WORKS
OF DAVID HUME
Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion
An Enquiry
Concerning Human Understanding
An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals
CONTENTS
I. OF THE DIFFERENT SPECIES OF PHILOSOPHY
III. OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS
IV. SCEPTICAL DOUBTS CONCERNING THE OPERATIONS
OF THE UNDERSTANDING: PART ONE, PART TWO
V. SCEPTICAL SOLUTION OF THESE DOUBTS: Part One,
Part Two,
VII. OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNEXION: PART ONE,
Part Two
VIII. OF LIBERTY AND NECESSITY: Part One, Part Two
X. OF MIRACLES: Part One, Part Two
XI. OF A PARTICULAR PROVIDENCE AND OF A FUTURE STATE
XII. OF THE ACADEMICAL OR SCEPTICAL PHILOSOPHY: Part
One, Part Two, Part Three
1. Moral
philosophy, or the science of human nature, may be treated after two different
manners; each of which has its peculiar merit, and may contribute to the
entertainment, instruction, and reformation of mankind. The one considers man
chiefly as born for action; and as influenced in his measures by taste and
sentiment; pursuing one object, and avoiding another, according to the value
which these objects seem to possess, and according to the light in which they
present themselves. As virtue, of all objects, is allowed to be the most
valuable, this species of philosophers paint her in the most amiable colours;
borrowing all helps from poetry and eloquence, and treating their subject in an
easy and obvious manner, and such as is best fitted to please the imagination,
and engage the affections. They select the most striking observations and
instances from common life; place opposite characters in a proper contrast; and
alluring us into the paths of virtue by the views of glory and happiness,
direct our steps in these paths by the soundest precepts and most illustrious
examples. They make us feel the difference between vice and virtue; they
excite and regulate our sentiments; and so they can but bend our hearts to the
love of probity and true honour, they think, that they have fully attained the
end of all their labours.
2. The
other species of philosophers consider man in the light of a reasonable rather
than an active being, and endeavour to form his understanding more than
cultivate his manners. They regard human nature as a subject of speculation;
and with a narrow scrutiny examine it, in order to find those principles, which
regulate our understanding, excite our sentiments, and make us approve or blame
any particular object, action, or behaviour. They think it a reproach to all
literature, that philosophy should not yet have fixed, beyond controversy, the
foundation of morals, reasoning, and criticism; and should for ever talk of
truth and falsehood, vice and virtue, beauty and deformity, without being able
to determine the source of these distinctions. While they attempt this arduous
task, they are deterred by no difficulties; but proceeding from particular
instances to general principles, they still push on their enquiries to
principles more general, and rest not satisfied till they arrive at those
original principles, by which, in every science, all human curiosity must be
bounded. Though their speculations seem abstract, and even unintelligible to
common readers, they aim at the approbation of the learned and the wise; and
think themselves sufficiently compensated for the labour of their whole lives,
if they can discover some hidden truths, which may contribute to the
instruction of posterity.
3. It
is certain that the easy and obvious philosophy will always, with the
generality of mankind, have the preference above the accurate and abstruse; and
by many will be recommended, not only as more agreeable, but more useful than
the other. It enters more into common life; moulds the heart and affections;
and, by touching those principles which actuate men, reforms their conduct, and
brings them nearer to that model of perfection which it describes. On the
contrary, the abstruse philosophy, being founded on a turn of mind, which
cannot enter into business and action, vanishes when the philosopher leaves the
shade, and comes into open day; nor can its principles easily retain any influence
over our conduct and behaviour. The feelings of our heart, the agitation of our
passions, the vehemence of our affections, dissipate all its conclusions, and
reduce the profound philosopher to a mere plebeian.
4. This
also must be confessed, that the most durable, as well as justest fame, has
been acquired by the easy philosophy, and that abstract reasoners seem hitherto
to have enjoyed only a momentary reputation, from the caprice or ignorance of
their own age, but have not been able to support their renown with more
equitable posterity. It is easy for a profound philosopher to commit a mistake
in his subtile reasonings; and one mistake is the necessary parent of another,
while he pushes on his consequences, and is not deterred from embracing any conclusion,
by its unusual appearance, or its contradiction to popular opinion. But a
philosopher, who purposes only to represent the common sense of mankind in more
beautiful and more engaging colours, if by accident he falls into error, goes
no farther; but renewing his appeal to common sense, and the natural sentiments
of the mind, returns into the right path, and secures himself from any
dangerous illusions. The fame of Cicero flourishes at present; but that of
Aristotle is utterly decayed. La Bruyere passes the seas, and still maintains
his reputation: But the glory of Malebranche is confined to his own nation, and
to his own age. And Addison, perhaps, will be read with pleasure, when Locke
shall be entirely forgotten.
The
mere philosopher is a character, which is commonly but little acceptable in the
world, as being supposed to contribute nothing either to the advantage or
pleasure of society; while he lives remote from communication with mankind, and
is wrapped up in principles and notions equally remote from their
comprehension. On the other hand, the mere ignorant is still more despised; nor
is any thing deemed a surer sign of an illiberal genius in an age and nation
where the sciences flourish, than to be entirely destitute of all relish for
those noble entertainments. The most perfect character is supposed to lie
between those extremes; retaining an equal ability and taste for books,
company, and business; preserving in conversation that discernment and delicacy
which arise from polite letters; and in business, that probity and accuracy
which are the natural result of a just philosophy. In order to diffuse and
cultivate so accomplished a character, nothing can be more useful than
compositions of the easy style and manner, which draw not too much from life,
require no deep application or retreat to be comprehended, and send back the
student among mankind full of noble sentiments and wise precepts, applicable to
every exigence of human life. By means of such compositions, virtue becomes
amiable, science agreeable, company instructive, and retirement entertaining.
Man
is a reasonable being; and as such, receives from science his proper food and
nourishment: But so narrow are the bounds of human understanding, that little
satisfaction can be hoped for in this particular, either from the extent of
security or his acquisitions. Man is a sociable, no less than a reasonable
being: But neither can he always enjoy company agreeable and amusing, or
preserve the proper relish for them. Man is also an active being; and from that
disposition, as well as from the various necessities of human life, must submit
to business and occupation: But the mind requires some relaxation, and cannot
always support its bent to care and industry. It seems, then, that nature has
pointed out a mixed kind of life as most suitable to the human race, and
secretly admonished them to allow none of these 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.
5. Were
the generality of mankind contented to prefer the easy philosophy to the abstract
and profound, without throwing any blame or contempt on the latter, it might
not be improper, perhaps, to comply with this general opinion, and allow every
man to enjoy, without opposition, his own taste and sentiment. But as the
matter is often carried farther, even to the absolute rejecting of all profound
reasonings, or what is commonly called metaphysics, we shall now proceed
to consider what can reasonably be pleaded in their behalf.
We
may begin with observing, that one considerable advantage, which results from
the accurate and abstract philosophy, is, its subserviency to the easy and
humane; which, without the former, can never attain a sufficient degree of
exactness in its sentiments, precepts, or reasonings. All polite letters are
nothing but pictures of human life in various attitudes and situations; and
inspire us with different sentiments, of praise or blame, admiration or
ridicule, according to the qualities of the object, which they set before us.
An artist must be better qualified to succeed in this undertaking, who, besides
a delicate taste and a quick apprehension, possesses an accurate knowledge of
the internal fabric, the operations of the understanding, the workings of the
passions, and the various species of sentiment which discriminate vice and
virtue. How painful soever this inward search or enquiry may appear, it
becomes, in some measure, requisite to those, who would describe with success
the obvious and outward appearances of life and manners. The anatomist presents
to the eye the most hideous and disagreeable objects; but his science is useful
to the painter in delineating even a Venus or an Helen. While the latter
employs all the richest colours of his art, and gives his figures the most
graceful and engaging airs; he must still carry his attention to the inward
structure of the human body, the position of the muscles, the fabric of the
bones, and the use and figure of every part or organ. Accuracy is, in every
case, advantageous to beauty, and just reasoning to delicate sentiment. In vain
would we exalt the one by depreciating the other.
Besides,
we may observe, in every art or profession, even those which most concern life
or action, that a spirit of accuracy, however acquired, carries all of them
nearer their perfection, and renders them more subservient to the interests of
society. And though a philosopher may live remote from business, the genius of
philosophy, if carefully cultivated by several, must gradually diffuse itself
throughout the whole society, and bestow a similar correctness on every art and
calling. The politician will acquire greater foresight and subtility, in the
subdividing and balancing of power; the lawyer more method and finer principles
in his reasonings; and the general more regularity in his discipline, and more
caution in his plans and operations. The stability of modern governments above
the ancient, and the accuracy of modern philosophy, have improved, and probably
will still improve, by similar gradations.
6. Were
there no advantage to be reaped from these studies, beyond the gratification of
an innocent curiosity, yet ought not even this to be despised; as being one
accession to those few safe and harmless pleasures, which are bestowed on 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.
7. But
is this a sufficient reason, why philosophers should desist from such
researches, and leave superstition still in possession of her retreat? Is it
not proper to draw an opposite conclusion, and perceive the necessity of
carrying the war into the most secret recesses of the enemy? In vain do we
hope, that men, from frequent disappointment, will at last abandon such airy
sciences, and discover the proper province of human reason. For, besides, that
many persons find too sensible an interest in perpetually recalling such
topics; besides this, I say, the motive of blind despair can never reasonably
have place in the sciences; since, however unsuccessful former attempts may
have proved, there is still room to hope, that the industry, good fortune, or
improved sagacity of succeeding generations may reach discoveries unknown to
former ages. Each adventurous genius will still leap at the arduous prize, and
find himself stimulated, rather that discouraged, by the failures of his
predecessors; while he hopes that the glory of achieving so hard an adventure
is reserved for him alone. The only method of freeing learning, at once, from
these abstruse questions, is to enquire seriously into the nature of human
understanding, and show, from an exact analysis of its powers and capacity,
that it is by no means fitted for such remote and abstruse subjects. We must
submit to this fatigue, in order to live at ease ever after: And must cultivate
true metaphysics with some care, in order to destroy the false and adulterate.
Indolence, which, to some persons, affords a safeguard against this deceitful
philosophy, is, with others, overbalanced by curiosity; and despair, which, at
some moments, prevails, may give place afterwards to sanguine hopes and
expectations. Accurate and just reasoning is the only catholic remedy, fitted
for all persons and all dispositions; and is alone able to subvert that abstruse
philosophy and metaphysical jargon, which, being mixed up with popular
superstition, renders it in a manner impenetrable to careless reasoners, and
gives it the air of science and wisdom.
8. Besides
this advantage of rejecting, after deliberate enquiry, the most uncertain and
disagreeable part of learning, there are many positive advantages, which result
from an accurate scrutiny into the powers and faculties of human nature. It is
remarkable concerning the operations of the mind, that, though most intimately
present to us, yet, whenever they become the object of reflexion, they seem
involved in obscurity; nor can the eye readily find those lines and boundaries,
which discriminate and distinguish them. The objects are too fine to remain
long in the same aspect or situation; and must be apprehended in an instant, by
a superior penetration, derived from nature, and improved by habit and
reflexion. It becomes, therefore, no inconsiderable part of science barely to
know the different operations of the mind, to separate them from each other, to
class them under their proper heads, and to correct all that seeming disorder,
in which they lie involved, when made the object of reflexion and enquiry. This
talk of ordering and distinguishing, which has no merit, when performed with
regard to external bodies, the objects of our senses, rises in its value, when
directed towards the operations of the mind, in proportion to the difficulty
and labour, which we meet with in performing it. And if we can go no farther
than this mental geography, or delineation of the distinct parts and powers of
the mind, it is at least a satisfaction to go so far; and the more obvious this
science may appear (and it is by no means obvious) the more contemptible still
must the ignorance of it be esteemed, in all pretenders to learning and
philosophy.
Nor
can there remain any suspicion, that this science is uncertain and chimerical;
unless we should entertain such a scepticism as is entirely subversive of all
speculation, and even action. It cannot be doubted, that the mind is endowed
with several powers and faculties, that these powers are distinct from each
other, that what is really distinct to the immediate perception may be
distinguished by reflexion; and consequently, that there is a truth and
falsehood in all propositions on this subject, and a truth and falsehood, which
lie not beyond the compass of human understanding. There are many obvious
distinctions of this kind, such as those between the will and understanding,
the imagination and passions, which fall within the comprehension of every
human creature; and the finer and more philosophical distinctions are no less
real and certain, though more difficult to be comprehended. Some instances,
especially late ones, of success in these enquiries, may give us a juster
notion of the certainty and solidity of this branch of learning. And shall we
esteem it worthy the labour of a philosopher to give us a true system of the
planets, and adjust the position and order of those remote bodies; while we affect
to overlook those, who, with so much success, delineate the parts of the mind,
in which we are so intimately concerned?
9. But
may we not hope, that philosophy, if cultivated with care, and encouraged by
the attention of the public, may carry its researches still farther, and
discover, at least in some degree, the secret springs and principles, by which
the human mind is actuated in its operations? Astronomers had long contented
themselves with proving, from the phaenomena, the true motions, order, and
magnitude of the heavenly bodies: Till a philosopher, at last, arose, who
seems, from the happiest reasoning, to have also determined the laws and
forces, by which the revolutions of the planets are governed and directed. The
like has been performed with regard to other parts of nature. And there is no
reason to despair of equal success in our enquiries concerning the mental
powers and economy, if prosecuted with equal capacity and caution. It is
probable, that one operation and principle of the mind depends on another;
which, again, may be resolved into one more general and universal: And how far
these researches may possibly be carried, it will be difficult for us, before,
or even after, a careful trial, exactly to determine. This is certain, that
attempts of this kind are every day made even by those who philosophize the
most negligently: And nothing can be more requisite than to enter upon the
enterprize with thorough care and attention; that, if it lie within the compass
of human understanding, it may at last be happily achieved; if not, it may,
however, be rejected with some confidence and security. This last conclusion,
surely, is not desirable; nor ought it to be embraced too rashly. For how much
must we diminish from the beauty and value of this species of philosophy, upon
such a supposition? Moralists have hitherto been accustomed, when they
considered the vast multitude and diversity of those actions that excite our
approbation or dislike, to search for some common principle, on which this
variety of sentiments might depend. And though they have sometimes carried the
matter too far, by their passion for some 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.
10. What
though these reasonings concerning human nature seem abstract, and of difficult
comprehension? This affords no presumption of their falsehood. On the contrary,
it seems impossible, that what has hitherto escaped so many wise and profound
philosophers can be very obvious and easy. And whatever pains these researches
may cost us, we may think ourselves sufficiently rewarded, not only in point of
profit but of pleasure, if, by that means, we can make any addition to our
stock of knowledge, in subjects of such unspeakable importance.
But
as, after all, the abstractedness of these speculations is no recommendation,
but rather a disadvantage to them, and as this difficulty may perhaps be
surmounted by care and art, and the avoiding of all unnecessary detail, we
have, in the following enquiry, attempted to throw some light upon subjects,
from which uncertainty has hitherto deterred the wise, and obscurity the
ignorant. Happy, if we can unite the boundaries of the different species of
philosophy, by reconciling profound enquiry with clearness, and truth with
novelty! And still more happy, if, reasoning in this easy manner, we can
undermine the foundations of an abstruse philosophy, which seems to have
hitherto served only as a shelter to superstition, and a cover to absurdity and
error!
11. 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.
12. 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.
13. 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.
14. 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.
15. 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.
16. 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.
17. Here,
therefore, is a proposition, which not only seems, in itself, simple and
intelligible; but, if a proper use were made of it, might render every dispute
equally intelligible, and banish all that jargon, which has so long taken
possession of metaphysical reasonings, and drawn disgrace upon them. All ideas,
especially abstract ones, are, naturally faint and obscure: the mind has but a
slender hold of them: they are apt to be confounded with other resembling
ideas; and when we have often employed any term, though without a distinct
meaning, we are apt to imagine it has a determinate idea annexed to it. On the
contrary, all impressions, that is, all sensations, either outward or inward,
are strong and vivid: the limits between them are more exactly determined: nor
is it easy to fall into any error or mistake with regard to them. When we
entertain, therefore, any suspicion that a philosophical term is employed
without any meaning or idea (as is but too frequent), we need but enquire, from
what impression is that supposed idea derived? And if it be impossible to assign any,
this will serve to confirm our suspicion. By bringing ideas into so clear a
light we may reasonably hope to remove all dispute, which may arise, concerning
their nature and reality.
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.
18. 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.
19. Though
it be too obvious to escape observation, that different ideas are connected
together; I do not find that any philosopher has attempted to enumerate or
class all the principles of association; a subject, however, that seems worthy
of curiosity. To me, there appear to be only three principles of connexion
among ideas, namely, Resemblance, Contiguity in time or place, and Cause
or Effect.
That
these principles serve to connect ideas will not, I believe, be much doubted. A
picture naturally leads our thoughts to the original[2]: the mention of one
apartment in a building naturally introduces an enquiry or discourse concerning
the others[3]: and if we think of a wound, we can scarcely forbear reflecting
on the pain which follows it[4]. But that this enumeration is complete, and
that there are no other principles of association except these, may be
difficult to prove to the satisfaction of the reader, or even to a man’s own
satisfaction. All we can do, in such cases, is to run over several instances,
and examine carefully the principle which binds the different thoughts to each
other, never stopping till we render the principle as general as possible[5].
The more instances we examine, and the more care we employ, the more assurance
shall we acquire, that the enumeration, which we form from the whole, is
complete and entire.
[2]
Resemblance.
[3]
Contiguity.
[4]
Cause and effect.
[5]
For instance, Contrast or Contrariety is also a connexion among Ideas: but it
may, perhaps, be considered as a mixture of Causation and Resemblance. Where two objects are
contrary, the one destroys the other; that is, the cause of its annihilation,
and the idea of the annihilation of an object, implies the idea of its former
existence.
PART
I.
20. 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.
21. Matters
of fact, which are the second objects of human reason, are not ascertained in
the same manner; nor is our evidence of their truth, however great, of a like
nature with the foregoing. The contrary of every matter of fact is still
possible; because it can never imply a contradiction, and is conceived by the
mind with the same facility and distinctness, as if ever so conformable to
reality. That the sun will not rise to-morrow is no less intelligible
a proposition, and implies no more contradiction than the affirmation, that
it will rise.
We should in vain, therefore, attempt to demonstrate its falsehood. Were it
demonstratively false, it would imply a contradiction, and could never be
distinctly conceived by the mind.
It
may, therefore, be a subject worthy of curiosity, to enquire what is the nature
of that evidence which assures us of any real existence and matter of fact,
beyond the present testimony of our senses, or the records of our memory. This
part of philosophy, it is observable, has been little cultivated, either by the
ancients or moderns; and therefore our doubts and errors, in the prosecution of
so important an enquiry, may be the more excusable; while we march through such
difficult paths without any guide or direction. They may even prove useful, by
exciting curiosity, and destroying that implicit faith and security, which is
the bane of all reasoning and free enquiry. The discovery of defects in the
common philosophy, if any such there be, will not, I presume, be a
discouragement, but rather an incitement, as is usual, to attempt something
more full and satisfactory than has yet been proposed to the public.
22. 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.
23. If
we would satisfy ourselves, therefore, concerning the nature of that evidence,
which assures us of matters of fact, we must enquire how we arrive at the
knowledge of cause and effect.
I
shall venture to affirm, as a general proposition, which admits of no
exception, that the knowledge of this relation is not, in any instance,
attained by reasonings a priori; but arises entirely from experience, when we
find that any particular objects are constantly conjoined with each other. Let
an object be presented to a man of ever so strong natural reason and abilities;
if that object be entirely new to him, he will not be able, by the most
accurate examination of its sensible qualities, to discover any of its causes
or effects. Adam, though his rational faculties be supposed, at the very first,
entirely perfect, could not have inferred from the fluidity and transparency of
water that it would suffocate him, or from the light and warmth of fire that it
would consume him. No object ever discovers, by the qualities which appear to
the senses, either the causes which produced it, or the effects which will arise
from it; nor can our reason, unassisted by experience, ever draw any inference
concerning real existence and matter of fact.
24. 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.
25. 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.
26. 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.
27. 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.
28. But
we have not yet attained any tolerable satisfaction with regard to the question
first proposed. Each solution still gives rise to a new question as difficult
as the foregoing, and leads us on to farther enquiries. When it is asked, What
is the nature of all our reasonings concerning matter of fact? the proper answer seems
to be, that they are founded on the relation of cause and effect. When again it
is asked, What is the foundation of all our reasonings and conclusions
concerning that relation? it may be replied in one word, Experience. But if we still
carry on our sifting humour, and ask, What is the foundation of all
conclusions from experience? this implies a new question, which may be of
more difficult solution and explication. Philosophers, that give themselves
airs of superior wisdom and sufficiency, have a hard task when they encounter
persons of inquisitive dispositions, who push them from every corner to which
they retreat, and who are sure at last to bring them to some dangerous dilemma.
The best expedient to prevent this confusion, is to be modest in our
pretensions; and even to discover the difficulty ourselves before it is
objected to us. By this means, we may make a kind of merit of our very
ignorance.
I
shall content myself, in this section, with an easy task, and shall pretend
only to give a negative answer to the question here proposed. I say then, that,
even after we have experience of the operations of cause and effect, our
conclusions from that experience are not founded on reasoning, or any process of
the understanding. This answer we must endeavour both to explain and to defend.
29. It
must certainly be allowed, that nature has kept us at a great distance from all
her secrets, and has afforded us only the knowledge of a few superficial
qualities of objects; while she conceals from us those powers and principles on
which the influence of those objects entirely depends. Our senses inform us of
the colour, weight, and consistence of bread; but neither sense nor reason can
ever inform us of those qualities which fit it for the nourishment and support
of a human body. Sight or feeling conveys an idea of the actual motion of
bodies; but as to that wonderful force or power, which would carry on a moving
body for ever in a continued change of place, and which bodies never lose but
by communicating it to others; of this we cannot form the most distant
conception. But notwithstanding this ignorance of natural powers[6] 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.
[6]
The word, Power, is here used in a loose and popular sense. The more accurate
explication of it would give additional evidence to this argument. See Sect. 7.
30. 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 tact 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 ŕ
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.
31. 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.
32. 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.
33. 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.
PART
I.
34. 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.
35. 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.
36. This
principle is Custom or Habit. For wherever the repetition of any particular act
or operation produces a propensity to renew the same act or operation, without
being impelled by any reasoning or process of the understanding, we always say,
that this propensity is the effect of Custom. By employing that
word, we pretend not to have given the ultimate reason of such a propensity. We
only point out a principle of human nature, which is universally acknowledged,
and which is well known by its effects. Perhaps we can push our enquiries no
farther, or pretend to give the cause of this cause; but must rest contented
with it as the ultimate principle, which we can assign, of all our conclusions
from experience. It is sufficient satisfaction, that we can go so far, without
repining at the narrowness of our faculties because they will carry us no
farther. And it is certain we here advance a very intelligible proposition at
least, if not a true one, when we assert that, after the constant conjunction
of two objects—heat and flame, for instance, weight and solidity—we
are determined by custom alone to expect the one from the appearance of the
other. This hypothesis seems even the only one which explains the difficulty,
why we draw, from a thousand instances, an inference which we are not able to
draw from one instance, that is, in no respect, different from them. Reason is
incapable of any such variation. The conclusions which it draws from
considering one circle are the same which it would form upon surveying all the
circles in the universe. But no man, having seen only one body move after being
impelled by another, could infer that every other body will move after a like
impulse. All inferences from experience, therefore, are effects of custom, not
of reasoning[7].
[7]
Nothing is more useful than for writers, even, on moral, political, or physical subjects, to
distinguish between reason and experience, and to suppose, that
these species of argumentation are entirely different from each other. The
former are taken for the mere result of our intellectual faculties, which, by
considering ŕ 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.
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.
37. 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.
38. 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.
39. 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.
40. Were
we to attempt a definition of this sentiment, we should, perhaps, find it
a very difficult, if not an impossible task; in the same manner as if we should
endeavour to define the feeling of cold or passion of anger, to a creature who
never had any experience of these sentiments. Belief is the true and proper
name of this feeling; and no one is ever at a loss to know the meaning of that
term; because every man is every moment conscious of the sentiment represented
by it. It may not, however, be improper to attempt a description of this sentiment; in
hopes we may, by that means, arrive at some analogies, which may afford a more
perfect explication of it. I say, then, that belief is nothing but a more
vivid, lively, forcible, firm, steady conception of an object, than what the
imagination alone is ever able to attain. This variety of terms, which may seem
so unphilosophical, is intended only to express that act of the mind, which
renders realities, or what is taken for such, more present to us than fictions,
causes them to weigh more in the thought, and gives them a superior influence
on the passions and imagination. Provided we agree about the thing, it is
needless to dispute about the terms. The imagination has the command over all
its ideas, and can join and mix and vary them, in all the ways possible. It may
conceive fictitious objects with all the circumstances of place and time. It
may set them, in a manner, before our eyes, in their true colours, just as they
might have existed. But as it is impossible that this faculty of imagination
can ever, of itself, reach belief, it is evident that belief consists not in
the peculiar nature or order of ideas, but in the manner of their conception,
and in their feeling to the mind. I confess, that it is impossible perfectly to
explain this feeling or manner of conception. We may make use of words which
express something near it. But its true and proper name, as we observed before,
is belief;
which is a term that every one sufficiently understands in common life. And in
philosophy, we can go no farther than assert, that belief is something felt by
the mind, which distinguishes the ideas of the judgement from the fictions of
the imagination. It gives them more weight and influence; makes them appear of
greater importance; enforces them in the mind; and renders them the governing
principle of our actions. I hear at present, for instance, a person’s voice,
with whom I am acquainted; and the sound comes as from the next room. This
impression of my senses immediately conveys my thought to the person, together
with all the surrounding objects. I paint them out to myself as existing at
present, with the same qualities and relations, of which I formerly knew them
possessed. These ideas take faster hold of my mind than ideas of an enchanted
castle. They are very different to the feeling, and have a much greater
influence of every kind, either to give pleasure or pain, joy or sorrow.
Let
us, then, take in the whole compass of this doctrine, and allow, that the sentiment
of belief is nothing but a conception more intense and steady than what attends
the mere fictions of the imagination, and that this manner of conception arises
from a customary conjunction of the object with something present to the memory
or senses: I believe that it will not be difficult, upon these suppositions, to
find other operations of the mind analogous to it, and to trace up these
phenomena to principles still more general.
41. 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.
42. We
may add force to these experiments by others of a different kind, in
considering the effects of contiguity as well as of resemblance. It is certain that
distance diminishes the force of every idea, and that, upon our approach to any
object; though it does not discover itself to our senses; it operates upon the
mind with an influence, which imitates an immediate impression. The thinking on
any object readily transports the mind to what is contiguous; but it is only
the actual presence of an object, that transports it with a superior vivacity.
When I am a few miles from home, whatever relates to it touches me more nearly
than when I am two hundred leagues distant; though even at that distance the
reflecting on any thing in the neighbourhood of my friends or family naturally
produces an idea of them. But as in this latter case, both the objects of the
mind are ideas; notwithstanding there is an easy transition between them; that
transition alone is not able to give a superior vivacity to any of the ideas,
for want of some immediate impression[8].
[8]
‘Naturane nobis, inquit, datum dicam, an errore quodam, ut, cum ea loca
videamus, in quibus memoria dignos viros acceperimus multum esse versatos,
magis moveamur, quam siquando eorum ipsorum aut facta audiamus aut scriptum
aliquod legamus? Velut ego nunc moveor. Venit enim mihi Plato in mentem, quera
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.
43. 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.
44. 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.
45. 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.
Mr.
Locke divides all arguments into demonstrative and probable. In this view, we
must say, that it is only probable all men must die, or that the sun will rise
to-morrow. But to conform our language more to common use, we ought to divide
arguments into demonstrations, proofs, and probabilities. By proofs meaning such
arguments from experience as leave no room for doubt or opposition.
46. 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.
47. 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.
PART
I.
48. 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.
49. 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 endeavoured[10] 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.
[10]
Section II.
50. To
be fully acquainted, therefore, with the idea of power or necessary connexion,
let us examine its impression; and in order to find the impression with greater
certainty, let us search for it in all the sources, from which it may possibly
be derived.
When
we look about us towards external objects, and consider the operation of
causes, we are never able, in a single instance, to discover any power or
necessary connexion; any quality, which binds the effect to the cause, and
renders the one an infallible consequence of the other. We only find, that the
one does actually, in fact, follow the other. The impulse of one billiard-ball
is attended with motion in the second. This is the whole that appears to the outward senses. The mind feels
no sentiment or inward impression from this succession of objects; Consequently,
there is not, in any single, particular instance of cause and effect, any thing
which can suggest the idea of power or necessary connexion.
From
the first appearance of an object, we never can conjecture what effect will
result from it. But were the power or energy of any cause discoverable by the
mind, we could foresee the effect, even without experience; and might, at
first, pronounce with certainty concerning it, by mere dint of thought and
reasoning.
