This is a plain text edition of Hume's Treatise, much messed about with for use in connection with (my) lectures and webpages - VP
INTRODUCTION BY THE AUTHOR
SECT. I OF THE ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS.
SECT. II. DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT.
SECT. III. OF THE IDEAS OF THE MEMORY AND IMAGINATION.
SECT. IV. OF THE CONNECTION OR ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.
SECT. V. OF RELATIONS.
SECT. VI. OF MODES AND SUBSTANCES
SECT. VII. OF ABSTRACT IDEAS.
SECT. I. OF THE INFINITE DIVISIBILITY OF OUR IDEAS OF SPACE AND TIME.
SECT. II. OF THE INFINITE DIVISIBILITY OF SPACE AND TIME.
SECT. III. OF THE OTHER QUALITIES OF OUR IDEA OF SPACE AND TIME.
SECT. IV. OBJECTIONS ANSWERED.
SECT. V. THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED.
SECT. VI. OF THE IDEA OF EXISTENCE, AND OF EXTERNAL EXISTENCE.
SECT. I. OF KNOWLEDGE.
SECT. II. OF PROBABILITY, AND OF THE IDEA OF CAUSE AND EFFECT.
SECT. III. WHY A CAUSE IS ALWAYS NECESSARY.
SECT. IV. OF THE COMPONENT PARTS OF OUR REASONINGS CONCERNING CAUSE AND EFFECT.
SECT. V. OF THE IMPRESSIONS OF THE SENSES AND MEMORY.
SECT. VI. OF THE INFERENCE FROM THE IMPRESSION TO THE IDEA.
SECT. VII. OF THE NATURE OF THE IDEA OR BELIEF.
SECT. VIII. OF THE CAUSES OF BELIEF.
SECT. IX. OF THE EFFECTS OF OTHER RELATIONS AND OTHER HABITS.
SECT. X. OF THE INFLUENCE OF BELIEF.
SECT. XI. OF THE PROBABILITY OF CHANCES.
SECT. XII. OF THE PROBABILITY OF CAUSES.
SECT. XIII. OF UNPHILOSOPHICAL PROBABILITY.
SECT. XIV. OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNECTION.
SECT. XV. RULES BY WHICH TO JUDGE OF CAUSES AND EFFECTS.
SECT. XVI OF THE REASON OF ANIMALS
SECT. I. OF SCEPTICISM WITH REGARD TO REASON.
SECT. II. OF SCEPTICISM WITH REGARD TO THE SENSES.
SECT. III. OF THE ancient PHILOSOPHY.
SECT. IV. OF THE MODERN PHILOSOPHY.
SECT. V. OF THE IMMATERIALITY OF THE SOUL.
SECT. VI. OF PERSONAL IDENTITY
SECT. VII. CONCLUSION OF THIS BOOK.
SECT. I DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT
SECT. II OF PRIDE AND HUMILITY, THEIR OBJECTS AND CAUSES
SECT. III WHENCE THESE OBJECTS AND CAUSES ARE DERIVED
SECT. IV OF THE RELATIONS OF IMPRESSIONS AND IDEAS
SECT. V OF THE INFLUENCE OF THESE RELATIONS ON PRIDE AND HUMILITY
SECT. VI LIMITATIONS OF THIS SYSTEM
SECT. VII OF VICE AND VIRTUE
SECT. VIII OF BEAUTY AND DEFORMITY
SECT. IX OF EXTERNAL ADVANTAGES AND DISADVANTAGES
SECT. X OF PROPERTY AND RICHES
SECT. XI OF THE LOVE OF FAME
SECT. I OF THE OBJECT AND CAUSES OF LOVE AND HATRED
SECT. II EXPERIMENTS TO CONFIRM THIS SYSTEM
SECT. III DIFFICULTIES SOLVED
SECT. IV OF THE LOVE OF RELATIONS
SECT. V OF OUR ESTEEM FOR THE RICH AND POWERFUL
SECT. VI OF BENEVOLENCE AND ANGER
SECT. VII OF COMPASSION
SECT. VIII OF MALICE AND ENVY
SECT. IX OF THE MIXTURE OF BENEVOLENCE AND ANGER WITH COMPASSION AND MALICE
SECT. X OF RESPECT AND CONTEMPT
SECT. XI OF THE AMOROUS PASSION, OR LOVE BETWIXT THE SEXES
SECT. XII OF THE LOVE AND HATRED OF ANIMALS
SECT. I OF LIBERTY AND NECESSITY
SECT. II THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED
SECT. III OF THE INFLUENCING MOTIVES OF THE WILL
SECT. IV OF THE CAUSES OF THE VIOLENT PASSIONS
SECT. V OF THE EFFECTS OF CUSTOM
SECT. VI OF THE INFLUENCE OF THE IMAGINATION ON THE PASSIONS
SECT. VII OF CONTIGUITY AND DISTANCE IN SPACE AND TIME
SECT. VIII THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED
SECT. IX OF THE DIRECT PASSIONS
SECT. X OF CURIOSITY, OR THE LOVE OF TRUTH
SECT. I JUSTICE, WHETHER A NATURAL OR ARTIFICIAL VIRTUE?
SECT. II OF THE ORIGIN OF JUSTICE AND PROPERTY
SECT. III OF THE RULES WHICH DETERMINE PROPERTY
SECT. IV OF THE TRANSFERENCE OF PROPERTY BY CONSENT
SECT. V OF THE OBLIGATION OF PROMISES
SECT. VI SOME FARTHER REFLECTIONS CONCERNING JUSTICE AND INJUSTICE
SECT. VII OF THE ORIGIN OF GOVERNMENT
SECT. VIII OF THE SOURCE OF ALLEGIANCE
SECT. IX OF THE MEASURES OF ALLEGIANCE
SECT. X OF THE OBJECTS OF ALLEGIANCE
SECT. XI OF THE LAWS OF NATIONS
SECT. XII OF CHASTITY AND MODESTY
SECT. I OF THE ORIGIN OF THE NATURAL VIRTUES AND VICES
SECT. II OF GREATNESS OF MIND
SECT. III OF GOODNESS AND BENEVOLENCE
SECT. IV OF NATURAL ABILITIES
SECT. V SOME FARTHER REFLECTIONS CONCERNING THE NATURAL VIRTUES
SECT. VI CONCLUSION OF THIS BOOK
* * * * * * * * * *
VOL. I OF THE UNDERSTANDING. ADVERTISEMENT. My design in the present work is sufficiently explained in the Introduction. The reader must only observe, that all the subjects I have there planned out to myself, are not treated of in these two volumes. The subjects of the Understanding and Passions make a compleat chain of reasoning by themselves; and I was willing to take advantage of this natural division, in order to try the taste of the public. If I have the good fortune to meet with success, I shall proceed to the examination of Morals, Politics, and Criticism; which will compleat this Treatise of Human Nature. The approbation of the public I consider as the greatest reward of my labours; but am determined to regard its judgment, whatever it be, as my best instruction.Nothing is more usual and more natural for those, who pretend to discover anything new to the world in philosophy and the sciences, than to insinuate the praises of their own systems, by decrying all those, which have been advanced before them. And indeed were they content with lamenting that ignorance, which we still lie under in the most important questions, that can come before the tribunal of human reason, there are few, who have an acquaintance with the sciences, that would not readily agree with them. It is easy for one of judgment and learning, to perceive the weak foundation even of those systems, which have obtained the greatest credit, and have carried their pretensions highest to accurate and profound reasoning. Principles taken upon trust, consequences lamely deduced from them, want of coherence in the parts, and of evidence in the whole, these are every where to be met with in the systems of the most eminent philosophers, and seem to have drawn disgrace upon philosophy itself.
Nor is there required such profound knowledge to discover the present imperfect condition of the sciences, but even the rabble without doors may, judge from the noise and clamour, which they hear, that all goes not well within. There is nothing which is not the subject of debate, and in which men of learning are not of contrary opinions. The most trivial question escapes not our controversy, and in the most momentous we are not able to give any certain decision. Disputes are multiplied, as if every thing was uncertain; and these disputes are managed with the greatest warmth, as if every thing was certain. Amidst all this bustle it is not reason, which carries the prize, but eloquence; and no man needs ever despair of gaining proselytes to the most extravagant hypothesis, who has art enough to represent it in any favourable colours. The victory is not gained by the men at arms, who manage the pike and the sword; but by the trumpeters, drummers, and musicians of the army.
From hence in my opinion arises that common prejudice against metaphysical reasonings of all kinds, even amongst those, who profess themselves scholars, and have a just value for every other part of literature. By metaphysical reasonings, they do not understand those on any particular branch of science, but every kind of argument, which is any way abstruse, and requires some attention to be comprehended. We have so often lost our labour in such researches, that we commonly reject them without hesitation, and resolve, if we must for ever be a prey to errors and delusions, that they shall at least be natural and entertaining. And indeed nothing but the most determined scepticism, along with a great degree of indolence, can justify this aversion to metaphysics. For if truth be at all within the reach of human capacity, it is certain it must lie very deep and abstruse: and to hope we shall arrive at it without pains, while the greatest geniuses have failed with the utmost pains, must certainly be esteemed sufficiently vain and presumptuous. I pretend to no such advantage in the philosophy I am going to unfold, and would esteem it a strong presumption against it, were it so very easy and obvious.
It is evident, that all the sciences have a relation, greater or less, to human nature: and that however wide any of them may seem to run from it, they still return back by one passage or another. Even. Mathematics, Natural Philosophy, and Natural Religion, are in some measure dependent on the science of MAN; since the lie under the cognizance of men, and are judged of by their powers and faculties. It is impossible to tell what changes and improvements we might make in these sciences were we thoroughly acquainted with the extent and force of human understanding, and could explain the nature of the ideas we employ, and of the operations we perform in our reasonings. And these improvements are the more to be hoped for in natural religion, as it is not content with instructing us in the nature of superior powers, but carries its views farther, to their disposition towards us, and our duties towards them; and consequently we ourselves are not only the beings, that reason, but also one of the objects, concerning which we reason.
If therefore the sciences of Mathematics, Natural Philosophy, and Natural Religion, have such a dependence on the knowledge of man, what may be expected in the other sciences, whose connexion with human nature is more close and intimate? The sole end of logic is to explain the principles and operations of our reasoning faculty, and the nature of our ideas: morals and criticism regard our tastes and sentiments: and politics consider men as united in society, and dependent on each other. In these four sciences of Logic, Morals, Criticism, and Politics, is comprehended almost everything, which it can any way import us to be acquainted with, or which can tend either to the improvement or ornament of the human mind.
Here then is the only expedient, from which we can hope for success in our philosophical researches, to leave the tedious lingering method, which we have hitherto followed, and instead of taking now and then a castle or village on the frontier, to march up directly to the capital or center of these sciences, to human nature itself; which being once masters of, we may every where else hope for an easy victory. From this station we may extend our conquests over all those sciences, which more intimately concern human life, and may afterwards proceed at leisure to discover more fully those, which are the objects of pore curiosity. There is no question of importance, whose decision is not comprised in the science of man; and there is none, which can be decided with any certainty, before we become acquainted with that science. In pretending, therefore, to explain the principles of human nature, we in effect propose a compleat system of the sciences, built on a foundation almost entirely new, and the only one upon which they can stand with any security.
And as the science of man is the-only solid foundation for the other sciences, so the only solid foundation we can give to this science itself must be laid on experience and observation. It is no astonishing reflection to consider, that the application of experimental philosophy to moral subjects should come after that to natural at the distance of above a whole century; since we find in fact, that there was about the same interval betwixt the origins of these sciences; and that reckoning from THALES to SOCRATES, the space of time is nearly equal to that betwixt, my Lord Bacon and some late philosophers [Mr. Locke, my Lord Shaftesbury, Dr. Mandeville, Mr. Hutchinson, Dr. Butler, etc.] in England, who have begun to put the science of man on a new footing, and have engaged the attention, and excited the curiosity of the public. So true it is, that however other nations may rival us in poetry, and excel us in some other agreeable arts, the improvements in reason and philosophy can only be owing to a land of toleration and of liberty.
Nor ought we to think, that this latter improvement in the science of man will do less honour to our native country than the former in natural philosophy, but ought rather to esteem it a greater glory, upon account of the greater importance of that science, as well as the necessity it lay under of such a reformation. For to me it seems evident, that the essence of the mind being equally unknown to us with that of external bodies, it must be equally impossible to form any notion of its powers and qualities otherwise than from careful and exact experiments, and the observation of those particular effects, which result from its different circumstances and situations. And though we must endeavour to render all our principles as universal as possible, by tracing up our experiments to the utmost, and explaining all effects from the simplest and fewest causes, it is still certain we cannot go beyond experience; and any hypothesis, that pretends to discover the ultimate original qualities of human nature, ought at first to be rejected as presumptuous and chimerical.
I do not think a philosopher, who would apply himself so earnestly to the explaining the ultimate principles of the soul, would show himself a great master in that very science of human nature, which he pretends to explain, or very knowing in what is naturally satisfactory to the mind of man. For nothing is more certain, than that despair has almost the same effect upon us with enjoyment, and that we are no sooner acquainted with the impossibility of satisfying any desire, than the desire itself vanishes. When we see, that we have arrived at the utmost extent of human reason, we sit down contented, though we be perfectly satisfied in the main of our ignorance, and perceive that we can give no reason for our most general and most refined principles, beside our experience of their reality; which is the reason of the mere vulgar, and what it required no study at first to have discovered for the most particular and most extraordinary phaenomenon. And as this impossibility of making any farther progress is enough to satisfy the reader, so the writer may derive a more delicate satisfaction from the free confession of his ignorance, and from his prudence in avoiding that error, into which so many have fallen, of imposing their conjectures and hypotheses on the world for the most certain principles. When this mutual contentment and satisfaction can be obtained betwixt the master and scholar, I know not what more we can require of our philosophy.
But if this impossibility of explaining ultimate principles should be esteemed a defect in the science of man, I will venture to affirm, that it is a defect common to it with all the sciences, and all the arts, in which we can employ ourselves, whether they be such as are cultivated in the schools of the philosophers, or practised in the shops of the meanest artizans. None of them can go beyond experience, or establish any principles which are not founded on that authority. Moral philosophy has, indeed, this peculiar disadvantage, which is not found in natural, that in collecting its experiments, it cannot make them purposely, with premeditation, and after such a manner as to satisfy itself concerning every particular difficulty which may be. When I am at a loss to know the effects of one body upon another in any situation, I need only put them in that situation, and observe what results from it. But should I endeavour to clear up after the same manner any doubt in moral philosophy, by placing myself in the same case with that which I consider, it is evident this reflection and premeditation would so disturb the operation of my natural principles, as must render it impossible to form any just conclusion from the phenomenon. We must therefore glean up our experiments in this science from a cautious observation of human life, and take them as they appear in the common course of the world, by men's behaviour in company, in affairs, and in their pleasures. Where experiments of this kind are judiciously collected and compared, we may hope to establish on them a science which will not be inferior in certainty, and will be much superior in utility to any other of human comprehension.
All the perceptions of the human mind resolve themselves into two distinct kinds, which I shall call IMPRESSIONS and IDEAS. The difference betwixt these consists in the degrees of force and liveliness, with which they strike upon the mind, and make their way into our thought or consciousness. Those perceptions, which enter with most force and violence, we may name impressions: and under this name I comprehend all our sensations, passions and emotions, as they make their first appearance in the soul. By ideas I mean the faint images of these in thinking and reasoning; such as, for instance, are all the perceptions excited by the present discourse, excepting only those which arise from the sight and touch, and excepting the immediate pleasure or uneasiness it may occasion. I believe it will not be very necessary to employ many words in explaining this distinction. Every one of himself will readily perceive the difference betwixt feeling and thinking. The common degrees of these are easily distinguished; though it is not impossible but in particular instances they may very nearly approach to each other. Thus in sleep, in a fever, in madness, or in any very violent emotions of soul, our ideas may approach to our impressions, As on the other hand it sometimes happens, that our impressions are so faint and low, that we cannot distinguish them from our ideas. But notwithstanding this near resemblance in a few instances, they are in general so very different, that no-one can make a scruple to rank them under distinct heads, and assign to each a peculiar name to mark the difference [Footnote 1.].
[Footnote 1. I here make use of these terms, impression and idea, in a sense different from what is usual, and I hope this liberty will be allowed me. Perhaps I rather restore the word, idea, to its original sense, from which Mr LOCKE had perverted it, in making it stand for all our perceptions. By the terms of impression I would not be understood to express the manner, in which our lively perceptions are produced in the soul, but merely the perceptions themselves; for which there is no particular name either in the English or any other language, that I know of.]
There is another division of our perceptions, which it will be convenient to observe, and which extends itself both to our impressions and ideas. This division is into SIMPLE and COMPLEX. Simple perceptions or impressions and ideas are such as admit of no distinction nor separation. The complex are the contrary to these, and may be distinguished into parts. Though a particular colour, taste, and smell, are qualities all united together in this apple, it is easy to perceive they are not the same, but are at least distinguishable from each other.
Having by these divisions given an order and arrangement to our objects, we may now apply ourselves to consider with the more accuracy their qualities and relations. The first circumstance, that strikes my eye, is the great resemblance betwixt our impressions and ideas in every other particular, except their degree of force and vivacity. The one seem to be in a manner the reflexion of the other; so that all the perceptions of the mind are double, and appear both as impressions and ideas. When I shut my eyes and think of my chamber, the ideas I form are exact representations of the impressions I felt; nor is there any circumstance of the one, which is not to be found in the other. In running over my other perceptions, I find still the same resemblance and representation. Ideas and impressions appear always to correspond to each other. This circumstance seems to me remarkable, and engages my attention for a moment.
Upon a more accurate survey I find I have been carried away too far by the first appearance, and that I must make use of the distinction of perceptions into simple and complex, to limit this general decision, that all our ideas and impressions are resembling. I observe, that many of our complex ideas never had impressions, that corresponded to them, and that many of our complex impressions never are exactly copied in ideas. I can imagine to myself such a city as the New Jerusalem, whose pavement is gold and walls are rubies, though I never saw any such. I have seen Paris; but shall I affirm I can form such an idea of that city, as will perfectly represent all its streets and houses in their real and just proportions?
I perceive, therefore, that though there is in general a great, resemblance betwixt our complex impressions and ideas, yet the rule is not universally true, that they are exact copies of each other. We may next consider how the case stands with our simple, perceptions. After the most accurate examination, of which I am capable, I venture to affirm, that the rule here holds without any exception, and that every simple idea has a simple impression, which resembles it, and every simple impression a correspondent idea. That idea of red, which we form in the dark, and that impression which strikes our eyes in sun-shine, differ only in degree, not in nature. That the case is the same with all our simple impressions and ideas, it is impossible to prove by a particular enumeration of them. Every one may satisfy himself in this point by running over as many as he pleases. But if any one should deny this universal resemblance, I know no way of convincing him, but by desiring him to shew a simple impression, that has not a correspondent idea, or a simple idea, that has not a correspondent impression. If he does not answer this challenge, as it is certain he cannot, we may from his silence and our own observation establish our conclusion.
