothing: Which implies a power so great, that it may seem,
at first sight, beyond the reach of any being, less than infinite. At least it
must be owned, that such a power is not felt, nor known, nor even conceivable
by the mind. We only feel the event, namely, the existence of an idea,
consequent to a command of the will: But the manner, in which this operation is
performed, the power by which it is produced, is entirely beyond our comprehension.
Secondly, The command of the mind over itself is limited, as
well as its command over the body; and these limits are not known by reason, or
any acquaintance with the nature of cause and effect, but only by experience
and observation, as in all other natural events and in the operation of
external objects. Our authority over our sentiments and passions is much weaker
than that over our ideas; and even the latter authority is circumscribed within
very narrow boundaries. Will any one pretend to assign the ultimate reason of
these boundaries, or show why the power is deficient in one case, not in
another.
Thirdly, This self-command is very different at different
times. A man in health possesses more of it than one languishing with sickness.
We are more master of our thoughts in the morning than in the evening: Fasting,
than after a full meal. Can we give any reason for these variations, except
experience? Where then is the power, of which we pretend to be conscious? Is
there not here, either in a spiritual or material substance, or both, some
secret mechanism or structure of parts, upon which the effect depends, and
which, being entirely unknown to us, renders the power or energy of the will
equally unknown and incomprehensible?
Volition is surely an act of the mind,
with which we are sufficiently acquainted. Reflect upon it. Consider it on all
sides. Do you find anything in it like this creative power, by which it raises
from nothing a new idea, and with a kind of Fiat, imitates the omnipotence of its Maker,
if I may be allowed so to speak, who called forth into existence all the
various scenes of nature? So far from being conscious of this energy in the
will, it requires as certain experience as that of which we are possessed, to
convince us that such extraordinary effects do ever result from a simple act of
volition.
The generality of mankind never find any
difficulty in accounting for the more common and familiar operations of
nature—such as the descent of heavy bodies, the growth of plants, the
generation of animals, or the nourishment of bodies by food: But suppose that,
in all these cases, they perceive the very force or energy of the cause, by
which it is connected with its effect, and is for ever infallible in its
operation. They acquire, by long habit, such a turn of mind, that, upon the
appearance of the cause, they immediately expect with assurance its usual
attendant, and hardly conceive it possible that any other event could result
from it. It is only on the discovery of extraordinary phaenomena, such as
earthquakes, pestilence, and prodigies of any kind, that they find themselves
at a loss to assign a proper cause, and to explain the manner in which the
effect is produced by it. It is usual for men, in such difficulties, to have
recourse to some invisible intelligent principle1 as the immediate cause of that event which surprises
them, and which, they think, cannot be accounted for from the common powers of
nature. But philosophers, who carry their scrutiny a little farther,
immediately perceive that, even in the most familiar events, the energy of the
cause is as unintelligible as in the most unusual, and that we only learn by
experience the frequent Conjunction of objects, without being ever able to
comprehend anything like Connexion between them.
Here, then, many philosophers think
themselves obliged by reason to have recourse, on all occasions, to the same
principle, which the vulgar never appeal to but in cases that appear miraculous
and supernatural. They acknowledge mind and intelligence to be, not only the
ultimate and original cause of all things, but the immediate and sole cause of
every event which appears in nature. They pretend that those objects which are
commonly denominated causes, are in reality nothing but occasions; and that the true and direct principle
of every effect is not any power or force in nature, but a volition of the
Supreme Being, who wills that such particular objects should for ever be
conjoined with each other. Instead of saying that one billiard-ball moves
another by a force which it has derived from the author of nature, it is the
Deity himself, they say, who, by a particular volition, moves the second ball,
being determined to this operation by the impulse of the first ball, in
consequence of those general laws which he has laid down to himself in the
government of the universe. But philosophers advancing still in their
inquiries, discover that, as we are totally ignorant of the power on which
depends the mutual operation of bodies, we are no less ignorant of that power
on which depends the operation of mind on body, or of body on mind; nor are we
able, either from our senses or consciousness, to assign the ultimate principle
in one case more than in the other. The same ignorance, therefore, reduces them
to the same conclusion. They assert that the Deity is the immediate cause of
the union between soul and body; and that they are not the organs of sense,
which, being agitated by external objects, produce sensations in the mind; but
that it is a particular volition of our omnipotent Maker, which excites such a
sensation, in consequence of such a motion in the organ. In like manner, it is
not any energy in the will that produces local motion in our members: It is God
himself, who is pleased to second our will, in itself impotent, and to command
that motion which we erroneously attribute to our own power and efficacy. Nor
do philosophers stop at this conclusion. They sometimes extend the same
inference to the mind itself, in its internal operations. Our mental vision or
conception of ideas is nothing but a revelation made to us by our Maker. When
we voluntarily turn our thoughts to any object, and raise up its image in the
fancy, it is not the will which creates that idea: It is the universal Creator,
who discovers it to the mind, and renders it present to us.