In
reality, there is no part of matter, that does ever, by its sensible qualities,
discover any power or energy, or give us ground to imagine, that it could
produce any thing, or be followed by any other object, which we could
denominate its effect. Solidity, extension, motion; these qualities are all
complete in themselves, and never point out any other event which may result
from them. The scenes of the universe are continually shifting, and one object
follows another in an uninterrupted succession; but the power of force, which
actuates the whole machine, is entirely concealed from us, and never discovers
itself in any of the sensible qualities of body. We know, that, in fact, heat
is a constant attendant of flame; but what is the connexion between them, we
have no room so much as to conjecture or imagine. It is impossible, therefore,
that the idea of power can be derived from the contemplation of bodies, in
single instances of their operation; because no bodies ever discover any power,
which can be the original of this idea.[11]
[11]
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.
51. 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.
52. We
shall proceed to examine this pretension; and first with regard to the
influence of volition over the organs of the body. This influence, we may
observe, is a fact, which, like all other natural events, can be known only by
experience, and can never be foreseen from any apparent energy or power in the
cause, which connects it with the effect, and renders the one an infallible
consequence of the other. The motion of our body follows upon the command of
our will. Of this we are every moment conscious. But the means, by which this
is effected; the energy, by which the will performs so extraordinary an
operation; of this we are so far from being immediately conscious, that it must
for ever escape our most diligent enquiry.
For
first;
is there any principle in all nature more mysterious than the union of soul
with body; by which a supposed spiritual substance acquires such an influence
over a material one, that the most refined thought is able to actuate the
grossest matter? Were we empowered, by a secret wish, to remove mountains, or
control the planets in their orbit; this extensive authority would not be more
extraordinary, nor more beyond our comprehension. But if by consciousness we
perceived any power or energy in the will, we must know this power; we must
know its connexion with the effect; we must know the secret union of soul and
body, and the nature of both these substances; by which the one is able to
operate, in so many instances, upon the other.
Secondly, We are not able to
move all the organs of the body with a like authority; though we cannot assign
any reason besides experience, for so remarkable a difference between one and
the other. Why has the will an influence over the tongue and fingers, not over
the heart or liver? This question would never embarrass us, were we conscious
of a power in the former case, not in the latter. We should then perceive,
independent of experience, why the authority of will over the organs of the
body is circumscribed within such particular limits. Being in that case fully
acquainted with the power or force, by which it operates, we should also know,
why its influence reaches precisely to such boundaries, and no farther.
A
man, suddenly struck with palsy in the leg or arm, or who had newly lost those
members, frequently endeavours, at first to move them, and employ them in their
usual offices. Here he is as much conscious of power to command such limbs, as
a man in perfect health is conscious of power to actuate any member which
remains in its natural state and condition. But consciousness never deceives.
Consequently, neither in the one case nor in the other, are we ever conscious
of any power. We learn the influence of our will from experience alone. And
experience only teaches us, how one event constantly follows another; without
instructing us in the secret connexion, which binds them together, and renders
them inseparable.
Thirdly, We learn from anatomy,
that the immediate object of power in voluntary motion, is not the member
itself which is moved, but certain muscles, and nerves, and animal spirits,
and, perhaps, something still more minute and more unknown, through which the
motion is successively propagated, ere it reach the member itself whose motion
is the immediate object of volition. Can there be a more certain proof, that
the power, by which this whole operation is performed, so far from being
directly and fully known by an inward sentiment or consciousness, is, to the last
degree mysterious and unintelligible? Here the mind wills a certain event:
Immediately another event, unknown to ourselves, and totally different from the
one intended, is produced: This event produces another, equally unknown: Till
at last, through a long succession, the desired event is produced. But if the
original power were felt, it must be known: Were it known, its effect also must
be known; since all power is relative to its effect. And vice versa, if the effect be not
known, the power cannot be known nor felt. How indeed can we be conscious of a
power to move our limbs, when we have no such power; but only that to move
certain animal spirits, which, though they produce at last the motion of our
limbs, yet operate in such a manner as is wholly beyond our comprehension?
We
may, therefore, conclude from the whole, I hope, without any temerity, though
with assurance; that our idea of power is not copied from any sentiment or
consciousness of power within ourselves, when we give rise to animal motion, or
apply our limbs to their proper use and office. That their motion follows the
command of the will is a matter of common experience, like other natural
events: But the power or energy by which this is effected, like that in other
natural events, is unknown and inconceivable.[12]
[12]
It may be pretended, that the resistance which we meet with in bodies, obliging
us frequently to exert our force, and call up all our power, this gives us the
idea of force and power. It is this nisus, or strong endeavour, of which we are
conscious, that is the original impression from which this idea is copied. But,
first, we attribute power to a vast number of objects, where we never can
suppose this resistance 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 ŕ 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.
53. 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.
54. The
generality of mankind never find any difficulty in accounting for the more
common and familiar operations of nature—such as the descent of heavy
bodies, the growth of plants, the generation of animals, or the nourishment of
bodies by food: But suppose that, in all these cases, they perceive the very
force or energy of the cause, by which it is connected with its effect, and is
for ever infallible in its operation. They acquire, by long habit, such a turn
of mind, that, upon the appearance of the cause, they immediately expect with
assurance its usual attendant, and hardly conceive it possible that any other
event could result from it. It is only on the discovery of extraordinary
phaenomena, such as earthquakes, pestilence, and prodigies of any kind, that
they find themselves at a loss to assign a proper cause, and to explain the
manner in which the effect is produced by it. It is usual for men, in such
difficulties, to have recourse to some invisible intelligent principle[13] as
the immediate cause of that event which surprises them, and which, they think,
cannot be accounted for from the common powers of nature. But philosophers, who
carry their scrutiny a little farther, immediately perceive that, even in the
most familiar events, the energy of the cause is as unintelligible as in the
most unusual, and that we only learn by experience the frequent Conjunction of objects, without
being ever able to comprehend anything like Connexion between them.
[13]
[Greek: theos apo maechanaes.]
55. 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.
56. 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.
57. First, it seems to me that
this theory of the universal energy and operation of the Supreme Being is too
bold ever to carry conviction with it to a man, sufficiently apprized of the
weakness of human reason, and the narrow limits to which it is confined in all
its operations. Though the chain of arguments which conduct to it were ever so
logical, there must arise a strong suspicion, if not an absolute assurance,
that it has carried us quite beyond the reach of our faculties, when it leads
to conclusions so extraordinary, and so remote from common life and experience.
We are got into fairy land, long ere we have reached the last steps of our
theory; and there
we have no reason to trust our common methods of argument, or to think that our
usual analogies and probabilities have any authority. Our line is too short to
fathom such immense abysses. And however we may flatter ourselves that we are
guided, in every step which we take, by a kind of verisimilitude and
experience, we may be assured that this fancied experience has no authority
when we thus apply it to subjects that lie entirely out of the sphere of
experience. But on this we shall have occasion to touch afterwards.
Secondly, I cannot perceive any
force in the arguments on which this theory is founded. We are ignorant, it is
true, of the manner in which bodies operate on each other: Their force or
energy is entirely incomprehensible: But are we not equally ignorant of the
manner or force by which a mind, even the supreme mind, operates either on
itself or on body? Whence, I beseech you, do we acquire any idea of it? We have
no sentiment or consciousness of this power in ourselves. We have no idea of
the Supreme Being but what we learn from reflection on our own faculties. Were
our ignorance, therefore, a good reason for rejecting any thing, we should be
led into that principle of denying all energy in the Supreme Being as much as
in the grossest matter. We surely comprehend as little the operations of one as
of the other. Is it more difficult to conceive that motion may arise from
impulse than that it may arise from volition? All we know is our profound
ignorance in both cases[15].
[15]
I need not examine at length the vis inertiae which is so much talked
of in the new philosophy, and which is ascribed to matter. We find by
experience, that a body at rest or in motion continues for ever in its present
state, till put from it by some new cause; and that a body impelled takes as
much motion from the impelling body as it acquires itself. These are facts.
When we call this a vis inertiae, we only mark these facts, without pretending
to have any idea of the inert power; in the same manner as, when we talk of
gravity, we mean certain effects, without comprehending that active power. It
was never the meaning of Sir ISAAC NEWTON to rob second causes of all force or
energy; though some of his followers have endeavoured to establish that theory
upon his authority. On the contrary, that great philosopher had recourse to an
etherial active fluid to explain his universal attraction; though he was so
cautious and modest as to allow, that it was a mere hypothesis, not to be
insisted on, without more experiments. I must confess, that there is something
in the fate of opinions a little extraordinary. 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?
58. 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.
59. 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.
60. 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
it.[16]
[16]
According to these explications and definitions, the idea of power is relative as much as
that of cause;
and both have a reference to an effect, or some other event constantly
conjoined with the former. When we consider the unknown circumstance of an
object, by which the degree or quantity of its effect is fixed and determined,
we 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 ŕ 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.
61. 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.
PART
I.
62. It
might reasonably be expected in questions which have been canvassed and
disputed with great eagerness, since the first origin of science and
philosophy, that the meaning of all the terms, at least, should have been
agreed upon among the disputants; and our enquiries, in the course of two thousand
years, been able to pass from words to the true and real subject of the
controversy. For how easy may it seem to give exact definitions of the terms
employed in reasoning, and make these definitions, not the mere sound of words,
the object of future scrutiny and examination? But if we consider the matter
more narrowly, we shall be apt to draw a quite opposite conclusion. From this
circumstance alone, that a controversy has been long kept on foot, and remains
still undecided, we may presume that there is some ambiguity in the expression,
and that the disputants affix different ideas to the terms employed in the
controversy. For as the faculties of the mind are supposed to be naturally
alike in every individual; otherwise nothing could be more fruitless than to
reason or dispute together; it were impossible, if men affix the same ideas to
their terms, that they could so long form different opinions of the same
subject; especially when they communicate their views, and each party turn
themselves on all sides, in search of arguments which may give them the victory
over their antagonists. It is true, if men attempt the discussion of questions
which lie entirely beyond the reach of human capacity, such as those concerning
the origin of worlds, or the economy of the intellectual system or region of
spirits, they may long beat the air in their fruitless contests, and never
arrive at any determinate conclusion. But if the question regard any subject of
common life and experience, nothing, one would think, could preserve the
dispute so long undecided but some ambiguous expressions, which keep the
antagonists still at a distance, and hinder them from grappling with each
other.
63. This
has been the case in the long disputed question concerning liberty and
necessity; and to so remarkable a degree that, if I be not much mistaken, we
shall find, that all mankind, both learned and ignorant, have always been of
the same opinion with regard to this subject, and that a few intelligible
definitions would immediately have put an end to the whole controversy. I own
that this dispute has been so much canvassed on all hands, and has led
philosophers into such a labyrinth of obscure sophistry, that it is no wonder,
if a sensible reader indulge his ease so far as to turn a deaf ear to the
proposal of such a question, from which he can expect neither instruction or
entertainment. But the state of the argument here proposed may, perhaps, serve
to renew his attention; as it has more novelty, promises at least some decision
of the controversy, and will not much disturb his ease by any intricate or
obscure reasoning.
I
hope, therefore, to make it appear that all men have ever agreed in the
doctrine both of necessity and of liberty, according to any reasonable sense,
which can be put on these terms; and that the whole controversy has hitherto
turned merely upon words. We shall begin with examining the doctrine of
necessity.
64. It
is universally allowed that matter, in all its operations, is actuated by a
necessary force, and that every natural effect is so precisely determined by
the energy of its cause that no other effect, in such particular circumstances,
could possibly have resulted from it. The degree and direction of every motion
is, by the laws of nature, prescribed with such exactness that a living
creature may as soon arise from the shock of two bodies as motion in any other
degree or direction than what is actually produced by it. Would we, therefore,
form a just and precise idea of necessity, we must consider whence that idea arises
when we apply it to the operation of bodies.
It
seems evident that, if all the scenes of nature were continually shifted in
such a manner that no two events bore any resemblance to each other, but every
object was entirely new, without any similitude to whatever had been seen
before, we should never, in that case, have attained the least idea of
necessity, or of a connexion among these objects. We might say, upon such a
supposition, that one object or event has followed another; not that one was
produced by the other. The relation of cause and effect must be utterly unknown
to mankind. Inference and reasoning concerning the operations of nature would,
from that moment, be at an end; and the memory and senses remain the only
canals, by which the knowledge of any real existence could possibly have access
to the mind. Our idea, therefore, of necessity and causation arises entirely
from the uniformity observable in the operations of nature, where similar
objects are constantly conjoined together, and the mind is determined by custom
to infer the one from the appearance of the other. These two circumstances form
the whole of that necessity, which we ascribe to matter. Beyond the constant conjunction of similar objects, and
the consequent inference from one to the other, we have no notion of any necessity
or connexion.
If
it appear, therefore, that all mankind have ever allowed, without any doubt or
hesitation, that these two circumstances take place in the voluntary actions of
men, and in the operations of mind; it must follow, that all mankind have ever
agreed in the doctrine of necessity, and that they have hitherto disputed,
merely for not understanding each other.
65. As
to the first circumstance, the constant and regular conjunction of similar
events, we may possibly satisfy ourselves by the following considerations. It
is universally acknowledged that there is a great uniformity among the actions
of men, in all nations and ages, and that human nature remains still the same,
in its principles and operations. The same motives always produce the same
actions. The same events follow from the same causes. Ambition, avarice,
self-love, vanity, friendship, generosity, public spirit: these passions, mixed
in various degrees, and distributed through society, have been, from the
beginning of the world, and still are, the source of all the actions and
enterprises, which have ever been observed among mankind. Would you know the
sentiments, inclinations, and course of life of the Greeks and Romans? Study
well the temper and actions of the French and English: You cannot be much
mistaken in transferring to the former most of the observations
which you have made with regard to the latter. Mankind are so much the same, in
all times and places, that history informs us of nothing new or strange in this
particular. Its chief use is only to discover the constant and universal
principles of human nature, by showing men in all varieties of circumstances
and situations, and furnishing us with materials from which we may form our
observations and become acquainted with the regular springs of human action and
behaviour. These records of wars, intrigues, factions, and revolutions, are so
many collections of experiments, by which the politician or moral philosopher
fixes the principles of his science, in the same manner as the physician or
natural philosopher becomes acquainted with the nature of plants, minerals, and
other external objects, by the experiments which he forms concerning them. Nor
are the earth, water, and other elements, examined by Aristotle, and
Hippocrates, more like to those which at present lie under our observation than
the men described by Polybius and Tacitus are to those who now govern the
world.
Should
a traveller, returning from a far country, bring us an account of men, wholly
different from any with whom we were ever acquainted; men, who were entirely
divested of avarice, ambition, or revenge; who knew no pleasure but friendship,
generosity, and public spirit; we should immediately, from these circumstances,
detect the falsehood, and prove him a liar, with the same certainty as if he
had stuffed his narration with stories of centaurs and dragons, miracles and
prodigies. And if we would explode any forgery in history, we cannot make use
of a more convincing argument, than to prove, that the actions ascribed to any
person are directly contrary to the course of nature, and that no human
motives, in such circumstances, could ever induce him to such a conduct. The
veracity of Quintus Curtius is as much to be suspected, when he describes the
supernatural courage of Alexander, by which he was hurried on singly to attack
multitudes, as when he describes his supernatural force and activity, by which
he was able to resist them. So readily and universally do we acknowledge a uniformity
in human motives and actions as well as in the operations of body.
Hence
likewise the benefit of that experience, acquired by long life and a variety of
business and company, in order to instruct us in the principles of human
nature, and regulate our future conduct, as well as speculation. By means of
this guide, we mount up to the knowledge of men’s inclinations and motives,
from their actions, expressions, and even gestures; and again descend to the
interpretation of their actions from our knowledge of their motives and
inclinations. The general observations treasured up by a course of experience,
give us the clue of human nature, and teach us to unravel all its intricacies.
Pretexts and appearances no longer deceive us. Public declarations pass for the
specious colouring of a cause. And though virtue and honour be allowed their
proper weight and authority, that perfect disinterestedness, so often pretended
to, is never expected in multitudes and parties; seldom in their leaders; and
scarcely even in individuals of any rank or station. But were there no
uniformity in human actions, and were every experiment which we could form of
this kind irregular and anomalous, it were impossible to collect any general
observations concerning mankind; and no experience, however accurately digested
by reflection, would ever serve to any purpose. Why is the aged husbandman more
skilful in his calling than the young beginner but because there is a certain
uniformity in the operation of the sun, rain, and earth towards the production
of vegetables; and experience teaches the old practitioner the rules by which
this operation is governed and directed.
66. We
must not, however, expect that this uniformity of human actions should be
carried to such a length as that all men, in the same circumstances, will
always act precisely in the same manner, without making any allowance for the
diversity of characters, prejudices, and opinions. Such a uniformity in every
particular, is found in no part of nature. On the contrary, from observing the
variety of conduct in different men, we are enabled to form a greater variety
of maxims, which still suppose a degree of uniformity and regularity.
Are
the manners of men different in different ages and countries? We learn thence
the great force of custom and education, which mould the human mind from its
infancy and form it into a fixed and established character. Is the behaviour
and conduct of the one sex very unlike that of the other? Is it thence we
become acquainted with the different characters which nature has impressed upon
the sexes, and which she preserves with constancy and regularity? Are the
actions of the same person much diversified in the different periods of his
life, from infancy to old age? This affords room for many general observations
concerning the gradual change of our sentiments and inclinations, and the
different maxims which prevail in the different ages of human creatures. Even
the characters, which are peculiar to each individual, have a uniformity in
their influence; otherwise our acquaintance with the persons and our
observation of their conduct could never teach us their dispositions, or serve
to direct our behaviour with regard to them.
67. I
grant it possible to find some actions, which seem to have no regular connexion
with any known motives, and are exceptions to all the measures of conduct which
have ever been established for the government of men. But if we would willingly
know what judgement should be formed of such irregular and extraordinary
actions, we may consider the sentiments commonly entertained with regard to
those irregular events which appear in the course of nature, and the operations
of external objects. All causes are not conjoined to their usual effects with
like uniformity. An artificer, who handles only dead matter, may be
disappointed of his aim, as well as the politician, who directs the conduct of
sensible and intelligent agents.
The
vulgar, who take things according to their first appearance, attribute the
uncertainty of events to such an uncertainty in the causes as makes the latter
often fail of their usual influence; though they meet with no impediment in
their operation. But philosophers, observing that, almost in every part of
nature, there is contained a vast variety of springs and principles, which are
hid, by reason of their minuteness or remoteness, find, that it is at least
possible the contrariety of events may not proceed from any contingency in the
cause, but from the secret operation of contrary causes. This possibility is
converted into certainty by farther observation, when they remark that, upon an
exact scrutiny, a contrariety of effects always betrays a contrariety of
causes, and proceeds from their mutual opposition. A peasant can give no better
reason for the stopping of any clock or watch than to say that it does not
commonly go right: But an artist easily perceives that the same force in the
spring or pendulum has always the same influence on the wheels; but fails of
its usual effect, perhaps by reason of a grain of dust, which puts a stop to
the whole movement. From the observation of several parallel instances,
philosophers form a maxim that the connexion between all causes and effects is
equally necessary, and that its seeming uncertainty in some instances proceeds
from the secret opposition of contrary causes.
Thus,
for instance, in the human body, when the usual symptoms of health or sickness
disappoint our expectation; when medicines operate not with their wonted
powers; when irregular events follow from any particular cause; the philosopher
and physician are not surprised at the matter, nor are ever tempted to deny, in
general, the necessity and uniformity of those principles by which the animal
economy is conducted. They know that a human body is a mighty complicated machine:
That many secret powers lurk in it, which are altogether beyond our
comprehension: That to us it must often appear very uncertain in its
operations: And that therefore the irregular events, which outwardly discover
themselves, can be no proof that the laws of nature are not observed with the
greatest regularity in its internal operations and government.
68. The
philosopher, if he be consistent, must apply the same reasoning to the actions
and volitions of intelligent agents. The most irregular and unexpected
resolutions of men may frequently be accounted for by those who know every
particular circumstance of their character and situation. A person of an
obliging disposition gives a peevish answer: But he has the toothache, or has
not dined. A stupid fellow discovers an uncommon alacrity in his carriage: But
he has met with a sudden piece of good fortune. Or even when an action, as
sometimes happens, cannot be particularly accounted for, either by the person
himself or by others; we know, in general, that the characters of men are, to a
certain degree, inconstant and irregular. This is, in a manner, the constant
character of human nature; though it be applicable, in a more particular
manner, to some persons who have no fixed rule for their conduct, but proceed
in a continued course of caprice and inconstancy. The internal principles and
motives may operate in a uniform manner, notwithstanding these seeming
irregularities; in the same manner as the winds, rain, clouds, and other
variations of the weather are supposed to be governed by steady principles;
though not easily discoverable by human sagacity and enquiry.
69. Thus
it appears, not only that the conjunction between motives and voluntary actions
is as regular and uniform as that between the cause and effect in any part of
nature; but also that this regular conjunction has been universally
acknowledged among mankind, and has never been the subject of dispute, either
in philosophy or common life. Now, as it is from past experience that we draw
all inferences concerning the future, and as we conclude that objects will
always be conjoined together which we find to have always been conjoined; it
may seem superfluous to prove that this experienced uniformity in human actions
is a source whence we draw inferences concerning them. But in order to throw the
argument into a greater variety of lights we shall also insist, though briefly,
on this latter topic.
The
mutual dependence of men is so great in all societies that scarce any human
action is entirely complete in itself, or is performed without some reference
to the actions of others, which are requisite to make it answer fully the
intention of the agent. The poorest artificer, who labours alone, expects at
least the protection of the magistrate, to ensure him the enjoyment of the
fruits of his labour. He also expects that, when he carries his goods to
market, and offers them at a reasonable price, he shall find purchasers, and
shall be able, by the money he acquires, to engage others to supply him with
those commodities which are requisite for his subsistence. In proportion as men
extend their dealings, and render their intercourse with others more
complicated, they always comprehend, in their schemes of life, a greater
variety of voluntary actions, which they expect, from the proper motives, to
co-operate with their own. In all these conclusions they take their measures
from past experience, in the same manner as in their reasonings concerning
external objects; and firmly believe that men, as well as all the elements, are
to continue, in their operations, the same that they have ever found them. A
manufacturer reckons upon the labour of his servants for the execution of any
work as much as upon the tools which he employs, and would be equally surprised
were his expectations disappointed. In short, this experimental inference and
reasoning concerning the actions of others enters so much into human life that
no man, while awake, is ever a moment without employing it. Have we not reason,
therefore, to affirm that all mankind have always agreed in the doctrine of
necessity according to the foregoing definition and explication of it?
70. Nor
have philosophers ever entertained a different opinion from the people in this
particular. For, not to mention that almost every action of their life supposes
that opinion, there are even few of the speculative parts of learning to which
it is not essential. What would become of history, had we not a dependence
on the veracity of the historian according to the experience which we have had
of mankind? How could politics be a science, if laws and forms of goverment
had not a uniform influence upon society? Where would be the foundation of morals, if particular
characters had no certain or determinate power to produce particular sentiments,
and if these sentiments had no constant operation on actions? And with what
pretence could we employ our criticism upon any poet or polite author, if we
could not pronounce the conduct and sentiments of his actors either natural or
unnatural to such characters, and in such circumstances? It seems almost
impossible, therefore, to engage either in science or action of any kind
without acknowledging the doctrine of necessity, and this inference from motive to
voluntary actions, from characters to conduct.
And
indeed, when we consider how aptly natural and moral evidence link together,
and form only one chain of argument, we shall make no scruple to allow that
they are of the same nature, and derived from the same principles. A prisoner
who has neither money nor interest, discovers the impossibility of his escape,
as well when he considers the obstinacy of the gaoler, as the walls and bars
with which he is surrounded; and, in all attempts for his freedom, chooses
rather to work upon the stone and iron of the one, than upon the inflexible
nature of the other. The same prisoner, when conducted to the scaffold,
foresees his death as certainly from the constancy and fidelity of his guards,
as from the operation of the axe or wheel. His mind runs along a certain train
of ideas: The refusal of the soldiers to consent to his escape; the action of
the executioner; the separation of the head and body; bleeding, convulsive
motions, and death. Here is a connected chain of natural causes and voluntary
actions; but the mind feels no difference between them in passing from one link
to another: Nor is less certain of the future event than if it were connected
with the objects present to the memory or senses, by a train of causes,
cemented together by what we are pleased to call a physical necessity. The same
experienced union has the same effect on the mind, whether the united objects
be motives, volition, and actions; or figure and motion. We may change the name
of things; but their nature and their operation on the understanding never
change.
Were
a man, whom I know to be honest and opulent, and with whom I live in intimate
friendship, to come into my house, where I am surrounded with my servants, I
rest assured that he is not to stab me before he leaves it in order to rob me
of my silver standish; and I no more suspect this event than the falling of the
house itself, which is new, and solidly built and founded._--But he may have
been seized with a sudden and unknown frenzy.--_So may a sudden earthquake
arise, and shake and tumble my house about my ears. I shall therefore change
the suppositions. I shall say that I know with certainty that he is not to put
his hand into the fire and hold it there till it be consumed: And this event, I
think I can foretell with the same assurance, as that, if he throw himself out
at the window, and meet with no obstruction, he will not remain a moment
suspended in the air. No suspicion of an unknown frenzy can give the least
possibility to the former event, which is so contrary to all the known principles
of human nature. A man who at noon leaves his purse full of gold on the
pavement at Charing-Cross, may as well expect that it will fly away like a
feather, as that he will find it untouched an hour after. Above one half of
human reasonings contain inferences of a similar nature, attended with more or
less degrees of certainty proportioned to our experience of the usual conduct
of mankind in such particular situations.
71. I
have frequently considered, what could possibly be the reason why all mankind,
though they have ever, without hesitation, acknowledged the doctrine of
necessity in their whole practice and reasoning, have yet discovered such a
reluctance to acknowledge it in words, and have rather shown a propensity, in
all ages, to profess the contrary opinion. The matter, I think, may be
accounted for after the following manner. If we examine the operations of body,
and the production of effects from their causes, we shall find that all our
faculties can never carry us farther in our knowledge of this relation than
barely to observe that particular objects are constantly conjoined together, and that the
mind is carried, by a customary transition, from the appearance of
one to the belief of the other. But though this conclusion concerning human ignorance
be the result of the strictest scrutiny of this subject, men still entertain a
strong propensity to believe that they penetrate farther into the powers of
nature, and perceive something like a necessary connexion between the cause and
the effect. When again they turn their reflections towards the operations of
their own minds, and feel no such connexion of the motive and the action;
they are thence apt to suppose, that there is a difference between the effects
which result from material force, and those which arise from thought and
intelligence. But being once convinced that we know nothing farther of
causation of any kind than merely the constant conjunction of objects, and the
consequent inference of the mind from one to another, and finding that these two
circumstances are universally allowed to have place in voluntary actions; we
may be more easily led to own the same necessity common to all causes. And
though this reasoning may contradict the systems of many philosophers, in
ascribing necessity to the determinations of the will, we shall find, upon
reflection, that they dissent from it in words only, not in their real
sentiment. Necessity, according to the sense in which it is here taken, has
never yet been rejected, nor can ever, I think, be rejected by any philosopher.
It may only, perhaps, be pretended that the mind can perceive, in the
operations of matter, some farther connexion between the cause and effect; and
connexion that has not place in voluntary actions of intelligent beings. Now whether
it be so or not, can only appear upon examination; and it is incumbent on these
philosophers to make good their assertion, by denning or describing that
necessity, and pointing it out to us in the operations of material causes.
72. It
would seem, indeed, that men begin at the wrong end of this question concerning
liberty and necessity, when they enter upon it by examining the faculties of
the soul, the influence of the understanding, and the operations of the will.