Thus we find, that all simple ideas and impressions resemble each other; and as the complex are formed from them, we may affirm in general, that these two species of perception are exactly correspondent. Having discovered this relation, which requires no farther examination, I am curious to find some other of their qualities. Let us consider how. they stand with regard to their existence, and which of the impressions and ideas are causes, and which effects.
The full examination of this question is the subject of the present treatise; and therefore we shall here content ourselves with establishing one general proposition, THAT ALL OUR SIMPLE IDEAS IN THEIR FIRST APPEARANCE ARE DERIVED FROM SIMPLE IMPRESSIONS, WHICH ARE CORRESPONDENT TO THEM, AND WHICH THEY EXACTLY REPRESENT.
In seeking for phenomena to prove this proposition, I find only those of two kinds; but in each kind the phenomena are obvious, numerous, and conclusive. I first make myself certain, by a new, review, of what I have already asserted, that every simple impression is attended with a correspondent idea, and every simple idea with a correspondent impression. From this constant conjunction of resembling perceptions I immediately conclude, that there is a great connexion betwixt our correspondent impressions and ideas, and that the existence of the one has a considerable influence upon that of the other. Such a constant conjunction, in such an infinite number of instances, can never arise from chance; but clearly proves a dependence of the impressions on the ideas, or of the ideas on the impressions. That I may know on which side this dependence lies, I consider the order of their first appearance; and find by constant experience, that the simple impressions always take the precedence of their correspondent ideas, but never appear in the contrary order. To give a child an idea of scarlet or orange, of sweet or bitter, I present the objects, or in other words, convey to him these impressions; but proceed not so absurdly, as to endeavour to produce the impressions by exciting the ideas. Our ideas upon their appearance produce not their correspondent impressions, nor do we perceive any colour, or feel any sensation merely upon thinking of them. On the other hand we find, that any impression either of the mind or body is constantly followed by an idea, which resembles it, and is only different in the degrees of force and liveliness, The constant conjunction of our resembling perceptions, is a convincing proof, that the one are the causes of the other; and this priority of the impressions is an equal proof, that our impressions are the causes of our ideas, not our ideas of our, impressions.
To confirm this I consider Another plain and convincing phaenomenon; which is, that, where-ever by any accident the faculties, which give rise to any impressions, are obstructed in their operations, as when one is born blind or deaf; not only the impressions are lost, but also their correspondent ideas; so that there never appear in the mind the least traces of either of them. Nor is this only true, where the organs of sensation are entirely destroyed, but likewise where they have never been put in action to produce a particular impression. We cannot form to ourselves a just idea of the taste of a pine apple, without having actually tasted it.
There is however one contradictory phaenomenon, which may prove, that it is not absolutely impossible for ideas to go before their correspondent impressions. I believe it will readily be allowed that the several distinct ideas of colours, which enter by the eyes, or those of sounds, which are conveyed by the hearing, are really different from each other, though at the same time resembling. Now if this be true of different colours, it must be no less so of the different shades of the same colour, that each of them produces a distinct idea, independent of the rest. For if this should be denied, 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 well acquainted with colours of all kinds, excepting one particular shade of blue, for instance, which it never has been his fortune to meet with. Let all the different shades of that colour, except that single one, be placed before him, descending gradually from the deepest to the lightest; it is plain, that he will perceive a blank, where that shade is wanting, said will be sensible, that there is a greater distance in that place betwixt the contiguous colours, than in any other. Now I ask, whether it is 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 i here are few but will be of opinion that he can; and this may serve as a proof, that the simple ideas are not always derived from the correspondent impressions; though the instance is so particular and singular, that it is scarce worth our observing, and does not merit that for it alone we should alter our general maxim.
But besides this exception, it may not be amiss to remark on this head, that the principle of the priority of impressions to ideas must be understood with another limitation, viz., that as our ideas are images of our impressions, so we can form secondary ideas, which are images of the primary; as appears from this very reasoning concerning them. This is not, properly speaking, an exception to the rule so much as an explanation of it. Ideas produce the images of them. selves in new ideas; but as the first ideas are supposed to be derived from impressions, it still remains true, that all our simple ideas proceed either mediately or immediately, from their correspondent impressions.
This then is the first principle I establish in the science of human nature; nor ought we to despise it because of the simplicity of its appearance. For it is remarkable, that the present question concerning the precedency of our impressions or ideas, is the same with what has made so much noise in other terms, when it has been disputed whether there be any INNATE IDEAS, or whether all ideas be derived from sensation and reflexion. We may observe, that in order to prove the ideas of extension and colour not to be innate, philosophers do nothing but shew that they are conveyed by our senses. To prove the ideas of passion and desire not to be innate, they observe that we have a preceding experience of these emotions in ourselves. Now if we carefully examine these arguments, we shall find that they prove nothing but that ideas are preceded by other more lively perceptions, from which the are derived, and which they represent. I hope this clear stating of the question will remove all disputes concerning it, and win render this principle of more use in our reasonings, than it seems hitherto to have been.
SECT. II. DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT. Since it appears, that our simple impressions are prior to their correspondent ideas, and that the exceptions are very rare, method seems to require we should examine our impressions, before we consider our ideas. Impressions way be divided into two kinds, those Of SENSATION and those of REFLEXION. The first kind arises in the soul originally, from unknown causes. The second is derived in a great measure from our ideas, and that in the following order. An impression first strikes upon the senses, and makes us perceive heat or cold, thirst or hunger, pleasure or pain of some kind or other. Of this impression there is a copy taken by the mind, which remains after the impression ceases; and this we call an idea. This idea of pleasure or pain, when it returns upon the soul, produces the new impressions of desire and aversion, hope and fear, which may properly be called impressions of reflexion, because derived from it. These again are copied by the memory and imagination, and become ideas; which perhaps in their turn give rise to other impressions and ideas. So that the impressions of reflexion are only antecedent to their correspondent ideas; but posterior to those of sensation, and derived from them. The examination of our sensations belongs more to anatomists and natural philosophers than to moral; and therefore shall not at present be entered upon. And as the impressions of reflexion, viz. passions, desires, and emotions, which principally deserve our attention, arise mostly from ideas, it will be necessary to reverse that method, which at first sight seems most natural; and in order to explain the nature and principles of the human mind, give a particular account of ideas, before we proceed to impressions. For this reason I have here chosen to begin with ideas. SECT. III. OF THE IDEAS OF THE MEMORY AND IMAGINATION. We find by experience, that when any impression has been present with the mind, it again makes its appearance there as an idea; and this it may do after two different ways: either when in its new appearance it retains a considerable degree of its first vivacity, and is somewhat intermediate betwixt an impression and an idea: or when it entirely loses that vivacity, and is a perfect idea. The faculty, by which we repeat our impressions in the first manner, is called the MEMORY, and the other the IMAGINATION. It is evident at first sight, that the ideas of the memory are much more lively and strong than those of the imagination, and that the former faculty paints its objects in more distinct colours, than any which are employed by the latter. When we remember any past event, the idea of it flows in upon the mind in a forcible manner; whereas in the imagination the perception is faint and languid, and cannot without difficulty be preserved by the mind steddy and uniform for any considerable time. Here then is a sensible difference betwixt one species of ideas and another. But of this more fully hereafter.[Part II, Sect. 5.] There is another difference betwixt these two kinds of ideas, which:-s no less evident, namely that though neither the ideas, of the memory nor imagination, neither the lively nor faint ideas can make their appearance in the mind, unless their correspondent impressions have gone before to prepare the way for them, yet the imagination is not restrained to the same order and form with the original impressions; while the memory is in a manner tied down in that respect, without any power of variation. It is evident, that the memory preserves the original form, in which its objects were presented, and that where-ever we depart from it in recollecting any thing, it proceeds from some defect or imperfection in that faculty. An historian may, perhaps, for the more convenient Carrying on of his narration, relate an event before another, to which it was in fact posterior; but then he takes notice of this disorder, if he be exact; and by that means replaces the idea in its due position. It is the same case in our recollection of those places and persons, with which we were formerly acquainted. The chief exercise of the memory is not to preserve the simple ideas, but their order and position. In short, this principle is supported by such a number of common and vulgar phaenomena, that we may spare ourselves the trouble of insisting on it any farther. The same evidence follows us in our second principle, OF THE LIBERTY OF THE IMAGINATION TO TRANSPOSE AND CHANGE ITS IDEAS. The fables we meet with in poems and romances put this entirely out of the question. Nature there is totally confounded, and nothing mentioned but winged horses, fiery dragons, and monstrous giants. Nor will this liberty of the fancy appear strange, when we consider, that all our ideas are copyed from our impressions, and that there are not any two impressions which are perfectly inseparable. Not to mention, that this is an evident consequence of the division of ideas into simple and complex. Where-ever the imagination perceives a difference among ideas, it can easily produce a separation. SECT. IV. OF THE CONNEXION OR ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. As all simple ideas may be separated by the imagination, and may be united again in what form it pleases, nothing would be more unaccountable than the operations of that faculty, were it not guided by some universal principles, which render it, in some measure, uniform with itself in all times and places. Were ideas entirely loose and unconnected, chance alone would join them; and it is impossible the same simple ideas should fall regularly into complex ones (as they Commonly do) without some bond of union among them, some associating quality, by which one idea naturally introduces another. This uniting principle among ideas is not to be considered as an inseparable connexion; for that has been already excluded from the imagination: Nor yet are we to conclude, that without it the mind cannot join two ideas; for nothing is more free than that faculty: but we are only to regard it as a gentle force, which commonly prevails, and is the cause why, among other things, languages so nearly correspond to each other; nature in a manner pointing out to every one those simple ideas, which are most proper to be united in a complex one. The qualities, from which this association arises, and by which the mind is after this manner conveyed from one idea to another, are three, viz. RESEMBLANCE, CONTIGUITY in time or place, and CAUSE and EFFECT. I believe it will not be very necessary to prove, that these qualities produce an association among ideas, and upon the appearance of one idea naturally introduce another. It is plain, that in the course of our thinking, and in the constant revolution of our ideas, our imagination runs easily from one idea to any other that resembles it, and that this quality alone is to the fancy a sufficient bond and association. It is likewise evident that as the senses, in changing their objects, are necessitated to change them regularly, and take them as they lie CONTIGUOUS to each other, the imagination must by long custom acquire the same method of thinking, and run along the parts of space and time in conceiving its objects. As to the connexion, that is made by the relation of cause and effect, we shall have occasion afterwards to examine it to the bottom, and therefore shall not at present insist upon it. It is sufficient to observe, that there is no relation, which produces a stronger connexion in the fancy, and makes one idea more readily recall another, than the relation of cause and effect betwixt their objects. That we may understand the full extent of these relations, we must consider, that two objects are connected together in the imagination, not only when the one is immediately resembling, contiguous to, or the cause of the other, but also when there is interposed betwixt them a third object, which bears to both of them any of these relations. This may be carried on to a great length; though at the same time we may observe, that each remove considerably weakens the relation. Cousins in the fourth degree are connected by causation, if I may be allowed to use that term; but not so closely as brothers, much less as child and parent. In general we may observe, that all the relations of blood depend upon cause and effect, and are esteemed near or remote, according to the number of connecting causes interposed betwixt the persons. Of the three relations above-mentioned this of causation is the most extensive. Two objects may be considered as placed in this relation, as well when one is the cause of any of the actions or motions of the other, as when the former is the cause of the existence of the latter. For as that action or motion is nothing but the object itself, considered in a certain light, and as the object continues the same in all its different situations, it is easy to imagine how such an influence of objects upon one another may connect them in the imagination. We may carry this farther, and remark, not only that two objects are connected by the relation of cause and effect, when the one produces a motion or any action in the other, but also when it has a power of producing it. And this we may observe to be the source of all the relation, of interest and duty, by which men influence each other in society, and are placed in the ties of government and subordination. A master is such-a-one as by his situation, arising either from force or agreement, has a power of directing in certain particulars the actions of another, whom we call servant. A judge is one, who in all disputed cases can fix by his opinion the possession or property of any thing betwixt any members of the society. When a person is possessed of any power, there is no more required to convert it into action, but the exertion of the will; and that in every case is considered as possible, and in many as probable; especially in the case of authority, where the obedience of the subject is a pleasure and advantage to the superior. These are therefore the principles of union or cohesion among our simple ideas, and in the imagination supply the place of that inseparable connexion, by which they are united in our memory. Here is a kind of ATTRACTION, which in the mental world will be found to have as extraordinary effects as in the natural, and to shew itself in as many and as various forms. Its effects are every where conspicuous; but as to its causes, they are mostly unknown, and must be resolved into original qualities of human nature, which I pretend not to explain. Nothing is more requisite for a true philosopher, than to restrain the intemperate desire of searching into causes, and having established any doctrine upon a sufficient number of experiments, rest contented with that, when he sees a farther examination would lead him into obscure and uncertain speculations. In that case his enquiry would be much better employed in examining the effects than the causes of his principle. Amongst the effects of this union or association of ideas, there are none more remarkable, than those complex ideas, which are the common subjects of our thoughts and reasoning, and generally arise from some principle of union among our simple ideas. These complex ideas may be divided into Relations, Modes, and Substances. We shall briefly examine each of these in order, and shall subjoin some considerations concerning our general and particular ideas, before we leave the present subject, which may be considered as the elements of this philosophy. SECT. V. OF RELATIONS. The word RELATION is commonly used in two senses considerably different from each other. Either for that quality, by which two ideas are connected together in the imagination, and the one naturally introduces the other, after the manner above-explained: or for that particular circumstance, in which, even upon the arbitrary union of two ideas in the fancy, we may think proper to compare them. In common language the former is always the sense, in which we use the word, relation; and it is only in philosophy, that we extend it to mean any particular subject of comparison, without a connecting principle. Thus distance will be allowed by philosophers to be a true relation, because we acquire an idea of it by the comparing of objects: But in a common way we say, THAT NOTHING CAN BE MORE DISTANT THAN SUCH OR SUCH THINGS FROM EACH OTHER, NOTHING CAN HAVE LESS RELATION: as if distance and relation were incompatible. It may perhaps be esteemed an endless task to enumerate all those qualities, which make objects admit of comparison, and by which the ideas of philosophical relation are produced. But if we diligently consider them, we shall find that without difficulty they may be comprised under seven general heads, which may be considered as the sources of all philosophical relation. (1) The first is RESEMBLANCE: And this is a relation, without which no philosophical relation can exist; since no objects will admit of comparison, but what have some degree of resemblance. But though resemblance be necessary to all philosophical relation, it does not follow, that it always produces a connexion or association of ideas. When a quality becomes very general, and is common to a great many individuals, it leads not the mind directly to any one of them; but by presenting at once too great a choice, does thereby prevent the imagination from fixing on any single object. (2) IDENTITY may be esteemed a second species of relation. This relation I here consider as applied in its strictest sense to constant and unchangeable objects; without examining the nature and foundation of personal identity, which shall find its place afterwards. Of all relations the most universal is that of identity, being common to every being whose existence has any duration. (3) After identity the most universal and comprehensive relations are those of SPACE and TIME, which are the sources of an infinite number of comparisons, such as distant, contiguous, above, below, before, after, etc. (4) All those objects, which admit of QUANTITY, or NUMBER, may be compared in that particular; which is another very fertile source of relation. (5) When any two objects possess the same QUALITY in common, the DEGREES, in which they possess it, form a fifth species of relation. Thus of two objects, which are both heavy, the one may be either of greater, or less weight than the other. Two colours, that are of the same kind, may yet be of different shades, and in that respect admit of comparison. (6) The relation of CONTRARIETY may at first sight be regarded as an exception to the rule, THAT NO RELATION OF ANY KIND CAN SUBSIST WITHOUT SOME DEGREE OF RESEMBLANCE. But let us consider, that no two ideas are in themselves contrary, except those of existence and non-existence, which are plainly resembling, as implying both of them an idea of the object; though the latter excludes the object from all times and places, in which it is supposed not to exist. (7) All other objects, such as fire and water, heat and cold, are only found to be contrary from experience, and from the contrariety of their causes or effects; which relation of cause and effect is a seventh philosophical relation, as well as a natural one. The resemblance implied in this relation, shall be explained afterwards. It might naturally be expected, that I should join DIFFERENCE to the other relations. But that I consider rather as a negation of relation, than as anything real or positive. Difference is of two kinds as opposed either to identity or resemblance. The first is called a difference of number; the other of KIND. SECT. VI. OF MODES AND SUBSTANCES I would fain ask those philosophers, who found so much of their reasonings on the distinction of substance and accident, and imagine we have clear ideas of each, whether the idea of substance be derived from the impressions of sensation or of reflection? If it be conveyed to us by our senses, I ask, which of them; and after what manner? If it be perceived by the eyes, it must be a colour; if by the ears, a sound; if by the palate, a taste; and so of the other senses. But I believe none will assert, that substance is either a colour, or sound, or a taste. The idea, of substance must therefore be derived from an impression of reflection, if it really exist. But the impressions of reflection resolve themselves into our passions and emotions: none of which can possibly represent a substance. We have therefore no idea of substance, distinct from that of a collection of particular qualities, nor have we any other meaning when we either talk or reason concerning it. The idea of a substance as well as that of a mode, is nothing but a collection of Simple ideas, that are united by the imagination, and have a particular name assigned them, by which we are able to recall, either to ourselves or others, that collection. But the difference betwixt these ideas consists in this, that the particular qualities, which form a substance, are commonly referred to an unknown something, in which they are supposed to inhere; or granting this fiction should not take place, are at least supposed to be closely and inseparably connected by the relations of contiguity and causation. The effect of this is, that whatever new simple quality we discover to have the same connexion with the rest, we immediately comprehend it among them, even though it did not enter into the first conception of the substance. Thus our idea of gold may at first be a yellow colour, weight, malleableness, fusibility; but upon the discovery of its dissolubility in aqua regia, we join that to the other qualities, and suppose it to belong to the substance as much as if its idea had from the beginning made a part of the compound one. The principal of union being regarded as the chief part of the complex idea, gives entrance to whatever quality afterwards occurs, and is equally comprehended by it, as are the others, which first presented themselves. themselves. That this cannot take place in modes, is evident from considering their mature. The. simple ideas of which modes are formed, either represent qualities, which are not united by contiguity and causation, but are dispersed in different subjects; or if they be all united together, the uniting principle is not regarded as the foundation of the complex idea. The idea of a dance is an instance of the first kind of modes; that of beauty of the second. The reason is obvious, why such complex ideas cannot receive any new idea, without changing the name, which distinguishes the mode. SECT. VII. OF ABSTRACT IDEAS. A very material question has been started concerning ABSTRACT or GENERAL ideas, WHETHER THEY BE GENERAL OR PARTICULAR IN THE MIND'S CONCEPTION OF THEM. A great philosopher [Dr. Berkeley.] has disputed the received opinion in this particular, and has asserted, that all general ideas are nothing but particular ones, annexed to a certain term, which gives them a more extensive signification, and makes them recall upon occasion other individuals, which are similar to them. As I look upon this to be one of the greatest and most valuable discoveries that has been made of late years in the republic of letters, I shag here endeavour to confirm it by some arguments, which I hope will put it beyond all doubt and controversy.