Thus, according to these philosophers,
every thing is full of God. Not content with the principle, that nothing exists
but by his will, that nothing possesses any power but by his concession: They
rob nature, and all created beings, of every power, in order to render their
dependence on the Deity still more sensible and immediate. They consider not
that, by this theory, they diminish, instead of magnifying, the grandeur of
those attributes, which they affect so much to celebrate. It argues surely more
power in the Deity to delegate a certain degree of power to inferior creatures
than to produce every thing by his own immediate volition. It argues more
wisdom to contrive at first the fabric of the world with such perfect foresight
that, of itself, and by its proper operation, it may serve all the purposes of
providence, than if the great Creator were obliged every moment to adjust its
parts, and animate by his breath all the wheels of that stupendous machine.
But if we would have a more
philosophical confutation of this theory, perhaps the two following reflections
may suffice.
First, it seems to me that this theory of the universal
energy and operation of the Supreme Being is too bold ever to carry conviction
with it to a man, sufficiently apprized of the weakness of human reason, and
the narrow limits to which it is confined in all its operations. Though the
chain of arguments which conduct to it were ever so logical, there must arise a
strong suspicion, if not an absolute assurance, that it has carried us quite
beyond the reach of our faculties, when it leads to conclusions so
extraordinary, and so remote from common life and experience. We are got into
fairy land, long ere we have reached the last steps of our theory; and there we have no reason to trust our common
methods of argument, or to think that our usual analogies and probabilities
have any authority. Our line is too short to fathom such immense abysses. And
however we may flatter ourselves that we are guided, in every step which we
take, by a kind of verisimilitude and experience, we may be assured that this fancied
experience has no authority when we thus apply it to subjects that lie entirely
out of the sphere of experience. But on this we shall have occasion to touch
afterwards1 .
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 cases1 .
But to hasten to a conclusion of this
argument, which is already drawn out to too great a length: We have sought in
vain for an idea of power or necessary connexion in all the sources from which
we could suppose it to be derived. It appears that, in single instances of the
operation of bodies, we never can, by our utmost scrutiny, discover any thing
but one event following another, without being able to comprehend any force or
power by which the cause operates, or any connexion between it and its supposed
effect. The same difficulty occurs in contemplating the operations of mind on
body—where we observe the motion of the latter to follow upon the
volition of the former, but are not able to observe or conceive the tie which
binds together the motion and volition, or the energy by which the mind produces
this effect. The authority of the will over its own faculties and ideas is not
a whit more comprehensible: So that, upon the whole, there appears not,
throughout all nature, any one instance of connexion which is conceivable by
us. All events seem entirely loose and separate. One event follows another; but
we never can observe any tie between them. They seem conjoined, but never connected. And as we can have no idea of any
thing which never appeared to our outward sense or inward sentiment, the
necessary conclusion seems to be that we have no idea of
connexion or power at all, and that these words are absolutely without any
meaning, when employed either in philosophical reasonings or common life.
But there still remains one method of
avoiding this conclusion, and one source which we have not yet examined. When
any natural object or event is presented, it is impossible for us, by any
sagacity or penetration, to discover, or even conjecture, without experience,
what event will result from it, or to carry our foresight beyond that object
which is immediately present to the memory and senses. Even after one instance
or experiment where we have observed a particular event to follow upon another,
we are not entitled to form a general rule, or foretell what will happen in
like cases; it being justly esteemed an unpardonable temerity to judge of the
whole course of nature from one single experiment, however accurate or certain.