Let them first discuss a more simple question, namely, the operations of body
and of brute unintelligent matter; and try whether they can there form any idea
of causation and necessity, except that of a constant conjunction of objects,
and subsequent inference of the mind from one to another. If these
circumstances form, in reality, the whole of that necessity, which we conceive
in matter, and if these circumstances be also universally acknowledged to take
place in the operations of the mind, the dispute is at an end; at least, must
be owned to be thenceforth merely verbal. But as long as we will rashly
suppose, that we have some farther idea of necessity and causation in the
operations of external objects; at the same time, that we can find nothing
farther in the voluntary actions of the mind; there is no possibility of
bringing the question to any determinate issue, while we proceed upon so
erroneous a supposition. The only method of undeceiving us is to mount up
higher; to examine the narrow extent of science when applied to material
causes; and to convince ourselves that all we know of them is the constant
conjunction and inference above mentioned. We may, perhaps, find that it is
with difficulty we are induced to fix such narrow limits to human
understanding: But we can afterwards find no difficulty when we come to apply
this doctrine to the actions of the will. For as it is evident that these have
a regular conjunction with motives and circumstances and characters, and as we
always draw inferences from one to the other, we must be obliged to acknowledge
in words that necessity, which we have already avowed, in every deliberation of
our lives, and in every step of our conduct and behaviour.[17]
[17]
The prevalence of the doctrine of liberty may be accounted for, from another
cause, viz. a false sensation or seeming experience which we have, or may have,
of liberty or indifference, in many of our actions. The necessity of any
action, whether of matter or of mind, is not, properly speaking, a quality in
the agent, but in any thinking or intelligent being, who may consider the
action; and it consists chiefly in the determination of his thoughts to infer
the existence of that action from some preceding objects; as liberty, when
opposed to necessity, is nothing but the want of that determination, and a
certain looseness or indifference, which we feel, in passing, or not passing,
from the idea of one object to that of any succeeding one. Now we may observe,
that, though, in reflecting on human actions, we seldom feel such a
looseness, or indifference, but are commonly able to infer them with
considerable certainty from their motives, and from the dispositions of the
agent; yet it frequently happens, that, in performing the actions themselves,
we are sensible of something like it: And as all resembling objects are readily
taken for each other, this has been employed as a demonstrative and even
intuitive proof of human liberty. We feel, that our actions are subject to our
will, on most occasions; and imagine we feel, that the will itself is subject
to nothing, because, when by a denial of it we are provoked to try, we feel,
that it moves easily every way, and produces an image of itself (or a Velleďty, as it is called in the
schools) even on that side, on which it did not settle. This image, or faint
motion, we persuade ourselves, could, at that time, have been compleated into
the thing itself; because, should that be denied, we find, upon a second trial,
that, at present, it can. We consider not, that the fantastical desire of
shewing liberty, is here the motive of our actions. And it seems certain, that,
however we may imagine we feel a liberty within ourselves, a spectator can
commonly infer our actions from our motives and character; and even where he
cannot, he concludes in general, that he might, were he perfectly acquainted
with every circumstance of our situation and temper, and the most secret
springs of our complexion and disposition. Now this is the very essence of
necessity, according to the foregoing doctrine.
73. But
to proceed in this reconciling project with regard to the question of liberty
and necessity; the most contentious question of metaphysics, the most
contentious science; it will not require many words to prove, that all mankind
have ever agreed in the doctrine of liberty as well as in that of necessity,
and that the whole dispute, in this respect also, has been hitherto merely
verbal. For what is meant by liberty, when applied to voluntary actions? We
cannot surely mean that actions have so little connexion with motives,
inclinations, and circumstances, that one does not follow with a certain degree
of uniformity from the other, and that one affords no inference by which we can
conclude the existence of the other. For these are plain and acknowledged
matters of fact. By liberty, then, we can only mean a power of acting or not
acting, according to the determinations of the will; that is, if we choose
to remain at rest, we may; if we choose to move, we also may. Now this
hypothetical liberty is universally allowed to belong to every one who is not a
prisoner and in chains. Here, then, is no subject of dispute.
74. Whatever
definition we may give of liberty, we should be careful to observe two
requisite circumstances; first, that it be consistent with plain matter of
fact; secondly,
that it be consistent with itself. If we observe these circumstances, and
render our definition intelligible, I am persuaded that all mankind will be
found of one opinion with regard to it.
It
is universally allowed that nothing exists without a cause of its existence,
and that chance, when strictly examined, is a mere negative word, and means not
any real power which has anywhere a being in nature. But it is pretended that
some causes are necessary, some not necessary. Here then is the advantage of
definitions. Let any one define a cause, without comprehending, as a part of
the definition, a necessary connexion with its effect; and let him show distinctly
the origin of the idea, expressed by the definition; and I shall readily give
up the whole controversy. But if the foregoing explication of the matter be
received, this must be absolutely impracticable. Had not objects a regular
conjunction with each other, we should never have entertained any notion of
cause and effect; and this regular conjunction produces that inference of the
understanding, which is the only connexion, that we can have any comprehension
of. Whoever attempts a definition of cause, exclusive of these circumstances,
will be obliged either to employ unintelligible terms or such as are synonymous
to the term which he endeavours to define.[18] And if the definition above
mentioned be admitted; liberty, when opposed to necessity, not to constraint,
is the same thing with chance; which is universally allowed to have no
existence.
[18]
Thus, if a cause be defined, that which produces any thing; it is easy to
observe, that producing is synonymous to causing. In like manner, if a
cause be defined, that by which any thing exists; this is liable to the
same objection. For what is meant by these words, by which? Had it been said, that
a cause is that
after which any thing constantly exists; we should have understood the terms. For
this is, indeed, all we know of the matter. And this constancy forms the very
essence of necessity, nor have we any other idea of it.
75. There
is no method of reasoning more common, and yet none more blameable, than, in
philosophical disputes, to endeavour the refutation of any hypothesis, by a
pretence of its dangerous consequences to religion and morality. When any
opinion leads to absurdities, it is certainly false; but it is not certain that
an opinion is false, because it is of dangerous consequence. Such topics,
therefore, ought entirely to be forborne; as serving nothing to the discovery
of truth, but only to make the person of an antagonist odious. This I observe
in general, without pretending to draw any advantage from it. I frankly submit
to an examination of this kind, and shall venture to affirm that the doctrines,
both of necessity and of liberty, as above explained, are not only consistent
with morality, but are absolutely essential to its support.
Necessity
may be defined two ways, conformably to the two definitions of cause, of which it makes an
essential part. It consists either in the constant conjunction of like objects,
or in the inference of the understanding from one object to another. Now
necessity, in both these senses, (which, indeed, are at bottom the same) has
universally, though tacitly, in the schools, in the pulpit, and in common life,
been allowed to belong to the will of man; and no one has ever pretended to
deny that we can draw inferences concerning human actions, and that those
inferences are founded on the experienced union of like actions, with like
motives, inclinations, and circumstances. The only particular in which any one
can differ, is, that either, perhaps, he will refuse to give the name of
necessity to this property of human actions: But as long as the meaning is
understood, I hope the word can do no harm: Or that he will maintain it possible
to discover something farther in the operations of matter. But this, it must be
acknowledged, can be of no consequence to morality or religion, whatever it may
be to natural philosophy or metaphysics. We may here be mistaken in asserting
that there is no idea of any other necessity or connexion in the actions of
body: But surely we ascribe nothing to the actions of the mind, but what
everyone does, and must readily allow of. We change no circumstance in the
received orthodox system with regard to the will, but only in that with regard
to material objects and causes. Nothing, therefore, can be more innocent, at
least, than this doctrine.
76. All
laws being founded on rewards and punishments, it is supposed as a fundamental
principle, that these motives have a regular and uniform influence on the mind,
and both produce the good and prevent the evil actions. We may give to this
influence what name we please; but, as it is usually conjoined with the action,
it must be esteemed a cause, and be looked upon as an instance of that
necessity, which we would here establish.
The
only proper object of hatred or vengeance is a person or creature, endowed with
thought and consciousness; and when any criminal or injurious actions excite
that passion, it is only by their relation to the person, or connexion with
him. Actions are, by their very nature, temporary and perishing; and where they
proceed not from some cause in the character and disposition of the person
who performed them, they can neither redound to his honour, if good; nor
infamy, if evil. The actions themselves may be blameable; they may be contrary
to all the rules of morality and religion: But the person is not answerable for
them; and as they proceeded from nothing in him that is durable and constant,
and leave nothing of that nature behind them, it is impossible he can, upon
their account, become the object of punishment or vengeance. According to the
principle, therefore, which denies necessity, and consequently causes, a man is
as pure and untainted, after having committed the most horrid crime, as at the
first moment of his birth, nor is his character anywise concerned in his
actions, since they are not derived from it, and the wickedness of the one can
never be used as a proof of the depravity of the other.
Men
are not blamed for such actions as they perform ignorantly and casually,
whatever may be the consequences. Why? but because the principles of these
actions are only momentary, and terminate in them alone. Men are less blamed
for such actions as they perform hastily and unpremeditately than for such as
proceed from deliberation. For what reason? but because a hasty temper, though
a constant cause or principle in the mind, operates only by intervals, and
infects not the whole character. Again, repentance wipes off every crime, if
attended with a reformation of life and manners. How is this to be accounted
for? but by asserting that actions render a person criminal merely as they are
proofs of criminal principles in the mind; and when, by an alteration of these
principles, they cease to be just proofs, they likewise cease to be criminal.
But, except upon the doctrine of necessity, they never were just proofs, and
consequently never were criminal.
77. It
will be equally easy to prove, and from the same arguments, that liberty, according to that
definition above mentioned, in which all men agree, is also essential to
morality, and that no human actions, where it is wanting, are susceptible of
any moral qualities, or can be the objects either of approbation or dislike.
For as actions are objects of our moral sentiment, so far only as they are
indications of the internal character, passions, and affections; it is
impossible that they can give rise either to praise or blame, where they
proceed not from these principles, but are derived altogether from external
violence.
78. I
pretend not to have obviated or removed all objections to this theory, with
regard to necessity and liberty. I can foresee other objections, derived from
topics which have not here been treated of. It may be said, for instance, that,
if voluntary actions be subjected to the same laws of necessity with the
operations of matter, there is a continued chain of necessary causes,
pre-ordained and pre-determined, reaching from the original cause of all to
every single volition of every human creature. No contingency anywhere in the
universe; no indifference; no liberty. While we act, we are, at the same time,
acted upon. The ultimate Author of all our volitions is the Creator of the
world, who first bestowed motion on this immense machine, and placed all beings
in that particular position, whence every subsequent event, by an inevitable
necessity, must result. Human actions, therefore, either can have no moral
turpitude at all, as proceeding from so good a cause; or if they have any
turpitude, they must involve our Creator in the same guilt, while he is
acknowledged to be their ultimate cause and author. For as a man, who fired a
mine, is answerable for all the consequences whether the train he employed be
long or short; so wherever a continued chain of necessary causes is fixed, that
Being, either finite or infinite, who produces the first, is likewise the
author of all the rest, and must both bear the blame and acquire the praise
which belong to them. Our clear and unalterable ideas of morality establish
this rule, upon unquestionable reasons, when we examine the consequences of any
human action; and these reasons must still have greater force when applied to
the volitions and intentions of a Being infinitely wise and powerful. Ignorance
or impotence may be pleaded for so limited a creature as man; but those
imperfections have no place in our Creator. He foresaw, he ordained, he
intended all those actions of men, which we so rashly pronounce criminal. And
we must therefore conclude, either that they are not criminal, or that the
Deity, not man, is accountable for them. But as either of these positions is
absurd and impious, it follows, that the doctrine from which they are deduced
cannot possibly be true, as being liable to all the same objections. An absurd
consequence, if necessary, proves the original doctrine to be absurd; in the
same manner as criminal actions render criminal the original cause, if the
connexion between them be necessary and evitable.
This
objection consists of two parts, which we shall examine separately; First, that, if human actions
can be traced up, by a necessary chain, to the Deity, they can never be
criminal; on account of the infinite perfection of that Being from whom they are
derived, and who can intend nothing but what is altogether good and laudable.
Or, Secondly,
if they be criminal, we must retract the attribute of perfection, which we
ascribe to the Deity, and must acknowledge him to be the ultimate author of
guilt and moral turpitude in all his creatures.
79. The
answer to the first objection seems obvious and convincing. There are many
philosophers who, after an exact scrutiny of all the phenomena of nature,
conclude, that the WHOLE, considered as one system, is, in every period of its
existence, ordered with perfect benevolence; and that the utmost possible
happiness will, in the end, result to all created beings, without any mixture
of positive or absolute ill or misery. Every physical ill, say they, makes an
essential part of this benevolent system, and could not possibly be removed,
even by the Deity himself, considered as a wise agent, without giving entrance
to greater ill, or excluding greater good, which will result from it. From this
theory, some philosophers, and the ancient Stoics among the rest, derived
a topic of consolation under all afflictions, while they taught their pupils
that those ills under which they laboured were, in reality, goods to the
universe; and that to an enlarged view, which could comprehend the whole system
of nature, every event became an object of joy and exultation. But though this
topic be specious and sublime, it was soon found in practice weak and
ineffectual. You would surely more irritate than appease a man lying under the
racking pains of the gout by preaching up to him the rectitude of those general
laws, which produced the malignant humours in his body, and led them through
the proper canals, to the sinews and nerves, where they now excite such acute
torments. These enlarged views may, for a moment, please the imagination of a
speculative man, who is placed in ease and security; but neither can they dwell
with constancy on his mind, even though undisturbed by the emotions of pain or
passion; much less can they maintain their ground when attacked by such
powerful antagonists. The affections take a narrower and more natural survey of
their object; and by an economy, more suitable to the infirmity of human minds,
regard alone the beings around us, and are actuated by such events as appear
good or ill to the private system.
80. The
case is the same with moral as with physical ill. It cannot
reasonably be supposed, that those remote considerations, which are found of so
little efficacy with regard to one, will have a more powerful influence with
regard to the other. The mind of man is so formed by nature that, upon the
appearance of certain characters, dispositions, and actions, it immediately
feels the sentiment of approbation or blame; nor are there any emotions more
essential to its frame and constitution. The characters which engage our
approbation are chiefly such as contribute to the peace and security of human
society; as the characters which excite blame are chiefly such as tend to
public detriment and disturbance: Whence it may reasonably be presumed, that
the moral sentiments arise, either mediately or immediately, from a reflection
of these opposite interests. What though philosophical meditations establish a
different opinion or conjecture; that everything is right with regard to the
WHOLE, and that the qualities, which disturb society, are, in the main, as
beneficial, and are as suitable to the primary intention of nature as those
which more directly promote its happiness and welfare? Are such remote and
uncertain speculations able to counterbalance the sentiments which arise from
the natural and immediate view of the objects? A man who is robbed of a
considerable sum; does he find his vexation for the loss anywise diminished by
these sublime reflections? Why then should his moral resentment against the
crime be supposed incompatible with them? Or why should not the acknowledgment
of a real distinction between vice and virtue be reconcileable to all
speculative systems of philosophy, as well as that of a real distinction
between personal beauty and deformity? Both these distinctions are founded in
the natural sentiments of the human mind: And these sentiments are not to be
controuled or altered by any philosophical theory or speculation whatsoever.
81. The
second
objection admits not of so easy and satisfactory an answer; nor is it possible
to explain distinctly, how the Deity can be the mediate cause of all the
actions of men, without being the author of sin and moral turpitude. These are
mysteries, which mere natural and unassisted reason is very unfit to handle;
and whatever system she embraces, she must find herself involved in
inextricable difficulties, and even contradictions, at every step which she
takes with regard to such subjects. To reconcile the indifference and contingency
of human actions with prescience; or to defend absolute decrees, and yet free
the Deity from being the author of sin, has been found hitherto to exceed all
the power of philosophy. Happy, if she be thence sensible of her temerity, when
she pries into these sublime mysteries; and leaving a scene so full of
obscurities and perplexities, return, with suitable modesty, to her true and
proper province, the examination of common life; where she will find
difficulties enough to employ her enquiries, without launching into so
boundless an ocean of doubt, uncertainty, and contradiction!
82. All
our reasonings concerning matter of fact are founded on a species of Analogy,
which leads us to expect from any cause the same events, which we have observed
to result from similar causes. Where the causes are entirely similar, the
analogy is perfect, and the inference, drawn from it, is regarded as certain
and conclusive: nor does any man ever entertain a doubt, where he sees a piece
of iron, that it will have weight and cohesion of parts; as in all other
instances, which have ever fallen under his observation. But where the objects
have not so exact a similarity, the analogy is less perfect, and the inference
is less conclusive; though still it has some force, in proportion to the degree
of similarity and resemblance. The anatomical observations, formed upon one
animal, are, by this species of reasoning, extended to all animals; and it is
certain, that when the circulation of the blood, for instance, is clearly
proved to have place in one creature, as a frog, or fish, it forms a strong
presumption, that the same principle has place in all. These analogical
observations may be carried farther, even to this science, of which we are now
treating; and any theory, by which we explain the operations of the
understanding, or the origin and connexion of the passions in man, will acquire
additional authority, if we find, that the same theory is requisite to explain
the same phenomena in all other animals. We shall make trial of this, with
regard to the hypothesis, by which we have, in the foregoing discourse,
endeavoured to account for all experimental reasonings; and it is hoped, that
this new point of view will serve to confirm all our former observations.
83. First, It seems evident, that
animals as well as men learn many things from experience, and infer, that the
same events will always follow from the same causes. By this principle they
become acquainted with the more obvious properties of external objects, and
gradually, from their birth, treasure up a knowledge of the nature of fire,
water, earth, stones, heights, depths, &c., and of the effects which result
from their operation. The ignorance and inexperience of the young are here
plainly distinguishable from the cunning and sagacity of the old, who have
learned, by long observation, to avoid what hurt them, and to pursue what gave
ease or pleasure. A horse, that has been accustomed to the field, becomes
acquainted with the proper height which he can leap, and will never attempt
what exceeds his force and ability. An old greyhound will trust the more
fatiguing part of the chace to the younger, and will place himself so as to
meet the hare in her doubles; nor are the conjectures, which he forms on this
occasion, founded in any thing but his observation and experience.
This
is still more evident from the effects of discipline and education on animals,
who, by the proper application of rewards and punishments, may be taught any
course of action, and most contrary to their natural instincts and
propensities. Is it not experience, which renders a dog apprehensive of pain,
when you menace him, or lift up the whip to beat him? Is it not even
experience, which makes him answer to his name, and infer, from such an
arbitrary sound, that you mean him rather than any of his fellows, and intend
to call him, when you pronounce it in a certain manner, and with a certain tone
and accent?
In
all these cases, we may observe, that the animal infers some fact beyond what
immediately strikes his senses; and that this inference is altogether founded
on past experience, while the creature expects from the present object the same
consequences, which it has always found in its observation to result from
similar objects.
84. Secondly, It is impossible, that
this inference of the animal can be founded on any process of argument or
reasoning, by which he concludes, that like events must follow like objects,
and that the course of nature will always be regular in its operations. For if
there be in reality any arguments of this nature, they surely lie too abstruse
for the observation of such imperfect understandings; since it may well employ
the utmost care and attention of a philosophic genius to discover and observe
them. Animals, therefore, are not guided in these inferences by reasoning:
Neither are children: Neither are the generality of mankind, in their ordinary
actions and conclusions: Neither are philosophers themselves, who, in all the
active parts of life, are, in the main, the same with the vulgar, and are
governed by the same maxims. Nature must have provided some other principle, of
more ready, and more general use and application; nor can an operation of such
immense consequence in life, as that of inferring effects from causes, be
trusted to the uncertain process of reasoning and argumentation. Were this
doubtful with regard to men, it seems to admit of no question with regard to
the brute creation; and the conclusion being once firmly established in the
one, we have a strong presumption, from all the rules of analogy, that it ought
to be universally admitted, without any exception or reserve. It is custom
alone, which engages animals, from every object, that strikes their senses, to
infer its usual attendant, and carries their imagination, from the appearance
of the one, to conceive the other, in that particular manner, which we
denominate belief.
No other explication can be given of this operation, in all the higher, as well
as lower classes of sensitive beings, which fall under our notice and
observation [19].
[19]
Since all reasonings concerning facts or causes is derived merely from custom,
it may be asked how it happens, that men so much surpass animals in reasoning,
and one man so much surpasses another? Has not the same custom the same
influence on all?
We
shall here endeavour briefly to explain the great difference in human
understandings: After which the reason of the difference between men and
animals will easily be comprehended.
1. When
we have lived any time, and have been accustomed to the uniformity of nature,
we acquire a general habit, by which we always transfer the known to the
unknown, and conceive the latter to resemble the former. By means of this
general habitual principle, we regard even one experiment as the foundation of
reasoning, and expect a similar event with some degree of certainty, where the
experiment has been made accurately, and free from all foreign circumstances.
It is therefore considered as a matter of great importance to observe the consequences
of things; and as one man may very much surpass another in attention and memory
and observation, this will make a very great difference in their reasoning.
2. Where
there is a complication of causes to produce any effect, one mind may be much larger
than another, and better able to comprehend the whole system of objects, and to
infer justly their consequences.
3. One
man is able to carry on a chain of consequences to a greater length than
another.
4. Few
men can think long without running into a confusion of ideas, and mistaking one
for another; and there are various degrees of this infirmity.
5. The
circumstance, on which the effect depends, is frequently involved in other
circumstances, which are foreign and extrinsic. The separation of it often
requires great attention, accuracy, and subtilty.
6. The
forming of general maxims from particular observation is a very nice operation;
and nothing is more usual, from haste or a narrowness of mind, which sees not
on all sides, than to commit mistakes in this particular.
7. When
we reason from analogies, the man, who has the greater experience or the
greater promptitude of suggesting analogies, will be the better reasoner.
8. Byasses
from prejudice, education, passion, party, &c. hang more upon one mind than
another.
9. After
we have acquired a confidence in human testimony, books and conversation
enlarge much more the sphere of one man’s experience and thought than those of
another.
It
would be easy to discover many other circumstances that make a difference in
the understandings of men.
85. But
though animals learn many parts of their knowledge from observation, there are
also many parts of it, which they derive from the original hand of nature;
which much exceed the share of capacity they possess on ordinary occasions; and
in which they improve, little or nothing, by the longest practice and
experience. These we denominate Instincts, and are so apt to admire as
something very extraordinary, and inexplicable by all the disquisitions of
human understanding. But our wonder will, perhaps, cease or diminish, when we
consider, that the experimental reasoning itself, which we possess in common
with beasts, and on which the whole conduct of life depends, is nothing but a
species of instinct or mechanical power, that acts in us unknown to ourselves;
and in its chief operations, is not directed by any such relations or
comparisons of ideas, as are the proper objects of our intellectual faculties.
Though the instinct be different, yet still it is an instinct, which teaches a
man to avoid the fire; as much as that, which teaches a bird, with such
exactness, the art of incubation, and the whole economy and order of its
nursery.
PART
I.
86. There
is, in Dr. Tillotson’s writings, an argument against the real presence, which is as concise,
and elegant, and strong as any argument can possibly be supposed against a
doctrine, so little worthy of a serious refutation. It is acknowledged on all
hands, says that learned prelate, that the authority, either of the scripture
or of tradition, is founded merely in the testimony of the apostles, who were
eye-witnesses to those miracles of our Saviour, by which he proved his divine
mission. Our evidence, then, for the truth of the Christian religion is less than the
evidence for the truth of our senses; because, even in the first authors of our
religion, it was no greater; and it is evident it must diminish in passing from
them to their disciples; nor can any one rest such confidence in their
testimony, as in the immediate object of his senses. But a weaker evidence can
never destroy a stronger; and therefore, were the doctrine of the real presence
ever so clearly revealed in scripture, it were directly contrary to the rules
of just reasoning to give our assent to it. It contradicts sense, though both
the scripture and tradition, on which it is supposed to be built, carry not
such evidence with them as sense; when they are considered merely as external
evidences, and are not brought home to every one’s breast, by the immediate
operation of the Holy Spirit.
Nothing
is so convenient as a decisive argument of this kind, which must at least silence the most arrogant
bigotry and superstition, and free us from their impertinent solicitations. I
flatter myself, that I have discovered an argument of a like nature, which, if
just, will, with the wise and learned, be an everlasting check to all kinds of
superstitious delusion, and consequently, will be useful as long as the world
endures. For so long, I presume, will the accounts of miracles and prodigies be
found in all history, sacred and profane.
87. Though
experience be our only guide in reasoning concerning matters of fact; it must
be acknowledged, that this guide is not altogether infallible, but in some
cases is apt to lead us into errors. One, who in our climate, should expect
better weather in any week of June than in one of December, would reason
justly, and conformably to experience; but it is certain, that he may happen,
in the event, to find himself mistaken. However, we may observe, that, in such
a case, he would have no cause to complain of experience; because it commonly
informs us beforehand of the uncertainty, by that contrariety of events, which
we may learn from a diligent observation. All effects follow not with like
certainty from their supposed causes. Some events are found, in all countries
and all ages, to have been constantly conjoined together: Others are found to
have been more variable, and sometimes to disappoint our expectations; so that,
in our reasonings concerning matter of fact, there are all imaginable degrees
of assurance, from the highest certainty to the lowest species of moral
evidence.
A
wise man, therefore, proportions his belief to the evidence. In such
conclusions as are founded on an infallible experience, he expects the event
with the last degree of assurance, and regards his past experience as a full proof of the future existence
of that event. In other cases, he proceeds with more caution: He weighs the
opposite experiments: He considers which side is supported by the greater
number of experiments: to that side he inclines, with doubt and hesitation; and
when at last he fixes his judgement, the evidence exceeds not what we properly
call probability.
All probability, then, supposes an opposition of experiments and observations,
where the one side is found to overbalance the other, and to produce a degree
of evidence, proportioned to the superiority. A hundred instances or
experiments on one side, and fifty on another, afford a doubtful expectation of
any event; though a hundred uniform experiments, with only one that is
contradictory, reasonably beget a pretty strong degree of assurance. In all
cases, we must balance the opposite experiments, where they are opposite, and
deduct the smaller number from the greater, in order to know the exact force of
the superior evidence.
88. To
apply these principles to a particular instance; we may observe, that there is
no species of reasoning more common, more useful, and even necessary to human
life, than that which is derived from the testimony of men, and the reports of
eye-witnesses and spectators. This species of reasoning, perhaps, one may deny
to be founded on the relation of cause and effect. I shall not dispute about a
word. It will be sufficient to observe that our assurance in any argument of
this kind is derived from no other principle than our observation of the
veracity of human testimony, and of the usual conformity of facts to the
reports of witnesses. It being a general maxim, that no objects have any
discoverable connexion together, and that all the inferences, which we can draw
from one to another, are founded merely on our experience of their constant and
regular conjunction; it is evident, that we ought not to make an exception to
this maxim in favour of human testimony, whose connexion with any event seems,
in itself, as little necessary as any other. Were not the memory tenacious to a
certain degree, had not men commonly an inclination to truth and a principle of
probity; were they not sensible to shame, when detected in a falsehood: Were
not these, I say, discovered by experience to be qualities, inherent in human
nature, we should never repose the least confidence in human testimony. A man
delirious, or noted for falsehood and villany, has no manner of authority with
us.
And
as the evidence, derived from witnesses and human testimony, is founded on past
experience, so it varies with the experience, and is regarded either as a proof or a probability, according as the
conjunction between any particular kind of report and any kind of object has
been found to be constant or variable. There are a number of circumstances to
be taken into consideration in all judgements of this kind; and the ultimate
standard, by which we determine all disputes, that may arise concerning them,
is always derived from experience and observation. Where this experience is not
entirely uniform on any side, it is attended with an unavoidable contrariety in
our judgements, and with the same opposition and mutual destruction of argument
as in every other kind of evidence. We frequently hesitate concerning the
reports of others. We balance the opposite circumstances, which cause any doubt
or uncertainty; and when we discover a superiority on any side, we incline to
it; but still with a diminution of assurance, in proportion to the force of its
antagonist.
89. This
contrariety of evidence, in the present case, may be derived from several
different causes; from the opposition of contrary testimony; from the character
or number of the witnesses; from the manner of their delivering their
testimony; or from the union of all these circumstances. We entertain a
suspicion concerning any matter of fact, when the witnesses contradict each
other; when they are but few, or of a doubtful character; when they have an
interest in what they affirm; when they deliver their testimony with
hesitation, or on the contrary, with too violent asseverations. There are many
other particulars of the same kind, which may diminish or destroy the force of
any argument, derived from human testimony.
Suppose,
for instance, that the fact, which the testimony endeavours to establish,
partakes of the extraordinary and the marvellous; in that case, the evidence,
resulting from the testimony, admits of a diminution, greater or less, in
proportion as the fact is more or less unusual. The reason why we place any
credit in witnesses and historians, is not derived from any connexion, which we perceive a
priori,
between testimony and reality, but because we are accustomed to find a
conformity between them. But when the fact attested is such a one as has seldom
fallen under our observation, here is a contest of two opposite experiences; of
which the one destroys the other, as far as its force goes, and the superior can
only operate on the mind by the force, which remains. The very same principle
of experience, which gives us a certain degree of assurance in the testimony of
witnesses, gives us also, in this case, another degree of assurance against the
fact, which they endeavour to establish; from which contradition there
necessarily arises a counterpoize, and mutual destruction of belief and
authority.
I
should not believe such a story were it told me by Cato, was a proverbial
saying in Rome, even during the lifetime of that philosophical patriot.[20] The
incredibility of a fact, it was allowed, might invalidate so great an
authority.
[20]
Plutarch, in vita Catonis.