It is evident, that in forming most of our general ideas, if not all of them, we abstract from every particular degree of quantity and quality, and that an object ceases not to be of any particular species on account of every small alteration in its extension, duration and other properties. It may therefore be thought, that here is a plain dilemma, that decides concerning the nature of those abstract ideas, which have afforded so much speculation to philosophers. The abstract idea of a man represents men of all sizes and all qualities; which it is concluded it cannot do, but either by representing at once all possible sizes and all possible qualities, or by, representing no particular one at all. Now it having been esteemed absurd to defend the former proposition, as implying an infinite capacity in the mind, it has been commonly inferred in favour of the letter: and our abstract ideas have been supposed to represent no particular degree either of quantity or quality. But that this inference is erroneous, I shall endeavour to make appear, first, by proving, that it is utterly impossible to conceive any quantity or quality, without forming a precise notion of its degrees: And secondly by showing, that though the capacity of the mind be not infinite, yet we can at once form a notion of all possible degrees of quantity and quality, in such a manner at least, as, however imperfect, may serve all the purposes of reflection and conversation.
To begin with the first proposition, THAT THE MIND CANNOT FORM ANY NOTION OF QUANTITY OR QUALITY WITHOUT FORMING A PRECISE NOTION OF DEGREES OF EACH; we may prove this by the three following arguments. First, We have observed, that whatever objects are different are distinguishable, and that whatever objects are distinguishable are separable by the thought and imagination. And we may here add, that these propositions are equally true in the inverse, and that whatever objects are separable are also distinguishable, and that whatever objects are distinguishable, are also different. For how is it possible we can separate what is not distinguishable, or distinguish what is not different? In order therefore to know, whether abstraction implies a separation, we need only consider it in this view, and examine, whether all the circumstances, which we abstract from in our general ideas, be such as are distinguishable and different from those, which we retain as essential parts of them. But it is evident at first sight, that the precise length of a line is not different nor distinguishable from the line itself. nor the precise degree of any quality from the quality. These ideas, therefore, admit no more of separation than they do of distinction and difference. They are consequently conjoined with each other in the conception; and the general idea of a. line, notwithstanding all our abstractions and refinements, has in its appearance in the mind a precise degree of quantity and quality; however it may be made to represent others, which have different degrees of both.
Secondly, it is contest, that no object can appear to the senses; or in other words, that no impression can become present to the mind, without being determined in its degrees both of quantity and quality. The confusion, in which impressions are sometimes involved, proceeds only from their faintness and unsteadiness, not from any capacity in the mind to receive any impression, which in its real existence has no particular degree nor proportion. That is a contradiction in terms; and even implies the flattest of all contradictions, viz. that it is possible for the same thing both to be and not to be.
Now since all ideas are derived from impressions, and are nothing but copies and representations of them, whatever is true of the one must be acknowledged concerning the other. Impressions and ideas differ only in their strength and vivacity. The foregoing conclusion is not founded on any particular degree of vivacity. It cannot therefore be affected by any variation in that particular. An idea is a weaker impression; and as a strong impression must necessarily have a determinate quantity and quality, the case must be the same with its copy or representative.
Thirdly, it is a principle generally received in philosophy that everything in nature is individual, and that it is utterly absurd to suppose a triangle really existent, which has no precise proportion of sides and angles. If this therefore be absurd in fact and reality, it must also be absurd in idea; since nothing of which we can form a clear and distinct idea is absurd and impossible. But to form the idea of an object, and to form an idea simply, is the same thing; the reference of the idea to an object being an extraneous denomination, of which in itself it bears no mark or character. Now as it is impossible to form an idea of an object, that is possest of quantity and quality, and yet is possest of no precise degree of either; it follows that there is an equal impossibility of forming an idea, that is not limited and confined in both these particulars. Abstract ideas are therefore in themselves individual, however they may become general in their representation. The image in the mind is only that of a particular object, though the application of it in our reasoning be the same, as if it were universal.
This application of ideas beyond their nature proceeds from our collecting all their possible degrees of quantity and quality in such an imperfect manner as may serve the purposes of life, which is the second proposition I proposed to explain. When we have found a resemblance [Footnote 2.] among several objects, that often occur to us, we apply the same name to all of them, whatever differences we may observe in the degrees of their quantity and quality, and whatever other differences may appear among them. After we have acquired a custom of this kind, the hearing of that name revives the idea of one of these objects, and makes the imagination conceive it with all its particular circumstances and proportions. But as the same word is supposed to have been frequently applied to other individuals, that are different in many respects from that idea, which is immediately present to the mind; the word not being able to revive the idea of all these individuals, but only touches the soul, if I may be allowed so to speak, and revives that custom, which we have acquired by surveying them. They are not really and in fact present to the mind, but only in power; nor do we draw them all out distinctly in the imagination, but keep ourselves in a readiness to survey any of them, as we may be prompted by a present design or necessity. The word raises up an individual idea, along with a certain custom; and that custom produces any other individual one, for which we may have occasion. But as the production of all the ideas, to which the name may be applied, is in most eases impossible, we abridge that work by a more partial consideration, and find but few inconveniences to arise in our reasoning from that abridgment.
[Footnote 2. It is evident, that even different simple ideas may have a similarity or resemblance to each other; nor is it necessary, that the point or circumstance of resemblance shoud be distinct or separable from that in which they differ. BLUE and GREEN are different simple ideas, but are more resembling than BLUE and SCARLET; tho their perfect simplicity excludes all possibility of separation or distinction. It is the same case with particular sounds, and tastes and smells. These admit of infinite resemblances upon the general appearance and comparison, without having any common circumstance the same. And of this we may be certain, even from the very abstract terms SIMPLE IDEA. They comprehend all simple ideas under them. These resemble each other in their simplicity. And yet from their very nature, which excludes all composition, this circumstance, In which they resemble, Is not distinguishable nor separable from the rest. It is the same case with all the degrees In any quality. They are all resembling and yet the quality, In any individual, Is not distinct from the degree.]
For this is one of the most extraordinary circumstances in the present affair, that after the mind has produced an individual idea, upon which we reason, the attendant custom, revived by the general or abstract term, readily suggests any other individual, if by chance we form any reasoning, that agrees not with it. Thus should we mention the word triangle, and form the idea of a particular equilateral one to correspond to it, and should we afterwards assert, that the three angles of a triangle are equal to each other, the other individuals of a scalenum and isosceles, which we overlooked at first, immediately crowd in upon us, and make us perceive the falshood of this proposition, though it be true with relation to that idea, which we had formed. If the mind suggests not always these ideas upon occasion, it proceeds from some imperfection in its faculties; and such a one as is often the source of false reasoning and sophistry. But this is principally the case with those ideas which are abstruse and compounded. On other occasions the custom is more entire, and it is seldom we run into such errors.
Nay so entire is the custom, that the very same idea may be annext to several different words, and may be employed in different reasonings, without any danger of mistake. Thus the idea of an equilateral triangle of an inch perpendicular may serve us in talking of a figure, of a rectilinear figure, of a regular figure, of a triangle, and of an equilateral triangle. AR these terms, therefore, are in this case attended with the same idea; but as they are wont to be applied in a greater or lesser compass, they excite their particular habits, and thereby keep the mind in a readiness to observe, that no conclusion be formed contrary to any ideas, which are usually comprized under them.
Before those habits have become entirely perfect, perhaps the mind may not be content with forming the idea of only one individual, but may run over several, in order to make itself comprehend its own meaning, and the compass of that collection, which it intends to express by the general term. That we may fix the meaning of the word, figure, we may revolve in our mind the ideas of circles, squares, parallelograms, triangles of different sizes and proportions, and may not rest on one image or idea. However this may be, it is certain that we form the idea of individuals, whenever we use any general term; that we seldom or never can exhaust these individuals; and that those, which remain, are only represented by means of that habit, by which we recall them, whenever any present occasion requires it. This then is the nature of our abstract ideas and general terms; and it is after this manner we account for the foregoing paradox, THAT SOME IDEAS ARE PARTICULAR IN THEIR NATURE, BUT GENERAL IN THEIR REPRESENTATION. A particular idea becomes general by being annexed to a general term; that is, to a term, which from a customary conjunction has a relation to many other particular ideas, and readily recalls them in the imagination.
The only difficulty, that can remain on this subject, must be with regard to that custom, which so readily recalls every particular idea, for which we may have occasion, and is excited by any word or sound, to which we commonly annex it. The most proper method, in my opinion, of giving a satisfactory explication of this act of the mind, is by producing other instances, which are analogous to it, and other principles, which facilitate its operation. To explain the ultimate causes of our mental actions is impossible. It is sufficient, if we can give any satisfactory account of them from experience and analogy.
First then I observe, that when we mention any great number, such as a thousand, the mind has generally no adequate idea of it, but only a power of producing such an idea, by its adequate idea of the decimals, under which the number is comprehended. This imperfection, however, in our ideas, is never felt in our reasonings; which seems to be an instance parallel to the present one of universal ideas.
Secondly, we have several instances of habits, which may be revived by one single word; as when a person, who has by rote any periods of a discourse, or any number of verses, will be put in remembrance of the whole, which he is at a loss to recollect, by that single word or expression, with which they begin.
Thirdly, I believe every one, who examines the situation of his mind in reasoning will agree with me, that we do not annex distinct and compleat ideas to every term we make use of, and that in talking of government, church, negotiation, conquest, we seldom spread out in our minds all the simple ideas, of which these complex ones are composed. It is however observable, that notwithstanding this imperfection we may avoid talking nonsense on these subjects, and may perceive any repugnance among the ideas, as well as if we had a fall comprehension of them. Thus if instead of saying, that in war the weaker have always recourse to negotiation, we should say, that they have always recourse to conquest, the custom, which we have acquired of attributing certain relations to ideas, still follows the words, and makes us immediately perceive the absurdity of that proposition; in the same manner as one particular idea may serve us in reasoning concerning other ideas, however different from it in several circumstances.
Fourthly, As the individuals are collected together, said placed under a general term with a view to that resemblance, which they bear to each other, this relation must facilitate their entrance in the imagination, and make them be suggested more readily upon occasion. And indeed if we consider the common progress of the thought, either in reflection or conversation, we shall find great reason to be satisfyed in this particular. Nothing is more admirable, than the readiness, with which the imagination suggests its ideas, and presents them at the very instant, in which they become necessary or useful. The fancy runs from one end of the universe to the other in collecting those ideas, which belong to any subject. One would think the whole intellectual world of ideas was at once subjected to our view, and that we did nothing but pick out such as were most proper for our purpose. There may not, however, be any present, beside those very ideas, that are thus collected by a kind of magical faculty in the soul, which, though it be always most perfect in the greatest geniuses, and is properly what we call a genius, is however inexplicable by the utmost efforts of human understanding.
Perhaps these four reflections may help to remove an difficulties to the hypothesis I have proposed concerning abstract ideas, so contrary to that, which has hitherto prevailed in philosophy, But, to tell the truth I place my chief confidence in what I have already proved concerning the impossibility of general ideas, according to the common method of explaining them. We must certainly seek some new system on this head, and there plainly is none beside what I have proposed. If ideas be particular in their nature, and at the same time finite in their number, it is only by custom they can become general in their representation, and contain an infinite number of other ideas under them.
Before I leave this subject I shall employ the same principles to explain that distinction of reason, which is so much talked of, and is so little understood, in the schools. Of this kind is the distinction betwixt figure and the body figured; motion and the body moved. The difficulty of explaining this distinction arises from the principle above explained, that all ideas, which are different, are separable. For it follows from thence, that if the figure be different from the body, their ideas must be separable as well as distinguishable: if they be not different, their ideas can neither be separable nor distinguishable. What then is meant by a distinction of reason, since it implies neither a difference nor separation.
To remove this difficulty we must have recourse to the foregoing explication of abstract ideas. It is certain that the mind would never have dreamed of distinguishing a figure from the body figured, as being in reality neither distinguishable, nor different, nor separable; did it not observe, that even in this simplicity there might be contained many different resemblances and relations. Thus when a globe of white marble is presented, we receive only the impression of a white colour disposed in a certain form, nor are we able to separate and distinguish the colour from the form. But observing afterwards a globe of black marble and a cube of white, and comparing them with our former object, we find two separate resemblances, in what formerly seemed, and really is, perfectly inseparable. After a little more practice of this kind, we begin to distinguish the figure from the colour by a distinction of reason; that is, we consider the figure and colour together, since they are in effect the same and undistinguishable; but still view them in different aspects, according to the resemblances, of which they are susceptible. When we would consider only the figure of the globe of white marble, we form in reality an idea both of the figure and colour, but tacitly carry our eye to its resemblance with the globe of black marble: And in the same manner, when we would consider its colour only, we turn our view to its resemblance with the cube of white marble. By this means we accompany our ideas with a kind of reflection, of which custom renders us, in a great measure, insensible. A person, who desires us to consider the figure of a globe of white marble without thinking on its colour, desires an impossibility but his meaning is, that we should consider the figure and colour together, but still keep in our eye the resemblance to the globe of black marble, or that to any other globe of whatever colour or substance.
Whatever has the air of a paradox, and is contrary to the first and most unprejudiced notions of mankind, is often greedily embraced by philosophers, as shewing the superiority of their science, which coued discover opinions so remote from vulgar conception. On the other hand, anything proposed to us, which causes surprize and admiration, gives such a satisfaction to the mind, that it indulges itself in those agreeable emotions, and will never be persuaded that its pleasure is entirely without foundation. From these dispositions in philosophers and their disciples arises that mutual complaisance betwixt them; while the former furnish such plenty of strange and unaccountable opinions, and the latter so readily believe them. Of this mutual complaisance I cannot give a more evident instance than in the doctrine of infinite divisibility, with the examination of which I shall begin this subject of the ideas of space and time. It is universally allowed, that the capacity of the mind is limited, and can never attain a full and adequate conception of infinity: And though it were not allowed, it would be sufficiently evident from the plainest observation and experience. It is also obvious, that whatever is capable of being divided in infinitum, must consist of an infinite number of parts, and that it is impossible to set any bounds to the number of parts, without setting bounds at the same time to the division. It requires scarce any, induction to conclude from hence, that the idea, which we form of any finite quality, is not infinitely divisible, but that by proper distinctions and separations we may run up this idea to inferior ones, which will be perfectly simple and indivisible. In rejecting the infinite capacity of the mind, we suppose it may arrive at an end in the division of its ideas; nor are there any possible means of evading the evidence of this conclusion.
It is therefore certain, that the imagination reaches a minimum, and may raise up to itself an idea, of which it cannot conceive any sub-division, and which cannot be diminished without a total annihilation. When you tell me of the thousandth and ten thousandth part of a grain of sand, I have a, distinct idea of these numbers and of their different proportions; but the images, which I form in my mind to represent the things themselves, are nothing different from each other, nor inferior to that image, by which I represent the grain of sand itself, which is supposed so vastly to exceed them. What consists of parts is distinguishable into them, and what is distinguishable is separable. But whatever we may imagine of the thing, the idea of a grain of sand is not distinguishable, nor separable into twenty, much less into a thousand, ten thousand, or an infinite number of different ideas.
It is the same case with the impressions of the senses as with the ideas of the imagination. Put a spot of ink upon paper, fix your eye upon that spot, and retire to such a distance, that, at last you lose sight of it; it is plain, that the moment before it vanished the image or impression was perfectly indivisible. It is not for want of rays of light striking on our eyes, that the minute parts of distant bodies convey not any sensible impression; but because they are removed beyond that distance, at which their impressions were reduced to a minimum, and were incapable of any farther diminution. A microscope or telescope, which renders them visible, produces not any new rays of light, but only spreads those, which always flowed from them; and by that means both gives parts to impressions, which to the naked eye appear simple and uncompounded, and advances to a minimum, what was formerly imperceptible.
We may hence discover the error of the common opinion, that the capacity of the mind is limited on both sides, and that it is impossible for the imagination to form an adequate idea, of what goes beyond a certain degree of minuteness as well as of greatness. Nothing can be more minute, than some ideas, which we form in the fancy; and images, which appear to the senses; since there are ideas and images perfectly simple and indivisible. The only defect of our senses is, that they give us disproportioned images of things, and represent as minute and uncompounded what is really great and composed of a vast number of parts. This mistake we are not sensible of: but taking the impressions of those minute objects, which appear to the senses, to be equal or nearly equal to the objects, and finding by reason, that there are other objects vastly more minute, we too hastily conclude, that these are inferior to any idea of our imagination or impression of our senses. This however is certain, that we can form ideas, which shall be no greater than the smallest atom of the animal spirits of an insect a thousand times less than a mite: And we ought rather to conclude, that the difficulty lies in enlarging our conceptions so much as to form a just notion of a mite, or even of an insect a thousand times less than a mite. For in order to form a just notion of these animals, we must have a distinct idea representing every part of them, which, according to the system of infinite divisibility, is utterly impossible, and, recording to that of indivisible parts or atoms, is extremely difficult, by reason of the vast number and multiplicity of these parts.