But when one particular species of event has always, in all instances, been
conjoined with another, we make no longer any scruple of foretelling one upon
the appearance of the other, and of employing that reasoning, which can alone
assure us of any matter of fact or existence. We then call the one object, Cause; the other,Effect. We suppose that there is some
connexion between them; some power in the one, by which it infallibly produces
the other, and operates with the greatest certainty and strongest necessity.
It appears, then, that this idea of a
necessary connexion among events arises from a number of similar instances
which occur of the constant conjunction of these events; nor can that idea ever
be suggested by any one of these instances, surveyed in all possible lights and
positions. But there is nothing in a number of instances, different from every
single instance, which is supposed to be exactly similar; except only, that
after a repetition of similar instances, the mind is carried by habit, upon the
appearance of one event, to expect its usual attendant, and to believe that it
will exist. This connexion, therefore, which we feel in the mind, this customary transition
of the imagination from one object to its usual attendant, is the sentiment or
impression from which we form the idea of power or necessary connexion. Nothing
farther is in the case. Contemplate the subject on all sides; you will never
find any other origin of that idea. This is the sole difference between one
instance, from which we can never receive the idea of connexion, and a number
of similar instances, by which it is suggested. The first time a man saw the
communication of motion by impulse, as by the shock of two billiard balls, he
could not pronounce that the one event was connected: but only that it was conjoined with the other. After he has observed
several instances of this nature, he then pronounces them to be connected. What alteration has happened to give
rise to this new idea of connexion? Nothing but that he now feels these events to be connected in his imagination, and can readily
foretell the existence of one from the appearance of the other. When we say,
therefore, that one object is connected with another, we mean only that they
have acquired a connexion in our thought, and give rise to this inference, by
which they become proofs of each other’s existence: A conclusion which is
somewhat extraordinary, but which seems founded on sufficient evidence. Nor
will its evidence be weakened by any general diffidence of the understanding,
or sceptical suspicion concerning every conclusion which is new and
extraordinary. No conclusions can be more agreeable to scepticism than such as
make discoveries concerning the weakness and narrow limits of human reason and
capacity.
And what stronger instance can be
produced of the surprising ignorance and weakness of the understanding than the
present? For surely, if there be any relation among objects which it imports to
us to know perfectly, it is that of cause and effect. On this are founded all
our reasonings concerning matter of fact or existence. By means of it alone we
attain any assurance concerning objects which are removed from the present
testimony of our memory and senses. The only immediate utility of all sciences,
is to teach us, how to control and regulate future events by their causes. Our
thoughts and enquiries are, therefore, every moment, employed about this
relation: Yet so imperfect are the ideas which we form concerning it, that it
is impossible to give any just definition of cause, except what is drawn from
something extraneous and foreign to it. Similar objects are always conjoined
with similar. Of this we have experience. Suitably to this experience,
therefore, we may define a cause to be an
object, followed by another, and where all the objects similar to the first are
followed by objects similar to the second. Or in other words where, if the first object had not
been, the second never had existed. The
appearance of a cause always conveys the mind, by a customary transition, to
the idea of the effect. Of this also we have experience. We may, therefore,
suitably to this experience, form another definition of cause, and call it, an object followed by another, and
whose appearance always conveys the thought to that other. But though both these definitions be
drawn from circumstances foreign to the cause, we cannot remedy this
inconvenience, or attain any more perfect definition, which may point out that
circumstance in the cause, which gives it a connexion with its effect. We have
no idea of this connexion, nor even any distinct notion what it is we desire to
know, when we endeavour at a conception of it. We say, for instance, that the
vibration of this string is the cause of this particular sound. But what do we
mean by that affirmation? We either mean that
this vibration is followed by this sound, and that 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
it1 .