The
Indian prince, who refused to believe the first relations concerning the
effects of frost, reasoned justly; and it naturally required very strong
testimony to engage his assent to facts, that arose from a state of nature,
with which he was unacquainted, and which bore so little analogy to those
events, of which he had had constant and uniform experience. Though they were
not contrary to his experience, they were not conformable to it.[21]
[21]
No Indian, it is evident, could have experience that water did not freeze in
cold climates. This is placing nature in a situation quite unknown to him; and
it is impossible for him to tell a priori what will result from it. It is making a
new experiment, the consequence of which is always uncertain. One may sometimes
conjecture from analogy what will follow; but still this is but conjecture. And
it must be confessed, that, in the present case of freezing, the event follows
contrary to the rules of analogy, and is such as a rational Indian would not
look for. The operations of cold upon water are not gradual, according to the
degrees of cold; but whenever it comes to the freezing point, the water passes
in a moment, from the utmost liquidity to perfect hardness. Such an event,
therefore, may be denominated extra-ordinary, and requires a pretty
strong testimony, to render it credible to people in a warm climate: But still
it is not miraculous, nor contrary to uniform experience of the course of nature
in cases where all the circumstances are the same. The inhabitants of Sumatra
have always seen water fluid in their own climate, and the freezing of their
rivers ought to be deemed a prodigy: But they never saw water in Muscovy during
the winter; and therefore they cannot reasonably be positive what would there
be the consequence.
90. But
in order to encrease the probability against the testimony of witnesses, let us
suppose, that the fact, which they affirm, instead of being only marvellous, is
really miraculous; and suppose also, that the testimony considered apart and in
itself, amounts to an entire proof; in that case, there is proof against proof,
of which the strongest must prevail, but still with a diminution of its force,
in proportion to that of its antagonist.
A
miracle is a violation of the laws of nature; and as a firm and unalterable
experience has established these laws, the proof against a miracle, from the
very nature of the fact, is as entire as any argument from experience can
possibly be imagined. Why is it more than probable, that all men must die; that
lead cannot, of itself, remain suspended in the air; that fire consumes wood,
and is extinguished by water; unless it be, that these events are found
agreeable to the laws of nature, and there is required a violation of these
laws, or in other words, a miracle to prevent them? Nothing is esteemed a
miracle, if it ever happen in the common course of nature. It is no miracle
that a man, seemingly in good health, should die on a sudden: because such a
kind of death, though more unusual than any other, has yet been frequently
observed to happen. But it is a miracle, that a dead man should come to life;
because that has never been observed in any age or country. There must,
therefore, be a uniform experience against every miraculous event, otherwise
the event would not merit that appellation. And as a uniform experience amounts
to a proof, there is here a direct and full proof, from the nature of the
fact, against the existence of any miracle; nor can such a proof be destroyed,
or the miracle rendered credible, but by an opposite proof, which is
superior.[22]
[22]
Sometimes an event may not, in itself, seem to be contrary to the laws of nature, and
yet, if it were real, it might, by reason of some circumstances, be denominated
a miracle; because, in fact, it is contrary to these laws. Thus if a
person, claiming a divine authority, should command a sick person to be well, a
healthful man to fall down dead, the clouds to pour rain, the winds to blow, in
short, should order many natural events, which immediately follow upon his
command; these might justly be esteemed miracles, because they are really, in
this case, contrary to the laws of nature. For if any suspicion remain, that
the event and command concurred by accident, there is no miracle and no
transgression of the laws of nature. If this suspicion be removed, there is
evidently a miracle, and a transgression of these laws; because nothing can be
more contrary to nature than that the voice or command of a man should have
such an influence. A miracle may be accurately defined, a transgression of a
law of nature by a particular volition of the Deity, or by the interposition of
some invisible agent.
A miracle may either be discoverable by men or not. This alters not its nature
and essence. The raising of a house or ship into the air is a visible miracle.
The raising of a feather, when the wind wants ever so little of a force requisite
for that purpose, is as real a miracle, though not so sensible with regard to
us.
91. The
plain consequence is (and it is a general maxim worthy of our attention), ‘That
no testimony is sufficient to establish a miracle, unless the testimony be of
such a kind, that its falsehood would be more miraculous, than the fact, which
it endeavours to establish; and even in that case there is a mutual destruction
of arguments, and the superior only gives us an assurance suitable to that
degree of force, which remains, after deducting the inferior.’ When anyone
tells me, that he saw a dead man restored to life, I immediately consider with
myself, whether it be more probable, that this person should either deceive or
be deceived, or that the fact, which he relates, should really have happened. I
weigh the one miracle against the other; and according to the superiority,
which I discover, I pronounce my decision, and always reject the greater
miracle If the falsehood of his testimony would be more miraculous, than the
event which he relates; then, and not till then, can he pretend to command my
belief or opinion.
92. In
the foregoing reasoning we have supposed, that the testimony, upon which a
miracle is founded, may possibly amount to an entire proof, and that the
falsehood of that testimony would be a real prodigy: But it is easy to shew,
that we have been a great deal too liberal in our concession, and that there
never was a miraculous event established on so full an evidence.
For
first,
there is not to be found, in all history, any miracle attested by a sufficient
number of men, of such unquestioned good-sense, education, and learning, as to
secure us against all delusion in themselves; of such undoubted integrity, as
to place them beyond all suspicion of any design to deceive others; of such
credit and reputation in the eyes of mankind, as to have a great deal to lose
in case of their being detected in any falsehood; and at the same time,
attesting facts performed in such a public manner and in so celebrated a part
of the world, as to render the detection unavoidable: All which circumstances
are requisite to give us a full assurance in the testimony of men.
93. Secondly. We may observe in
human nature a principle which, if strictly examined, will be found to diminish
extremely the assurance, which we might, from human testimony, have, in any
kind of prodigy. The maxim, by which we commonly conduct ourselves in our
reasonings, is, that the objects, of which we have no experience, resembles
those, of which we have; that what we have found to be most usual is always
most probable; and that where there is an opposition of arguments, we ought to
give the preference to such as are founded on the greatest number of past
observations. But though, in proceeding by this rule, we readily reject any
fact which is unusual and incredible in an ordinary degree; yet in advancing
farther, the mind observes not always the same rule; but when anything is
affirmed utterly absurd and miraculous, it rather the more readily admits of
such a fact, upon account of that very circumstance, which ought to destroy all
its authority. The passion of surprise and wonder, arising from miracles,
being an agreeable emotion, gives a sensible tendency towards the belief of
those events, from which it is derived. And this goes so far, that even those
who cannot enjoy this pleasure immediately, nor can believe those miraculous
events, of which they are informed, yet love to partake of the satisfaction at
second-hand or by rebound, and place a pride and delight in exciting the
admiration of others.
With
what greediness are the miraculous accounts of travellers received, their
descriptions of sea and land monsters, their relations of wonderful adventures,
strange men, and uncouth manners? But if the spirit of religion join itself to
the love of wonder, there is an end of common sense; and human testimony, in
these circumstances, loses all pretensions to authority. A religionist may be
an enthusiast, and imagine he sees what has no reality: he may know his
narrative to be false, and yet persevere in it, with the best intentions in the
world, for the sake of promoting so holy a cause: or even where this delusion
has not place, vanity, excited by so strong a temptation, operates on him more
powerfully than on the rest of mankind in any other circumstances; and
self-interest with equal force. His auditors may not have, and commonly have
not, sufficient judgement to canvass his evidence: what judgement they have,
they renounce by principle, in these sublime and mysterious subjects: or if
they were ever so willing to employ it, passion and a heated imagination
disturb the regularity of its operations. Their credulity increases his
impudence: and his impudence overpowers their credulity.
Eloquence,
when at its highest pitch, leaves little room for reason or reflection; but
addressing itself entirely to the fancy or the affections, captivates the
willing hearers, and subdues their understanding. Happily, this pitch it seldom
attains. But what a Tully or a Demosthenes could scarcely effect over a Roman
or Athenian audience, every Capuchin, every itinerant or stationary teacher can
perform over the generality of mankind, and in a higher degree, by touching
such gross and vulgar passions.
The
many instances of forged miracles, and prophecies, and supernatural events,
which, in all ages, have either been detected by contrary evidence, or which
detect themselves by their absurdity, prove sufficiently the strong propensity
of mankind to the extraordinary and the marvellous, and ought reasonably to
beget a suspicion against all relations of this kind. This is our natural way
of thinking, even with regard to the most common and most credible events. For
instance: There is no kind of report which rises so easily, and spreads so
quickly, especially in country places and provincial towns, as those concerning
marriages; insomuch that two young persons of equal condition never see each
other twice, but the whole neighbourhood immediately join them together. The
pleasure of telling a piece of news so interesting, of propagating it, and of
being the first reporters of it, spreads the intelligence. And this is so well
known, that no man of sense gives attention to these reports, till he find them
confirmed by some greater evidence. Do not the same passions, and others still
stronger, incline the generality of mankind to believe and report, with the
greatest vehemence and assurance, all religious miracles?
94. Thirdly. It forms a strong
presumption against all supernatural and miraculous relations, that they are
observed chiefly to abound among ignorant and barbarous nations; or if a
civilized people has ever given admission to any of them, that people will be
found to have received them from ignorant and barbarous ancestors, who transmitted
them with that inviolable sanction and authority, which always attend received
opinions. When we peruse the first histories of all nations, we are apt to
imagine ourselves transported into some new world; where the whole frame of
nature is disjointed, and every element performs its operations in a different
manner, from what it does at present. Battles, revolutions, pestilence, famine
and death, are never the effect of those natural causes, which we experience.
Prodigies, omens, oracles, judgements, quite obscure the few natural events,
that are intermingled with them. But as the former grow thinner every page, in
proportion as we advance nearer the enlightened ages, we soon learn, that there
is nothing mysterious or supernatural in the case, but that all proceeds from
the usual propensity of mankind towards the marvellous, and that, though this
inclination may at intervals receive a check from sense and learning, it can
never be thoroughly extirpated from human nature.
It
is strange,
a judicious reader is apt to say, upon the perusal of these wonderful
historians, that such prodigious events never happen in our days. But it is nothing
strange, I hope, that men should lie in all ages. You must surely have seen
instances enough of that frailty. You have yourself heard many such marvellous
relations started, which, being treated with scorn by all the wise and
judicious, have at last been abandoned even by the vulgar. Be assured, that
those renowned lies, which have spread and flourished to such a monstrous height,
arose from like beginnings; but being sown in a more proper soil, shot up at
last into prodigies almost equal to those which they relate.
It
was a wise policy in that false prophet, Alexander, who though now forgotten,
was once so famous, to lay the first scene of his impostures in Paphlagonia,
where, as Lucian tells us, the people were extremely ignorant and stupid, and
ready to swallow even the grossest delusion. People at a distance, who are weak
enough to think the matter at all worth enquiry, have no opportunity of
receiving better information. The stories come magnified to them by a hundred
circumstances. Fools are industrious in propagating the imposture; while the
wise and learned are contented, in general, to deride its absurdity, without informing
themselves of the particular facts, by which it may be distinctly refuted. And
thus the impostor above mentioned was enabled to proceed, from his ignorant
Paphlagonians, to the enlisting of votaries, even among the Grecian
philosophers, and men of the most eminent rank and distinction in Rome: nay,
could engage the attention of that sage emperor Marcus Aurelius; so far as to
make him trust the success of a military expedition to his delusive prophecies.
The
advantages are so great, of starting an imposture among an ignorant people,
that, even though the delusion should be too gross to impose on the generality
of them (which, though seldom, is sometimes the case) it has a much better
chance for succeeding in remote countries, than if the first scene had been
laid in a city renowned for arts and knowledge. The most ignorant and barbarous
of these barbarians carry the report abroad. None of their countrymen have a
large correspondence, or sufficient credit and authority to contradict and beat
down the delusion. Men’s inclination to the marvellous has full opportunity to
display itself. And thus a story, which is universally exploded in the place
where it was first started, shall pass for certain at a thousand miles
distance. But had Alexander fixed his residence at Athens, the philosophers of
that renowned mart of learning had immediately spread, throughout the whole
Roman empire, their sense of the matter; which, being supported by so great
authority, and displayed by all the force of reason and eloquence, had entirely
opened the eyes of mankind. It is true; Lucian, passing by chance through
Paphlagonia, had an opportunity of performing this good office. But, though
much to be wished, it does not always happen, that every Alexander meets with a
Lucian, ready to expose and detect his impostures.
95. I
may add as a fourth reason, which diminishes the authority of prodigies, that
there is no testimony for any, even those which have not been expressly
detected, that is not opposed by an infinite number of witnesses; so that not
only the miracle destroys the credit of testimony, but the testimony destroys
itself. To make this the better understood, let us consider, that, in matters
of religion, whatever is different is contrary; and that it is impossible the
religions of ancient Rome, of Turkey, of Siam, and of China should, all of
them, be established on any solid foundation. Every miracle, therefore,
pretended to have been wrought in any of these religions (and all of them
abound in miracles), as its direct scope is to establish the particular system
to which it is attributed; so has it the same force, though more indirectly, to
overthrow every other system. In destroying a rival system, it likewise
destroys the credit of those miracles, on which that system was established; so
that all the prodigies of different religions are to be regarded as contrary
facts, and the evidences of these prodigies, whether weak or strong, as
opposite to each other. According to this method of reasoning, when we believe
any miracle of Mahomet or his successors, we have for our warrant the testimony
of a few barbarous Arabians. And on the other hand, we are to regard the
authority of Titus Livius, Plutarch, Tacitus, and, in short, of all the authors
and witnesses, Grecian, Chinese, and Roman Catholic, who have related any
miracle in their particular religion; I say, we are to regard their testimony
in the same light as if they had mentioned that Mahometan miracle, and had in
express terms contradicted it, with the same certainty as they have for the
miracle they relate. This argument may appear over subtile and refined; but is
not in reality different from the reasoning of a judge, who supposes, that the
credit of two witnesses, maintaining a crime against any one, is destroyed by
the testimony of two others, who affirm him to have been two hundred leagues
distant, at the same instant when the crime is said to have been committed.
96. One
of the best attested miracles in all profane history, is that which Tacitus
reports of Vespasian, who cured a blind man in Alexandria, by means of his
spittle, and a lame man by the mere touch of his foot; in obedience to a vision
of the god Serapis, who had enjoined them to have recourse to the Emperor, for
these miraculous cures. The story may be seen in that fine historian[23]; where
every circumstance seems to add weight to the testimony, and might be displayed
at large with all the force of argument and eloquence, if any one were now
concerned to enforce the evidence of that exploded and idolatrous superstition.
The gravity, solidity, age, and probity of so great an emperor, who, through
the whole course of his life, conversed in a familiar manner with his friends
and courtiers, and never affected those extraordinary airs of divinity assumed
by Alexander and Demetrius. The historian, a cotemporary writer, noted for
candour and veracity, and withal, the greatest and most penetrating genius,
perhaps, of all antiquity; and so free from any tendency to credulity, that he
even lies under the contrary imputation, of atheism and profaneness: The
persons, from whose authority he related the miracle, of established character
for judgement and veracity, as we may well presume; eye-witnesses of the fact,
and confirming their testimony, after the Flavian family was despoiled of the
empire, and could no longer give any reward, as the price of a lie. Utrumque,
qui interfuere, nunc quoque memorant, postquam nullum mendacio pretium. To which if we add the
public nature of the facts, as related, it will appear, that no evidence can
well be supposed stronger for so gross and so palpable a falsehood.
[23]
Hist. lib. iv. cap. 81. Suetonius gives nearly the same account in vita Vesp.
There
is also a memorable story related by Cardinal de Retz, which may well deserve
our consideration. When that intriguing politician fled into Spain, to avoid
the persecution of his enemies, he passed through Saragossa, the capital of
Arragon, where he was shewn, in the cathedral, a man, who had served seven
years as a door-keeper, and was well known to every body in town, that had ever
paid his devotions at that church. He had been seen, for so long a time,
wanting a leg; but recovered that limb by the rubbing of holy oil upon the
stump; and the cardinal assures us that he saw him with two legs. This miracle
was vouched by all the canons of the church; and the whole company in town were
appealed to for a confirmation of the fact; whom the cardinal found, by their
zealous devotion, to be thorough believers of the miracle. Here the relater was
also cotemporary to the supposed prodigy, of an incredulous and libertine
character, as well as of great genius; the miracle of so singular a nature as could
scarcely admit of a counterfeit, and the witnesses very numerous, and all of
them, in a manner, spectators of the fact, to which they gave their testimony.
And what adds mightily to the force of the evidence, and may double our
surprise on this occasion, is, that the cardinal himself, who relates the
story, seems not to give any credit to it, and consequently cannot be suspected
of any concurrence in the holy fraud. He considered justly, that it was not
requisite, in order to reject a fact of this nature, to be able accurately to
disprove the testimony, and to trace its falsehood, through all the circumstances
of knavery and credulity which produced it. He knew, that, as this was commonly
altogether impossible at any small distance of time and place; so was it
extremely difficult, even where one was immediately present, by reason of the
bigotry, ignorance, cunning, and roguery of a great part of mankind. He
therefore concluded, like a just reasoner, that such an evidence carried
falsehood upon the very face of it, and that a miracle, supported by any human
testimony, was more properly a subject of derision than of argument.
There
surely never was a greater number of miracles ascribed to one person, than
those, which were lately said to have been wrought in France upon the tomb of
Abbé Paris, the famous Jansenist, with whose sanctity the people were so long
deluded. The curing of the sick, giving hearing to the deaf, and sight to the
blind, were every where talked of as the usual effects of that holy sepulchre.
But what is more extraordinary; many of the miracles were immediately proved
upon the spot, before judges of unquestioned integrity, attested by witnesses
of credit and distinction, in a learned age, and on the most eminent theatre
that is now in the world. Nor is this all: a relation of them was published and
dispersed every where; nor were the Jesuits, though a learned body,
supported by the civil magistrate, and determined enemies to those opinions, in
whose favour the miracles were said to have been wrought, ever able distinctly
to refute or detect them[24]. Where shall we find such a number of circumstances,
agreeing to the corroboration of one fact? And what have we to oppose to such a
cloud of witnesses, but the absolute impossibility or miraculous nature of the
events, which they relate? And this surely, in the eyes of all reasonable
people, will alone be regarded as a sufficient refutation.
[24]
This book was writ by Mons. Montgeron, counsellor or judge of the parliament of
Paris, a man of figure and character, who was also a martyr to the cause, and
is now said to be somewhere in a dungeon on account of his book.
There
is another book in three volumes (called Recueil des Miracles de l’Abbé Paris) giving an
account of many of these miracles, and accompanied with prefatory discourses,
which are very well written. There runs, however, through the whole of these a
ridiculous comparison between the miracles of our Saviour and those of the
Abbé; wherein it is asserted, that the evidence for the latter is equal to that
for the former: As if the testimony of men could ever be put in the balance
with that of God himself, who conducted the pen of the inspired writers. If
these writers, indeed, were to be considered merely as human testimony, the
French author is very moderate in his comparison; since he might, with some
appearance of reason, pretend, that the Jansenist miracles much surpass the
other in evidence and authority. The following circumstances are drawn from
authentic papers, inserted in the above-mentioned book.
Many
of the miracles of Abbé Paris were proved immediately by witnesses before the
officiality or bishop’s court at Paris, under the eye of cardinal Noailles,
whose character for integrity and capacity was never contested even by his
enemies.
His
successor in the archbishopric was an enemy to the Jansenists, and for that
reason promoted to the see by the court. Yet 22 rectors or curés of Paris, with
infinite earnestness, press him to examine those miracles, which they assert to
be known to the whole world, and undisputably certain: But he wisely forbore.
The
Molinist party had tried to discredit these miracles in one instance, that of
Mademoiselle le Franc. But, besides that their proceedings were in many
respects the most irregular in the world, particularly in citing only a few of
the Jansenist witnesses, whom they tampered with: Besides this, I say, they
soon found themselves overwhelmed by a cloud of new witnesses, one hundred and
twenty in number, most of them persons of credit and substance in Paris, who
gave oath for the miracle. This was accompanied with a solemn and earnest
appeal to the parliament. But the parliament were forbidden by authority to
meddle in the affair. It was at last observed, that where men are heated by
zeal and enthusiasm, there is no degree of human testimony so strong as may not
be procured for the greatest absurdity: And those who will be so silly as to
examine the affair by that medium, and seek particular flaws in the testimony,
are almost sure to be confounded. It must be a miserable imposture, indeed,
that does not prevail in that contest.
All
who have been in France about that time have heard of the reputation of Mons.
Heraut, the lieutenant de Police, whose vigilance, penetration, activity, and
extensive intelligence have been much talked of. This magistrate, who by the
nature of his office is almost absolute, was vested with full powers, on
purpose to suppress or discredit these miracles; and he frequently seized
immediately, and examined the witnesses and subjects of them: But never could
reach any thing satisfactory against them.
In
the case of Mademoiselle Thibaut he sent the famous De Sylva to examine her;
whose evidence is very curious. The physician declares, that it was impossible
she could have been so ill as was proved by witnesses; because it was
impossible she could, in so short a time, have recovered so perfectly as he
found her. He reasoned, like a man of sense, from natural causes; but the
opposite party told him, that the whole was a miracle, and that his evidence
was the very best proof of it.
The
Molinists were in a sad dilemma. They durst not assert the absolute
insufficiency of human evidence, to prove a miracle. They were obliged to say,
that these miracles were wrought by witchcraft and the devil. But they were
told, that this was the resource of the Jews of old.
No
Jansenist was ever embarrassed to account for the cessation of the miracles,
when the church-yard was shut up by the king’s edict. It was the touch of the
tomb, which produced these extraordinary effects; and when no one could
approach the tomb, no effects could be expected. God, indeed, could have thrown
down the walls in a moment; but he is master of his own graces and works, and
it belongs not to us to account for them. He did not throw down the walls of
every city like those of Jericho, on the sounding of the rams horns, nor break
up the prison of every apostle, like that of St. Paul.
No
less a man, than the Due de Chatillon, a duke and peer of France, of the
highest rank and family, gives evidence of a miraculous cure, performed upon a
servant of his, who had lived several years in his house with a visible and
palpable infirmity. I shall conclude with observing, that no clergy are more
celebrated for strictness of life and manners than the secular clergy of
France, particularly the rectors or curés of Paris, who bear testimony to these
impostures. The learning, genius, and probity of the gentlemen, and the
austerity of the nuns of Port-Royal, have been much celebrated all over Europe.
Yet they all give evidence for a miracle, wrought on the niece of the famous
Pascal, whose sanctity of life, as well as extraordinary capacity, is well
known. The famous Racine gives an account of this miracle in his famous history
of Port-Royal, and fortifies it with all the proofs, which a multitude of nuns,
priests, physicians, and men of the world, all of them of undoubted credit,
could bestow upon it. Several men of letters, particularly the bishop of
Tournay, thought this miracle so certain, as to employ it in the refutation of
atheists and free-thinkers. The queen-regent of France, who was extremely
prejudiced against the Port-Royal, sent her own physician to examine the
miracle, who returned an absolute convert. In short, the supernatural cure was
so uncontestable, that it saved, for a time, that famous monastery from the
ruin with which it was threatened by the Jesuits. Had it been a cheat, it had
certainly been detected by such sagacious and powerful antagonists, and must
have hastened the ruin of the contrivers. Our divines, who can build up a
formidable castle from such despicable materials; what a prodigious fabric
could they have reared from these and many other circumstances, which I have
not mentioned! How often would the great names of Pascal, Racine, Amaud,
Nicole, have resounded in our ears? But if they be wise, they had better adopt
the miracle, as being more worth, a thousand times, than all the rest of the
collection. Besides, it may serve very much to their purpose. For that miracle
was really performed by the touch of an authentic holy prickle of the holy
thorn, which composed the holy crown, which, &c.
97. Is
the consequence just, because some human testimony has the utmost force and
authority in some cases, when it relates the battle of Philippi or Pharsalia
for instance; that therefore all kinds of testimony must, in all cases, have equal
force and authority? Suppose that the Caesarean and Pompeian factions had, each
of them, claimed the victory in these battles, and that the historians of each
party had uniformly ascribed the advantage to their own side; how could
mankind, at this distance, have been able to determine between them? The
contrariety is equally strong between the miracles related by Herodotus or
Plutarch, and those delivered by Mariana, Bede, or any monkish historian.
The
wise lend a very academic faith to every report which favours the passion of
the reporter; whether it magnifies his country, his family, or himself, or in
any other way strikes in with his natural inclinations and propensities. But
what greater temptation than to appear a missionary, a prophet, an ambassador
from heaven? Who would not encounter many dangers and difficulties, in order to
attain so sublime a character? Or if, by the help of vanity and a heated
imagination, a man has first made a convert of himself, and entered seriously
into the delusion; who ever scruples to make use of pious frauds, in support of
so holy and meritorious a cause?
The
smallest spark may here kindle into the greatest flame; because the materials
are always prepared for it. The avidum genus auricularum[25], the gazing
populace, receive greedily, without examination, whatever sooths superstition,
and promotes wonder.
[25]
Lucret.
How
many stories of this nature have, in all ages, been detected and exploded in
their infancy? How many more have been celebrated for a time, and have afterwards
sunk into neglect and oblivion? Where such reports, therefore, fly about, the
solution of the phenomenon is obvious; and we judge in conformity to regular
experience and observation, when we account for it by the known and natural
principles of credulity and delusion. And shall we, rather than have a recourse
to so natural a solution, allow of a miraculous violation of the most
established laws of nature?
I
need not mention the difficulty of detecting a falsehood in any private or even
public history, at the place, where it is said to happen; much more when the
scene is removed to ever so small a distance. Even a court of judicature, with
all the authority, accuracy, and judgement, which they can employ, find
themselves often at a loss to distinguish between truth and falsehood in the
most recent actions. But the matter never comes to any issue, if trusted to the
common method of altercations and debate and flying rumours; especially when
men’s passions have taken part on either side.
In
the infancy of new religions, the wise and learned commonly esteem the matter
too inconsiderable to deserve their attention or regard. And when afterwards
they would willingly detect the cheat, in order to undeceive the deluded
multitude, the season is now past, and the records and witnesses, which might
clear up the matter, have perished beyond recovery.
No
means of detection remain, but those which must be drawn from the very
testimony itself of the reporters: and these, though always sufficient with the
judicious and knowing, are commonly too fine to fall under the comprehension of
the vulgar.
98. Upon
the whole, then, it appears, that no testimony for any kind of miracle has ever
amounted to a probability, much less to a proof; and that, even supposing it
amounted to a proof, it would be opposed by another proof; derived from the
very nature of the fact, which it would endeavour to establish. It is
experience only, which gives authority to human testimony; and it is the same
experience, which assures us of the laws of nature. When, therefore, these two
kinds of experience are contrary, we have nothing to do but substract the one
from the other, and embrace an opinion, either on one side or the other, with
that assurance which arises from the remainder. But according to the principle
here explained, this substraction, with regard to all popular religions,
amounts to an entire annihilation; and therefore we may establish it as a
maxim, that no human testimony can have such force as to prove a miracle, and
make it a just foundation for any such system of religion.
99. I
beg the limitations here made may be remarked, when I say, that a miracle can
never be proved, so as to be the foundation of a system of religion. For I own,
that otherwise, there may possibly be miracles, or violations of the usual
course of nature, of such a kind as to admit of proof from human testimony;
though, perhaps, it will be impossible to find any such in all the records of
history. Thus, suppose, all authors, in all languages, agree, that, from the
first of January 1600, there was a total darkness over the whole earth for
eight days: suppose that the tradition of this extraordinary event is still
strong and lively among the people: that all travellers, who return from
foreign countries, bring us accounts of the same tradition, without the least
variation or contradiction: it is evident, that our present philosophers,
instead of doubting the fact, ought to receive it as certain, and ought to
search for the causes whence it might be derived. The decay, corruption, and
dissolution of nature, is an event rendered probable by so many analogies, that
any phenomenon, which seems to have a tendency towards that catastrophe, comes
within the reach of human testimony, if that testimony be very extensive and uniform.
But
suppose, that all the historians who treat of England, should agree, that, on
the first of January 1600, Queen Elizabeth died; that both before and after her
death she was seen by her physicians and the whole court, as is usual with
persons of her rank; that her successor was acknowledged and proclaimed by the
parliament; and that, after being interred a month, she again appeared, resumed
the throne, and governed England for three years: I must confess that I should
be surprised at the concurrence of so many odd circumstances, but should not
have the least inclination to believe so miraculous an event. I should not
doubt of her pretended death, and of those other public circumstances that
followed it: I should only assert it to have been pretended, and that it
neither was, nor possibly could be real. You would in vain object to me the
difficulty, and almost impossibility of deceiving the world in an affair of
such consequence; the wisdom and solid judgement of that renowned queen; with
the little or no advantage which she could reap from so poor an artifice: All
this might astonish me; but I would still reply, that the knavery and folly of
men are such common phenomena, that I should rather believe the most
extraordinary events to arise from their concurrence, than admit of so signal a
violation of the laws of nature.
But
should this miracle be ascribed to any new system of religion; men, in all
ages, have been so much imposed on by ridiculous stories of that kind, that
this very circumstance would be a full proof of a cheat, and sufficient, with
all men of sense, not only to make them reject the fact, but even reject it
without farther examination. Though the Being to whom the miracle is ascribed,
be, in this case, Almighty, it does not, upon that account, become a whit more
probable; since it is impossible for us to know the attributes or actions of
such a Being, otherwise than from the experience which we have of his
productions, in the usual course of nature. This still reduces us to past observation,
and obliges us to compare the instances of the violation of truth in the
testimony of men, with those of the violation of the laws of nature by
miracles, in order to judge which of them is most likely and probable. As the
violations of truth are more common in the testimony concerning religious
miracles, than in that concerning any other matter of fact; this must diminish
very much the authority of the former testimony, and make us form a general
resolution, never to lend any attention to it, with whatever specious pretence
it may be covered.