SECT. II. OF THE INFINITE DIVISIBILITY OF SPACE AND TIME. Wherever ideas are adequate representations of objects, the relations, contradictions and agreements of the ideas are all applicable to the objects; and this we may in general observe to be the foundation of all human knowledge. But our ideas are adequate representations of the most minute parts of extension; and through whatever divisions and subdivisions we may suppose these parts to be arrived at, they can never become inferior to some ideas, which we form. The plain consequence is, that whatever appears impossible and contradictory upon the comparison of these ideas, must be really impossible and contradictory, without any farther excuse or evasion. Every thing capable of being infinitely divided contains an infinite number of parts; otherwise the division would be stopt short by the indivisible parts, which we should immediately arrive at. If therefore any finite extension be infinitely divisible, it can be no contradiction to suppose, that a finite extension contains an infinite number of parts: And vice versa, if it be a contradiction to suppose, that a finite extension contains an infinite number of parts, no finite extension can be infinitely divisible. But that this latter supposition is absurd, I easily convince myself by the consideration of my clear ideas. I first take the least idea I can form of a part of extension, and being certain that there is nothing more minute than this idea, I conclude, that whatever I discover by its means must be a real quality of extension. I then repeat this idea once, twice, thrice, &c., and find the compound idea of extension, arising from its repetition, always to augment, and become double, triple, quadruple, &c., till at last it swells up to a considerable bulk, greater or smaller, in proportion as I repeat more or less the same idea. When I stop in the addition of parts, the idea of extension ceases to augment; and were I to carry on the addition in infinitum, I clearly perceive, that the idea of extension must also become infinite. Upon the whole, I conclude, that the idea of all infinite number of parts is individually the same idea with that of an infinite extension; that no finite extension is capable of containing an infinite number of parts; and consequently that no finite extension is infinitely divisible [Footnote 3.]. [Footnote 3. It has been objected to me, that infinite divisibility supposes only an infinite number of PROPORTIONAL not of ALIQIOT parts, and that an infinite number of proportional parts does not form an infinite extension. But this distinction is entirely frivolous. Whether these parts be calld ALIQUOT or PROPORTIONAL, they cannot be inferior to those minute parts we conceive; and therefore cannot form a less extension by their conjunction.] I may subjoin another argument proposed by a noted author [Mons. MALEZIEU], which seems to me very strong and beautiful. It is evident, that existence in itself belongs only to unity, and is never applicable to number, but on account of the unites, of which the number is composed. Twenty men may be said to exist; but it is only because one, two, three, four, &c. are existent, and if you deny the existence of the latter, that of the former falls of course. It is therefore utterly absurd to suppose any number to exist, and yet deny the existence of unites; and as extension is always a number, according to the common sentiment of metaphysicians, and never resolves itself into any unite or indivisible quantity, it follows, that extension can never at all exist. It is in vain to reply, that any determinate quantity of extension is an unite; but such-a-one as admits of an infinite number of fractions, and is inexhaustible in its sub-divisions. For by the same rule these twenty men may be considered as a unit. The whole globe of the earth, nay the whole universe, may be considered as a unit. That term of unity is merely a fictitious denomination, which the mind may apply to any quantity of objects it collects together; nor can such an unity any more exist alone than number can, as being in reality a true number. But the unity, which can exist alone, and whose existence is necessary to that of all number, is of another kind, and must be perfectly indivisible, and incapable of being resolved into any lesser unity. All this reasoning takes place with regard to time; along with an additional argument, which it may be proper to take notice of. It is a property inseparable from time, and which in a manner constitutes its essence, that each of its parts succeeds another, and that none of them, however contiguous, can ever be co-existent. For the same reason, that the year 1737 cannot concur with the present year 1738 every moment must be distinct from, and posterior or antecedent to another. It is certain then, that time, as it exists, must be composed of indivisible moments. For if in time we could never arrive at an end of division, and if each moment, as it succeeds another, were not perfectly single and indivisible, there would be an infinite number of co-existent moments, or parts of time; which I believe will be allowed to be an arrant contradiction. The infinite divisibility of space implies that of time, as is evident from the nature of motion. If the latter, therefore, be impossible, the former must be equally so. I doubt not but, it will readily be allowed by the most obstinate defender of the doctrine of infinite divisibility, that these arguments are difficulties, and that it is impossible to give any answer to them which will be perfectly clear and satisfactory. But here we may observe, that nothing can be more absurd, than this custom of calling a difficulty what pretends to be a demonstration, and endeavouring by that means to elude its force and evidence. It is not in demonstrations as in probabilities, that difficulties can take place, and one argument counter-ballance another, and diminish its authority. A demonstration, if just, admits of no opposite difficulty; and if not just, it is a mere sophism, and consequently can never be a difficulty. It is either irresistible, or has no manner of force. To talk therefore of objections and replies, and ballancing of arguments in such a question as this, is to confess, either that human reason is nothing but a play of words, or that the person himself, who talks so, has not a Capacity equal to such subjects. Demonstrations may be difficult to be comprehended, because of abstractedness of the subject; but can never have such difficulties as will weaken their authority, when once they are comprehended. It is true, mathematicians are wont to say, that there are here equally strong arguments on the other side of the question, and that the doctrine of indivisible points is also liable to unanswerable objections. Before I examine these arguments and objections in detail, I will here take them in a body, and endeavour by a short and decisive reason to prove at once, that it is utterly impossible they can have any just foundation. It is an established maxim in metaphysics, That whatever the mind clearly conceives, includes the idea of possible existence, or in other words, that nothing we imagine is absolutely impossible. We can form the idea of a golden mountain, and from thence conclude that such a mountain may actually exist. We can form no idea of a mountain without a valley, and therefore regard it as impossible. Now it is certain we have an idea of extension; for otherwise why do we talk and reason concerning it? It is likewise certain that this idea, as conceived by the imagination, though divisible into parts or inferior ideas, is not infinitely divisible, nor consists of an infinite number of parts: For that exceeds the comprehension of our limited capacities. Here then is an idea of extension, which consists of parts or inferior ideas, that are perfectly, indivisible: consequently this idea implies no contradiction: consequently it is possible for extension really to exist conformable to it: and consequently all the arguments employed against the possibility of mathematical points are mere scholastick quibbles, and unworthy of our attention. These consequences we may carry one step farther, and conclude that all the pretended demonstrations for the infinite divisibility of extension are equally sophistical; since it is certain these demonstrations cannot be just without proving the impossibility of mathematical points; which it is an evident absurdity to pretend to. SECT. III. OF THE OTHER QUALITIES OF OUR IDEA OF SPACE AND TIME. No discovery coued have been made more happily for deciding all controversies concerning ideas, than that abovementioned, that impressions always take the precedency of them, and that every idea, with which the imagination is furnished, first makes its appearance in a correspondent impression. These latter perceptions are all so clear and evident, that they admit of no controversy; though many of our ideas are so obscure, that it is almost impossible even for the mind, which forms them, to tell exactly their nature and composition. Let us apply this principle, in order to discover farther the nature of our ideas of space and time. Upon opening my eyes, and turning them to the surrounding objects, I perceive many visible bodies; and upon shutting them again, and considering the distance betwixt these bodies, I acquire the idea of extension. As every idea is derived from some impression, which is exactly similar to it, the impressions similar to this idea of extension, must either be some sensations derived from the sight, or some internal impressions arising from these sensations. Our internal impressions are our passions, emotions, desires and aversions; none of which, I believe, will ever be asserted to be the model, from which the idea of space is derived. There remains therefore nothing but the senses, which can convey to us this original impression. Now what impression do oar senses here convey to us? This is the principal question, and decides without appeal concerning the nature of the idea. The table before me is alone sufficient by its view to give me the idea of extension. This idea, then, is borrowed from, and represents some impression, which this moment appears to the senses. But my senses convey to me only the impressions of coloured points, disposed in a, certain manner. If the eye is sensible of any thing farther, I desire it may be pointed out to me. But if it be impossible to shew any thing farther, we may conclude with certainty, that the idea of extension is nothing but a copy of these coloured points, and of the manner of their appearance. Suppose that in the extended object, or composition of coloured points, from which we first received the idea of extension, the points were of a purple colour; it follows, that in every repetition of that idea we would not only place the points in the same order with respect to each other, but also bestow on them that precise colour, with which alone we are acquainted. But afterwards having experience of the other colours of violet, green, red, white, black, and of all the different compositions of these, and finding a resemblance in the disposition of coloured points, of which they are composed, we omit the peculiarities of colour, as far as possible, and found an abstract idea merely on that disposition of points, or manner of appearance, in which they agree. Nay even when the resemblance is carryed beyond the objects of one sense, and the impressions of touch are found to be Similar to those of sight in the disposition of their parts; this does not hinder the abstract idea from representing both, upon account of their resemblance. All abstract ideas are really nothing but particular ones, considered in a certain light; but being annexed to general terms, they are able to represent a vast variety, and to comprehend objects, which, as they are alike in some particulars, are in others vastly wide of each other. The idea of time, being derived from the succession of our perceptions of every kind, ideas as well as impressions, and impressions of reflection as well as of sensations will afford us an instance of an abstract idea, which comprehends a still greater variety than that of space, and yet is represented in the fancy by some particular individual idea of a determinate quantity and quality. As it is from the disposition of visible and tangible objects we receive the idea of space, so from the succession of ideas and impressions we form the idea of time, nor is it possible for time alone ever to make its appearance, or be taken notice of by the mind. A man in a sound sleep, or strongly occupyed with one thought, is insensible of time; and according as his perceptions succeed each other with greater or less rapidity, the same duration appears longer or shorter to his imagination. It has been remarked by a great philosopher, that our perceptions have certain bounds in this particular, which are fixed by the original nature and constitution of the mind, and beyond which no influence of external objects on the senses is ever able to hasten or retard our thought. If you wheel about a burning coal with rapidity, it will present to the senses an image of a circle of fire; nor will there seem to be any interval of time betwixt its revolutions; meerly because it is impossible for our perceptions to succeed each other with the same rapidity, that motion may be communicated to external objects. Wherever we have no successive perceptions, we have no notion of time, even though there be a real succession in the objects. From these phenomena, as well as from many others, we may conclude, that time cannot make its appearance to the mind, either alone, or attended with a steady unchangeable object, but is always discovered some PERCEIVABLE succession of changeable objects. To confirm this we may add the following argument, which to me seems perfectly decisive and convincing. It is evident, that time or duration consists of different parts: For otherwise we coued not conceive a longer or shorter duration. It is also evident, that these parts are not co-existent: For that quality of the co-existence of parts belongs to extension, and is what distinguishes it from duration. Now as time is composed of parts, that are not coexistent: an unchangeable object, since it produces none but coexistent impressions, produces none that can give us the idea of time; and consequently that idea must be derived from a succession of changeable objects, and time in its first appearance can never be severed from such a succession. Having therefore found, that time in its first appearance to the mind is always conjoined with a succession of changeable objects, and that otherwise it can never fall under our notice, we must now examine whether it can be conceived without our conceiving any succession of objects, and whether it can alone form a distinct idea in the imagination. In order to know whether any objects, which are joined in impression, be inseparable in idea, we need only consider, if they be different from each other; in which case, it is plain they may be conceived apart. Every thing, that is different is distinguishable: and everything, that is distinguishable, may be separated, according to the maxims above-explained. If on the contrary they be not different, they are not distinguishable: and if they be not distinguishable, they cannot be separated. But this is precisely the case with respect to time, compared with our successive perceptions. The idea of time is not derived from a particular impression mixed up with others, and plainly distinguishable from them; but arises altogether from the manner, in which impressions appear to the mind, without making one of the number. Five notes played on a flute give us the impression and idea of time; though time be not a sixth impression, which presents itself to the hearing or any other of the senses. Nor is it a sixth impression, which the mind by reflection finds in itself. These five sounds making their appearance in this particular manner, excite no emotion in the mind, nor produce an affection of any kind, which being observed by it can give rise to a new idea. For that is necessary to produce a new idea of reflection, nor can the mind, by revolving over a thousand times all its ideas of sensation, ever extract from them any new original idea, unless nature has so framed its faculties, that it feels some new original impression arise from such a contemplation. But here it only takes notice of the manner, in which the different sounds make their appearance; and that it may afterwards consider without considering these particular sounds, but may conjoin it with any other objects. The ideas of some objects it certainly must have, nor is it possible for it without these ideas ever to arrive at any conception of time; which since it, appears not as any primary distinct impression, can plainly be nothing but different ideas, or impressions, or objects disposed in a certain manner, that is, succeeding each other. I know there are some who pretend, that the idea of duration is applicable in a proper sense to objects, which are perfectly unchangeable; and this I take to be the common opinion of philosophers as well as of the vulgar. But to be convinced of its falsehood we need but reflect on the foregoing conclusion, that the idea of duration is always derived from a succession of changeable objects, and can never be conveyed to the mind by any thing stedfast and unchangeable. For it inevitably follows from thence, that since the idea of duration cannot be derived from such an object, it can never-in any propriety or exactness be applied to it, nor can any thing unchangeable be ever said to have duration. Ideas always represent the Objects or impressions, from which they are derived, and can never without a fiction represent or be applied to any other. By what fiction we apply the idea of time, even to what is unchangeable, and suppose, as is common, that duration is a measure of rest as well as of motion, we shall consider [Sect 5.] afterwards. There is another very decisive argument, which establishes the present doctrine concerning our ideas of space and time, and is founded only on that simple principle, that our ideas of them are compounded of parts, which are indivisible. This argument may be worth the examining. Every idea, that is distinguishable, being also separable, let us take one of those simple indivisible ideas, of which the compound one of extension is formed, and separating it from all others, and considering it apart, let us form a judgment of its nature and qualities. It is plain it is not the idea of extension. For the idea of extension consists of parts; and this idea, according to t-he supposition, is perfectly simple and indivisible. Is it therefore nothing? That is absolutely impossible. For as the compound idea of extension, which is real, is composed of such ideas; were these so many non-entities, there would be a real existence composed of non-entities; which is absurd. Here therefore I must ask, What is our idea of a simple and indivisible point? No wonder if my answer appear somewhat new, since the question itself has scarce ever yet been thought of. We are wont to dispute concerning the nature of mathematical points, but seldom concerning the nature of their ideas. The idea of space is conveyed to the. mind by two senses, the sight and touch; nor does anything ever appear extended, that is not either visible or tangible. That compound impression, which represents extension, consists of several lesser impressions, that are indivisible to the eye or feeling, and may be called impressions of atoms or corpuscles endowed with colour and solidity. But this is not all. It is not only requisite, that these atoms should be coloured or tangible, in order to discover themselves to our senses; it is also necessary we should preserve the idea of their colour or tangibility in order to comprehend them by our imagination. There is nothing but the idea of their colour or tangibility, which can render them conceivable by the mind. Upon the removal of the ideas of these sensible qualities, they are utterly annihilated to the thought or imagination. Now such as the parts are, such is the whole. If a point be not considered as coloured or tangible, it can convey to us no idea; and consequently the idea of extension, which is composed of the ideas of these points, can never possibly exist. But if the idea of extension really can exist, as we are conscious it does, its parts must also exist; and in order to that, must be considered as coloured or tangible. We have therefore no idea of space or extension, but when we regard it as an object either of our sight or feeling. The same reasoning will prove, that the indivisible moments of time must be filled with some real object or existence, whose succession forms the duration, and makes it be conceivable by the mind.
Our system concerning space and time consists of two parts, which are intimately connected together. The first depends on this chain of reasoning. The capacity of the mind is not infinite; consequently no idea of extension or duration consists of an infinite number of parts or inferior ideas, but of a finite number, and these simple and indivisible: It is therefore possible for space and time to exist conformable to this idea: And if it be possible, it is certain they actually do exist conformable to it; since their infinite divisibility is utterly impossible and contradictory.
The other part of our system is a consequence of this. The parts, into which the ideas of space and time resolve themselves, become at last indivisible; and these indivisible parts, being nothing in themselves, are inconceivable when not filled with something real and existent. The ideas of space and time are therefore no separate or distinct ideas, but merely those of the manner or order, in which objects exist: Or in other words, it is impossible to conceive either a vacuum and extension without matter, or a time, when there was no succession or change in any real existence. The intimate connexion betwixt these parts of our system is the reason why we shall examine together the objections, which have been urged against both of them, beginning with those against the finite divisibility of extension.
I. The first of these objections, which I shall take notice of, is more proper to prove this connexion and dependence of the one part upon the other, than to destroy either of them. It has often been maintained in the schools, that extension must be divisible, in infinitum, because the system of mathematical points is absurd; and that system is absurd, because a mathematical point is a non-entity, and consequently can never by its conjunction with others form a real existence. This would be perfectly decisive, were there no medium betwixt the infinite divisibility of matter, and the non-entity of mathematical points. But there is evidently a medium, viz. the bestowing a colour or solidity on these points; and the absurdity of both the extremes is a demonstration of the truth and reality of this medium. The system of physical points, which is another medium, is too absurd to need a refutation. A real extension, such as a physical point is supposed to be, can never exist without parts, different from each other; and wherever objects are different, they are distinguishable and separable by the imagination.
II. The second objection is derived from the necessity there would be of PENETRATION, if extension consisted of mathematical points. A simple and indivisible atom, that touches another, must necessarily penetrate it; for it is impossible it can touch it by its external parts, from the very supposition of its perfect simplicity, which excludes all parts. It must therefore touch it intimately, and in its whole essence, SECUNDUM SE, TOTA, ET TOTALITER; which is the very definition of penetration. But penetration is impossible: Mathematical points are of consequence equally impossible.
I answer this objection by substituting a juster idea of penetration. Suppose two bodies containing no void within their circumference, to approach each other, and to unite in such a manner that the body, which results from their union, is no more extended than either of them; it is this we must mean when we talk of penetration. But it is evident this penetration is nothing but the annihilation of one of these bodies, and the preservation of the other, without our being able to distinguish particularly which is preserved and which annihilated. Before the approach we have the idea of two bodies. After it we have the idea only of one. It is impossible for the mind to preserve any notion of difference betwixt two bodies of the same nature existing in the same place at the same time.
Taking then penetration in this sense, for the annihilation of one body upon its approach to another, I ask any one, if he sees a necessity, that a coloured or tangible point should be annihilated upon the approach of another coloured or tangible point? On the contrary, does he not evidently perceive, that from the union of these points there results an object, which is compounded and divisible, and may be distinguished into two parts, of which each preserves its existence distinct and separate, notwithstanding its contiguity to the other? Let him aid his fancy by conceiving these points to be of different colours, the better to prevent their coalition and confusion. A blue and a red point may surely lie contiguous without any penetration or annihilation. For if they cannot, what possibly can become of them? Whether shall the red or the blue be annihilated? Or if these colours unite into one, what new colour will they produce by their union?
What chiefly gives rise to these objections, and at the same time renders it so difficult to give a satisfactory answer to them, is the natural infirmity and unsteadiness both of our imagination and senses, when employed on such minute objects. Put a spot of ink upon paper, and retire to such a distance, that the spot becomes altogether invisible; you will find, that upon your return and nearer approach the spot first becomes visible by short intervals; and afterwards becomes always visible; and afterwards acquires only a new force in its colouring without augmenting its bulk; and afterwards, when it has encreased to such a degree as to be really extended, it is still difficult for the imagination to break it into its component parts, because of the uneasiness it finds in the conception of such a minute object as a single point. This infirmity affects most of our reasonings on the present subject, and makes it almost impossible to answer in an intelligible manner, and in proper expressions, many questions which may arise concerning it.
III. There have been many objections drawn from the mathematics against the indivisibility of the parts of extension: though at first sight that science seems rather favourable to the present doctrine; and if it be contrary in its DEMONSTRATIONS, it is perfectly conformable in its definitions. My present business then must be to defend the definitions, and refute the demonstrations.
A surface is DEFINed to be length and breadth without depth: A line to be length without breadth or depth: A point to be what has neither length, breadth nor depth. It is evident that all this is perfectly unintelligible upon any other supposition than that of the. composition of extension by indivisible points or atoms. How else coued any thing exist without length, without breadth, or without depth?