To recapitulate, therefore, the
reasonings of this section: Every idea is copied from some preceding impression
or sentiment; and where we cannot find any impression, we may be certain that
there is no idea. In all single instances of the operation of bodies or minds,
there is nothing that produces any impression, nor consequently can suggest any
idea of power or necessary connexion. But when many uniform instances appear,
and the same object is always followed by the same event; we then begin to
entertain the notion of cause and connexion. We then feel a new sentiment or impression, to wit,
a customary connexion in the thought or imagination between one object and its
usual attendant; and this sentiment is the original of that idea which we seek
for. For as this idea arises from a number of similar instances, and not from
any single instance, it must arise from that circumstance, in which the number
of instances differ from every individual instance. But this customary
connexion or transition of the imagination is the only circumstance in which
they differ. In every other particular they are alike. The first instance which
we saw of motion communicated by the shock of two billiard balls (to return to
this obvious illustration) is exactly similar to any instance that may, at present,
occur to us; except only, that we could not, at first, infer one event from the other; which we are
enabled to do at present, after so long a course of uniform experience. I know
not whether the reader will readily apprehend this reasoning. I am afraid that,
should I multiply words about it, or throw it into a greater variety of lights,
it would only become more obscure and intricate. In all abstract reasonings
there is one point of view which, if we can happily hit, we shall go farther
towards illustrating the subject than by all the eloquence and copious
expression in the world. This point of view we should endeavour to reach, and
reserve the flowers of rhetoric for subjects which are more adapted to them.
[1 ]Section II.
[1 ]Mr. Locke, in his chapter of power, says that, finding from experience,
that there are several new productions in nature, 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.
[1 ]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 à
priori. It must, however, be
confessed, that the animal nisus, which we experience, though it can
afford no accurate precise idea of power, enters very much into that vulgar,
inaccurate idea, which is formed of it.
[1 ]Θεὸς ἀπὸ μηχανής.
[1 ]Section XII.
[1 ]I need not examine at length the vis
inertiae which is so much
talked of in the new philosophy, and which is ascribed to matter. We find by
experience, that a body at rest or in motion continues for ever in its present
state, till put from it by some new cause; and that a body impelled takes as
much motion from the impelling body as it acquires itself. These are facts.
When we call this a vis
inertiae, we only mark these
facts, without pretending to have any idea of the inert power; in the same
manner as, when we talk of gravity, we mean certain effects, without
comprehending that active power. It was never the meaning of Sir Isaac Newton to rob second causes of all force or
energy; though some of his followers have endeavoured to establish that theory
upon his authority. On the contrary, that great philosopher had recourse to an
etherial active fluid to explain his universal attraction; though he was so
cautious and modest as to allow, that it was a mere hypothesis, not to be
insisted on, without more experiments. I must confess, that there is something
in the fate of opinions a little extraordinary. 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 take notice of it,
but suppose all along, that matter has a real, though subordinate and derived
power. By what means has it become so prevalent among our modern
metaphysicians?
[1]According to these explications and definitions, the idea of power is relative as much as that of cause; and both have a reference to an
effect, or some other event constantly conjoined with the former. When we
consider the unknown circumstance of an object, by which
the degree or quantity of its effect is fixed and determined, we call that its
power: And accordingly, it is allowed by all philosophers, that the effect is
the measure of the power. But if they had any idea of power, as it is in
itself, why could not they Measure it in itself? The dispute whether the force
of a body in motion be as its velocity, or the square of its velocity; this
dispute, I say, need not be decided by comparing its effects in equal or
unequal times; but by a direct mensuration and comparison.
As to the frequent use of the words, Force, Power, Energy, &c., which every
where occur in common conversation, as well as in philosophy; that is no proof,
that we are acquainted, in any instance, with the connecting principle between
cause and effect, or can account ultimately for the production of one thing to
another. These words, as commonly used, have very loose meanings annexed to
them; and their ideas are very uncertain and confused. No animal can put
external bodies in motion without the sentiment of a nisus or endeavour; and every animal has a sentiment
or feeling from the stroke or blow of an external object, that is in motion.
These sensations, which are merely animal, and from which we can à priori draw no inference, we are apt to
transfer to inanimate objects, and to suppose, that they have some such
feelings, whenever they transfer or receive motion. With regard to energies,
which are exerted, without our annexing to them any idea of communicated
motion, we consider only the constant experienced conjunction of the events;
and as we feel a customary connexion between the
ideas, we transfer that feeling to the objects; as nothing is more usual than
to apply to external bodies every internal sensation, which they occasion.
------------------------------------