Lord
Bacon seems to have embraced the same principles of reasoning. ‘We ought,’ says
he, ‘to make a collection or particular history of all monsters and prodigious
births or productions, and in a word of every thing new, rare, and
extraordinary in nature. But this must be done with the most severe scrutiny,
lest we depart from truth. Above all, every relation must be considered as
suspicious, which depends in any degree upon religion, as the prodigies of
Livy: And no less so, every thing that is to be found in the writers of natural
magic or alchimy, or such authors, who seem, all of them, to have an
unconquerable appetite for falsehood and fable[26].’
[26]
Nov. Org. lib. ii. aph. 29.
100. I am
the better pleased with the method of reasoning here delivered, as I think it
may serve to confound those dangerous friends or disguised enemies to the Christian
Religion,
who have undertaken to defend it by the principles of human reason. Our most
holy religion is founded on Faith, not on reason; and it is a sure method of
exposing it to put it to such a trial as it is, by no means, fitted to endure.
To make this more evident, let us examine those miracles, related in scripture;
and not to lose ourselves in too wide a field, let us confine ourselves to such
as we find in the Pentateuch, which we shall examine, according to the
principles of these pretended Christians, not as the word or testimony of God
himself, but as the production of a mere human writer and historian. Here then
we are first to consider a book, presented to us by a barbarous and ignorant
people, written in an age when they were still more barbarous, and in all
probability long after the facts which it relates, corroborated by no
concurring testimony, and resembling those fabulous accounts, which every
nation gives of its origin. Upon reading this book, we find it full of
prodigies and miracles. It gives an account of a state of the world and of
human nature entirely different from the present: Of our fall from that state:
Of the age of man, extended to near a thousand years: Of the destruction of the
world by a deluge: Of the arbitrary choice of one people, as the favourites of
heaven; and that people the countrymen of the author: Of their deliverance from
bondage by prodigies the most astonishing imaginable: I desire any one to lay
his hand upon his heart, and after a serious consideration declare, whether he
thinks that the falsehood of such a book, supported by such a testimony, would
be more extraordinary and miraculous than all the miracles it relates; which
is, however, necessary to make it be received, according to the measures of
probability above established.
101. What
we have said of miracles may be applied, without any variation, to prophecies;
and indeed, all prophecies are real miracles, and as such only, can be admitted
as proofs of any revelation. If it did not exceed the capacity of human nature
to foretell future events, it would be absurd to employ any prophecy as an
argument for a divine mission or authority from heaven. So that, upon the
whole, we may conclude, that the Christian Religion not only was at first
attended with miracles, but even at this day cannot be believed by any
reasonable person without one. Mere reason is insufficient to convince us of
its veracity: And whoever is moved by Faith to assent to it, is
conscious of a continued miracle in his own person, which subverts all the
principles of his understanding, and gives him a determination to believe what
is most contrary to custom and experience.
102. I was
lately engaged in conversation with a friend who loves sceptical paradoxes;
where, though he advanced many principles, of which I can by no means approve,
yet as they seem to be curious, and to bear some relation to the chain of
reasoning carried on throughout this enquiry, I shall here copy them from my
memory as accurately as I can, in order to submit them to the judgement of the
reader.
Our
conversation began with my admiring the singular good fortune of philosophy,
which, as it requires entire liberty above all other privileges, and chiefly
flourishes from the free opposition of sentiments and argumentation, received
its first birth in an age and country of freedom and toleration, and was never
cramped, even in its most extravagant principles, by any creeds, concessions,
or penal statutes. For, except the banishment of Protagoras, and the death of
Socrates, which last event proceeded partly from other motives, there are
scarcely any instances to be met with, in ancient history, of this bigotted
jealousy, with which the present age is so much infested. Epicurus lived at
Athens to an advanced age, in peace and tranquillity: Epicureans were even
admitted to receive the sacerdotal character, and to officiate at the altar, in
the most sacred rites of the established religion: And the public encouragement
of pensions and salaries was afforded equally, by the wisest of all the Roman
emperors, to the professors of every sect of philosophy. How requisite such
kind of treatment was to philosophy, in her early youth, will easily be
conceived, if we reflect, that, even at present, when she may be supposed more
hardy and robust, she bears with much difficulty the inclemency of the seasons,
and those harsh winds of calumny and persecution, which blow upon her.
You
admire, says my friend, as the singular good fortune of philosophy, what seems
to result from the natural course of things, and to be unavoidable in every age
and nation. This pertinacious bigotry, of which you complain, as so fatal to
philosophy, is really her offspring, who, after allying with superstition,
separates himself entirely from the interest of his parent, and becomes her
most inveterate enemy and persecutor. Speculative dogmas of religion, the
present occasions of such furious dispute, could not possibly be conceived or
admitted in the early ages of the world; when mankind, being wholly illiterate,
formed an idea of religion more suitable to their weak apprehension, and
composed their sacred tenets of such tales chiefly as were the objects of
traditional belief, more than of argument or disputation. After the first
alarm, therefore, was over, which arose from the new paradoxes and principles
of the philosophers; these teachers seem ever after, during the ages of
antiquity, to have lived in great harmony with the established superstition,
and to have made a fair partition of mankind between them; the former claiming
all the learned and wise, the latter possessing all the vulgar and illiterate.
103. It
seems then, say I, that you leave politics entirely out of the question, and
never suppose, that a wise magistrate can justly be jealous of certain tenets
of philosophy, such as those of Epicurus, which, denying a divine existence,
and consequently a providence and a future state, seem to loosen, in a great
measure, the ties of morality, and may be supposed, for that reason, pernicious
to the peace of civil society.
I
know, replied he, that in fact these persecutions never, in any age, proceeded
from calm reason, or from experience of the pernicious consequences of
philosophy; but arose entirely from passion and prejudice. But what if I should
advance farther, and assert, that if Epicurus had been accused before the
people, by any of the sycophants or informers of those days, he could easily
have defended his cause, and proved his principles of philosophy to be as
salutary as those of his adversaries, who endeavoured, with such zeal, to
expose him to the public hatred and jealousy?
I
wish, said I, you would try your eloquence upon so extraordinary a topic, and
make a speech for Epicurus, which might satisfy, not the mob of Athens, if you
will allow that ancient and polite city to have contained any mob, but the more
philosophical part of his audience, such as might be supposed capable of
comprehending his arguments.
The
matter would not be difficult, upon such conditions, replied he: And if you
please, I shall suppose myself Epicurus for a moment, and make you stand for
the Athenian people, and shall deliver you such an harangue as will fill all
the urn with white beans, and leave not a black one to gratify the malice of my
adversaries.
Very
well: Pray proceed upon these suppositions.
104. I
come hither, O ye Athenians, to justify in your assembly what I maintained in
my school, and I find myself impeached by furious antagonists, instead of
reasoning with calm and dispassionate enquirers. Your deliberations, which of
right should be directed to questions of public good, and the interest of the
commonwealth, are diverted to the disquisitions of speculative philosophy; and
these magnificent, but perhaps fruitless enquiries, take place of your more
familiar but more useful occupations. But so far as in me lies, I will prevent
this abuse. We shall not here dispute concerning the origin and government of
worlds. We shall only enquire how far such questions concern the public
interest. And if I can persuade you, that they are entirely indifferent to the
peace of society and security of government, I hope that you will presently
send us back to our schools, there to examine, at leisure, the question the
most sublime, but at the same time, the most speculative of all philosophy.
The
religious philosophers, not satisfied with the tradition of your forefathers,
and doctrine of your priests (in which I willingly acquiesce), indulge a rash
curiosity, in trying how far they can establish religion upon the principles of
reason; and they thereby excite, instead of satisfying, the doubts, which naturally
arise from a diligent and scrutinous enquiry. They paint, in the most
magnificent colours, the order, beauty, and wise arrangement of the universe;
and then ask, if such a glorious display of intelligence could proceed from the
fortuitous concourse of atoms, or if chance could produce what the greatest
genius can never sufficiently admire. I shall not examine the justness of this
argument. I shall allow it to be as solid as my antagonists and accusers can
desire. It is sufficient, if I can prove, from this very reasoning, that the
question is entirely speculative, and that, when, in my philosophical
disquisitions, I deny a providence and a future state, I undermine not the
foundations of society, but advance principles, which they themselves, upon their
own topics, if they argue consistently, must allow to be solid and
satisfactory.
105. You
then, who are my accusers, have acknowledged, that the chief or sole argument
for a divine existence (which I never questioned) is derived from the order of
nature; where there appear such marks of intelligence and design, that you
think it extravagant to assign for its cause, either chance, or the blind and
unguided force of matter. You allow, that this is an argument drawn from
effects to causes. From the order of the work, you infer, that there must have
been project and forethought in the workman. If you cannot make out this point,
you allow, that your conclusion fails; and you pretend not to establish the
conclusion in a greater latitude than the phenomena of nature will justify.
These are your concessions. I desire you to mark the consequences.
When
we infer any particular cause from an effect, we must proportion the one to the
other, and can never be allowed to ascribe to the cause any qualities, but what
are exactly sufficient to produce the effect. A body of ten ounces raised in
any scale may serve as a proof, that the counterbalancing weight exceeds ten
ounces; but can never afford a reason that it exceeds a hundred. If the cause,
assigned for any effect, be not sufficient to produce it, we must either reject
that cause, or add to it such qualities as will give it a just proportion to
the effect. But if we ascribe to it farther qualities, or affirm it capable of
producing other effects, we can only indulge the licence of conjecture, and
arbitrarily suppose the existence of qualities and energies, without reason or
authority.
The
same rule holds, whether the cause assigned be brute unconscious matter, or a
rational intelligent being. If the cause be known only by the effect, we never
ought to ascribe to it any qualities, beyond what are precisely requisite to
produce the effect: Nor can we, by any rules of just reasoning, return back
from the cause, and infer other effects from it, beyond those by which alone it
is known to us. No one, merely from the sight of one of Zeuxis’s pictures,
could know, that he was also a statuary or architect, and was an artist no less
skilful in stone and marble than in colours. The talents and taste, displayed
in the particular work before us; these we may safely conclude the workman to
be possessed of. The cause must be proportioned to the effect; and if we
exactly and precisely proportion it, we shall never find in it any qualities,
that point farther, or afford an inference concerning any other design or
performance. Such qualities must be somewhat beyond what is merely requisite
for producing the effect, which we examine.
106. Allowing,
therefore, the gods to be the authors of the existence or order of the
universe; it follows, that they possess that precise degree of power,
intelligence, and benevolence, which appears in their workmanship; but nothing
farther can ever be proved, except we call in the assistance of exaggeration
and flattery to supply the defects of argument and reasoning. So far as the
traces of any attributes, at present, appear, so far may we conclude these
attributes to exist. The supposition of farther attributes is mere hypothesis;
much more the supposition, that, in distant regions of space or periods of
time, there has been, or will be, a more magnificent display of these
attributes, and a scheme of administration more suitable to such imaginary
virtues. We can never be allowed to mount up from the universe, the effect, to
Jupiter, the cause; and then descend downwards, to infer any new effect from
that cause; as if the present effects alone were not entirely worthy of the
glorious attributes, which we ascribe to that deity. The knowledge of the cause
being derived solely from the effect, they must be exactly adjusted to each
other; and the one can never refer to anything farther, or be the foundation of
any new inference and conclusion.
You
find certain phenomena in nature. You seek a cause or author. You imagine that
you have found him. You afterwards become so enamoured of this offspring of
your brain, that you imagine it impossible, but he must produce something
greater and more perfect than the present scene of things, which is so full of
ill and disorder. You forget, that this superlative intelligence and benevolence
are entirely imaginary, or, at least, without any foundation in reason; and
that you have no ground to ascribe to him any qualities, but what you see he
has actually exerted and displayed in his productions. Let your gods,
therefore, O philosophers, be suited to the present appearances of nature: and
presume not to alter these appearances by arbitrary suppositions, in order to
suit them to the attributes, which you so fondly ascribe to your deities.
107. When
priests and poets, supported by your authority, O Athenians, talk of a golden
or silver age, which preceded the present state of vice and misery, I hear them
with attention and with reverence. But when philosophers, who pretend to
neglect authority, and to cultivate reason, hold the same discourse, I pay them
not, I own, the same obsequious submission and pious deference. I ask; who
carried them into the celestial regions, who admitted them into the councils of
the gods, who opened to them the book of fate, that they thus rashly affirm,
that their deities have executed, or will execute, any purpose beyond what has
actually appeared? If they tell me, that they have mounted on the steps or by
the gradual ascent of reason, and by drawing inferences from effects to causes,
I still insist, that they have aided the ascent of reason by the wings of
imagination; otherwise they could not thus change their manner of inference,
and argue from causes to effects; presuming, that a more perfect production
than the present world would be more suitable to such perfect beings as the
gods, and forgetting that they have no reason to ascribe to these celestial
beings any perfection or any attribute, but what can be found in the present
world.
Hence
all the fruitless industry to account for the ill appearances of nature, and
save the honour of the gods; while we must acknowledge the reality of that evil
and disorder, with which the world so much abounds. The obstinate and
intractable qualities of matter, we are told, or the observance of general
laws, or some such reason, is the sole cause, which controlled the power and
benevolence of Jupiter, and obliged him to create mankind and every sensible
creature so imperfect and so unhappy. These attributes then, are, it seems,
beforehand, taken for granted, in their greatest latitude. And upon that
supposition, I own that such conjectures may, perhaps, be admitted as plausible
solutions of the ill phenomena. But still I ask; Why take these attributes for
granted, or why ascribe to the cause any qualities but what actually appear in
the effect? Why torture your brain to justify the course of nature upon
suppositions, which, for aught you know, may be entirely imaginary, and of
which there are to be found no traces in the course of nature?
The
religious hypothesis, therefore, must be considered only as a particular method
of accounting for the visible phenomena of the universe: but no just reasoner
will ever presume to infer from it any single fact, and alter or add to the
phenomena, in any single particular. If you think, that the appearances of
things prove such causes, it is allowable for you to draw an inference
concerning the existence of these causes. In such complicated and sublime
subjects, every one should be indulged in the liberty of conjecture and
argument. But here you ought to rest. If you come backward, and arguing from
your inferred causes, conclude, that any other fact has existed, or will exist,
in the course of nature, which may serve as a fuller display of particular
attributes; I must admonish you, that you have departed from the method of
reasoning, attached to the present subject, and have certainly added something
to the attributes of the cause, beyond what appears in the effect; otherwise
you could never, with tolerable sense or propriety, add anything to the effect,
in order to render it more worthy of the cause.
108. Where,
then, is the odiousness of that doctrine, which I teach in my school, or
rather, which I examine in my gardens? Or what do you find in this whole
question, wherein the security of good morals, or the peace and order of
society, is in the least concerned?
I
deny a providence, you say, and supreme governor of the world, who guides the
course of events, and punishes the vicious with infamy and disappointment, and
rewards the virtuous with honour and success, in all their undertakings. But
surely, I deny not the course itself of events, which lies open to every one’s
inquiry and examination. I acknowledge, that, in the present order of things,
virtue is attended with more peace of mind than vice, and meets with a more
favourable reception from the world. I am sensible, that, according to the past
experience of mankind, friendship is the chief joy of human life, and
moderation the only source of tranquillity and happiness. I never balance
between the virtuous and the vicious course of life; but am sensible, that, to
a well-disposed mind, every advantage is on the side of the former. And what
can you say more, allowing all your suppositions and reasonings? You tell me,
indeed, that this disposition of things proceeds from intelligence and design.
But whatever it proceeds from, the disposition itself, on which depends our
happiness or misery, and consequently our conduct and deportment in life is
still the same. It is still open for me, as well as you, to regulate my
behaviour, by my experience of past events. And if you affirm, that, while a
divine providence is allowed, and a supreme distributive justice in the
universe, I ought to expect some more particular reward of the good, and
punishment of the bad, beyond the ordinary course of events; I here find the
same fallacy, which I have before endeavoured to detect. You persist in
imagining, that, if we grant that divine existence, for which you so earnestly
contend, you may safely infer consequences from it, and add something to the
experienced order of nature, by arguing from the attributes which you ascribe
to your gods. You seem not to remember, that all your reasonings on this
subject can only be drawn from effects to causes; and that every argument,
deducted from causes to effects, must of necessity be a gross sophism; since it
is impossible for you to know anything of the cause, but what you have
antecedently, not inferred, but discovered to the full, in the effect.
109. But
what must a philosopher think of those vain reasoners, who, instead of
regarding the present scene of things as the sole object of their
contemplation, so far reverse the whole course of nature, as to render this
life merely a passage to something farther; a porch, which leads to a greater,
and vastly different building; a prologue, which serves only to introduce the
piece, and give it more grace and propriety? Whence, do you think, can such
philosophers derive their idea of the gods? From their own conceit and
imagination surely. For if they derived it from the present phenomena, it would
never point to anything farther, but must be exactly adjusted to them. That the
divinity may possibly be endowed with attributes, which we have never seen
exerted; may be governed by principles of action, which we cannot discover to
be satisfied: all this will freely be allowed. But still this is mere possibility and hypothesis. We
never can have reason to infer any attributes, or any principles of action in
him, but so far as we know them to have been exerted and satisfied.
Are
there any marks of a distributive justice in the world? If you answer in the
affirmative, I conclude, that, since justice here exerts itself, it is
satisfied. If you reply in the negative, I conclude, that you have then no
reason to ascribe justice, in our sense of it, to the gods. If you hold a
medium between affirmation and negation, by saying, that the justice of the
gods, at present, exerts itself in part, but not in its full extent; I answer,
that you have no reason to give it any particular extent, but only so far as
you see it, at present, exert itself.
110. Thus
I bring the dispute, O Athenians, to a short issue with my antagonists. The
course of nature lies open to my contemplation as well as to theirs. The
experienced train of events is the great standard, by which we all regulate our
conduct. Nothing else can be appealed to in the field, or in the senate.
Nothing else ought ever to be heard of in the school, or in the closet. In vain
would our limited understanding break through those boundaries, which are too
narrow for our fond imagination. While we argue from the course of nature, and
infer a particular intelligent cause, which first bestowed, and still preserves
order in the universe, we embrace a principle, which is both uncertain and
useless. It is uncertain; because the subject lies entirely beyond the reach of
human experience. It is useless; because our knowledge of this cause being
derived entirely from the course of nature, we can never, according to the rules
of just reasoning, return back from the cause with any new inference, or making
additions to the common and experienced course of nature, establish any new
principles of conduct and behaviour.
111. I
observe (said I, finding he had finished his harangue) that you neglect not the
artifice of the demagogues of old; and as you were pleased to make me stand for
the people, you insinuate yourself into my favour by embracing those
principles, to which, you know, I have always expressed a particular attachment.
But allowing you to make experience (as indeed I think you ought) the only
standard of our judgement concerning this, and all other questions of fact; I
doubt not but, from the very same experience, to which you appeal, it may be
possible to refute this reasoning, which you have put into the mouth of
Epicurus. If you saw, for instance, a half-finished building, surrounded with
heaps of brick and stone and mortar, and all the instruments of masonry; could
you not infer
from the effect, that it was a work of design and contrivance? And could you
not return again, from this inferred cause, to infer new additions to the
effect, and conclude, that the building would soon be finished, and receive all
the further improvements, which art could bestow upon it? If you saw upon the
sea-shore the print of one human foot, you would conclude, that a man had
passed that way, and that he had also left the traces of the other foot, though
effaced by the rolling of the sands or inundation of the waters. Why then do
you refuse to admit the same method of reasoning with regard to the order of
nature? Consider the world and the present life only as an imperfect building,
from which you can infer a superior intelligence; and arguing from that
superior intelligence, which can leave nothing imperfect; why may you not infer
a more finished scheme or plan, which will receive its completion in some
distant point of space or time? Are not these methods of reasoning exactly
similar? And under what pretence can you embrace the one, while you reject the
other?
112. The
infinite difference of the subjects, replied he, is a sufficient foundation for
this difference in my conclusions. In works of human art and contrivance, it
is allowable to advance from the effect to the cause, and returning back from
the cause, to form new inferences concerning the effect, and examine the
alterations, which it has probably undergone, or may still undergo. But what is
the foundation of this method of reasoning? Plainly this; that man is a being,
whom we know by experience, whose motives and designs we are acquainted with,
and whose projects and inclinations have a certain connexion and coherence,
according to the laws which nature has established for the government of such a
creature. When, therefore, we find, that any work has proceeded from the skill
and industry of man; as we are otherwise acquainted with the nature of the
animal, we can draw a hundred inferences concerning what may be expected from
him; and these inferences will all be founded in experience and observation.
But did we know man only from the single work or production which we examine,
it were impossible for us to argue in this manner; because our knowledge of all
the qualities, which we ascribe to him, being in that case derived from the production,
it is impossible they could point to anything farther, or be the foundation of
any new inference. The print of a foot in the sand can only prove, when
considered alone, that there was some figure adapted to it, by which it was
produced: but the print of a human foot proves likewise, from our other
experience, that there was probably another foot, which also left its
impression, though effaced by time or other accidents. Here we mount from the
effect to the cause; and descending again from the cause, infer alterations in
the effect; but this is not a continuation of the same simple chain of
reasoning. We comprehend in this case a hundred other experiences and
observations, concerning the usual figure and members of that species of animal,
without which this method of argument must be considered as fallacious and
sophistical.
113. The
case is not the same with our reasonings from the works of nature. The Deity is
known to us only by his productions, and is a single being in the universe, not
comprehended under any species or genus, from whose experienced attributes or
qualities, we can, by analogy, infer any attribute or quality in him. As the
universe shews wisdom and goodness, we infer wisdom and goodness. As it shews a
particular degree of these perfections, we infer a particular degree of them,
precisely adapted to the effect which we examine. But farther attributes or
farther degrees of the same attributes, we can never be authorised to infer or
suppose, by any rules of just reasoning. Now, without some such licence of
supposition, it is impossible for us to argue from the cause, or infer any
alteration in the effect, beyond what has immediately fallen under our
observation. Greater good produced by this Being must still prove a greater
degree of goodness: a more impartial distribution of rewards and punishments
must proceed from a greater regard to justice and equity. Every supposed
addition to the works of nature makes an addition to the attributes of the
Author of nature; and consequently, being entirely unsupported by any reason or
argument, can never be admitted but as mere conjecture and hypothesis.
In
general, it may, I think, be established as a maxim, that where any cause is
known only by its particular effects, it must be impossible to infer any new
effects from that cause; since the qualities, which are requisite to produce
these new effects along with the former, must either be different, or superior,
or of more extensive operation, than those which simply produced the effect,
whence alone the cause is supposed to be known to us. We can never, therefore,
have any reason to suppose the existence of these qualities. To say, that the
new effects proceed only from a continuation of the same energy, which is
already known from the first effects, will not remove the difficulty. For even
granting this to be the case (which can seldom be supposed), the very
continuation and exertion of a like energy (for it is impossible it can be
absolutely the same), I say, this exertion of a like energy, in a different
period of space and time, is a very arbitrary supposition, and what there
cannot possibly be any traces of in the effects, from which all our knowledge
of the cause is originally derived. Let the inferred cause be exactly
proportioned (as it should be) to the known effect; and it is impossible that
it can possess any qualities, from which new or different effects can be inferred.
The
great source of our mistake in this subject, and of the unbounded licence of
conjecture, which we indulge, is, that we tacitly consider ourselves, as in the
place of the Supreme Being, and conclude, that he will, on every occasion,
observe the same conduct, which we ourselves, in his situation, would have
embraced as reasonable and eligible. But, besides that the ordinary course of
nature may convince us, that almost everything is regulated by principles and
maxims very different from ours; besides this, I say, it must evidently appear
contrary to all rules of analogy to reason, from the intentions and projects of
men, to those of a Being so different, and so much superior. In human nature,
there is a certain experienced coherence of designs and inclinations; so that
when, from any fact, we have discovered one intention of any man, it may often
be reasonable, from experience, to infer another, and draw a long chain of
conclusions concerning his past or future conduct. But this method of reasoning
can never have place with regard to a Being, so remote and incomprehensible,
who bears much less analogy to any other being in the universe than the sun to
a waxen taper, and who discovers himself only by some faint traces or outlines,
beyond which we have no authority to ascribe to him any attribute or
perfection. What we imagine to be a superior perfection, may really be a
defect. Or were it ever so much a perfection, the ascribing of it to the
Supreme Being, where it appears not to have been really exerted, to the full,
in his works, savours more of flattery and panegyric, than of just reasoning
and sound philosophy. All the philosophy, therefore, in the world, and all the
religion, which is nothing but a species of philosophy, will never be able to
carry us beyond the usual course of experience, or give us measures of conduct
and behaviour different from those which are furnished by reflections on common
life. No new fact can ever be inferred from the religious hypothesis; no event
foreseen or foretold; no reward or punishment expected or dreaded, beyond what
is already known by practice and observation. So that my apology for Epicurus
will still appear solid and satisfactory; nor have the political interests of
society any connexion with the philosophical disputes concerning metaphysics
and religion.
114. There
is still one circumstance, replied I, which you seem to have overlooked. Though
I should allow your premises, I must deny your conclusion. You conclude, that
religious doctrines and reasonings can have no influence on life, because they ought to have no influence;
never considering, that men reason not in the same manner you do, but draw many
consequences from the belief of a divine Existence, and suppose that the Deity
will inflict punishments on vice, and bestow rewards on virtue, beyond what
appear in the ordinary course of nature. Whether this reasoning of theirs be
just or not, is no matter. Its influence on their life and conduct must still
be the same. And, those, who attempt to disabuse them of such prejudices, may,
for aught I know, be good reasoners, but I cannot allow them to be good
citizens and politicians; since they free men from one restraint upon their
passions, and make the infringement of the laws of society, in one respect,
more easy and secure.
After
all, I may, perhaps, agree to your general conclusion in favour of liberty,
though upon different premises from those, on which you endeavour to found it.
I think, that the state ought to tolerate every principle of philosophy; nor is
there an instance, that any government has suffered in its political interests
by such indulgence. There is no enthusiasm among philosophers; their doctrines
are not very alluring to the people; and no restraint can be put upon their
reasonings, but what must be of dangerous consequence to the sciences, and even
to the state, by paving the way for persecution and oppression in points, where
the generality of mankind are more deeply interested and concerned.
115. But
there occurs to me (continued I) with regard to your main topic, a difficulty,
which I shall just propose to you without insisting on it; lest it lead into
reasonings of too nice and delicate a nature. In a word, I much doubt whether
it be possible for a cause to be known only by its effect (as you have all
along supposed) or to be of so singular and particular a nature as to have no
parallel and no similarity with any other cause or object, that has ever fallen
under our observation. It is only when two species of objects are found to
be constantly conjoined, that we can infer the one from the other; and were an
effect presented, which was entirely singular, and could not be comprehended
under any known species, I do not see, that we could form any conjecture or
inference at all concerning its cause. If experience and observation and
analogy be, indeed, the only guides which we can reasonably follow in
inferences of this nature; both the effect and cause must bear a similarity and
resemblance to other effects and causes, which we know, and which we have
found, in many instances, to be conjoined with each other. I leave it to your
own reflection to pursue the consequences of this principle. I shall just
observe, that, as the antagonists of Epicurus always suppose the universe, an
effect quite singular and unparalleled, to be the proof of a Deity, a cause no
less singular and unparalleled; your reasonings, upon that supposition, seem,
at least, to merit our attention. There is, I own, some difficulty, how we can
ever return from the cause to the effect, and, reasoning from our ideas of the
former, infer any alteration on the latter, or any addition to it.
PART
I.
116. There
is not a greater number of philosophical reasonings, displayed upon any
subject, than those, which prove the existence of a Deity, and refute the
fallacies of Atheists; and yet the most religious philosophers still dispute
whether any man can be so blinded as to be a speculative atheist. How shall we
reconcile these contradictions? The knights-errant, who wandered about to clear
the world of dragons and giants, never entertained the least doubt with regard
to the existence of these monsters.
The
Sceptic
is another enemy of religion, who naturally provokes the indignation of all
divines and graver philosophers; though it is certain, that no man ever met
with any such absurd creature, or conversed with a man, who had no opinion or
principle concerning any subject, either of action or speculation. This begets
a very natural question; What is meant by a sceptic? And how far it is possible
to push these philosophical principles of doubt and uncertainty?