Two different answers, I find, have been made to this argument; neither of which is in my opinion satisfactory. The first is, that the objects of geometry, those surfaces, lines and points, whose proportions and positions it examines, are mere ideas in the mind; I and not only never did, but never can exist in nature. They never did exist; for no one will pretend to draw a line or make a surface entirely conformable to the definition: They never can exist; for we may produce demonstrations from these very ideas to prove, that they are impossible.
But can anything be imagined more absurd and contradictory than this reasoning? Whatever can be conceived by a clear and distinct idea necessarily implies the possibility of existence; and he who pretends to prove the impossibility of its existence by any argument derived from the clear idea, in reality asserts, that we have no clear idea of it, because we have a clear idea. It is in vain to search for a contradiction in any thing that is distinctly conceived by the mind. Did it imply any contradiction, it is impossible it coued ever be conceived.
There is therefore no medium betwixt allowing at least the possibility of indivisible points, and denying their idea; and it is on this latter principle, that the second answer to the foregoing argument is founded. It has been pretended [L'Art de penser.], that though it be impossible to conceive a length without any breadth, yet by an abstraction without a separation, we can consider the one without regarding the other; in the same manner as we may think of the length of the way betwixt two towns, and overlook its breadth. The length is inseparable from the breadth both in nature and in our minds; but this excludes not a partial consideration, and a distinction of reason, after the manner above explained.
In refuting this answer I shall not insist on the argument, which I have already sufficiently explained, that if it be impossible for the mind to arrive at a minimum in its ideas, its capacity must be infinite, in order to comprehend the infinite number of parts, of which its idea of any extension would be composed. I shall here endeavour to find some new absurdities in this reasoning.
A surface terminates a solid; a line terminates a surface; a point terminates a line; but I assert, that if the ideas of a point, line or surface were not indivisible, it is impossible we should ever conceive these terminations: For let these ideas be supposed infinitely divisible; and then let the fancy endeavour to fix itself on the idea of the last surface, line or point; it immediately finds this idea to break into parts; and upon its seizing the last of these parts, it loses its hold by a new division, and so on in infinitum, without any possibility of its arriving at a concluding idea. The number of fractions bring it no nearer the last division, than the first idea it formed. Every particle eludes the grasp by a new fraction; like quicksilver, when we endeavour to seize it. But as in fact there must be something, which terminates the idea of every finite quantity; and as this terminating idea cannot itself consist of parts or inferior ideas; otherwise it would be the last of its parts, which finished the idea, and so on; this is a clear proof, that the ideas of surfaces, lines and points admit not of any division; those of surfaces in depth; of lines in breadth and depth; and of points in any dimension.
The school were so sensible of the force of this argument, that some of them maintained, that nature has mixed among those particles of matter, which are divisible in infinitum, a number of mathematical points, in order to give a termination to bodies; and others eluded the force of this reasoning by a heap of unintelligible cavils and distinctions. Both these adversaries equally yield the victory. A man who hides himself, confesses as evidently the superiority of his enemy, as another, who fairly delivers his arms.
Thus it appears, that the definitions of mathematics destroy the pretended demonstrations; and that if we have the idea of indivisible points, lines and surfaces conformable to the definition, their existence is certainly possible: but if we have no such idea, it is impossible we can ever conceive the termination of any figure; without which conception there can be no geometrical demonstration.
But I go farther, and maintain, that none of these demonstrations can have sufficient weight to establish such a principle, as this of infinite divisibility; and that because with regard to such minute objects, they are not properly demonstrations, being built on ideas, which are not exact, and maxims, which are not precisely true. When geometry decides anything concerning the proportions of quantity, we ought not to look for the utmost precision and exactness. None of its proofs extend so far. It takes the dimensions and proportions of figures justly; but roughly, and with some liberty. Its errors are never considerable; nor would it err at all, did it not aspire to such an absolute perfection.
I first ask mathematicians, what they mean when they say one line or surface is EQUAL to, or GREATER or LESS than another? Let any of them give an answer, to whatever sect he belongs, and whether he maintains the composition of extension by indivisible points, or by quantities divisible in infinitum. This question will embarrass both of them.
There are few or no mathematicians, who defend the hypothesis of indivisible points; and yet these have the readiest and justest answer to the present question. They need only reply, that lines or surfaces are equal, when the numbers of points in each are equal; and that as the proportion of the numbers varies, the proportion of the lines and surfaces is also varyed. But though this answer be just, as well as obvious; yet I may affirm, that this standard of equality is entirely useless, and that it never is from such a comparison we determine objects to be equal or unequal with respect to each other. For as the points, which enter into the composition of any line or surface, whether perceived by the sight or touch, are so minute and so confounded with each other, that it is utterly impossible for the mind to compute their number, such a computation will Never afford us a standard by which we may judge of proportions. No one will ever be able to determine by an exact numeration, that an inch has fewer points than a foot, or a foot fewer than an ell or any greater measure: for which reason we seldom or never consider this as the standard of equality or inequality.
As to those, who imagine, that extension is divisible in infinitum, it is impossible they can make use of this answer, or fix the equality of any line or surface by a numeration of its component parts. For since, according to their hypothesis, the least as well as greatest figures contain an infinite number of parts; and since infinite numbers, properly speaking, can neither be equal nor unequal with respect to each other; the equality or inequality of any portions of space can never depend on any proportion in the number of their parts. It is true, it may be said, that the inequality of an ell and a yard consists in the different numbers of the feet, of which they are composed; and that of a foot and a yard in the number of the inches. Bat as that quantity we call an inch in the one is supposed equal to what we call an inch in the other, and as it is impossible for the mind to find this equality by proceeding in infinitum with these references to inferior quantities: it is evident, that at last we must fix some standard of equality different from an enumeration of the parts.
There are some [See Dr. Barrow's mathematical lectures.], who pretend, that equality is best defined by congruity, and that any two figures are equal, when upon the placing of one upon the other, all their parts correspond to and touch each other. In order to judge of this definition let us consider, that since equality is a relation, it is not, strictly speaking, a property in the figures themselves, but arises merely from the comparison, which the mind makes betwixt them. If it consists, therefore, in this imaginary application and mutual contact of parts, we must at least have a distinct notion of these parts, and must conceive their contact. Now it is plain, that in this conception we would run up these parts to the greatest minuteness, which can possibly be conceived; since the contact of large parts would never render the figures equal. But the minutest parts we can conceive are mathematical points; and consequently this standard of equality is the same with that derived from the equality of the number of points; which we have already determined to be a just but an useless standard. We must therefore look to some other quarter for a solution of the present difficulty.
There are many philosophers, who refuse to assign any standard of equality, but assert, that it is sufficient to present two objects, that are equal, in order to give us a just notion of this proportion. All definitions, say they, are fruitless, without the perception of such objects; and where we perceive such objects, we no longer stand in need of any definition. To this reasoning, I entirely agree; and assert, that the only useful notion of equality, or inequality, is derived from the whole united appearance and the comparison of particular objects.
It is evident, that the eye, or rather the mind is often able at one view to determine the proportions of bodies, and pronounce them equal to, or greater or less than each other, without examining or comparing the number of their minute parts. Such judgments are not only common, but in many cases certain and infallible. When the measure of a yard and that of a foot are presented, the mind can no more question, that the first is longer than the second, than it can doubt of those principles, which are the most clear and self-evident.
There are therefore three proportions, which the mind distinguishes in the general appearance of its objects, and calls by the names of greater, less and equal. But though its decisions concerning these proportions be sometimes infallible, they are not always so; nor are our judgments of this kind more exempt from doubt and error than those on any other subject. We frequently correct our first opinion by a review and reflection; and pronounce those objects to be equal, which at first we esteemed unequal; and regard an object as less, though before it appeared greater than another. Nor is this the only correction, which these judgments of our senses undergo; but we often discover our error by a juxtaposition of the objects; or where that is impracticable, by the use of some common and invariable measure, which being successively applied to each, informs us of their different proportions. And even this correction is susceptible of a new correction, and of different degrees of exactness, according to the nature of the instrument, by which we measure the bodies, and the care which we employ in the comparison.
When therefore the mind is accustomed to these judgments and their corrections, and finds that the same proportion which makes two figures have in the eye that appearance, which we call equality, makes them also correspond to each other, and to any common measure, with which they are compared, we form a mixed notion of equality derived both from the looser and stricter methods of comparison. But we are not content with this. For as sound reason convinces us that there are bodies vastly more minute than those, which appear to the senses; and as a false reason would perswade us, that there are bodies infinitely more minute; we clearly perceive, that we are not possessed of any instrument or art of measuring, which can secure us from ill error and uncertainty. We are sensible, that the addition or removal of one of these minute parts, is not discernible either in the appearance or measuring; and as we imagine, that two figures, which were equal before, cannot be equal after this removal or addition, we therefore suppose some imaginary standard of equality, by which the appearances and measuring are exactly corrected, and the figures reduced entirely to that proportion. This standard is plainly imaginary. For as the very idea of equality is that of such a particular appearance corrected by juxtaposition or a common measure. the notion of any correction beyond what we have instruments and art to make, is a mere fiction of the mind, and useless as well as incomprehensible. But though this standard be only imaginary, the fiction however is very natural; nor is anything more usual, than for the mind to proceed after this manner with any action, even after the reason has ceased, which first determined it to begin. This appears very conspicuously with regard to time; where though it is evident we have no exact method of determining the proportions of parts, not even so exact as in extension, yet the various corrections of our measures, and their different degrees of exactness, have given as an obscure and implicit notion of a perfect and entire equality. The case is the same in many other subjects. A musician finding his ear becoming every day more delicate, and correcting himself by reflection and attention, proceeds with the same act of the mind, even when the subject fails him, and entertains a notion of a compleat TIERCE or OCTAVE, without being able to tell whence he derives his standard. A painter forms the same fiction with regard to colours. A mechanic with regard to motion. To the one light and shade; to the other swift and slow are imagined to be capable of an exact comparison and equality beyond the judgments of the senses.
We may apply the same reasoning to CURVE and RIGHT lines. Nothing is more apparent to the senses, than the distinction betwixt a curve and a right line; nor are there any ideas we more easily form than the ideas of these objects. But however easily we may form these ideas, it is impossible to produce any definition of them, which will fix the precise boundaries betwixt them. When we draw lines upon paper, or any continued surface, there is a certain order, by which the lines run along from one point to another, that they may produce the entire impression of a curve or right line; but this order is perfectly unknown, and nothing is observed but the united appearance. Thus even upon the system of indivisible points, we can only form a distant notion of some unknown standard to these objects. Upon that of infinite divisibility we cannot go even this length; but are reduced meerly to the general appearance, as the rule by which we determine lines to be either curve or right ones. But though we can give no perfect definition of these lines, nor produce any very exact method of distinguishing the one from the other; yet this hinders us not from correcting the first appearance by a more accurate consideration, and by a comparison with some rule, of whose rectitude from repeated trials we have a greater assurance. And it is from these corrections, and by carrying on the same action of the mind, even when its reason fails us, that we form the loose idea of a perfect standard to these figures, without being able to explain or comprehend it.
It is true, mathematicians pretend they give an exact definition of a right line, when they say, it is the shortest way betwixt two points. But in the first place I observe, that this is more properly the discovery of one of the properties of a right line, than a just deflation of it. For I ask any one, if upon mention of a right line he thinks not immediately on such a particular appearance, and if it is not by accident only that he considers this property? A right line can be comprehended alone; but this definition is unintelligible without a comparison with other lines, which we conceive to be more extended. In common life it is established as a maxim, that the straightest way is always the shortest; which would be as absurd as to say, the shortest way is always the shortest, if our idea of a right line was not different from that of the shortest way betwixt two points.
Secondly, I repeat what I have already established, that we have no precise idea of equality and inequality, shorter and longer, more than of a right line or a curve; and consequently that the one can never afford us a perfect standard for the other. An exact idea can never be built on such as are loose and undetermined.
The idea of a plain surface is as little susceptible of a precise standard as that of a right line; nor have we any other means of distinguishing such a surface, than its general appearance. It is in vain, that mathematicians represent a plain surface as produced by the flowing of a right line. It will immediately be objected, that our idea of a surface is as independent of this method of forming a surface, as our idea of an ellipse is of that of a cone; that the idea of a right line is no more precise than that of a plain surface; that a right line may flow irregularly, and by that means form a figure quite different from a plane; and that therefore we must suppose it to flow along two right lines, parallel to each other, and on the same plane; which is a description, that explains a thing by itself, and returns in a circle.
It appears, then, that the ideas which are most essential to geometry, viz. those of equality and inequality, of a right line and a plain surface, are far from being exact and determinate, according to our common method of conceiving them. Not only we are incapable of telling, if the case be in any degree doubtful, when such particular figures are equal; when such a line is a right one, and such a surface a plain one; but we can form no idea of that proportion, or of these figures, which is firm and invariable. Our appeal is still to the weak and fallible judgment, which we make from the appearance of the objects, and correct by a compass or common measure; and if we join the supposition of any farther correction, it is of such-a-one as is either useless or imaginary. In vain should we have recourse to the common topic, and employ the supposition of a deity, whose omnipotence may enable him to form a perfect geometrical figure, and describe a right line without any curve or inflexion. As the ultimate standard of these figures is derived from nothing but the senses and imagination, it is absurd to talk of any perfection beyond what these faculties can judge of; since the true perfection of any thing consists in its conformity to its standard.
Now since these ideas are so loose and uncertain, I would fain ask any mathematician what infallible assurance he has, not only of the more intricate, and obscure propositions of his science, but of the most vulgar and obvious principles? How can he prove to me, for instance, that two right lines cannot have one common segment? Or that it is impossible to draw more than one right line betwixt any two points? should be tell me, that these opinions are obviously absurd, and repugnant to our clear ideas; I would answer, that I do not deny, where two right lines incline upon each other with a sensible angle, but it is absurd to imagine them to have a common segment. But supposing these two lines to approach at the rate of an inch in twenty leagues, I perceive no absurdity in asserting, that upon their contact they become one. For, I beseech you, by what rule or standard do you judge, when you assert, that the line, in which I have supposed them to concur, cannot make the same right line with those two, that form so small an angle betwixt them? You must surely have some idea of a right line, to which this line does not agree. Do you therefore mean that it takes not the points in the same order and by the same rule, as is peculiar and essential to a right line? If so, I must inform you, that besides that in judging after this manner you allow, that extension is composed of indivisible points (which, perhaps, is more than you intend) besides this, I say, I must inform you, that neither is this the standard from which we form the idea of a right line; nor, if it were, is there any such firmness in our senses or imagination, as to determine when such an order is violated or preserved. The original standard of a right line is in reality nothing but a certain general appearance; and it is evident right lines may be made to concur with each other, and yet correspond to this standard, though corrected by all the means either practicable or imaginable.
To whatever side mathematicians turn, this dilemma still meets them. If they judge of equality, or any other proportion, by the accurate and exact standard, viz. the enumeration of the minute indivisible parts, they both employ a standard, which is useless in practice, and actually establish the indivisibility of extension, which they endeavour to explode. Or if they employ, as is usual, the inaccurate standard, derived from a comparison of objects, upon their general appearance, corrected by measuring and juxtaposition; their first principles, though certain and infallible, are too coarse to afford any such subtile inferences as they commonly draw from them. The first principles are founded on the imagination and senses: The conclusion, therefore, can never go beyond, much less contradict these faculties.
This may open our eyes a little, and let us see, that no geometrical demonstration for the infinite divisibility of extension can have so much force as what we naturally attribute to every argument, which is supported by such magnificent pretensions. At the same time we may learn the reason, why geometry falls of evidence in this single point, while all its other reasonings command our fullest assent and approbation. And indeed it seems more requisite to give the reason of this exception, than to shew, that we really must make such an exception, and regard all the mathematical arguments for infinite divisibility as utterly sophistical. For it is evident, that as no idea of quantity is infinitely divisible, there cannot be imagined a more glaring absurdity, than to endeavour to prove, that quantity itself admits of such a division; and to prove this by means of ideas, which are directly opposite in that particular. And as this absurdity is very glaring in itself, so there is no argument founded on it. which is not attended with a new absurdity, and involves not an evident contradiction.
I might give as instances those arguments for infinite divisibility, which are derived from the point of contact. I know there is no mathematician, who will not refuse to be judged by the diagrams he describes upon paper, these being loose draughts, as he will tell us, and serving only to convey with greater facility certain ideas, which are the true foundation of all our reasoning. This I am satisfyed with, and am willing to rest the controversy merely upon these ideas. I desire therefore our mathematician to form, as accurately as possible, the ideas of a circle and a right line; and I then ask, if upon the conception of their contact he can conceive them as touching in a mathematical point, or if he must necessarily imagine them to concur for some space. Whichever side he chuses, he runs himself into equal difficulties. If he affirms, that in tracing these figures in his imagination, he can imagine them to touch only in a point, he allows the possibility of that idea, and consequently of the thing. If he says, that in his conception of the contact of those lines he must make them concur, he thereby acknowledges the fallacy of geometrical demonstrations, when carryed beyond a certain degree of minuteness; since it is certain he has such demonstrations against the concurrence of a circle and a right line; that is, in other words, be can prove an idea, viz. that of concurrence, to be INCOMPATIBLE with two other ideas, those of a circle and right line; though at the same time he acknowledges these ideas to be inseparable.
SECT. V. THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED.
If the second part of my system be true, that the idea of space or
extension is nothing but the idea of visible or tangible points
distributed in a certain order; it follows, that we can form no idea of a
vacuum, or space, where there is nothing visible or tangible. This gives
rise to three objections, which I shall examine together, because the
answer I shall give to one is a consequence of that which I shall make
use of for the others.
First, It may be said, that men have disputed for many ages concerning a
vacuum and a plenum, without being able to bring the affair to a final
decision; and philosophers, even at this day, think themselves at liberty
to take part on either side, as their fancy leads them. But whatever
foundation there may be for a controversy concerning the things
themselves, it may be pretended, that the very dispute is decisive
concerning the idea, and that it is impossible men coued so long reason
about a vacuum, and either refute or defend it, without having a notion
of what they refuted or defended.