There
is a species of scepticism, antecedent to all study and philosophy, which is
much inculcated by Des Cartes and others, as a sovereign preservative against
error and precipitate judgement. It recommends an universal doubt, not only of
all our former opinions and principles, but also of our very faculties; of
whose veracity, say they, we must assure ourselves, by a chain of reasoning,
deduced from some original principle, which cannot possibly be fallacious or
deceitful. But neither is there any such original principle, which has a
prerogative above others, that are self-evident and convincing: or if there
were, could we advance a step beyond it, but by the use of those very
faculties, of which we are supposed to be already diffident. The Cartesian
doubt, therefore, were it ever possible to be attained by any human creature
(as it plainly is not) would be entirely incurable; and no reasoning could ever
bring us to a state of assurance and conviction upon any subject.
It
must, however, be confessed, that this species of scepticism, when more
moderate, may be understood in a very reasonable sense, and is a necessary
preparative to the study of philosophy, by preserving a proper impartiality in
our judgements, and weaning our mind from all those prejudices, which we may have
imbibed from education or rash opinion. To begin with clear and self-evident
principles, to advance by timorous and sure steps, to review frequently our
conclusions, and examine accurately all their consequences; though by these
means we shall make both a slow and a short progress in our systems; are the
only methods, by which we can ever hope to reach truth, and attain a proper
stability and certainty in our determinations.
117. There
is another species of scepticism, consequent to science and enquiry,
when men are supposed to have discovered, either the absolute fallaciousness of
their mental faculties, or their unfitness to reach any fixed determination in
all those curious subjects of speculation, about which they are commonly
employed. Even our very senses are brought into dispute, by a certain species
of philosophers; and the maxims of common life are subjected to the same doubt
as the most profound principles or conclusions of metaphysics and theology. As
these paradoxical tenets (if they may be called tenets) are to be met with in
some philosophers, and the refutation of them in several, they naturally excite
our curiosity, and make us enquire into the arguments, on which they may be
founded.
I
need not insist upon the more trite topics, employed by the sceptics in all
ages, against the evidence of sense; such as those which are derived from the
imperfection and fallaciousness of our organs, on numberless occasions; the
crooked appearance of an oar in water; the various aspects of objects,
according to their different distances; the double images which arise from the
pressing one eye; with many other appearances of a like nature. These sceptical
topics, indeed, are only sufficient to prove, that the senses alone are not
implicitly to be depended on; but that we must correct their evidence by
reason, and by considerations, derived from the nature of the medium, the
distance of the object, and the disposition of the organ, in order to render
them, within their sphere, the proper criteria of truth and falsehood.
There are other more profound arguments against the senses, which admit not of
so easy a solution.
118. It
seems evident, that men are carried, by a natural instinct or prepossession, to
repose faith in their senses; and that, without any reasoning, or even almost
before the use of reason, we always suppose an external universe, which depends
not on our perception, but would exist, though we and every sensible creature
were absent or annihilated. Even the animal creation are governed by a like
opinion, and preserve this belief of external objects, in all their thoughts,
designs, and actions.
It
seems also evident, that, when men follow this blind and powerful instinct of
nature, they always suppose the very images, presented by the senses, to be the
external objects, and never entertain any suspicion, that the one are nothing
but representations of the other. This very table, which we see white, and
which we feel hard, is believed to exist, independent of our perception, and to
be something external to our mind, which perceives it. Our presence bestows not
being on it: our absence does not annihilate it. It preserves its existence
uniform and entire, independent of the situation of intelligent beings, who
perceive or contemplate it.
But
this universal and primary opinion of all men is soon destroyed by the
slightest philosophy, which teaches us, that nothing can ever be present to the
mind but an image or perception, and that the senses are only the inlets,
through which these images are conveyed, without being able to produce any
immediate intercourse between the mind and the object. The table, which we see,
seems to diminish, as we remove farther from it: but the real table, which
exists independent of us, suffers no alteration: it was, therefore, nothing but
its image, which was present to the mind. These are the obvious dictates of
reason; and no man, who reflects, ever doubted, that the existences, which we
consider, when we say, this house and that tree, are nothing but
perceptions in the mind, and fleeting copies or representations of other
existences, which remain uniform and independent.
119. So
far, then, are we necessitated by reasoning to contradict or depart from the
primary instincts of nature, and to embrace a new system with regard to the evidence
of our senses. But here philosophy finds herself extremely embarrassed, when
she would justify this new system, and obviate the cavils and objections of the
sceptics. She can no longer plead the infallible and irresistible instinct of
nature: for that led us to a quite different system, which is acknowledged
fallible and even erroneous. And to justify this pretended philosophical
system, by a chain of clear and convincing argument, or even any appearance of
argument, exceeds the power of all human capacity.
By
what argument can it be proved, that the perceptions of the mind must be caused
by external objects, entirely different from them, though resembling them (if
that be possible) and could not arise either from the energy of the mind
itself, or from the suggestion of some invisible and unknown spirit, or from
some other cause still more unknown to us? It is acknowledged, that, in fact,
many of these perceptions arise not from anything external, as in dreams,
madness, and other diseases. And nothing can be more inexplicable than the
manner, in which body should so operate upon mind as ever to convey an image of
itself to a substance, supposed of so different, and even contrary a nature.
It
is a question of fact, whether the perceptions of the senses be produced by
external objects, resembling them: how shall this question be determined? By
experience surely; as all other questions of a like nature. But here experience
is, and must be entirely silent. The mind has never anything present to it but
the perceptions, and cannot possibly reach any experience of their connexion
with objects. The supposition of such a connexion is, therefore, without any
foundation in reasoning.
120. To
have recourse to the veracity of the supreme Being, in order to prove the veracity
of our senses, is surely making a very unexpected circuit. If his veracity were
at all concerned in this matter, our senses would be entirely infallible;
because it is not possible that he can ever deceive. Not to mention, that, if
the external world be once called in question, we shall be at a loss to find
arguments, by which we may prove the existence of that Being or any of his
attributes.
121. This
is a topic, therefore, in which the profounder and more philosophical sceptics
will always triumph, when they endeavour to introduce an universal doubt into
all subjects of human knowledge and enquiry. Do you follow the instincts and
propensities of nature, may they say, in assenting to the veracity of sense?
But these lead you to believe that the very perception or sensible image is the
external object. Do you disclaim this principle, in order to embrace a more
rational opinion, that the perceptions are only representations of something
external? You here depart from your natural propensities and more obvious
sentiments; and yet are not able to satisfy your reason, which can never find
any convincing argument from experience to prove, that the perceptions are
connected with any external objects.
122. There
is another sceptical topic of a like nature, derived from the most profound
philosophy; which might merit our attention, were it requisite to dive so deep,
in order to discover arguments and reasonings, which can so little serve to any
serious purpose. It is universally allowed by modern enquirers, that all the
sensible qualities of objects, such as hard, soft, hot, cold, white, black,
&c. are merely secondary, and exist not in the objects themselves, but are
perceptions of the mind, without any external archetype or model, which they
represent. If this be allowed, with regard to secondary qualities, it must also
follow, with regard to the supposed primary qualities of extension and
solidity; nor can the latter be any more entitled to that denomination than the
former. The idea of extension is entirely acquired from the senses of sight and
feeling; and if all the qualities, perceived by the senses, be in the mind, not
in the object, the same conclusion must reach the idea of extension, which is
wholly dependent on the sensible ideas or the ideas of secondary qualities.
Nothing can save us from this conclusion, but the asserting, that the ideas of
those primary qualities are attained by Abstraction, an opinion, which, if
we examine it accurately, we shall find to be unintelligible, and even absurd.
An extension, that is neither tangible nor visible, cannot possibly be
conceived: and a tangible or visible extension, which is neither hard nor soft,
black nor white, is equally beyond the reach of human conception. Let any man
try to conceive a triangle in general, which is neither Isosceles nor Scalenum, nor has any particular
length or proportion of sides; and he will soon perceive the absurdity of all
the scholastic notions with regard to abstraction and general ideas.
This
argument is drawn from Dr. Berkeley; and indeed most of the writings of that
very ingenious author form the best lessons of scepticism, which are to be
found either among the the ancient or modern philosopher, Bayle not excepted.
He professes, however, in his title-page (and undoubtedly with great truth) to
have composed his book against the sceptics as well as against the atheists and
free-thinkers. But that all his arguments, though otherwise intended, are, in
reality, merely sceptical, appears from this, that they admit of no answer
and produce no conviction. Their only effect is to cause that momentary amazement and
irresolution and confusion, which is the result of scepticism.
123. Thus
the first philosophical objection to the evidence of sense or to the opinion of
external existence consists in this, that such an opinion, if rested on natural
instinct, is contrary to reason, and if referred to reason, is contrary to
natural instinct, and at the same time carries no rational evidence with it, to
convince an impartial enquirer. The second objection goes farther, and
represents this opinion as contrary to reason: at least, if it be a principle
of reason, that all sensible qualities are in the mind, not in the object.
Bereave matter of all its intelligible qualities, both primary and secondary,
you in a manner annihilate it, and leave only a certain unknown, inexplicable something, as the cause of our
perceptions; a notion so imperfect, that no sceptic will think it worth while
to contend against it.
124. It
may seem a very extravagant attempt of the sceptics to destroy reason by argument and
ratiocination; yet is this the grand scope of all their enquiries and disputes.
They endeavour to find objections, both to our abstract reasonings, and to
those which regard matter of fact and existence.
The
chief objection against all abstract reasonings is derived from the ideas of space
and time; ideas, which, in common life and to a careless view, are very clear
and intelligible, but when they pass through the scrutiny of the profound
sciences (and they are the chief object of these sciences) afford principles,
which seem full of absurdity and contradiction. No priestly dogmas, invented on purpose to
tame and subdue the rebellious reason of mankind, ever shocked common sense
more than the doctrine of the infinitive divisibility of extension, with its
consequences; as they are pompously displayed by all geometricians and
metaphysicians, with a kind of triumph and exultation. A real quantity,
infinitely less than any finite quantity, containing quantities infinitely less
than itself, and so on in infinitum; this is an edifice so bold and prodigious,
that it is too weighty for any pretended demonstration to support, because it
shocks the clearest and most natural principles of human reason.[32] But what
renders the matter more extraordinary, is, that these seemingly absurd opinions
are supported by a chain of reasoning, the clearest and most natural; nor is it
possible for us to allow the premises without admitting the consequences.
Nothing can be more convincing and satisfactory than all the conclusions
concerning the properties of circles and triangles; and yet, when these are
once received, how can we deny, that the angle of contact between a circle and
its tangent is infinitely less than any rectilineal angle, that as you may
increase the diameter of the circle in infinitum, this angle of contact
becomes still less, even in infinitum, and that the angle of contact between other
curves and their tangents may be infinitely less than those between any circle
and its tangent, and so on, in infinitum? The demonstration of these principles
seems as unexceptionable as that which proves the three angles of a triangle to
be equal to two right ones, though the latter opinion be natural and easy, and
the former big with contradiction and absurdity. Reason here seems to be thrown
into a kind of amazement and suspence, which, without the suggestions of any
sceptic, gives her a diffidence of herself, and of the ground on which she
treads. She sees a full light, which illuminates certain places; but that light
borders upon the most profound darkness. And between these she is so dazzled
and confounded, that she scarcely can pronounce with certainty and assurance
concerning any one object.
[32]
Whatever disputes there may be about mathematical points, we must allow that
there are physical points; that is, parts of extension, which cannot be divided
or lessened, either by the eye or imagination. These images, then, which are
present to the fancy or senses, are absolutely indivisible, and consequently
must be allowed by mathematicians to be infinitely less than any real part of
extension; and yet nothing appears more certain to reason, than that an
infinite number of them composes an infinite extension. How much more an infinite
number of those infinitely small parts of extension, which are still supposed
infinitely divisible.
125. The
absurdity of these bold determinations of the abstract sciences seems to
become, if possible, still more palpable with regard to time than extension. An
infinite number of real parts of time, passing in succession, and exhausted one
after another, appears so evident a contradiction, that no man, one should
think, whose judgement is not corrupted, instead of being improved, by the
sciences, would ever be able to admit of it.
Yet
still reason must remain restless, and unquiet, even with regard to that
scepticism, to which she is driven by these seeming absurdities and
contradictions. How any clear, distinct idea can contain circumstances,
contradictory to itself, or to any other clear, distinct idea, is absolutely
incomprehensible; and is, perhaps, as absurd as any proposition, which can be
formed. So that nothing can be more sceptical, or more full of doubt and
hesitation, than this scepticism itself, which arises from some of the
paradoxical conclusions of geometry or the science of quantity.[33]
[33]
It seems to me not impossible to avoid these absurdities and contradictions, if
it be admitted, that there is no such thing as abstract or general ideas,
properly speaking; but that all general ideas are, in reality, particular ones,
attached to a general term, which recalls, upon occasion, other particular
ones, that resemble, in certain circumstances, the idea, present to the mind.
Thus when the term Horse is pronounced, we immediately figure to ourselves the
idea of a black or a white animal, or a particular size or figure: But as that
tern is also usually though not actually present to the imagination, are easily
recalled: and our reasoning and conclusion proceed in the same way, as if they
were actually present. If this be admitted (as seems reasonable) it follows
that all the ideas of quantity, upon which mathematicians reason, are nothing
but particular, and such as are suggested by the senses and imagination, and
consequently, cannot be infinitely divisible. It is sufficient to have dropped
this hint at present, without prosecuting it any farther. It certainly concerns
all lovers of science not to expose themselves to the ridicule and contempt of the
ignorant by their conclusion; and this seems the readiest solution of these
difficulties.
126. The
sceptical objections to moral evidence, or to the reasonings concerning
matter of fact, are either popular or philosophical. The popular objections
are derived from the natural weakness of human understanding; the contradictory
opinions, which have been entertained in different ages and nations; the
variations of our judgement in sickness and health, youth and old age,
prosperity and adversity; the perpetual contradiction of each particular man’s
opinions and sentiments; with many other topics of that kind. It is needless to
insist farther on this head. These objections are but weak. For as, in common
life, we reason every moment concerning fact and existence, and cannot possibly
subsist, without continually employing this species of argument, any popular
objections, derived from thence, must be insufficient to destroy that evidence.
The great subverter of Pyrrhonism or the excessive principles of scepticism is
action, and employment, and the occupations of common life. These principles
may flourish and triumph in the schools; where it is, indeed, difficult, if not
impossible, to refute them. But as soon as they leave the shade, and by the
presence of the real objects, which actuate our passions and sentiments, are
put in opposition to the more powerful principles of our nature, they vanish
like smoke, and leave the most determined sceptic in the same condition as
other mortals.
127. The
sceptic, therefore, had better keep within his proper sphere, and display those
philosophical
objections, which arise from more profound researches. Here he seems to have
ample matter of triumph; while he justly insists, that all our evidence for any
matter of fact, which lies beyond the testimony of sense or memory, is derived
entirely from the relation of cause and effect; that we have no other idea of
this relation than that of two objects, which have been frequently conjoined together; that we have
no argument to convince us, that objects, which have, in our experience, been
frequently conjoined, will likewise, in other instances, be conjoined in the
same manner; and that nothing leads us to this inference but custom or a
certain instinct of our nature; which it is indeed difficult to resist, but
which, like other instincts, may be fallacious and deceitful. While the sceptic
insists upon these topics, he shows his force, or rather, indeed, his own and
our weakness; and seems, for the time at least, to destroy all assurance and
conviction. These arguments might be displayed at greater length, if any
durable good or benefit to society could ever be expected to result from them.
128. For
here is the chief and most confounding objection to excessive scepticism, that no
durable good can ever result from it; while it remains in its full force and
vigour. We need only ask such a sceptic, What his meaning is? And what he
proposes by all these curious researches? He is immediately at a loss, and knows
not what to answer. A Copernican or Ptolemaic, who supports each his different
system of astronomy, may hope to produce a conviction, which will remain
constant and durable, with his audience. A Stoic or Epicurean displays
principles, which may not be durable, but which have an effect on conduct and
behaviour. But a Pyrrhonian cannot expect, that his philosophy will have any
constant influence on the mind: or if it had, that its influence would be
beneficial to society. On the contrary, he must acknowledge, if he will
acknowledge anything, that all human life must perish, were his principles
universally and steadily to prevail. All discourse, all action would
immediately cease; and men remain in a total lethargy, till the necessities of
nature, unsatisfied, put an end to their miserable existence. It is true; so
fatal an event is very little to be dreaded. Nature is always too strong for
principle. And though a Pyrrhonian may throw himself or others into a momentary
amazement and confusion by his profound reasonings; the first and most trivial event
in life will put to flight all his doubts and scruples, and leave him the same,
in every point of action and speculation, with the philosophers of every other
sect, or with those who never concerned themselves in any philosophical
researches. When he awakes from his dream, he will be the first to join in the
laugh against himself, and to confess, that all his objections are mere
amusement, and can have no other tendency than to show the whimsical condition
of mankind, who must act and reason and believe; though they are not able, by
their most diligent enquiry, to satisfy themselves concerning the foundation of
these operations, or to remove the objections, which may be raised against
them.
129. There
is, indeed, a more mitigated scepticism or academical philosophy, which may
be both durable and useful, and which may, in part, be the result of this
Pyrrhonism, or excessive scepticism, when its undistinguished doubts are, in some
measure, corrected by common sense and reflection. The greater part of mankind
are naturally apt to be affirmative and dogmatical in their opinions; and while
they see objects only on one side, and have no idea of any counterpoising
argument, they throw themselves precipitately into the principles, to which
they are inclined; nor have they any indulgence for those who entertain
opposite sentiments. To hesitate or balance perplexes their understanding,
checks their passion, and suspends their action. They are, therefore, impatient
till they escape from a state, which to them is so uneasy: and they think, that
they could never remove themselves far enough from it, by the violence of their
affirmations and obstinacy of their belief. But could such dogmatical reasoners
become sensible of the strange infirmities of human understanding, even in its
most perfect state, and when most accurate and cautious in its determinations;
such a reflection would naturally inspire them with more modesty and reserve,
and diminish their fond opinion of themselves, and their prejudice against antagonists.
The illiterate may reflect on the disposition of the learned, who, amidst all
the advantages of study and reflection, are commonly still diffident in their
determinations: and if any of the learned be inclined, from their natural
temper, to haughtiness and obstinacy, a small tincture of Pyrrhonism might
abate their pride, by showing them, that the few advantages, which they may
have attained over their fellows, are but inconsiderable, if compared with the
universal perplexity and confusion, which is inherent in human nature. In
general, there is a degree of doubt, and caution, and modesty, which, in all
kinds of scrutiny and decision, ought for ever to accompany a just reasoner.
130. Another
species of mitigated scepticism which may be of advantage to mankind, and which
may be the natural result of the Pyrrhonian doubts and scruples, is the
limitation of our enquiries to such subjects as are best adapted to the narrow
capacity of human understanding. The imagination of man is naturally
sublime, delighted with whatever is remote and extraordinary, and running,
without control, into the most distant parts of space and time in order to
avoid the objects, which custom has rendered too familiar to it. A correct Judgement observes a contrary
method, and avoiding all distant and high enquiries, confines itself to common
life, and to such subjects as fall under daily practice and experience; leaving
the more sublime topics to the embellishment of poets and orators, or to the
arts of priests and politicians. To bring us to so salutary a determination,
nothing can be more serviceable, than to be once thoroughly convinced of the
force of the Pyrrhonian doubt, and of the impossibility, that anything, but the
strong power of natural instinct, could free us from it. Those who have a
propensity to philosophy, will still continue their researches; because they
reflect, that, besides the immediate pleasure, attending such an occupation,
philosophical decisions are nothing but the reflections of common life,
methodized and corrected. But they will never be tempted to go beyond common
life, so long as they consider the imperfection of those faculties which they
employ, their narrow reach, and their inaccurate operations. While we cannot
give a satisfactory reason, why we believe, after a thousand experiments, that
a stone will fall, or fire burn; can we ever satisfy ourselves concerning any
determination, which we may form, with regard to the origin of worlds, and the
situation of nature, from, and to eternity?
This
narrow limitation, indeed, of our enquiries, is, in every respect, so
reasonable, that it suffices to make the slightest examination into the natural
powers of the human mind and to compare them with their objects, in order to
recommend it to us. We shall then find what are the proper subjects of science
and enquiry.
131. It
seems to me, that the only objects of the abstract science or of demonstration
are quantity and number, and that all attempts to extend this more perfect
species of knowledge beyond these bounds are mere sophistry and illusion. As
the component parts of quantity and number are entirely similar, their
relations become intricate and involved; and nothing can be more curious, as
well as useful, than to trace, by a variety of mediums, their equality or
inequality, through their different appearances. But as all other ideas are
clearly distinct and different from each other, we can never advance farther,
by our utmost scrutiny, than to observe this diversity, and, by an obvious
reflection, pronounce one thing not to be another. Or if there be any
difficulty in these decisions, it proceeds entirely from the undeterminate
meaning of words, which is corrected by juster definitions. That the square
of the hypothenuse is equal to the squares of the other two sides, cannot be known, let
the terms be ever so exactly defined, without a train of reasoning and enquiry.
But to convince us of this proposition, that where there is no property,
there can be no injustice, it is only necessary to define the terms, and explain
injustice to be a violation of property. This proposition is, indeed, nothing
but a more imperfect definition. It is the same case with all those pretended
syllogistical reasonings, which may be found in every other branch of learning,
except the sciences of quantity and number; and these may safely, I think, be
pronounced the only proper objects of knowledge and demonstration.
132. All
other enquiries of men regard only matter of fact and existence; and these are
evidently incapable of demonstration. Whatever is may not be. No negation of a fact
can involve a contradiction. The non-existence of any being, without exception,
is as clear and distinct an idea as its existence. The proposition, which
affirms it not to be, however false, is no less conceivable and intelligible,
than that which affirms it to be. The case is different with the sciences,
properly so called. Every proposition, which is not true, is there confused and
unintelligible. That the cube root of 64 is equal to the half of 10, is a false
proposition, and can never be distinctly conceived. But that Caesar, or the
angel Gabriel, or any being never existed, may be a false proposition, but
still is perfectly conceivable, and implies no contradiction.
The
existence, therefore, of any being can only be proved by arguments from its
cause or its effect; and these arguments are founded entirely on experience. If
we reason a priori,
anything may appear able to produce anything. The falling of a pebble may, for
aught we know, extinguish the sun; or the wish of a man control the planets in
their orbits. It is only experience, which teaches us the nature and bounds of
cause and effect, and enables us to infer the existence of one object from that
of another[34]. Such is the foundation of moral reasoning, which forms the
greater part of human knowledge, and is the source of all human action and
behaviour.
[34]
That impious maxim of the ancient philosopher, Ex nihilo, nihil fit, by which the creation
of matter was excluded, ceases to be a maxim, according to this philosophy. Not
all the will of the supreme Being may create matter; but, for aught we know a priori, the will of any other
being might create it, or any other cause, that the most whimsical imagination
can assign.
Moral
reasonings are either concerning particular or general facts. All deliberations
in life regard the former; as also all disquisitions in history, chronology,
geography, and astronomy.
The
sciences, which treat of general facts, are politics, natural philosophy,
physic, chemistry, &c. where the qualities, causes and effects of a whole
species of objects are enquired into.
Divinity
or Theology, as it proves the existence of a Deity, and the immortality of
souls, is composed partly of reasonings concerning particular, partly concerning
general facts. It has a foundation in reason, so far as it is
supported by experience. But its best and most solid foundation is faith and divine revelation.
Morals
and criticism are not so properly objects of the understanding as of taste and
sentiment. Beauty, whether moral or natural, is felt, more properly than
perceived. Or if we reason concerning it, and endeavour to fix its standard, we
regard a new fact, to wit, the general tastes of mankind, or some such fact,
which may be the object of reasoning and enquiry.
When
we run over libraries, persuaded of these principles, what havoc must we make?
If we take in our hand any volume; of divinity or school metaphysics, for
instance; let us ask, Does it contain any abstract reasoning concerning
quantity or number? No. Does it contain any experimental reasoning concerning
matter of fact and existence? No. Commit it then to the flames: for it can
contain nothing but sophistry and illusion.
by
David Hume
CONTENTS
Pamphilus to Hermippus, Part
1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part
6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part
11, Part 12
It
has been remarked, my HERMIPPUS, that though the ancient philosophers conveyed
most of their instruction in the form of dialogue, this method of composition
has been little practised in later ages, and has seldom succeeded in the hands
of those who have attempted it. Accurate and regular argument, indeed, such as
is now expected of philosophical inquirers, naturally throws a man into the
methodical and didactic manner; where he can immediately, without preparation,
explain the point at which he aims; and thence proceed, without interruption,
to deduce the proofs on which it is established. To deliver a SYSTEM in
conversation, scarcely appears natural; and while the dialogue-writer desires,
by departing from the direct style of composition, to give a freer air to his
performance, and avoid the appearance of Author and Reader, he is apt to run
into a worse inconvenience, and convey the image of Pedagogue and Pupil. Or, if
he carries on the dispute in the natural spirit of good company, by throwing in
a variety of topics, and preserving a proper balance among the speakers, he
often loses so much time in preparations and transitions, that the reader will
scarcely think himself compensated, by all the graces of dialogue, for the
order, brevity, and precision, which are sacrificed to them.
There
are some subjects, however, to which dialogue-writing is peculiarly adapted,
and where it is still preferable to the direct and simple method of
composition.
Any
point of doctrine, which is so obvious that it scarcely admits of dispute, but
at the same time so important that it cannot be too often inculcated, seems to
require some such method of handling it; where the novelty of the manner may
compensate the triteness of the subject; where the vivacity of conversation may
enforce the precept; and where the variety of lights, presented by various
personages and characters, may appear neither tedious nor redundant.
Any
question of philosophy, on the other hand, which is so OBSCURE and UNCERTAIN,
that human reason can reach no fixed determination with regard to it; if it
should be treated at all, seems to lead us naturally into the style of dialogue
and conversation. Reasonable men may be allowed to differ, where no one can
reasonably be positive. Opposite sentiments, even without any decision, afford
an agreeable amusement; and if the subject be curious and interesting, the book
carries us, in a manner, into company; and unites the two greatest and purest
pleasures of human life, study and society.
Happily,
these circumstances are all to be found in the subject of NATURAL RELIGION.
What truth so obvious, so certain, as the being of a God, which the most
ignorant ages have acknowledged, for which the most refined geniuses have
ambitiously striven to produce new proofs and arguments? What truth so
important as this, which is the ground of all our hopes, the surest foundation
of morality, the firmest support of society, and the only principle which ought
never to be a moment absent from our thoughts and meditations? But, in treating
of this obvious and important truth, what obscure questions occur concerning
the nature of that Divine Being, his attributes, his decrees, his plan of
providence? These have been always subjected to the disputations of men;
concerning these human reason has not reached any certain determination. But
these are topics so interesting, that we cannot restrain our restless inquiry
with regard to them; though nothing but doubt, uncertainty, and contradiction,
have as yet been the result of our most accurate researches.
This
I had lately occasion to observe, while I passed, as usual, part of the summer
season with CLEANTHES, and was present at those conversations of his with PHILO
and DEMEA, of which I gave you lately some imperfect account. Your curiosity,
you then told me, was so excited, that I must, of necessity, enter into a more
exact detail of their reasonings, and display those various systems which they
advanced with regard to so delicate a subject as that of natural religion. The
remarkable contrast in their characters still further raised your expectations;
while you opposed the accurate philosophical turn of CLEANTHES to the careless
scepticism of PHILO, or compared either of their dispositions with the rigid
inflexible orthodoxy of DEMEA. My youth rendered me a mere auditor of their
disputes; and that curiosity, natural to the early season of life, has so
deeply imprinted in my memory the whole chain and connection of their
arguments, that, I hope, I shall not omit or confound any considerable part of
them in the recital.
After
I joined the company, whom I found sitting in CLEANTHES’s library, DEMEA paid
CLEANTHES some compliments on the great care which he took of my education, and
on his unwearied perseverance and constancy in all his friendships. The father
of PAMPHILUS, said he, was your intimate friend: The son is your pupil; and may
indeed be regarded as your adopted son, were we to judge by the pains which you
bestow in conveying to him every useful branch of literature and science. You
are no more wanting, I am persuaded, in prudence, than in industry. I shall,
therefore, communicate to you a maxim, which I have observed with regard to my
own children, that I may learn how far it agrees with your practice. The method
I follow in their education is founded on the saying of an ancient, “That
students of philosophy ought first to learn logics, then ethics, next physics,
last of all the nature of the gods.” [Chrysippus apud Plut: de repug:
Stoicorum] This science of natural theology, according to him, being the most
profound and abstruse of any, required the maturest judgement in its students;
and none but a mind enriched with all the other sciences, can safely be
entrusted with it.
Are
you so late, says PHILO, in teaching your children the principles of religion?
Is there no danger of their neglecting, or rejecting altogether those opinions
of which they have heard so little during the whole course of their education?
It is only as a science, replied DEMEA, subjected to human reasoning and
disputation, that I postpone the study of Natural Theology. To season their
minds with early piety, is my chief care; and by continual precept and
instruction, and I hope too by example, I imprint deeply on their tender minds
an habitual reverence for all the principles of religion. While they pass
through every other science, I still remark the uncertainty of each part; the
eternal disputations of men; the obscurity of all philosophy; and the strange,
ridiculous conclusions, which some of the greatest geniuses have derived from
the principles of mere human reason. Having thus tamed their mind to a proper
submission and self-diffidence, I have no longer any scruple of opening to them
the greatest mysteries of religion; nor apprehend any danger from that assuming
arrogance of philosophy, which may lead them to reject the most established
doctrines and opinions.
Your
precaution, says PHILO, of seasoning your children’s minds early with piety, is
certainly very reasonable; and no more than is requisite in this profane and
irreligious age. But what I chiefly admire in your plan of education, is your
method of drawing advantage from the very principles of philosophy and
learning, which, by inspiring pride and self-sufficiency, have commonly, in all
ages, been found so destructive to the principles of religion. The vulgar,
indeed, we may remark, who are unacquainted with science and profound inquiry,
observing the endless disputes of the learned, have commonly a thorough
contempt for philosophy; and rivet themselves the faster, by that means, in the
great points of theology which have been taught them. Those who enter a little
into study and study and inquiry, finding many appearances of evidence in
doctrines the newest and most extraordinary, think nothing too difficult for
human reason; and, presumptuously breaking through all fences, profane the
inmost sanctuaries of the temple. But CLEANTHES will, I hope, agree with me,
that, after we have abandoned ignorance, the surest remedy, there is still one
expedient left to prevent this profane liberty. Let DEMEA’s principles be
improved and cultivated: Let us become thoroughly sensible of the weakness,
blindness, and narrow limits of human reason: Let us duly consider its
uncertainty and endless contrarieties, even in subjects of common life and
practice: Let the errors and deceits of our very senses be set before us; the
insuperable difficulties which attend first principles in all systems; the
contradictions which adhere to the very ideas of matter, cause and effect,
extension, space, time, motion; and in a word, quantity of all kinds, the
object of the only science that can fairly pretend to any certainty or
evidence. When these topics are displayed in their full light, as they are by
some philosophers and almost all divines; who can retain such confidence in
this frail faculty of reason as to pay any regard to its determinations in
points so sublime, so abstruse, so remote from common life and experience? When
the coherence of the parts of a stone, or even that composition of parts which
renders it extended; when these familiar objects, I say, are so inexplicable,
and contain circumstances so repugnant and contradictory; with what assurance
can we decide concerning the origin of worlds, or trace their history from
eternity to eternity?
While
PHILO pronounced these words, I could observe a smile in the countenance both
of DEMEA and CLEANTHES. That of DEMEA seemed to imply an unreserved
satisfaction in the doctrines delivered: But, in CLEANTHES’s features, I could distinguish
an air of finesse; as if he perceived some raillery or artificial malice in the
reasonings of PHILO.
You
propose then, PHILO, said CLEANTHES, to erect religious faith on philosophical
scepticism; and you think, that if certainty or evidence be expelled from every
other subject of inquiry, it will all retire to these theological doctrines,
and there acquire a superior force and authority. Whether your scepticism be as
absolute and sincere as you pretend, we shall learn by and by, when the company
breaks up: We shall then see, whether you go out at the door or the window; and
whether you really doubt if your body has gravity, or can be injured by its
fall; according to popular opinion, derived from our fallacious senses, and
more fallacious experience. And this consideration, DEMEA, may, I think, fairly
serve to abate our ill-will to this humorous sect of the sceptics. If they be
thoroughly in earnest, they will not long trouble the world with their doubts,
cavils, and disputes: If they be only in jest, they are, perhaps, bad raillers;
but can never be very dangerous, either to the state, to philosophy, or to
religion.
In
reality, PHILO, continued he, it seems certain, that though a man, in a flush
of humour, after intense reflection on the many contradictions and
imperfections of human reason, may entirely renounce all belief and opinion, it
is impossible for him to persevere in this total scepticism, or make it appear
in his conduct for a few hours. External objects press in upon him; passions
solicit him; his philosophical melancholy dissipates; and even the utmost
violence upon his own temper will not be able, during any time, to preserve the
poor appearance of scepticism. And for what reason impose on himself such a
violence? This is a point in which it will be impossible for him ever to
satisfy himself, consistently with his sceptical principles. So that, upon the
whole, nothing could be more ridiculous than the principles of the ancient
PYRRHONIANS; if in reality they endeavoured, as is pretended, to extend,
throughout, the same scepticism which they had learned from the declamations of
their schools, and which they ought to have confined to them.
In
this view, there appears a great resemblance between the sects of the STOICS
and PYRRHONIANS, though perpetual antagonists; and both of them seem founded on
this erroneous maxim, That what a man can perform sometimes, and in some
dispositions, he can perform always, and in every disposition. When the mind,
by Stoical reflections, is elevated into a sublime enthusiasm of virtue, and
strongly smit with any species of honour or public good, the utmost bodily pain
and sufferings will not prevail over such a high sense of duty; and it is
possible, perhaps, by its means, even to smile and exult in the midst of
tortures. If this sometimes may be the case in fact and reality, much more may
a philosopher, in his school, or even in his closet, work himself up to such an
enthusiasm, and support in imagination the acutest pain or most calamitous
event which he can possibly conceive. But how shall he support this enthusiasm
itself? The bent of his mind relaxes, and cannot be recalled at pleasure;
avocations lead him astray; misfortunes attack him unawares; and the
philosopher sinks by degrees into the plebeian.
I
allow of your comparison between the STOICS and SKEPTICS, replied PHILO. But
you may observe, at the same time, that though the mind cannot, in Stoicism,
support the highest flights of philosophy, yet, even when it sinks lower, it
still retains somewhat of its former disposition; and the effects of the
Stoic’s reasoning will appear in his conduct in common life, and through the
whole tenor of his actions. The ancient schools, particularly that of ZENO,
produced examples of virtue and constancy which seem astonishing to present
times.
Vain
Wisdom all and false Philosophy. Yet with a pleasing sorcery could charm Pain,
for a while, or anguish; and excite Fallacious Hope, or arm the obdurate breast
With stubborn Patience, as with triple steel.
In
like manner, if a man has accustomed himself to sceptical considerations on the
uncertainty and narrow limits of reason, he will not entirely forget them when
he turns his reflection on other subjects; but in all his philosophical
principles and reasoning, I dare not say in his common conduct, he will be
found different from those, who either never formed any opinions in the case,
or have entertained sentiments more favourable to human reason.
To
whatever length any one may push his speculative principles of scepticism, he
must act, I own, and live, and converse, like other men; and for this conduct
he is not obliged to give any other reason, than the absolute necessity he lies
under of so doing. If he ever carries his speculations further than this
necessity constrains him, and philosophises either on natural or moral
subjects, he is allured by a certain pleasure and satisfaction which he finds
in employing himself after that manner. He considers besides, that every one,
even in common life, is constrained to have more or less of this philosophy;
that from our earliest infancy we make continual advances in forming more
general principles of conduct and reasoning; that the larger experience we
acquire, and the stronger reason we are endued with, we always render our
principles the more general and comprehensive; and that what we call philosophy
is nothing but a more regular and methodical operation of the same kind. To
philosophise on such subjects, is nothing essentially different from reasoning
on common life; and we may only expect greater stability, if not greater truth,
from our philosophy, on account of its exacter and more scrupulous method of
proceeding.
But
when we look beyond human affairs and the properties of the surrounding bodies:
when we carry our speculations into the two eternities, before and after the
present state of things; into the creation and formation of the universe; the
existence and properties of spirits; the powers and operations of one universal
Spirit existing without beginning and without end; omnipotent, omniscient,
immutable, infinite, and incomprehensible: We must be far removed from the
smallest tendency to scepticism not to be apprehensive, that we have here got
quite beyond the reach of our faculties. So long as we confine our speculations
to trade, or morals, or politics, or criticism, we make appeals, every moment,
to common sense and experience, which strengthen our philosophical conclusions,
and remove, at least in part, the suspicion which we so justly entertain with
regard to every reasoning that is very subtle and refined. But, in theological
reasonings, we have not this advantage; while, at the same time, we are
employed upon objects, which, we must be sensible, are too large for our grasp,
and of all others, require most to be familiarised to our apprehension. We are
like foreigners in a strange country, to whom every thing must seem suspicious,
and who are in danger every moment of transgressing against the laws and
customs of the people with whom they live and converse. We know not how far we
ought to trust our vulgar methods of reasoning in such a subject; since, even
in common life, and in that province which is peculiarly appropriated to them,
we cannot account for them, and are entirely guided by a kind of instinct or
necessity in employing them.
All
sceptics pretend, that, if reason be considered in an abstract view, it
furnishes invincible arguments against itself; and that we could never retain
any conviction or assurance, on any subject, were not the sceptical reasonings
so refined and subtle, that they are not able to counterpoise the more solid
and more natural arguments derived from the senses and experience. But it is
evident, whenever our arguments lose this advantage, and run wide of common
life, that the most refined scepticism comes to be upon a footing with them,
and is able to oppose and counterbalance them. The one has no more weight than
the other. The mind must remain in suspense between them; and it is that very
suspense or balance, which is the triumph of scepticism.
But
I observe, says CLEANTHES, with regard to you, PHILO, and all speculative
sceptics, that your doctrine and practice are as much at variance in the most
abstruse points of theory as in the conduct of common life. Wherever evidence
discovers itself, you adhere to it, notwithstanding your pretended scepticism;
and I can observe, too, some of your sect to be as decisive as those who make
greater professions of certainty and assurance. In reality, would not a man be
ridiculous, who pretended to reject NEWTON’s explication of the wonderful
phenomenon of the rainbow, because that explication gives a minute anatomy of
the rays of light; a subject, forsooth, too refined for human comprehension?
And what would you say to one, who, having nothing particular to object to the
arguments of COPERNICUS and GALILEO for the motion of the earth, should
withhold his assent, on that general principle, that these subjects were too
magnificent and remote to be explained by the narrow and fallacious reason of
mankind?
There
is indeed a kind of brutish and ignorant scepticism, as you well observed,
which gives the vulgar a general prejudice against what they do not easily
understand, and makes them reject every principle which requires elaborate
reasoning to prove and establish it. This species of scepticism is fatal to
knowledge, not to religion; since we find, that those who make greatest
profession of it, give often their assent, not only to the great truths of
Theism and natural theology, but even to the most absurd tenets which a
traditional superstition has recommended to them. They firmly believe in
witches, though they will not believe nor attend to the most simple proposition
of Euclid. But the refined and philosophical sceptics fall into an
inconsistence of an opposite nature. They push their researches into the most
abstruse corners of science; and their assent attends them in every step,
proportioned to the evidence which they meet with. They are even obliged to
acknowledge, that the most abstruse and remote objects are those which are best
explained by philosophy. Light is in reality anatomised. The true system of the
heavenly bodies is discovered and ascertained. But the nourishment of bodies by
food is still an inexplicable mystery. The cohesion of the parts of matter is
still incomprehensible. These sceptics, therefore, are obliged, in every
question, to consider each particular evidence apart, and proportion their
assent to the precise degree of evidence which occurs. This is their practice
in all natural, mathematical, moral, and political science. And why not the
same, I ask, in the theological and religious? Why must conclusions of this
nature be alone rejected on the general presumption of the insufficiency of
human reason, without any particular discussion of the evidence? Is not such an
unequal conduct a plain proof of prejudice and passion?
Our
senses, you say, are fallacious; our understanding erroneous; our ideas, even
of the most familiar objects, extension, duration, motion, full of absurdities
and contradictions. You defy me to solve the difficulties, or reconcile the
repugnancies which you discover in them. I have not capacity for so great an
undertaking: I have not leisure for it: I perceive it to be superfluous. Your
own conduct, in every circumstance, refutes your principles, and shows the
firmest reliance on all the received maxims of science, morals, prudence, and
behaviour.
I
shall never assent to so harsh an opinion as that of a celebrated writer
[L’Arte de penser], who says, that the Sceptics are not a sect of philosophers:
They are only a sect of liars. I may, however, affirm (I hope without offence),
that they are a sect of jesters or raillers. But for my part, whenever I find
myself disposed to mirth and amusement, I shall certainly choose my entertainment
of a less perplexing and abstruse nature. A comedy, a novel, or at most a
history, seems a more natural recreation than such metaphysical subtleties and
abstractions.
In
vain would the sceptic make a distinction between science and common life, or
between one science and another. The arguments employed in all, if just, are of
a similar nature, and contain the same force and evidence. Or if there be any
difference among them, the advantage lies entirely on the side of theology and
natural religion. Many principles of mechanics are founded on very abstruse
reasoning; yet no man who has any pretensions to science, even no speculative
sceptic, pretends to entertain the least doubt with regard to them. The
COPERNICAN system contains the most surprising paradox, and the most contrary
to our natural conceptions, to appearances, and to our very senses: yet even
monks and inquisitors are now constrained to withdraw their opposition to it.
And shall PHILO, a man of so liberal a genius and extensive knowledge, entertain
any general undistinguished scruples with regard to the religious hypothesis,
which is founded on the simplest and most obvious arguments, and, unless it
meets with artificial obstacles, has such easy access and admission into the
mind of man?
And
here we may observe, continued he, turning himself towards DEMEA, a pretty
curious circumstance in the history of the sciences. After the union of
philosophy with the popular religion, upon the first establishment of
Christianity, nothing was more usual, among all religious teachers, than
declamations against reason, against the senses, against every principle
derived merely from human research and inquiry. All the topics of the ancient
academics were adopted by the fathers; and thence propagated for several ages
in every school and pulpit throughout Christendom. The Reformers embraced the
same principles of reasoning, or rather declamation; and all panegyrics on the
excellency of faith, were sure to be interlarded with some severe strokes of
satire against natural reason. A celebrated prelate [Monsr. Huet] too, of the
Romish communion, a man of the most extensive learning, who wrote a
demonstration of Christianity, has also composed a treatise, which contains all
the cavils of the boldest and most determined PYRRHONISM. LOCKE seems to have
been the first Christian who ventured openly to assert, that faith was nothing
but a species of reason; that religion was only a branch of philosophy; and
that a chain of arguments, similar to that which established any truth in
morals, politics, or physics, was always employed in discovering all the
principles of theology, natural and revealed. The ill use which BAYLE and other
libertines made of the philosophical scepticism of the fathers and first
reformers, still further propagated the judicious sentiment of Mr. LOCKE: And
it is now in a manner avowed, by all pretenders to reasoning and philosophy,
that Atheist and Sceptic are almost synonymous. And as it is certain that no
man is in earnest when he professes the latter principle, I would fain hope
that there are as few who seriously maintain the former.
Don’t
you remember, said PHILO, the excellent saying of LORD BACON on this head? That
a little philosophy, replied CLEANTHES, makes a man an Atheist: A great deal
converts him to religion. That is a very judicious remark too, said PHILO. But
what I have in my eye is another passage, where, having mentioned DAVID’s fool,
who said in his heart there is no God, this great philosopher observes, that
the Atheists nowadays have a double share of folly; for they are not contented
to say in their hearts there is no God, but they also utter that impiety with
their lips, and are thereby guilty of multiplied indiscretion and imprudence.
Such people, though they were ever so much in earnest, cannot, methinks, be
very formidable.
But
though you should rank me in this class of fools, I cannot forbear
communicating a remark that occurs to me, from the history of the religious and
irreligious scepticism with which you have entertained us. It appears to me,
that there are strong symptoms of priestcraft in the whole progress of this
affair. During ignorant ages, such as those which followed the dissolution of
the ancient schools, the priests perceived, that Atheism, Deism, or heresy of
any kind, could only proceed from the presumptuous questioning of received
opinions, and from a belief that human reason was equal to every thing.
Education had then a mighty influence over the minds of men, and was almost
equal in force to those suggestions of the senses and common understanding, by
which the most determined sceptic must allow himself to be governed. But at
present, when the influence of education is much diminished, and men, from a
more open commerce of the world, have learned to compare the popular principles
of different nations and ages, our sagacious divines have changed their whole
system of philosophy, and talk the language of STOICS, PLATONISTS, and
PERIPATETICS, not that of PYRRHONIANS and ACADEMICS. If we distrust human
reason, we have now no other principle to lead us into religion. Thus, sceptics
in one age, dogmatists in another; whichever system best suits the purpose of
these reverend gentlemen, in giving them an ascendant over mankind, they are
sure to make it their favourite principle, and established tenet.
It
is very natural, said CLEANTHES, for men to embrace those principles, by which
they find they can best defend their doctrines; nor need we have any recourse
to priestcraft to account for so reasonable an expedient. And, surely nothing
can afford a stronger presumption, that any set of principles are true, and
ought to be embraced, than to observe that they tend to the confirmation of
true religion, and serve to confound the cavils of Atheists, Libertines, and
Freethinkers of all denominations.
I
must own, CLEANTHES, said DEMEA, that nothing can more surprise me, than the
light in which you have all along put this argument. By the whole tenor of your
discourse, one would imagine that you were maintaining the Being of a God,
against the cavils of Atheists and Infidels; and were necessitated to become a
champion for that fundamental principle of all religion. But this, I hope, is
not by any means a question among us. No man, no man at least of common sense,
I am persuaded, ever entertained a serious doubt with regard to a truth so
certain and self-evident. The question is not concerning the being, but the
nature of God. This, I affirm, from the infirmities of human understanding, to
be altogether incomprehensible and unknown to us. The essence of that supreme
Mind, his attributes, the manner of his existence, the very nature of his
duration; these, and every particular which regards so divine a Being, are
mysterious to men. Finite, weak, and blind creatures, we ought to humble ourselves
in his august presence; and, conscious of our frailties, adore in silence his
infinite perfections, which eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard, neither hath
it entered into the heart of man to conceive. They are covered in a deep cloud
from human curiosity. It is profaneness to attempt penetrating through these
sacred obscurities. And, next to the impiety of denying his existence, is the
temerity of prying into his nature and essence, decrees and attributes.
But
lest you should think that my piety has here got the better of my philosophy, I
shall support my opinion, if it needs any support, by a very great authority. I
might cite all the divines, almost, from the foundation of Christianity, who
have ever treated of this or any other theological subject: But I shall confine
myself, at present, to one equally celebrated for piety and philosophy. It is
Father MALEBRANCHE, who, I remember, thus expresses himself [Recherche de la
Verite. Liv. 3. Chap.9]. “One ought not so much,” says he, “to call God a spirit,
in order to express positively what he is, as in order to signify that he is
not matter. He is a Being infinitely perfect: Of this we cannot doubt. But in
the same manner as we ought not to imagine, even supposing him corporeal, that
he is clothed with a human body, as the ANTHROPOMORPHITES asserted, under
colour that that figure was the most perfect of any; so, neither ought we to
imagine that the spirit of God has human ideas, or bears any resemblance to our
spirit, under colour that we know nothing more perfect than a human mind. We
ought rather to believe, that as he comprehends the perfections of matter
without being material.... he comprehends also the perfections of created
spirits without being spirit, in the manner we conceive spirit: That his true
name is, He that is; or, in other words, Being without restriction, All Being,
the Being infinite and universal.”
After
so great an authority, DEMEA, replied PHILO, as that which you have produced,
and a thousand more which you might produce, it would appear ridiculous in me
to add my sentiment, or express my approbation of your doctrine. But surely,
where reasonable men treat these subjects, the question can never be concerning
the Being, but only the Nature, of the Deity. The former truth, as you well
observe, is unquestionable and self- evident. Nothing exists without a cause;
and the original cause of this universe (whatever it be) we call God; and
piously ascribe to him every species of perfection. Whoever scruples this
fundamental truth, deserves every punishment which can be inflicted among
philosophers, to wit, the greatest ridicule, contempt, and disapprobation. But
as all perfection is entirely relative, we ought never to imagine that we
comprehend the attributes of this divine Being, or to suppose that his
perfections have any analogy or likeness to the perfections of a human
creature. Wisdom, Thought, Design, Knowledge; these we justly ascribe to him;
because these words are honourable among men, and we have no other language or
other conceptions by which we can express our adoration of him. But let us
beware, lest we think that our ideas anywise correspond to his perfections, or
that his attributes have any resemblance to these qualities among men. He is
infinitely superior to our limited view and comprehension; and is more the
object of worship in the temple, than of disputation in the schools.
In
reality, CLEANTHES, continued he, there is no need of having recourse to that
affected scepticism so displeasing to you, in order to come at this determination.
Our ideas reach no further than our experience. We have no experience of divine
attributes and operations. I need not conclude my syllogism. You can draw the
inference yourself. And it is a pleasure to me (and I hope to you too) that
just reasoning and sound piety here concur in the same conclusion, and both of
them establish the adorably mysterious and incomprehensible nature of the
Supreme Being.
Not
to lose any time in circumlocutions, said CLEANTHES, addressing himself to
DEMEA, much less in replying to the pious declamations of PHILO; I shall
briefly explain how I conceive this matter. Look round the world: contemplate
the whole and every part of it: You will find it to be nothing but one great
machine, subdivided into an infinite number of lesser machines, which again
admit of subdivisions to a degree beyond what human senses and faculties can
trace and explain. All these various machines, and even their most minute
parts, are adjusted to each other with an accuracy which ravishes into admiration
all men who have ever contemplated them. The curious adapting of means to ends,
throughout all nature, resembles exactly, though it much exceeds, the
productions of human contrivance; of human designs, thought, wisdom, and
intelligence. Since, therefore, the effects resemble each other, we are led to
infer, by all the rules of analogy, that the causes also resemble; and that the
Author of Nature is somewhat similar to the mind of man, though possessed of
much larger faculties, proportioned to the grandeur of the work which he has
executed. By this argument a posteriori, and by this argument alone, do we
prove at once the existence of a Deity, and his similarity to human mind and
intelligence.
I
shall be so free, CLEANTHES, said DEMEA, as to tell you, that from the
beginning, I could not approve of your conclusion concerning the similarity of
the Deity to men; still less can I approve of the mediums by which you
endeavour to establish it. What! No demonstration of the Being of God! No
abstract arguments! No proofs a priori! Are these, which have hitherto been so
much insisted on by philosophers, all fallacy, all sophism? Can we reach no
further in this subject than experience and probability? I will not say that
this is betraying the cause of a Deity: But surely, by this affected candour,
you give advantages to Atheists, which they never could obtain by the mere dint
of argument and reasoning.
What
I chiefly scruple in this subject, said PHILO, is not so much that all
religious arguments are by CLEANTHES reduced to experience, as that they appear
not to be even the most certain and irrefragable of that inferior kind. That a
stone will fall, that fire will burn, that the earth has solidity, we have
observed a thousand and a thousand times; and when any new instance of this
nature is presented, we draw without hesitation the accustomed inference. The
exact similarity of the cases gives us a perfect assurance of a similar event;
and a stronger evidence is never desired nor sought after. But wherever you depart,
in the least, from the similarity of the cases, you diminish proportionably the
evidence; and may at last bring it to a very weak analogy, which is confessedly
liable to error and uncertainty. After having experienced the circulation of
the blood in human creatures, we make no doubt that it takes place in TITIUS
and MAEVIUS. But from its circulation in frogs and fishes, it is only a
presumption, though a strong one, from analogy, that it takes place in men and
other animals. The analogical reasoning is much weaker, when we infer the
circulation of the sap in vegetables from our experience that the blood
circulates in animals; and those, who hastily followed that imperfect analogy,
are found, by more accurate experiments, to have been mistaken.
If
we see a house, CLEANTHES, we conclude, with the greatest certainty, that it
had an architect or builder; because this is precisely that species of effect
which we have experienced to proceed from that species of cause. But surely you
will not affirm, that the universe bears such a resemblance to a house, that we
can with the same certainty infer a similar cause, or that the analogy is here
entire and perfect. The dissimilitude is so striking, that the utmost you can
here pretend to is a guess, a conjecture, a presumption concerning a similar
cause; and how that pretension will be received in the world, I leave you to
consider.
It
would surely be very ill received, replied CLEANTHES; and I should be
deservedly blamed and detested, did I allow, that the proofs of a Deity
amounted to no more than a guess or conjecture. But is the whole adjustment of
means to ends in a house and in the universe so slight a resemblance? The
economy of final causes? The order, proportion, and arrangement of every part?
Steps of a stair are plainly contrived, that human legs may use them in
mounting; and this inference is certain and infallible. Human legs are also
contrived for walking and mounting; and this inference, I allow, is not
altogether so certain, because of the dissimilarity which you remark; but does
it, therefore, deserve the name only of presumption or conjecture?
Good
God! cried DEMEA, interrupting him, where are we? Zealous defenders of religion
allow, that the proofs of a Deity fall short of perfect evidence! And you, PHILO,
on whose assistance I depended in proving the adorable mysteriousness of the
Divine Nature, do you assent to all these extravagant opinions of CLEANTHES?
For what other name can I give them? or, why spare my censure, when such
principles are advanced, supported by such an authority, before so young a man
as PAMPHILUS?
You
seem not to apprehend, replied PHILO, that I argue with CLEANTHES in his own
way; and, by showing him the dangerous consequences of his tenets, hope at last
to reduce him to our opinion. But what sticks most with you, I observe, is the
representation which CLEANTHES has made of the argument a posteriori; and
finding that that argument is likely to escape your hold and vanish into air,
you think it so disguised, that you can scarcely believe it to be set in its
true light. Now, however much I may dissent, in other respects, from the
dangerous principles of CLEANTHES, I must allow that he has fairly represented
that argument; and I shall endeavour so to state the matter to you, that you will
entertain no further scruples with regard to it.
Were
a man to abstract from every thing which he knows or has seen, he would be
altogether incapable, merely from his own ideas, to determine what kind of
scene the universe must be, or to give the preference to one state or situation
of things above another. For as nothing which he clearly conceives could be
esteemed impossible or implying a contradiction, every chimera of his fancy
would be upon an equal footing; nor could he assign any just reason why he
adheres to one idea or system, and rejects the others which are equally
possible.
Again;
after he opens his eyes, and contemplates the world as it really is, it would
be impossible for him at first to assign the cause of any one event, much less
of the whole of things, or of the universe. He might set his fancy a rambling;
and she might bring him in an infinite variety of reports and representations.
These would all be possible; but being all equally possible, he would never of
himself give a satisfactory account for his preferring one of them to the rest.
Experience alone can point out to him the true cause of any phenomenon.
Now,
according to this method of reasoning, DEMEA, it follows, (and is, indeed,
tacitly allowed by CLEANTHES himself,) that order, arrangement, or the
adjustment of final causes, is not of itself any proof of design; but only so
far as it has been experienced to proceed from that principle. For aught we can
know a priori, matter may contain the source or spring of order originally within
itself, as well as mind does; and there is no more difficulty in conceiving,
that the several elements, from an internal unknown cause, may fall into the
most exquisite arrangement, than to conceive that their ideas, in the great
universal mind, from a like internal unknown cause, fall into that arrangement.
The equal possibility of both these suppositions is allowed. But, by
experience, we find, (according to CLEANTHES), that there is a difference
between them. Throw several pieces of steel together, without shape or form;
they will never arrange themselves so as to compose a watch. Stone, and mortar,
and wood, without an architect, never erect a house. But the ideas in a human
mind, we see, by an unknown, inexplicable economy, arrange themselves so as to
form the plan of a watch or house. Experience, therefore, proves, that there is
an original principle of order in mind, not in matter. From similar effects we
infer similar causes. The adjustment of means to ends is alike in the universe,
as in a machine of human contrivance. The causes, therefore, must be
resembling.
I
was from the beginning scandalised, I must own, with this resemblance, which is
asserted, between the Deity and human creatures; and must conceive it to imply
such a degradation of the Supreme Being as no sound Theist could endure. With
your assistance, therefore, DEMEA, I shall endeavour to defend what you justly
call the adorable mysteriousness of the Divine Nature, and shall refute this
reasoning of CLEANTHES, provided he allows that I have made a fair
representation of it.
When
CLEANTHES had assented, PHILO, after a short pause, proceeded in the following
manner.
That
all inferences, CLEANTHES, concerning fact, are founded on experience; and that
all experimental reasonings are founded on the supposition that similar causes
prove similar effects, and similar effects similar causes; I shall not at
present much dispute with you. But observe, I entreat you, with what extreme
caution all just reasoners proceed in the transferring of experiments to
similar cases. Unless the cases be exactly similar, they repose no perfect
confidence in applying their past observation to any particular phenomenon.
Every alteration of circumstances occasions a doubt concerning the event; and
it requires new experiments to prove certainly, that the new circumstances are
of no moment or importance. A change in bulk, situation, arrangement, age,
disposition of the air, or surrounding bodies; any of these particulars may be
attended with the most unexpected consequences: And unless the objects be quite
familiar to us, it is the highest temerity to expect with assurance, after any
of these changes, an event similar to that which before fell under our
observation. The slow and deliberate steps of philosophers here, if any where,
are distinguished from the precipitate march of the vulgar, who, hurried on by
the smallest similitude, are incapable of all discernment or consideration.