Secondly, If this argument should be contested, the reality or at least
the possibility of the idea of a vacuum may be proved by the following
reasoning. Every idea is possible, which is a necessary and infallible
consequence of such as are possible. Now though we allow the world to be
at present a plenum, we may easily conceive it to be deprived of motion;
and this idea will certainly be allowed possible. It must also be allowed
possible, to conceive the annihilation of any part of matter by the
omnipotence of the deity, while the other parts remain at rest. For as
every idea, that is distinguishable, is separable by the imagination; and
as every idea, that is separable by the imagination, may be conceived to
be separately existent; it is evident, that the existence of one particle
of matter, no more implies the existence of another, than a square figure
in one body implies a square figure in every one. This being granted, I
now demand what results from the concurrence of these two possible ideas
of rest and annihilation, and what must we conceive to follow upon the
annihilation of all the air and subtile matter in the chamber, supposing
the walls to remain the same, without any motion or alteration? There are
some metaphysicians, who answer, that since matter and extension are the
same, the annihilation of one necessarily implies that of the other; and
there being now no distance betwixt the walls of the chamber, they touch
each other; in the same manner as my hand touches the paper, which is
immediately before me. But though this answer be very common, I defy these
metaphysicians to conceive the matter according to their hypothesis, or
imagine the floor and roof, with all the opposite sides of the chamber,
to touch each other, while they continue in rest, and preserve the same
position. For how can the two walls, that run from south to north, touch
each other, while they touch the opposite ends of two walls, that run
from east to west? And how can the floor and. roof ever meet, while they
are separated by the four walls, that lie in a contrary position? If you
change their position, you suppose a motion. If you conceive any thing
betwixt them, you suppose a new creation. But keeping strictly to the two
ideas of rest and annihilation, it is evident, that the idea, which
results from them, is not that of a contact of parts, but something else;
which is concluded to be the idea of a vacuum.
The third objection carries the matter still farther, and not only
asserts, that the idea of a vacuum is real and possible, but also
necessary and unavoidable. This assertion is founded on the motion we
observe in bodies, which, it is maintained, would be impossible and
inconceivable without a vacuum, into which one body must move in order to
make way for another.. I shall not enlarge upon this objection, because
it principally belongs to natural philosophy, which lies without our
present sphere.
In order to answer these objections, we must take the matter pretty deep,
and consider the nature and origin of several ideas, lest we dispute
without understanding perfectly the subject of the controversy. It is
evident the idea of darkness is no positive idea, but merely the negation
of .light, or more properly speaking, of coloured and visible objects. A
man, who enjoys his sight, receives no other perception from turning his
eyes on every side, when entirely deprived of light, than what is common
to him with one born blind; and it is certain such-a-one has no idea
either of light or darkness. The consequence of this is, that it is not
from the mere removal of visible objects we receive the impression of
extension without matter; and that the idea of utter darkness can never
be the same with that of vacuum.
Suppose again a man to be Supported in the air, and to be softly conveyed
along by some invisible power; it is evident he is sensible of nothing,
and never receives the idea of extension, nor indeed any idea, from this
invariable motion. Even supposing he moves his limbs to and fro, this
cannot convey to him that idea. He feels in that case a certain sensation
or impression, the parts of which are successive to each other, and may
give him the idea of time: But certainly are not disposed in such a
manner, as is necessary to convey the idea of s ace or the idea of space
or extension.
Since then it appears, that darkness and motion, with the utter removal
of every thing visible and tangible, can never give us the idea of
extension without matter, or of a vacuum; the next question is, whether
they can convey this idea, when mixed with something visible and
tangible?
It is commonly allowed by philosophers, that all bodies, which discover
themselves to the eye, appear as if painted on a plain surface, and that
their different degrees of remoteness from ourselves are discovered more
by reason than by the senses. When I hold up my hand before me, and
spread my fingers, they are separated as perfectly by the blue colour of
the firmament, as they coued be by any visible object, which I coued
place betwixt them. In order, therefore, to know whether the sight can
convey the impression and idea of a vacuum, we must suppose, that amidst
an entire darkness, there are luminous bodies presented to us, whose
light discovers only these bodies themselves, without giving us any
impression of the surrounding objects.
We must form a parallel supposition concerning the objects of our
feeling. It is not proper to suppose a perfect removal of all tangible
objects: we must allow something to be perceived by the feeling; and
after an interval and motion of the hand or other organ of sensation,
another object of the touch to be met with; and upon leaving that,
another; and so on, as often as we please. The question is, whether these
intervals do not afford us the idea of extension without body?
To begin with the first case; it is evident, that when only two luminous
bodies appear to the eye, we can perceive, whether they be conjoined or
separate: whether they be separated by a great or small distance; and if
this distance varies, we can perceive its increase or diminution, with
the motion of the bodies. But as the distance is not in this case any
thing coloured or visible, it may be thought that there is here a vacuum
or pure extension, not only intelligible to the mind, but obvious to the
very senses.
This is our natural and most familiar way of thinking; but which we shall
learn to correct by a little reflection. We may observe, that when two
bodies present themselves, where there was formerly an entire darkness,
the only change, that is discoverable, is in the appearance of these two
objects, and that all the rest continues to be as before, a perfect
negation of light, and of every coloured or visible object. This is not
only true of what may be said to be remote from these bodies, but also of
the very distance; which is interposed betwixt them; that being nothing
but darkness, or the negation of light; without parts, without
composition, invariable and indivisible. Now since this distance causes
no perception different from what a blind man receives from his eyes, or
what is conveyed to us in the darkest night, it must partake of the same
properties: And as blindness and darkness afford us no ideas of
extension, it is impossible that the dark and undistinguishable distance
betwixt two bodies can ever produce that idea.
The sole difference betwixt an absolute darkness and the appearance of
two or more visible luminous objects consists, as I said, in the objects
themselves, and in the manner they affect our senses. The angles, which
the rays of light flowing from them, form with each other; the motion
that is required in the eye, in its passage from one to the other; and
the different parts of the organs, which are affected by them; these
produce the only perceptions, from which we can judge of the distance.
But as these perceptions are each of them simple and indivisible, they
can never give us the idea of extension.
We may illustrate this by considering the sense of feeling, and the
imaginary distance or interval interposed betwixt tangible or solid
objects. I suppose two cases, viz. that of a man supported in the air,
and moving his limbs to and fro, without meeting any thing tangible; and
that of a man, who feeling something tangible, leaves it, and after a
motion, of which he is sensible, perceives another tangible object; and I
then ask, wherein consists the difference betwixt these two cases? No one
will make any scruple to affirm, that it consists meerly in the
perceiving those objects, and that the sensation, which arises from the
motion, is in both cases the same: And as that sensation is not capable
of conveying to us an idea of extension, when unaccompanyed with some
other perception, it can no more give us that idea, when mixed with the
impressions of tangible objects; since that mixture produces no
alteration upon it.
But though motion and darkness, either alone, or attended with tangible
and visible objects, convey no idea of a vacuum or extension without
matter, yet they are the causes why we falsly imagine we can form such an
idea. For there is a close relation betwixt that motion and darkness, and
a real extension, or composition of visible and tangible objects.
First, We may observe, that two visible objects appearing in the midst of
utter darkness, affect the senses in the same manner, and form the same
angle by the rays, which flow from them, and meet in the eye, as if the
distance betwixt them were find with visible objects, that give us a true
idea of extension. The sensation of motion is likewise the same, when
there is nothing tangible interposed betwixt two bodies, as when we feel
a compounded body, whose different parts are placed beyond each other.
Secondly, We find by experience, that two bodies, which are so placed as
to affect the senses in the same manner with two others, that have a
certain extent of visible objects interposed betwixt them, are capable of
receiving the same extent, without any sensible impulse or penetration,
and without any change on that angle, under which they appear to the
senses. In like manner, where there is one object, which we cannot feel
after another without an interval, and the perceiving of that sensation
we call motion in our hand or organ of sensation; experience shews us,
that it is possible the same object may be felt with the same sensation of
motion, along with the interposed impression of solid and tangible
objects, attending the sensation. That is, in other words, an invisible
and intangible distance may be converted into a visible and tangible one,
without any change on the distant objects.
Thirdly, We may observe, as another relation betwixt these two kinds of
distance, that they have nearly the same effects on every natural
phaenomenon. For as all qualities, such as heat, cold, light, attraction,
&c. diminish in proportion to the distance; there is but little
difference observed, whether this distance be marled out by compounded
and sensible objects, or be known only by the manner, in which the
distant objects affect the senses.
Here then are three relations betwixt that distance, which conveys the
idea of extension, and that other, which is not filled with any coloured
or solid object. The distant objects affect the senses in the same
manner, whether separated by the one distance or the other; the second
species of distance is found capable of receiving the first; and they
both equally diminish the force of every quality.
These relations betwixt the two kinds of distance will afford us an easy
reason, why the one has so often been taken for the other, and why we
imagine we have an idea of extension without the idea of any object
either of the sight or feeling. For we may establish it as a general
maxim in this science of human nature, that wherever there is a close
relation betwixt two ideas, the mind is very apt to mistake them, and in
all its discourses and reasonings to use the one for the other. This
phaenomenon occurs on so many occasions, and is of such consequence, that
I cannot forbear stopping a moment to examine its causes. I shall only
premise, that we must distinguish exactly betwixt the phaenomenon itself,
and the causes, which I shall assign for it; and must not imagine from
any uncertainty in the latter, that the former is also uncertain. The
phaenomenon may be real, though my explication be chimerical. The falshood
of the one is no consequence of that of the other; though at the same time
we may observe, that it is very natural for us to draw such a consequence;
which is an evident instance of that very principle, which I endeavour to
explain.
When I received the relations of resemblance, contiguity and causation,
as principles of union among ideas, without examining into their causes,
it was more in prosecution of my first maxim, that we must in the end rest
contented with experience, than for want of something specious and
plausible, which I might have displayed on that subject. It would have
been easy to have made an imaginary dissection of the brain, and have
shewn, why upon our conception of any idea, the animal spirits run into
all the contiguous traces, and rouze up the other ideas, that are related
to it. But though I have neglected any advantage, which I might have drawn
from this topic in explaining the relations of ideas, I am afraid I must
here have recourse to it, in order to account for the mistakes that arise
from these relations. I shall therefore observe, that as the mind is
endowed with a power of exciting any idea it pleases; whenever it
dispatches the spirits into that region of the brain, in which the idea
is placed; these spirits always excite the idea, when they run precisely
into the proper traces, and rummage that cell, which belongs to the idea.
But as their motion is seldom direct, and naturally turns a little to the
one side or the other; for this reason the animal spirits, falling into
the contiguous traces, present other related ideas in lieu of that, which
the mind desired at first to survey. This change we are not always
sensible of; but continuing still the same train of thought, make use of
the related idea, which is presented to us, and employ it in our
reasoning, as if it were the same with what we demanded. This is the
cause of many mistakes and sophisms in philosophy; as will naturally be
imagined, and as it would be easy to show, if there was occasion.
Of the three relations above-mentioned that of resemblance is the most
fertile source of error; and indeed there are few mistakes in reasoning,
which do not borrow largely from that origin. Resembling ideas are not
only related together, but the actions of the mind, which we employ in
considering them, are so little different, that we are not able to
distinguish them. This last circumstance is of great consequence, and we
may in general observe, that wherever the actions of the mind in forming
any two ideas are the same or resembling, we are very apt to confound
these ideas, and take the one for the other. Of this we shall see many
instances in the progress of this treatise. But though resemblance be the
relation, which most readily produces a mistake in ideas, yet the others
of causation and contiguity may also concur in the same influence. We
might produce the figures of poets and orators, as sufficient proofs of
this, were it as usual, as it is reasonable, in metaphysical subjects to
draw our arguments from that quarter. But lest metaphysicians should
esteem this below their dignity, I shall borrow a proof from an
observation, which may be made on most of their own discourses, viz. that
it is usual for men to use words for ideas, and to talk instead of
thinking in their reasonings. We use words for ideas, because they are
commonly so closely connected that the mind easily mistakes them. And
this likewise is the reason, why we substitute the idea of a distance,
which is not considered either as visible or tangible, in the room of
extension, which is nothing but a composition of visible or tangible
points disposed in a certain order. In causing this mistake there concur
both the relations of causation and resemblance. As the first species of
distance is found to be convertible into the second, it is in this respect
a kind of cause; and the similarity of their manner of affecting the
senses, and diminishing every quality, forms the relation of resemblance.
After this chain of reasoning and explication of my principles, I am now
prepared to answer all the objections that have been offered, whether
derived from metaphysics or mechanics. The frequent disputes concerning a
vacuum, or extension without matter prove not the reality of the idea,
upon which the dispute turns; there being nothing more common, than to
see men deceive themselves in this particular; especially when by means
of any close relation, there is another idea presented, which may be the
occasion of their mistake.
We may make almost the same answer to the second objection, derived from
the conjunction of the ideas of rest and annihilation. When every thing
is annihilated in the chamber, and the walls continue immoveable, the
chamber must be conceived much in the same manner as at present, when the
air that fills it, is not an object of the senses. This annihilation
leaves to the eye, that fictitious distance, which is discovered by the
different parts of the organ, that are affected, and by the degrees of
light and shade;--and to the feeling, that which consists in a sensation
of motion in the hand, or other member of the body. In vain should we.
search any farther. On whichever side we turn this subject, we shall find
that these are the only impressions such an object can produce after the
supposed annihilation; and it has already been remarked, that impressions
can give rise to no ideas, but to such as resemble them.
Since a body interposed betwixt two others may be supposed to be
annihilated, without producing any change upon such as lie on each hand
of it, it is easily conceived, how it may be created anew, and yet produce
as little alteration. Now the motion of a body has much the same effect
as its creation. The distant bodies are no more affected in the one case,
than in the other. This suffices to satisfy the imagination, and proves
there is no repugnance in such a motion. Afterwards experience comes in
play to persuade us that two bodies, situated in the manner
above-described, have really such a capacity of receiving body betwixt
them, and that there is no obstacle to the conversion of the invisible
and intangible distance into one that is visible and tangible. However
natural that conversion may seem, we cannot be sure it is practicable,
before we have had experience of it.
Thus I seem to have answered the three objections above-mentioned; though
at the same time I am sensible, that few will be satisfyed with these
answers, but will immediately propose new objections and difficulties.
It will probably be said, that my reasoning makes nothing to the matter in
hands and that I explain only the manner in which objects affect the
senses, without endeavouring to account for their real nature and
operations. Though there be nothing visible or tangible interposed betwixt
two bodies, yet we find BY EXPERIENCE, that the bodies may be placed in
the same manner, with regard to the eye, and require the same motion of
the hand in passing from one to the other, as if divided by something
visible and tangible. This invisible and intangible distance is also
found by experience to contain a capacity of receiving body, or of
becoming visible and tangible. Here is the whole of my system; and in no
part of it have I endeavoured to explain the cause, which separates
bodies after this manner, and gives them a capacity of receiving others
betwixt them, without any impulse or penetration.
I answer this objection, by pleading guilty, and by confessing that my
intention never was to penetrate into the nature of bodies, or explain
the secret causes of their operations. For besides that this belongs not
to my present purpose, I am afraid, that such an enterprise is beyond the
reach of human understanding, and that we can never pretend to know body
otherwise than by those external properties, which discover themselves to
the senses. As to those who attempt any thing farther, I cannot approve
of their ambition, till I see, in some one instance at least, that they
have met with success. But at present I content myself with knowing
perfectly the manner in which objects affect my senses, and their
connections with each other, as far as experience informs me of them.
This suffices for the conduct of life; and this also suffices for my
philosophy, which pretends only to explain the nature and causes of our
perceptions, or impressions and ideas [Footnote 4.].
[Footnote 4. As long as we confine our speculations to the appearances of
objects to our senses, without entering into disquisitions concerning
their real nature and operations, we are safe from all difficulties, and
can never be embarrassed by any question. Thus, if it be asked, if the
invisible and intangible distance, interposed betwixt two objects, be
something or nothing: It is easy to answer, that it is SOMETHING, VIZ. a
property of the objects, which affect the SENSES after such a particular
manner. If it be asked whether two objects, having such a distance betwixt
them, touch or not: it may be answered, that this depends upon the
definition of the word, TOUCH. If objects be said to touch, when there is
nothing SENSIBLE interposed betwixt them, these objects touch: it objects
be said to touch, when their IMAGES strike contiguous parts of the eye,
and when the hand FEELS both objects successively, without any interposed
motion, these objects do not touch. The appearances of objects to our
senses are all consistent; and no difficulties can ever arise, but from
the obscurity of the terms we make use of.
If we carry our enquiry beyond the appearances of objects to the senses,
I am afraid, that most of our conclusions will be full of scepticism and
uncertainty. Thus if it be asked, whether or not the invisible and
intangible distance be always full of body, or of something that by an
improvement of our organs might become visible or tangible, I must
acknowledge, that I find no very decisive arguments on either side; though
I am inclined to the contrary opinion, as being more suitable to vulgar
and popular notions. If THE NEWTONIAN philosophy be rightly understood,
it will be found to mean no more. A vacuum is asserted: That is, bodies
are said to be placed after such a manner, is to receive bodies betwixt
them, without impulsion or penetration. The real nature of this position
of bodies is unknown. We are only acquainted with its effects on the
senses, and its power of receiving body. Nothing is more suitable to that
philosophy, than a modest scepticism to a certain degree, and a fair
confession of ignorance in subjects, that exceed all human capacity.]
I shall conclude this subject of extension with a paradox, which will
easily be explained from the foregoing reasoning. This paradox is, that
if you are pleased to give to the in-visible and intangible distance, or
in other words, to the capacity of becoming a visible and tangible
distance, the name of a vacuum, extension and matter are the same, and
yet there is a vacuum. If you will not give it that name, motion is
possible in a plenum, without any impulse in infinitum, without returning
in a circle, and without penetration. But however we may express
ourselves, we must always confess, that we have no idea of any real
extension without filling it with sensible objects, and conceiving its
parts as visible or tangible.
As to the doctrine, that time is nothing but the manner, in which some
real objects exist; we may observe, that it is liable to the same
objections as the similar doctrine with regard to extension. If it be a
sufficient proof, that we have the idea of a vacuum, because we dispute
and reason concerning it; we must for the same reason have the idea of
time without any changeable existence; since there is no subject of
dispute more frequent and common. But that we really have no such idea,
is certain. For whence should it be derived? Does it arise from an
impression of sensation or of reflection? Point it out distinctly to us,
that we may know its nature and qualities. But if you cannot point out
any such impression, you may be certain you are mistaken, when you
imagine you have any such idea.
But though it be impossible to shew the impression, from which the idea of
time without a changeable existence is derived; yet we can easily point
out those appearances, which make us fancy we have that idea. For we may
observe, that there is a continual succession of perceptions in our mind;
so that the idea of time being for ever present with us; when we consider
a stedfast object at five-a-clock, and regard the same at six; we are apt
to apply to it that idea in the same manner as if every moment were
distinguished by a different position, or an alteration of the object.
The first and second appearances of the object, being compared with the
succession of our perceptions, seem equally removed as if the object had
really changed. To which we may add, what experience shews us, that the
object was susceptible of such a number of changes betwixt these
appearances; as also that the unchangeable or rather fictitious duration
has the same effect upon every quality, by encreasing or diminishing it,
as that succession, which is obvious to the senses. From these three
relations we are apt to confound our ideas, and imagine we can form the
idea of a time and duration, without any change or succession.
SECT. VI. OF THE IDEA OF EXISTENCE, AND OF EXTERNAL EXISTENCE.
It may not be amiss, before we leave this subject, to explain the ideas
of existence and of external existence; which have their difficulties, as
well as the ideas of space and time. By this means we shall be the better
prepared for the examination of knowledge and probability, when we
understand perfectly all those particular ideas, which may enter into our
reasoning.
There is no impression nor idea of any kind, of which we have any
consciousness or memory, that is not conceived as existent; and it is
evident, that from this consciousness the most perfect idea and assurance
of being is derived. From hence we may form a dilemma, the most clear and
conclusive that can be imagined, viz. that since we never remember any
idea or impression without attributing existence to it, the idea of
existence must either be derived from a distinct impression, conjoined
with every perception or object of our thought, or must be the very same
with the idea of the perception or object.
As this dilemma is an evident consequence of the principle, that every
idea arises from a similar impression, so our decision betwixt the
propositions of the dilemma is no more doubtful. go far from there being
any distinct impression, attending every impression and every idea, that
I do not think there are any two distinct impressions, which are
inseparably conjoined. Though certain sensations may at one time be united,
we quickly find they admit of a separation, and may be presented apart.
And thus, though every impression and idea we remember be considered as
existent, the idea of existence is not derived from any particular
impression.
The idea of existence, then, is the very same with the idea of what we
conceive to be existent. To reflect on any thing simply, and to reflect
on it as existent, are nothing different from each other. That idea, when
conjoined with the idea of any object, makes no addition to it. Whatever
we conceive, we conceive to be existent. Any idea we please to form is
the idea of a being; and the idea of a being is any idea we please to
form.
Whoever opposes this, must necessarily point out that distinct
impression, from which the idea of entity is derived, and must prove,
that this impression is inseparable from every perception we believe to
be existent. This we may without hesitation conclude to be impossible.
Our foregoing reasoning [Part I. Sect. 7.] concerning the distinction of
ideas without any real difference will not here serve us in any stead.
That kind of distinction is founded on the different resemblances, which
the same simple idea may have to several different ideas. But no object
can be presented resembling some object with respect to its existence, and
different from others in the same particular; since every object, that is
presented, must necessarily be existent.
A like reasoning will account for the idea of external existence. We may
observe, that it is universally allowed by philosophers, and is besides
pretty obvious of itself, that nothing is ever really present with the
mind but its perceptions or impressions and ideas, and that external
objects become known to us only by those perceptions they occasion. To
hate, to love, to think, to feel, to see; all this is nothing but to
perceive.
Now since nothing is ever present to the mind but perceptions, and since
all ideas are derived from something antecedently present to the mind; it
follows, that it is impossible for us so much as to conceive or form an
idea of any thing specifically different. from ideas and impressions. Let
us fix our attention out of ourselves as much as possible: Let us chase
our imagination to the heavens, or to the utmost limits of the universe;
we never really advance a step beyond ourselves, nor can conceive any
kind of existence, but those perceptions, which have appeared in that
narrow compass. This is the universe of the imagination, nor have we any
idea but what is there produced.
The farthest we can go towards a conception of external objects, when
supposed SPECIFICALLY different from our perceptions, is to form a
relative idea of them, without pretending to comprehend the related
objects. Generally speaking we do not suppose them specifically
different; but only attribute to them different relations, connections
and durations. But of this more fully hereafter.[Part IV, Sect. 2.]
PART III. OF KNOWLEDGE AND PROBABILITY.
SECT. I. OF KNOWLEDGE.
There are seven [Part I. Sect. 5.] different kinds of philosophical
relation, viz. RESEMBLANCE, IDENTITY, RELATIONS OF TIME AND PLACE,
PROPORTION IN QUANTITY OR NUMBER, DEGREES IN ANY QUALITY, CONTRARIETY and
CAUSATION. These relations may be divided into two classes; into such as
depend entirely on the ideas, which we compare together, and such as may
be changed without any change in the ideas. It is from the idea of a
triangle, that we discover the relation of equality, which its three
angles bear to two right ones; and this relation is invariable, as long
as our idea remains the same. On the contrary, the relations of
contiguity and distance betwixt two objects may be changed merely by an
alteration of their place, without any change on the objects themselves
or on their ideas; and the place depends on a hundred different
accidents, which cannot be foreseen by the mind. It is the same case with
identity and causation. Two objects, though perfectly resembling each
other, and even appearing in the same place at different times, may be
numerically different: And as the power, by which one object produces
another, is never discoverable merely from their idea, it is evident cause
and effect are relations, of which we receive information from
experience, and not from any abstract reasoning or reflection. There is
no single phaenomenon, even the most simple, which can be accounted for
from the qualities of the objects, as they appear to us; or which we
coued foresee without the help of our memory and experience.
It appears, therefore, that of these seven philosophical relations, there
remain only four, which depending solely upon ideas, can be the objects
of knowledge said certainty. These four are RESEMBLANCE, CONTRARIETY,
DEGREES IN QUALITY, and PROPORTIONS IN QUANTITY OR NUMBER. Three of these
relations are discoverable at first sight, and fall more properly under
the province of intuition than demonstration. When any objects resemble
each other, the resemblance will at first strike the eve, or rather the
mind; and seldom requires a second examination. The case is the same with
contrariety, and with the degrees of any quality. No one can once doubt
but existence and non-existence destroy each other, and are perfectly
incompatible and contrary. And though it be impossible to judge exactly of
the degrees of any quality, such as colour, taste, heat, cold, when the
difference betwixt them is very small: yet it is easy to decide, that any
of them is superior or inferior to another, when their difference is
considerable. And this decision we always pronounce at first sight,
without any enquiry or reasoning.
We might proceed, after the same manner, in fixing the proportions of
quantity or number, and might at one view observe a superiority or
inferiority betwixt any numbers, or figures; especially where the
difference is very great and remarkable. As to equality or any exact
proportion, we can only guess at it from a single consideration; except
in very short numbers, or very limited portions of extension; which are
comprehended in an instant, and where we perceive an impossibility of
falling into any considerable error. In all other cases we must settle
the proportions with some liberty, or proceed in a more artificial
manner.
I have already I observed, that geometry, or the art, by which we fix
the proportions of figures; though it much excels both in universality and
exactness, the loose judgments of the senses and imagination; yet never
attains a perfect precision and exactness. It's first principles are
still drawn from the general appearance of the objects; and that
appearance can never afford us any security, when we examine, the
prodigious minuteness of which nature is susceptible. Our ideas seem to
give a perfect assurance, that no two right lines can have a common
segment; but if we consider these ideas, we shall find, that they always
suppose a sensible inclination of the two lines, and that where the angle
they form is extremely small, we have no standard of a I @ right line so
precise as to assure us of the truth of this proposition. It is the same
case with most of the primary decisions of the mathematics.
There remain, therefore, algebra and arithmetic as the only sciences, in
which we can carry on a chain of reasoning to any degree of intricacy,
and yet preserve a perfect exactness and certainty. We are possest of a
precise standard, by which we can judge of the equality and proportion of
numbers; and according as they correspond or not to that standard, we
determine their relations, without any possibility of error. When two
numbers are so combined, as that the one has always an unite answering to
every unite of the other, we pronounce them equal; and it is for want of
such a standard of equality in extension, that geometry can scarce be
esteemed a perfect and infallible science.
But here it may not be amiss to obviate a difficulty, which may arise
from my asserting, that though geometry falls short of that perfect
precision and certainty, which are peculiar to arithmetic and algebra,
yet it excels the imperfect judgments of our senses and imagination. The
reason why I impute any defect to geometry, is, because its original and
fundamental principles are derived merely from appearances; and it may
perhaps be imagined, that this defect must always attend it, and keep it
from ever reaching a greater exactness in the comparison of objects or
ideas, than what our eye or imagination alone is able to attain. I own
that this defect so far attends it, as to keep it from ever aspiring to a
full certainty: But since these fundamental principles depend on the
easiest and least deceitful appearances, they bestow on their
consequences a degree of exactness, of which these consequences are
singly incapable. It is impossible for the eye to determine the angles of
a chiliagon to be equal to 1996 right angles, or make any conjecture,
that approaches this proportion; but when it determines, that right lines
cannot concur; that we cannot draw more than one right line between two
given points; it's mistakes can never be of any consequence. And this is
the nature and use of geometry, to run us up to such appearances, as, by
reason of their simplicity, cannot lead us into any considerable error.
I shall here take occasion to propose a second observation concerning our
demonstrative reasonings, which is suggested by the same subject of the
mathematics. It is usual with mathematicians, to pretend, that those
ideas, which are their objects, are of so refined and spiritual a nature,
that they fall not under the conception of the fancy, but must be
comprehended by a pure and intellectual view, of which the superior
faculties of the soul are alone capable. The same notion runs through most
parts of philosophy, and is principally made use of to explain oar
abstract ideas, and to shew how we can form an idea of a triangle, for
instance, which shall neither be an isoceles nor scalenum, nor be
confined to any particular length and proportion of sides. It is easy to
see, why philosophers are so fond of this notion of some spiritual and
refined perceptions; since by that means they cover many of their
absurdities, and may refuse to submit to the decisions of clear ideas, by
appealing to such as are obscure and uncertain. But to destroy this
artifice, we need but reflect on that principle so oft insisted on, that
all our ideas are copyed from our impressions. For from thence we may
immediately conclude, that since all impressions are clear and precise,
the ideas, which are copyed from them, must be of the same nature, and
can never, but from our fault, contain any thing so dark and intricate.
An idea is by its very nature weaker and fainter than an impression; but
being in every other respect the same, cannot imply any very great
mystery. If its weakness render it obscure, it is our business to remedy
that defect, as much as possible, by keeping the idea steady and precise;
and till we have done so, it is in vain to pretend to reasoning and
philosophy.
SECT. II. OF PROBABILITY, AND OF THE IDEA OF CAUSE AND EFFECT.
This is all I think necessary to observe concerning those four relations,
which are the foundation of science; but as to the other three, which
depend not upon the idea, and may be absent or present even while that
remains the same, it will be proper to explain them more particularly.
These three relations are identity, the situations in time and place, and
causation.
All kinds of reasoning consist in nothing but a comparison, and a
discovery of those relations, either constant or inconstant, which two or
more objects bear to each other. This comparison we may make, either when
both the objects are present to the senses, or when neither of them is
present, or when only one. When both the objects are present to the
senses along with the relation, we call this perception rather than
reasoning; nor is there in this case any exercise of the thought, or any
action, properly speaking, but a mere passive admission of the
impressions through the organs of sensation. According to this way of
thinking, we ought not to receive as reasoning any of the observations we
may make concerning identity, and the relations of time and .place; since
in none of them the mind can go beyond what is immediately present to the
senses, either to discover the real existence or the relations of
objects. It is only causation, which produces such a connexion, as to give
us assurance from the existence or action of one object, that it was
followed or preceded by any other existence or action; nor can the other
two relations be ever made use of in reasoning, except so far as they
either affect or are affected by it. There is nothing in any objects to
perswade us, that they are either always remote or always contiguous; and
when from experience and observation we discover, that their relation in
this particular is invariable, we, always conclude there is some secret
cause, which separates or unites them. The same reasoning extends to
identity. We readily suppose an object may continue individually the
same, though several times absent from and present to the senses; and
ascribe to it an identity, notwithstanding the interruption of the
perception, whenever we conclude, that if we had kept our eye or hand
constantly upon it, it would have conveyed an invariable and
uninterrupted perception. But this conclusion beyond the impressions of
our senses can be founded only on the connexion of cause and effect; nor
can we otherwise have any security, that the object is not changed upon
us, however much the new object may resemble that which was formerly
present to the senses. Whenever we discover such a perfect resemblance,
we consider, whether it be common in that species of objects; whether
possibly or probably any cause coued operate in producing the change and
resemblance; and according as we determine concerning these causes and
effects, we form our judgment concerning the identity of the object.
Here then it appears, that of those three relations, which depend not
upon the mere ideas, the only one, that can be traced beyond our senses
and informs us of existences and objects, which we do not see or feel, is
causation. This relation, therefore, we shall endeavour to explain fully
before we leave the subject of the understanding.
To begin regularly, we must consider the idea of causation, and see from
what origin it is derived. It is impossible to reason justly, without
understanding perfectly the idea concerning which we reason; and it is
impossible perfectly to understand any idea, without tracing it up to its
origin, and examining that primary impression, from which it arises. The
examination of the impression bestows a clearness on the idea; and the
examination of the idea bestows a like clearness on all our reasoning.
Let us therefore cast our eye on any two objects, which we call cause
and effect, and turn them on all sides, in order to find that impression,
which produces an idea, of such prodigious consequence. At first sight I
perceive, that I must not search for it in any of the particular
qualities of the objects; since. which-ever of these qualities I pitch
on, I find some object, that is not possessed of it, and yet falls under
the denomination of cause or effect. And indeed there is nothing
existent, either externally or internally, which is not to be considered
either as a cause or an effect; though it is plain there is no one quality,
which universally belongs to all beings, and gives them a title to that
denomination.
The idea, then, of causation must be derived from some relation among
objects; and that relation we must now endeavour to discover. I find in
the first place, that whatever objects are considered as causes or
effects, are contiguous; and that nothing can operate in a time or place,
which is ever so little removed from those of its existence. Though distant
objects may sometimes seem productive of each other, they are commonly
found upon examination to be linked by a chain of causes, which are
contiguous among themselves, and to the distant objects; and when in any
particular instance we cannot discover this connexion, we still presume
it to exist. We may therefore consider the relation of CONTIGUITY as
essential to that of causation; at least may suppose it such, according
to the general opinion, till we can find a more [Part IV. Sect. 5.] proper
occasion to clear up this matter, by examining what objects are or are not
susceptible of juxtaposition and conjunction.
The second relation I shall observe as essential to causes and effects,
is not so universally acknowledged, but is liable to some controversy.
It is that of PRIORITY Of time in the cause before the effect. Some
pretend that it is not absolutely necessary a cause should precede its
effect; but that any object or action, in the very first moment of its
existence, may exert its productive quality, and give rise to another
object or action, perfectly co-temporary with itself. But beside that
experience in most instances seems to contradict this opinion, we may
establish the relation of priority by a kind of inference or reasoning.
It is an established maxim both in natural and moral philosophy, that an
object, which exists for any time in its full perfection without
producing another, is not its sole cause; but is assisted by some other
principle, which pushes it from its state of inactivity, and makes it
exert that energy, of which it was secretly possest. Now if any cause may
be perfectly co-temporary with its effect, it is certain, according to
this maxim, that they must all of them be so; since any one of them,
which retards its operation for a single moment, exerts not itself at
that very individual time, in which it might have operated; and therefore
is no proper cause. The consequence of this would be no less than the
destruction of that succession of causes, which we observe in the world;
and indeed, the utter annihilation of time. For if one cause were
co-temporary with its effect, and this effect with its effect, and so on,
it is plain there would be no such thing as succession, and all objects
must be co-existent.
If this argument appear satisfactory, it is well. If not, I beg the reader
to allow me the same liberty, which I have used in the preceding case, of
supposing it such. For he shall find, that the affair is of no great
importance.
Having thus discovered or supposed the two relations of contiguity and
succession to be essential to causes and effects, I find I am stopt
short, and can proceed no farther in considering any single instance of
cause and effect. Motion in one body is regarded upon impulse as the
cause of motion in another. When we consider these objects with utmost
attention, we find only that the one body approaches the other; and that
the motion of it precedes that of the other, but without any, sensible
interval. It is in vain to rack ourselves with farther thought and
reflection upon this subject. We can go no farther in considering this
particular instance.
Should any one leave this instance, and pretend to define a cause, by
saying it is something productive of another, it is evident he would say
nothing. For what does he mean by production? Can he give any definition
of it, that will not be the same with that of causation? If he can; I
desire it may be produced. If he cannot; he here runs in a circle, and
gives a synonimous term instead of a definition.
Shall we then rest contented with these two relations of contiguity and
succession, as affording a complete idea of causation? By, no means. An
object may be contiguous and prior to another, without being considered
as its cause. There is a NECESSARY CONNEXION to be taken into
consideration; and that relation is of much greater importance, than any
of the other two above-mentioned.
Here again I turn the object on all sides, in order to discover the
nature of this necessary connexion, and find the impression, or
impressions, from which its idea may be derived. When I cast my eye on
the known Qualities of objects, I immediately discover that the relation
of cause and effect depends not in the least on them. When I consider
their relations, I can find none but those of contiguity and succession;
which I have already regarded as imperfect and unsatisfactory. Shall the
despair of success make me assert, that I am here possest of an idea,
which is not preceded by any similar impression? This would be too strong
a proof of levity and inconstancy; since the contrary principle has been
already so firmly established, as to admit of no farther doubt; at least,
till we have more fully examined the present difficulty.
We must, therefore, proceed like those, who being in search of any thing,
that lies concealed from them, and not finding it in the place they
expected, beat about all the neighbouring fields, without any certain
view or design, in hopes their good fortune will at last guide them to
what they search for. It is necessary for us to leave the direct survey of
this question concerning the nature of that necessary connexion, which
enters into our idea of cause and effect; and endeavour to find some
other questions, the examination of which will perhaps afford a hint,
that may serve to clear up the present difficulty. Of these questions
there occur two, which I shall proceed to examine, viz.
First, For what reason we pronounce it necessary, that every thing whose
existence has a beginning, should also have a cause.
Secondly, Why we conclude, that such particular causes must necessarily
have such particular effects; and what is the nature of that inference we
draw from the one to the other, and of the belief we repose in it?
I shall only observe before I proceed any farther, that though the ideas
of cause and effect be derived from the impressions of reflection as well
as from those of sensation, yet for brevity's sake, I commonly mention
only the latter as the origin of these ideas; though I desire that
whatever I say of them may also extend to the former. Passions are
connected with their objects and with one another; no less than external
bodies are connected together. The same relation, then, of cause and
effect, which belongs to one, must be common to all of them.
SECT. III. WHY A CAUSE IS ALWAYS NECESSARY.
To begin with the first question concerning the necessity of a cause:
It is a general maxim in philosophy, that whatever begins to exist, must
have a cause of existence. This is commonly taken for granted in all
reasonings, without any proof given or demanded. It is supposed to be
founded on intuition, and to be one of those maxims, which though they may
be denyed with the lips, it is impossible for men in their hearts really
to doubt of. But if we examine this maxim by the idea of knowledge
above-explained, we shall discover in it no mark of any such intuitive
certainty; but on the contrary shall find, that it is of a nature quite
foreign to that species of conviction.