But
can you think, CLEANTHES, that your usual phlegm and philosophy have been
preserved in so wide a step as you have taken, when you compared to the
universe houses, ships, furniture, machines, and, from their similarity in some
circumstances, inferred a similarity in their causes? Thought, design,
intelligence, such as we discover in men and other animals, is no more than one
of the springs and principles of the universe, as well as heat or cold,
attraction or repulsion, and a hundred others, which fall under daily
observation. It is an active cause, by which some particular parts of nature, we
find, produce alterations on other parts. But can a conclusion, with any
propriety, be transferred from parts to the whole? Does not the great
disproportion bar all comparison and inference? From observing the growth of a
hair, can we learn any thing concerning the generation of a man? Would the
manner of a leaf’s blowing, even though perfectly known, afford us any
instruction concerning the vegetation of a tree?
But,
allowing that we were to take the operations of one part of nature upon
another, for the foundation of our judgement concerning the origin of the
whole, (which never can be admitted,) yet why select so minute, so weak, so
bounded a principle, as the reason and design of animals is found to be upon
this planet? What peculiar privilege has this little agitation of the brain
which we call thought, that we must thus make it the model of the whole
universe? Our partiality in our own favour does indeed present it on all
occasions; but sound philosophy ought carefully to guard against so natural an
illusion.
So
far from admitting, continued PHILO, that the operations of a part can afford
us any just conclusion concerning the origin of the whole, I will not allow any
one part to form a rule for another part, if the latter be very remote from the
former. Is there any reasonable ground to conclude, that the inhabitants of
other planets possess thought, intelligence, reason, or any thing similar to
these faculties in men? When nature has so extremely diversified her manner of
operation in this small globe, can we imagine that she incessantly copies
herself throughout so immense a universe? And if thought, as we may well
suppose, be confined merely to this narrow corner, and has even there so
limited a sphere of action, with what propriety can we assign it for the
original cause of all things? The narrow views of a peasant, who makes his
domestic economy the rule for the government of kingdoms, is in comparison a
pardonable sophism.
But
were we ever so much assured, that a thought and reason, resembling the human,
were to be found throughout the whole universe, and were its activity elsewhere
vastly greater and more commanding than it appears in this globe; yet I cannot
see, why the operations of a world constituted, arranged, adjusted, can with
any propriety be extended to a world which is in its embryo state, and is
advancing towards that constitution and arrangement. By observation, we know
somewhat of the economy, action, and nourishment of a finished animal; but we
must transfer with great caution that observation to the growth of a foetus in
the womb, and still more to the formation of an animalcule in the loins of its
male parent. Nature, we find, even from our limited experience, possesses an
infinite number of springs and principles, which incessantly discover
themselves on every change of her position and situation. And what new and
unknown principles would actuate her in so new and unknown a situation as that
of the formation of a universe, we cannot, without the utmost temerity, pretend
to determine.
A
very small part of this great system, during a very short time, is very
imperfectly discovered to us; and do we thence pronounce decisively concerning
the origin of the whole?
Admirable
conclusion! Stone, wood, brick, iron, brass, have not, at this time, in this
minute globe of earth, an order or arrangement without human art and
contrivance; therefore the universe could not originally attain its order and
arrangement, without something similar to human art. But is a part of nature a
rule for another part very wide of the former? Is it a rule for the whole? Is a
very small part a rule for the universe? Is nature in one situation, a certain
rule for nature in another situation vastly different from the former?
And
can you blame me, CLEANTHES, if I here imitate the prudent reserve of
SIMONIDES, who, according to the noted story, being asked by HIERO, What God
was? desired a day to think of it, and then two days more; and after that
manner continually prolonged the term, without ever bringing in his definition
or description? Could you even blame me, if I had answered at first, that I did
not know, and was sensible that this subject lay vastly beyond the reach of my
faculties? You might cry out sceptic and railler, as much as you pleased: but
having found, in so many other subjects much more familiar, the imperfections
and even contradictions of human reason, I never should expect any success from
its feeble conjectures, in a subject so sublime, and so remote from the sphere
of our observation. When two species of objects have always been observed to be
conjoined together, I can infer, by custom, the existence of one wherever I see
the existence of the other; and this I call an argument from experience. But
how this argument can have place, where the objects, as in the present case,
are single, individual, without parallel, or specific resemblance, may be
difficult to explain. And will any man tell me with a serious countenance, that
an orderly universe must arise from some thought and art like the human,
because we have experience of it? To ascertain this reasoning, it were
requisite that we had experience of the origin of worlds; and it is not
sufficient, surely, that we have seen ships and cities arise from human art and
contrivance...
PHILO
was proceeding in this vehement manner, somewhat between jest and earnest, as
it appeared to me, when he observed some signs of impatience in CLEANTHES, and
then immediately stopped short. What I had to suggest, said CLEANTHES, is only
that you would not abuse terms, or make use of popular expressions to subvert
philosophical reasonings. You know, that the vulgar often distinguish reason
from experience, even where the question relates only to matter of fact and
existence; though it is found, where that reason is properly analysed, that it
is nothing but a species of experience. To prove by experience the origin of
the universe from mind, is not more contrary to common speech, than to prove
the motion of the earth from the same principle. And a caviller might raise all
the same objections to the Copernican system, which you have urged against my
reasonings. Have you other earths, might he say, which you have seen to move?
Have...
Yes!
cried PHILO, interrupting him, we have other earths. Is not the moon another
earth, which we see to turn round its centre? Is not Venus another earth, where
we observe the same phenomenon? Are not the revolutions of the sun also a
confirmation, from analogy, of the same theory? All the planets, are they not
earths, which revolve about the sun? Are not the satellites moons, which move
round Jupiter and Saturn, and along with these primary planets round the sun?
These analogies and resemblances, with others which I have not mentioned, are
the sole proofs of the COPERNICAN system; and to you it belongs to consider,
whether you have any analogies of the same kind to support your theory.
In
reality, CLEANTHES, continued he, the modern system of astronomy is now so much
received by all inquirers, and has become so essential a part even of our
earliest education, that we are not commonly very scrupulous in examining the
reasons upon which it is founded. It is now become a matter of mere curiosity
to study the first writers on that subject, who had the full force of prejudice
to encounter, and were obliged to turn their arguments on every side in order
to render them popular and convincing. But if we peruse GALILEO’s famous
Dialogues concerning the system of the world, we shall find, that that great
genius, one of the sublimest that ever existed, first bent all his endeavours
to prove, that there was no foundation for the distinction commonly made
between elementary and celestial substances. The schools, proceeding from the
illusions of sense, had carried this distinction very far; and had established
the latter substances to be ingenerable, incorruptible, unalterable,
impassable; and had assigned all the opposite qualities to the former. But
GALILEO, beginning with the moon, proved its similarity in every particular to
the earth; its convex figure, its natural darkness when not illuminated, its
density, its distinction into solid and liquid, the variations of its phases,
the mutual illuminations of the earth and moon, their mutual eclipses, the
inequalities of the lunar surface, &c. After many instances of this kind,
with regard to all the planets, men plainly saw that these bodies became proper
objects of experience; and that the similarity of their nature enabled us to
extend the same arguments and phenomena from one to the other.
In
this cautious proceeding of the astronomers, you may read your own
condemnation, CLEANTHES; or rather may see, that the subject in which you are
engaged exceeds all human reason and inquiry. Can you pretend to show any such
similarity between the fabric of a house, and the generation of a universe?
Have you ever seen nature in any such situation as resembles the first
arrangement of the elements? Have worlds ever been formed under your eye; and
have you had leisure to observe the whole progress of the phenomenon, from the
first appearance of order to its final consummation? If you have, then cite
your experience, and deliver your theory.
How
the most absurd argument, replied CLEANTHES, in the hands of a man of ingenuity
and invention, may acquire an air of probability! Are you not aware, PHILO,
that it became necessary for Copernicus and his first disciples to prove the
similarity of the terrestrial and celestial matter; because several
philosophers, blinded by old systems, and supported by some sensible
appearances, had denied this similarity? but that it is by no means necessary,
that Theists should prove the similarity of the works of Nature to those of
Art; because this similarity is self-evident and undeniable? The same matter, a
like form; what more is requisite to show an analogy between their causes, and
to ascertain the origin of all things from a divine purpose and intention? Your
objections, I must freely tell you, are no better than the abstruse cavils of
those philosophers who denied motion; and ought to be refuted in the same
manner, by illustrations, examples, and instances, rather than by serious
argument and philosophy.
Suppose,
therefore, that an articulate voice were heard in the clouds, much louder and
more melodious than any which human art could ever reach: Suppose, that this
voice were extended in the same instant over all nations, and spoke to each
nation in its own language and dialect: Suppose, that the words delivered not
only contain a just sense and meaning, but convey some instruction altogether
worthy of a benevolent Being, superior to mankind: Could you possibly hesitate
a moment concerning the cause of this voice? and must you not instantly ascribe
it to some design or purpose? Yet I cannot see but all the same objections (if
they merit that appellation) which lie against the system of Theism, may also
be produced against this inference.
Might
you not say, that all conclusions concerning fact were founded on experience:
that when we hear an articulate voice in the dark, and thence infer a man, it
is only the resemblance of the effects which leads us to conclude that there is
a like resemblance in the cause: but that this extraordinary voice, by its
loudness, extent, and flexibility to all languages, bears so little analogy to
any human voice, that we have no reason to suppose any analogy in their causes:
and consequently, that a rational, wise, coherent speech proceeded, you know
not whence, from some accidental whistling of the winds, not from any divine
reason or intelligence? You see clearly your own objections in these cavils,
and I hope too you see clearly, that they cannot possibly have more force in
the one case than in the other.
But
to bring the case still nearer the present one of the universe, I shall make
two suppositions, which imply not any absurdity or impossibility. Suppose that
there is a natural, universal, invariable language, common to every individual
of human race; and that books are natural productions, which perpetuate
themselves in the same manner with animals and vegetables, by descent and
propagation. Several expressions of our passions contain a universal language:
all brute animals have a natural speech, which, however limited, is very
intelligible to their own species. And as there are infinitely fewer parts and
less contrivance in the finest composition of eloquence, than in the coarsest
organised body, the propagation of an Iliad or Aeneid is an easier supposition
than that of any plant or animal.
Suppose,
therefore, that you enter into your library, thus peopled by natural volumes,
containing the most refined reason and most exquisite beauty; could you
possibly open one of them, and doubt, that its original cause bore the
strongest analogy to mind and intelligence? When it reasons and discourses;
when it expostulates, argues, and enforces its views and topics; when it
applies sometimes to the pure intellect, sometimes to the affections; when it
collects, disposes, and adorns every consideration suited to the subject; could
you persist in asserting, that all this, at the bottom, had really no meaning;
and that the first formation of this volume in the loins of its original parent
proceeded not from thought and design? Your obstinacy, I know, reaches not that
degree of firmness: even your sceptical play and wantonness would be abashed at
so glaring an absurdity.
But
if there be any difference, PHILO, between this supposed case and the real one
of the universe, it is all to the advantage of the latter. The anatomy of an
animal affords many stronger instances of design than the perusal of LIVY or
TACITUS; and any objection which you start in the former case, by carrying me
back to so unusual and extraordinary a scene as the first formation of worlds,
the same objection has place on the supposition of our vegetating library.
Choose, then, your party, PHILO, without ambiguity or evasion; assert either
that a rational volume is no proof of a rational cause, or admit of a similar
cause to all the works of nature.
Let
me here observe too, continued CLEANTHES, that this religious argument, instead
of being weakened by that scepticism so much affected by you, rather acquires
force from it, and becomes more firm and undisputed. To exclude all argument or
reasoning of every kind, is either affectation or madness. The declared
profession of every reasonable sceptic is only to reject abstruse, remote, and
refined arguments; to adhere to common sense and the plain instincts of nature;
and to assent, wherever any reasons strike him with so full a force that he
cannot, without the greatest violence, prevent it. Now the arguments for
Natural Religion are plainly of this kind; and nothing but the most perverse,
obstinate metaphysics can reject them. Consider, anatomise the eye; survey its
structure and contrivance; and tell me, from your own feeling, if the idea of a
contriver does not immediately flow in upon you with a force like that of
sensation. The most obvious conclusion, surely, is in favour of design; and it
requires time, reflection, and study, to summon up those frivolous, though
abstruse objections, which can support Infidelity. Who can behold the male and
female of each species, the correspondence of their parts and instincts, their
passions, and whole course of life before and after generation, but must be
sensible, that the propagation of the species is intended by Nature? Millions
and millions of such instances present themselves through every part of the
universe; and no language can convey a more intelligible irresistible meaning,
than the curious adjustment of final causes. To what degree, therefore, of
blind dogmatism must one have attained, to reject such natural and such
convincing arguments?
Some
beauties in writing we may meet with, which seem contrary to rules, and which
gain the affections, and animate the imagination, in opposition to all the
precepts of criticism, and to the authority of the established masters of art.
And if the argument for Theism be, as you pretend, contradictory to the
principles of logic; its universal, its irresistible influence proves clearly,
that there may be arguments of a like irregular nature. Whatever cavils may be
urged, an orderly world, as well as a coherent, articulate speech, will still
be received as an incontestable proof of design and intention.
It
sometimes happens, I own, that the religious arguments have not their due
influence on an ignorant savage and barbarian; not because they are obscure and
difficult, but because he never asks himself any question with regard to them.
Whence arises the curious structure of an animal? From the copulation of its
parents. And these whence? From their parents? A few removes set the objects at
such a distance, that to him they are lost in darkness and confusion; nor is he
actuated by any curiosity to trace them further. But this is neither dogmatism
nor scepticism, but stupidity: a state of mind very different from your
sifting, inquisitive disposition, my ingenious friend. You can trace causes
from effects: You can compare the most distant and remote objects: and your
greatest errors proceed not from barrenness of thought and invention, but from
too luxuriant a fertility, which suppresses your natural good sense, by a
profusion of unnecessary scruples and objections.
Here
I could observe, HERMIPPUS, that PHILO was a little embarrassed and confounded:
But while he hesitated in delivering an answer, luckily for him, DEMEA broke in
upon the discourse, and saved his countenance.
Your
instance, CLEANTHES, said he, drawn from books and language, being familiar,
has, I confess, so much more force on that account: but is there not some
danger too in this very circumstance; and may it not render us presumptuous, by
making us imagine we comprehend the Deity, and have some adequate idea of his
nature and attributes? When I read a volume, I enter into the mind and
intention of the author: I become him, in a manner, for the instant; and have
an immediate feeling and conception of those ideas which revolved in his
imagination while employed in that composition. But so near an approach we
never surely can make to the Deity. His ways are not our ways. His attributes
are perfect, but incomprehensible. And this volume of nature contains a great
and inexplicable riddle, more than any intelligible discourse or reasoning.
The
ancient PLATONISTS, you know, were the most religious and devout of all the
Pagan philosophers; yet many of them, particularly PLOTINUS, expressly declare,
that intellect or understanding is not to be ascribed to the Deity; and that
our most perfect worship of him consists, not in acts of veneration, reverence,
gratitude, or love; but in a certain mysterious self-annihilation, or total
extinction of all our faculties. These ideas are, perhaps, too far stretched;
but still it must be acknowledged, that, by representing the Deity as so
intelligible and comprehensible, and so similar to a human mind, we are guilty
of the grossest and most narrow partiality, and make ourselves the model of the
whole universe.
All
the sentiments of the human mind, gratitude, resentment, love, friendship,
approbation, blame, pity, emulation, envy, have a plain reference to the state
and situation of man, and are calculated for preserving the existence and
promoting the activity of such a being in such circumstances. It seems,
therefore, unreasonable to transfer such sentiments to a supreme existence, or
to suppose him actuated by them; and the phenomena besides of the universe will
not support us in such a theory. All our ideas, derived from the senses, are
confessedly false and illusive; and cannot therefore be supposed to have place
in a supreme intelligence: And as the ideas of internal sentiment, added to
those of the external senses, compose the whole furniture of human
understanding, we may conclude, that none of the materials of thought are in
any respect similar in the human and in the divine intelligence. Now, as to the
manner of thinking; how can we make any comparison between them, or suppose
them any wise resembling? Our thought is fluctuating, uncertain, fleeting,
successive, and compounded; and were we to remove these circumstances, we
absolutely annihilate its essence, and it would in such a case be an abuse of
terms to apply to it the name of thought or reason. At least if it appear more
pious and respectful (as it really is) still to retain these terms, when we
mention the Supreme Being, we ought to acknowledge, that their meaning, in that
case, is totally incomprehensible; and that the infirmities of our nature do
not permit us to reach any ideas which in the least correspond to the ineffable
sublimity of the Divine attributes.
It
seems strange to me, said CLEANTHES, that you, DEMEA, who are so sincere in the
cause of religion, should still maintain the mysterious, incomprehensible
nature of the Deity, and should insist so strenuously that he has no manner of
likeness or resemblance to human creatures. The Deity, I can readily allow,
possesses many powers and attributes of which we can have no comprehension: But
if our ideas, so far as they go, be not just, and adequate, and correspondent
to his real nature, I know not what there is in this subject worth insisting
on. Is the name, without any meaning, of such mighty importance? Or how do you
mystics, who maintain the absolute incomprehensibility of the Deity, differ
from Sceptics or Atheists, who assert, that the first cause of all is unknown
and unintelligible? Their temerity must be very great, if, after rejecting the
production by a mind, I mean a mind resembling the human, (for I know of no
other,) they pretend to assign, with certainty, any other specific intelligible
cause: And their conscience must be very scrupulous indeed, if they refuse to
call the universal unknown cause a God or Deity; and to bestow on him as many
sublime eulogies and unmeaning epithets as you shall please to require of them.
Who
could imagine, replied DEMEA, that CLEANTHES, the calm philosophical CLEANTHES,
would attempt to refute his antagonists by affixing a nickname to them; and,
like the common bigots and inquisitors of the age, have recourse to invective
and declamation, instead of reasoning? Or does he not perceive, that these
topics are easily retorted, and that Anthropomorphite is an appellation as
invidious, and implies as dangerous consequences, as the epithet of Mystic,
with which he has honoured us? In reality, CLEANTHES, consider what it is you
assert when you represent the Deity as similar to a human mind and
understanding. What is the soul of man? A composition of various faculties,
passions, sentiments, ideas; united, indeed, into one self or person, but still
distinct from each other. When it reasons, the ideas, which are the parts of
its discourse, arrange themselves in a certain form or order; which is not
preserved entire for a moment, but immediately gives place to another
arrangement. New opinions, new passions, new affections, new feelings arise,
which continually diversify the mental scene, and produce in it the greatest
variety and most rapid succession imaginable. How is this compatible with that
perfect immutability and simplicity which all true Theists ascribe to the
Deity? By the same act, say they, he sees past, present, and future: His love
and hatred, his mercy and justice, are one individual operation: He is entire
in every point of space; and complete in every instant of duration. No
succession, no change, no acquisition, no diminution. What he is implies not in
it any shadow of distinction or diversity. And what he is this moment he ever
has been, and ever will be, without any new judgement, sentiment, or operation.
He stands fixed in one simple, perfect state: nor can you ever say, with any
propriety, that this act of his is different from that other; or that this
judgement or idea has been lately formed, and will give place, by succession,
to any different judgement or idea.
I
can readily allow, said CLEANTHES, that those who maintain the perfect
simplicity of the Supreme Being, to the extent in which you have explained it,
are complete Mystics, and chargeable with all the consequences which I have
drawn from their opinion. They are, in a word, Atheists, without knowing it.
For though it be allowed, that the Deity possesses attributes of which we have
no comprehension, yet ought we never to ascribe to him any attributes which are
absolutely incompatible with that intelligent nature essential to him. A mind,
whose acts and sentiments and ideas are not distinct and successive; one, that
is wholly simple, and totally immutable, is a mind which has no thought, no
reason, no will, no sentiment, no love, no hatred; or, in a word, is no mind at
all. It is an abuse of terms to give it that appellation; and we may as well
speak of limited extension without figure, or of number without composition.
Pray
consider, said PHILO, whom you are at present inveighing against. You are
honouring with the appellation of Atheist all the sound, orthodox divines,
almost, who have treated of this subject; and you will at last be, yourself,
found, according to your reckoning, the only sound Theist in the world. But if
idolaters be Atheists, as, I think, may justly be asserted, and Christian
Theologians the same, what becomes of the argument, so much celebrated, derived
from the universal consent of mankind?
But
because I know you are not much swayed by names and authorities, I shall
endeavour to show you, a little more distinctly, the inconveniences of that
Anthropomorphism, which you have embraced; and shall prove, that there is no
ground to suppose a plan of the world to be formed in the Divine mind,
consisting of distinct ideas, differently arranged, in the same manner as an
architect forms in his head the plan of a house which he intends to execute.
It
is not easy, I own, to see what is gained by this supposition, whether we judge
of the matter by Reason or by Experience. We are still obliged to mount higher,
in order to find the cause of this cause, which you had assigned as
satisfactory and conclusive.
If
Reason (I mean abstract reason, derived from inquiries a priori) be not alike
mute with regard to all questions concerning cause and effect, this sentence at
least it will venture to pronounce, That a mental world, or universe of ideas,
requires a cause as much, as does a material world, or universe of objects;
and, if similar in its arrangement, must require a similar cause. For what is
there in this subject, which should occasion a different conclusion or
inference? In an abstract view, they are entirely alike; and no difficulty
attends the one supposition, which is not common to both of them.
Again,
when we will needs force Experience to pronounce some sentence, even on these
subjects which lie beyond her sphere, neither can she perceive any material
difference in this particular, between these two kinds of worlds; but finds
them to be governed by similar principles, and to depend upon an equal variety
of causes in their operations. We have specimens in miniature of both of them.
Our own mind resembles the one; a vegetable or animal body the other. Let
experience, therefore, judge from these samples. Nothing seems more delicate,
with regard to its causes, than thought; and as these causes never operate in
two persons after the same manner, so we never find two persons who think
exactly alike. Nor indeed does the same person think exactly alike at any two
different periods of time. A difference of age, of the disposition of his body,
of weather, of food, of company, of books, of passions; any of these
particulars, or others more minute, are sufficient to alter the curious
machinery of thought, and communicate to it very different movements and
operations. As far as we can judge, vegetables and animal bodies are not more
delicate in their motions, nor depend upon a greater variety or more curious
adjustment of springs and principles.
How,
therefore, shall we satisfy ourselves concerning the cause of that Being whom
you suppose the Author of Nature, or, according to your system of
Anthropomorphism, the ideal world, into which you trace the material? Have we
not the same reason to trace that ideal world into another ideal world, or new
intelligent principle? But if we stop, and go no further; why go so far? why
not stop at the material world? How can we satisfy ourselves without going on
in infinitum? And, after all, what satisfaction is there in that infinite
progression? Let us remember the story of the Indian philosopher and his
elephant. It was never more applicable than to the present subject. If the
material world rests upon a similar ideal world, this ideal world must rest
upon some other; and so on, without end. It were better, therefore, never to
look beyond the present material world. By supposing it to contain the
principle of its order within itself, we really assert it to be God; and the
sooner we arrive at that Divine Being, so much the better. When you go one step
beyond the mundane system, you only excite an inquisitive humour which it is
impossible ever to satisfy.
To
say, that the different ideas which compose the reason of the Supreme Being,
fall into order of themselves, and by their own nature, is really to talk
without any precise meaning. If it has a meaning, I would fain know, why it is not
as good sense to say, that the parts of the material world fall into order of
themselves and by their own nature. Can the one opinion be intelligible, while
the other is not so?
We
have, indeed, experience of ideas which fall into order of themselves, and
without any known cause. But, I am sure, we have a much larger experience of
matter which does the same; as, in all instances of generation and vegetation,
where the accurate analysis of the cause exceeds all human comprehension. We
have also experience of particular systems of thought and of matter which have
no order; of the first in madness, of the second in corruption. Why, then,
should we think, that order is more essential to one than the other? And if it
requires a cause in both, what do we gain by your system, in tracing the
universe of objects into a similar universe of ideas? The first step which we
make leads us on for ever. It were, therefore, wise in us to limit all our
inquiries to the present world, without looking further. No satisfaction can
ever be attained by these speculations, which so far exceed the narrow bounds
of human understanding.
It
was usual with the PERIPATETICS, you know, CLEANTHES, when the cause of any
phenomenon was demanded, to have recourse to their faculties or occult
qualities; and to say, for instance, that bread nourished by its nutritive
faculty, and senna purged by its purgative. But it has been discovered, that
this subterfuge was nothing but the disguise of ignorance; and that these
philosophers, though less ingenuous, really said the same thing with the
sceptics or the vulgar, who fairly confessed that they knew not the cause of
these phenomena. In like manner, when it is asked, what cause produces order in
the ideas of the Supreme Being; can any other reason be assigned by you,
Anthropomorphites, than that it is a rational faculty, and that such is the
nature of the Deity? But why a similar answer will not be equally satisfactory
in accounting for the order of the world, without having recourse to any such
intelligent creator as you insist on, may be difficult to determine. It is only
to say, that such is the nature of material objects, and that they are all
originally possessed of a faculty of order and proportion. These are only more
learned and elaborate ways of confessing our ignorance; nor has the one
hypothesis any real advantage above the other, except in its greater conformity
to vulgar prejudices.
You
have displayed this argument with great emphasis, replied CLEANTHES: You seem
not sensible how easy it is to answer it. Even in common life, if I assign a
cause for any event, is it any objection, PHILO, that I cannot assign the cause
of that cause, and answer every new question which may incessantly be started?
And what philosophers could possibly submit to so rigid a rule? philosophers,
who confess ultimate causes to be totally unknown; and are sensible, that the
most refined principles into which they trace the phenomena, are still to them
as inexplicable as these phenomena themselves are to the vulgar. The order and
arrangement of nature, the curious adjustment of final causes, the plain use
and intention of every part and organ; all these bespeak in the clearest
language an intelligent cause or author. The heavens and the earth join in the
same testimony: The whole chorus of Nature raises one hymn to the praises of
its Creator. You alone, or almost alone, disturb this general harmony. You
start abstruse doubts, cavils, and objections: You ask me, what is the cause of
this cause? I know not; I care not; that concerns not me. I have found a Deity;
and here I stop my inquiry. Let those go further, who are wiser or more
enterprising.
I
pretend to be neither, replied PHILO: And for that very reason, I should never
perhaps have attempted to go so far; especially when I am sensible, that I must
at last be contented to sit down with the same answer, which, without further
trouble, might have satisfied me from the beginning. If I am still to remain in
utter ignorance of causes, and can absolutely give an explication of nothing, I
shall never esteem it any advantage to shove off for a moment a difficulty,
which, you acknowledge, must immediately, in its full force, recur upon me.
Naturalists indeed very justly explain particular effects by more general
causes, though these general causes themselves should remain in the end totally
inexplicable; but they never surely thought it satisfactory to explain a
particular effect by a particular cause, which was no more to be accounted for
than the effect itself. An ideal system, arranged of itself, without a
precedent design, is not a whit more explicable than a material one, which
attains its order in a like manner; nor is there any more difficulty in the
latter supposition than in the former.
But
to show you still more inconveniences, continued PHILO, in your
Anthropomorphism, please to take a new survey of your principles. Like effects
prove like causes. This is the experimental argument; and this, you say too, is
the sole theological argument. Now, it is certain, that the liker the effects
are which are seen, and the liker the causes which are inferred, the stronger
is the argument. Every departure on either side diminishes the probability, and
renders the experiment less conclusive. You cannot doubt of the principle; neither
ought you to reject its consequences.
All
the new discoveries in astronomy, which prove the immense grandeur and
magnificence of the works of Nature, are so many additional arguments for a
Deity, according to the true system of Theism; but, according to your
hypothesis of experimental Theism, they become so many objections, by removing
the effect still further from all resemblance to the effects of human art and
contrivance. For, if LUCRETIUS[Lib. II. 1094], even following the old system of
the world, could exclaim,
Quis
regere immensi summam, quis habere profundi Indu manu validas potis est
moderanter habenas? Quis pariter coelos omnes convertere? et omnes Ignibus
aetheriis terras suffire feraces? Omnibus inque locis esse omni tempore
praesto?
If
TULLY [De. nat. Deor. Lib. I] esteemed this reasoning so natural, as to put it
into the mouth of his EPICUREAN:
“Quibus
enim oculis animi intueri potuit vester Plato fabricam illam tanti operis, qua
construi a Deo atque aedificari mundum facit? quae molitio? quae ferramenta?
qui vectes? quae machinae? qui ministri tanti muneris fuerunt? quemadmodum
autem obedire et parere voluntati architecti aer, ignis, aqua, terra
potuerunt?”
If
this argument, I say, had any force in former ages, how much greater must it
have at present, when the bounds of Nature are so infinitely enlarged, and such
a magnificent scene is opened to us? It is still more unreasonable to form our
idea of so unlimited a cause from our experience of the narrow productions of
human design and invention.
The
discoveries by microscopes, as they open a new universe in miniature, are still
objections, according to you, arguments, according to me. The further we push
our researches of this kind, we are still led to infer the universal cause of
all to be vastly different from mankind, or from any object of human experience
and observation.