All certainty arises from the comparison of ideas, and from the discovery
of such relations as are unalterable, so long as the ideas continue the
same. These relations are RESEMBLANCE, PROPORTIONS IN QUANTITY AND
NUMBER, DEGREES OF ANY QUALITY, and CONTRARIETY; none of which are
implyed in this proposition, Whatever has a beginning has also a cause of
existence. That proposition therefore is not intuitively certain. At
least any one, who would assert it to be intuitively certain, must deny
these to be the only infallible relations, and must find some other
relation of that kind to be implyed in it; which it will then be time
enough to examine.
But here is an argument, which proves at once, that the foregoing
proposition is neither intuitively nor demonstrably certain. We can never
demonstrate the necessity of a cause to every new existence, or new
modification of existence, without shewing at the same time the
impossibility there is, that any thing can ever begin to exist without
some productive principle; and where the latter proposition cannot be
proved, we must despair of ever being able to prove the former. Now that
the latter proposition is utterly incapable of a demonstrative proof, we
may satisfy ourselves by considering that as all distinct ideas are
separable from each other, and as the ideas of cause and effect are
evidently distinct, it will be easy for us to conceive any object to be
non-existent this moment, and existent the next, without conjoining to it
the distinct idea of a cause or productive principle. The separation,
therefore, of the idea of a cause from that of a beginning of existence,
is plainly possible for the imagination; and consequently the actual
separation of these objects is so far possible, that it implies no
contradiction nor absurdity; and is therefore incapable of being refuted
by any reasoning from mere ideas; without which it is impossible to
demonstrate the necessity of a cause.
Accordingly we shall find upon examination, that every demonstration,
which has been produced for the necessity of a cause, is fallacious and
sophistical. All the points of time and place, say some philosophers
[Mr. Hobbes.], in which we can suppose any object to be-in to exist, are
in themselves equal; and unless there be some cause, which is peculiar to
one time and to one place, and which by that means determines and fixes
the existence, it must remain in eternal suspence; and the object can
never begin to be, for want of something to fix its beginning. But I ask;
Is there any more difficulty in supposing the time and place to be fixed
without a cause, than to suppose the existence to be determined in that
manner? The first question that occurs on this subject is always, whether
the object shall exist or not: The next, when and where it shall begin to
exist. If the removal of a cause be intuitively absurd in the one case, it
must be so in the other: And if that absurdity be not clear without a
proof in the one case, it will equally require one in the other. The
absurdity, then, of the one supposition can never be a proof of that of
the other; since they are both upon the same footing, and must stand or
fall by the same reasoning.
The second argument[Dr, Clarke and others.], which I find used on this
head, labours under an equal difficulty. Every thing, it is said, must
have a cause; for if any thing wanted a cause, it would produce ITSELF;
that is, exist before it existed; which is impossible. But this reasoning
is plainly unconclusive; because it supposes, that in our denial of a
cause we still grant what we expressly deny, viz. that there must be a
cause; which therefore is taken to be the object itself; and that, no
doubt, is an evident contradiction. But to say that any thing is produced,
of to express myself more properly, comes into existence, without a cause,
is not to affirm, that it is itself its own cause; but on the contrary in
excluding all external causes, excludes a fortiori the thing itself, which
is created. An object, that exists absolutely without any cause, certainly
is not its own cause; and when you assert, that the one follows from the
other, you suppose the very point in questions and take it for granted,
that it is utterly impossible any thing can ever begin to exist without a
cause, but that, upon the exclusion of one productive principle, we must
still have recourse to another.
It is exactly the same case with the third argument[Mr. Locke.], which has
been employed to demonstrate the necessity of a cause. Whatever is
produced without any cause, is produced by nothing; or in other words, has
nothing for its cause. But nothing can never be a cause, no more than it
can be something, or equal to two right angles. By the same intuition,
that we perceive nothing not to be equal to two right angles, or not to be
something, we perceive, that it can never be a cause; and consequently
must perceive, that every object has a real cause of its existence.
I believe it will not be necessary to employ many words in shewing the
weakness of this argument, after what I have said of the foregoing. They
are all of them founded on the same fallacy, and are derived from the
same turn of thought. It is sufficient only to observe, that when we
exclude all causes we really do exclude them, and neither suppose nothing
nor the object itself to be the causes of the existence; and consequently
can draw no argument from the absurdity of these suppositions to prove
the absurdity of that exclusion. If every thing must have a cause, it
follows, that upon the exclusion of other causes we must accept of the
object itself or of nothing as causes. But it is the very point in
question, whether every thing must have a cause or not; and therefore,
according to all just reasoning, it ought never to be taken for granted.
They are still more frivolous, who say, that every effect must have a,
cause, because it is implyed in the very idea of effect. Every effect
necessarily pre-supposes a cause; effect being a relative term, of which
cause is the correlative. But this does not prove, that every being must
be preceded by a cause; no more than it follows, because every husband
must have a wife, that therefore every man must be marryed. The true
state of the question is, whether every object, which begins to exist,
must owe its existence to a cause: and this I assert neither to be
intuitively nor demonstratively certain, and hope to have proved it
sufficiently by the foregoing arguments.
Since it is not from knowledge or any scientific reasoning, that we
derive the opinion of the necessity of a cause to every new production,
that opinion must necessarily arise from observation and experience. The
next question, then, should naturally be, how experience gives rise to
such a principle? But as I find it will be more convenient to sink this
question in the following, Why we conclude, that such particular causes
must necessarily have such particular erects, and why we form an
inference from one to another? we shall make that the subject of our
future enquiry. It will, perhaps, be found in the end, that the same
answer will serve for both questions.
SECT. IV. OF THE COMPONENT PARTS OF OUR REASONINGS CONCERNING
CAUSE AND EFFECT.
Though the mind in its reasonings from causes or effects carries its view
beyond those objects, which it sees or remembers, it must never lose
sight of them entirely, nor reason merely upon its own ideas, without
some mixture of impressions, or at least of ideas of the memory, which
are equivalent to impressions. When we infer effects from causes, we must
establish the existence of these causes; which we have only two ways of
doing, either by an immediate perception of our memory or senses, or by
an inference from other causes; which causes again we must ascertain in
the same manner, either by a present impression, or by an inference from
their causes, and so on, till we arrive at some object, which we see or
remember. It is impossible for us to carry on our inferences IN INFINITUM;
and the only thing, that can stop them, is an impression of the memory or
senses, beyond which there is no room for doubt or enquiry.
To give an instance of this, we may chuse any point of history, and
consider for what reason we either believe or reject it. Thus we believe
that Caesar was killed in the senate-house on the ides of March; and that
because this fact is established on the unanimous testimony of
historians, who agree to assign this precise time and place to that
event. Here are certain characters and letters present either to our
memory or senses; which characters we likewise remember to have been used
as the signs of certain ideas; and these ideas were either in the minds
of such as were immediately present at that action, and received the
ideas directly from its existence; or they were derived from the
testimony of others, and that again from another testimony, by a visible
gradation, it will we arrive at those who were eyewitnesses and spectators
of the event. It is obvious all this chain of argument or connexion of
causes and effects, is at first founded on those characters or letters,
which are seen or remembered, and that without the authority either of
the memory or senses our whole reasoning would be chimerical and without
foundation. Every link of the chain would in that case hang upon another;
but there would not be any thing fixed to one end of it, capable of
sustaining the whole; and consequently there would be no belief nor
evidence. And this actually is the case with all hypothetical arguments,
or reasonings upon a supposition; there being in them, neither any
present impression, nor belief of a real existence,
I need not observe, that it is no just objection to the present doctrine,
that we can reason upon our past conclusions or principles, without
having recourse to those impressions, from which they first arose. For
even supposing these impressions should be entirely effaced from the
memory, the conviction they produced may still remain; and it is equally
true, that all reasonings concerning causes and effects are originally
derived from some impression; in the same manner, as the assurance of a
demonstration proceeds always from a comparison of ideas, though it may
continue after the comparison is forgot.
SECT. V. OF THE IMPRESSIONS OF THE SENSES AND MEMORY.
In this kind of reasoning, then, from causation, we employ materials,
which are of a mixed and heterogeneous nature, and which, however
connected, are yet essentially different from each other. All our
arguments concerning causes and effects consist both of an impression of
the memory or, senses, and of the idea of that existence, which produces
the object of the impression, or is produced by it. Here therefore we
have three things to explain, viz. First, The original impression.
Secondly, The transition to the idea of the connected cause or effect.
Thirdly, The nature and qualities of that idea.
As to those impressions, which arise from the senses, their ultimate
cause is, in my opinion, perfectly inexplicable by human reason, and
it will always be impossible to decide with certainty, whether they arise
immediately from the object, or are produced by the creative power of the
mind, or are derived from the author of our being. Nor is such a question
any way material to our present purpose. We may draw inferences from the
coherence of our perceptions, whether they be true or false; whether they
represent nature justly, or be mere illusions of the senses.
When we search for the characteristic, which distinguishes the memory
from the imagination, we must immediately perceive, that it cannot lie in
the simple ideas it presents to us; since both these faculties borrow
their simple ideas from the impressions, and can never go beyond these
original perceptions. These faculties are as little distinguished from
each other by the arrangement of their complex ideas. For though it be a
peculiar property of the memory to preserve the original order and
position of its ideas, while the imagination transposes and changes them,
as it pleases; yet this difference is not sufficient to distinguish them
in their operation, or make us know the one from the other; it being
impossible to recal the past impressions, in order to compare them with
our present ideas, and see whether their arrangement be exactly similar.
Since therefore the memory, is known, neither by the order of its complex
ideas, nor the nature of its simple ones; it follows, that the difference
betwixt it and the imagination lies in its superior force and vivacity. A
man may indulge his fancy in feigning any past scene of adventures; nor
would there be any possibility of distinguishing this from a remembrance
of a like kind, were not the ideas of the imagination fainter and more
obscure.
It frequently happens, that when two men have been engaged in any scene
of action, the one shall remember it much better than the other, and
shall have all the difficulty in the world to make his companion
recollect it. He runs over several circumstances in vain; mentions the
time, the place, the company, what was said, what was done on all sides;
till at last he hits on some lucky circumstance, that revives the whole,
and gives his friend a perfect memory of every thing. Here the person
that forgets receives at first all the ideas from the discourse of the
other, with the same circumstances of time and place; though he considers
them as mere fictions of the imagination. But as soon as the circumstance
is mentioned, that touches the memory, the very same ideas now appear in
a new light, and have, in a manner, a different feeling from what they
had before. Without any other alteration, beside that of the feeling,
they become immediately ideas of the memory, and are assented to.
Since, therefore, the imagination can represent all the same objects that
the memory can offer to us, and since those faculties are only
distinguished by the different feeling of the ideas they present, it may
be proper to consider what is the nature of that feeling. And here I
believe every one will readily agree with me, that the ideas of the
memory are more strong and lively than those of the fancy.
A painter, who intended to represent a passion or emotion of any kind,
would endeavour to get a sight of a person actuated by a like emotion, in
order to enliven his ideas, and give them a force and vivacity superior
to what is found in those, which are mere fictions of the imagination.
The more recent this memory is, the clearer is the idea; and when after a
long interval he would return to the contemplation of his object, he
always finds its idea to be much decayed, if not wholly obliterated. We
are frequently in doubt concerning the ideas of the memory, as they
become very weak and feeble; and are at a loss to determine whether any
image proceeds from the fancy or the memory, when it is not drawn in such
lively colours as distinguish that latter faculty. I think, I remember
such an event, says one; but am not sure. A long tract of time has almost
worn it out of my memory, and leaves me uncertain whether or not it be
the pure offspring of my fancy.
And as an idea of the memory, by losing its force and vivacity, may
degenerate to such a degree, as to be taken for an idea of the
imagination; so on the other hand an idea of the imagination may acquire
such a force and vivacity, as to pass for an idea of the memory, and
counterfeit its effects on the belief and judgment. This is noted in the
case of liars; who by the frequent repetition of their lies, come at last
to believe and remember them, as realities; custom and habit having in
this case, as in many others, the same influence on the mind as nature,
and infixing the idea with equal force and vigour.
Thus it appears, that the belief or assent, which always attends the
memory and senses, is nothing but the vivacity of those perceptions they
present; and that this alone distinguishes them from the imagination. To
believe is in this case to feel an immediate impression of the senses, or
a repetition of that impression in the memory. It is merely the force and
liveliness of the perception, which constitutes the first act of the
judgment, and lays the foundation of that reasoning, which we build upon
it, when we trace the relation of cause and effect.
SECT. VI. OF THE INFERENCE FROM THE IMPRESSION TO THE IDEA.
It is easy to observe, that in tracing this relation, the inference we
draw from cause to effect, is not derived merely from a survey of these
particular objects, and from such a penetration into their essences as
may discover the dependance of the one upon the other. There is no
object, which implies the existence of any other if we consider these
objects in themselves, and never look beyond the ideas which we form of
them. Such an inference would amount to knowledge, and would imply the
absolute contradiction and impossibility of conceiving any thing
different. But as all distinct ideas are separable, it is evident there
can be no impossibility of that kind. When we pass from a present
impression to the idea of any object, we might possibly have separated
the idea from the impression, and have substituted any other idea in its
room.
It is therefore by EXPERIENCE only, that we can infer the existence of one
object from that of another. The nature of experience is this. We
remember to have had frequent instances of the existence of one species
of objects; and also remember, that the individuals of another species of
objects have always attended them, and have existed in a regular order of
contiguity and succession with regard to them. Thus we remember, to have
seen that species of object we call flame, and to have felt that species
of sensation we call heat. We likewise call to mind their constant
conjunction in all past instances. Without any farther ceremony, we call
the one cause and the other effect, and infer the existence of the one
from that of the other. In all those instances, from which we learn the
conjunction of particular causes and effects, both the causes and effects
have been perceived by the senses, and are remembered But in all cases,
wherein we reason concerning them, there is only one perceived or
remembered, and the other is supplyed in conformity to our past
experience.
Thus in advancing we have insensibly discovered a new relation betwixt
cause and effect, when we least expected it, and were entirely employed
upon another subject. This relation is their CONSTANT CONJUNCTION.
Contiguity and succession are not sufficient to make us pronounce any two
objects to be cause and effect, unless we perceive, that these two
relations are preserved in several instances. We may now see the
advantage of quitting the direct survey of this relation, in order to
discover the nature of that necessary connexion, which makes so essential
a part of it. There are hopes, that by this means we may at last arrive
at our proposed end; though to tell the truth, this new-discovered
relation of a constant conjunction seems to advance us but very little in
our way. For it implies no more than this, that like objects have always
been placed in like relations of contiguity and succession; and it seems
evident, at least at first sight, that by this means we can never
discover any new idea, and can only multiply, but not enlarge the objects
of our mind. It may be thought, that what we learn not from one object,
we can never learn from a hundred, which are all of the same kind, and
are perfectly resembling in every circumstance. As our senses shew us in
one instance two bodies, or motions, or qualities in certain relations of
success and contiguity; so our memory presents us only with a multitude
of instances, wherein we always find like bodies, motions, or qualities
in like relations. From the mere repetition of any past impression, even
to infinity, there never will arise any new original idea, such as that
of a necessary connexion; and the number of impressions has in this case
no more effect than if we confined ourselves to one only. But though this
reasoning seems just and obvious; yet as it would be folly to despair too
soon, we shall continue the thread of our discourse; and having found,
that after the discovery of the constant conjunction of any objects, we
always draw an inference from one object to another, we shall now examine
the nature of that inference, and of the transition from the impression
to the idea. Perhaps it will appear in the end, that the necessary
connexion depends on the inference, instead of the inference's depending
on the necessary connexion.
Since it appears, that the transition from an impression present to the
memory or senses to the idea of an object, which we call cause or effect,
is founded on past experience, and on our remembrance of their constant
conjunction, the next question is, Whether experience produces the idea
by means of the understanding or imagination; whether we are determined
by reason to make the transition, or by a certain association and
relation of perceptions. If reason determined us, it would proceed upon
that principle, that instances, of which we have had no experience, must
resemble those, of which we have had experience, and that the course of
nature continues always uniformly the same. In order therefore to clear
up this matter, let us consider all the arguments, upon which such a
proposition may be supposed to be founded; and as these must be derived
either from knowledge or probability, let us cast our eve on each of
these degrees of evidence, and see whether they afford any just
conclusion of this nature.
Our foregoing method of reasoning will easily convince us, that there can
be no demonstrative arguments to prove, that those instances, of which we
have, had no experience, resemble those, of which we have had experience.
We can at least conceive a change in the course of nature; which
sufficiently proves, that such a change is not absolutely impossible. To
form a clear idea of any thing, is an undeniable argument for its
possibility, and is alone a refutation of any pretended demonstration
against it.
Probability, as it discovers not the relations of ideas, considered as
such, but only those of objects, must in some respects be founded on the
impressions of our memory and senses, and in some respects on our ideas.
Were there no mixture of any impression in our probable reasonings, the
conclusion would be entirely chimerical: And were there no mixture of
ideas, the action of the mind, in observing the relation, would, properly
speaking, be sensation, not reasoning. It is therefore necessary, that in
all probable reasonings there be something present to the mind, either
seen or remembered; and that from this we infer something connected with
it, which is not seen nor remembered.
The only connexion or relation of objects, which can lead us beyond the
immediate impressions of our memory and senses, is that of cause and
effect; and that because it is the only one, on which we can found a just
inference from one object to another. The idea of cause and effect is
derived from experience, which informs us, that such particular objects,
in all past instances, have been constantly conjoined with each other:
And as an object similar to one of these is supposed to be immediately
present in its impression, we thence presume on the existence of one
similar to its usual attendant. According to this account of things,
which is, I think, in every point unquestionable, probability is founded
on the presumption of a resemblance betwixt those objects, of which we
have had experience, and those, of which we have had none; and therefore
it is impossible this presumption can arise from probability. The same
principle cannot be both the, cause and effect of another; and this is,
perhaps, the only proposition concerning that relation, which is either
intuitively or demonstratively certain.
Should any one think to elude this argument; and without determining
whether our reasoning on this subject be derived from demonstration or
probability, pretend that all conclusions from causes and effects are
built on solid reasoning: I can only desire, that this reasoning may be
produced, in order to be exposed to our examination. It may, perhaps, be
said, that after experience of the constant conjunction of certain
objects, we reason in the following manner. Such an object is always
found to produce another. It is impossible it coued have this effect, if
it was not endowed with a power of production. The power necessarily
implies the effect; and therefore there is a just foundation for drawing
a conclusion from the existence of one object to that of its usual
attendant. The past production implies a power: The power implies a new
production: And the new production is what we infer from the power and
the past production.
It were easy for me to shew the weakness of this reasoning, were I willing
to make use of those observations, I have already made, that the idea of
production is the same with that of causation, and that no existence
certainly and demonstratively implies a power in any other object; or
were it proper to anticipate what I shall have occasion to remark
afterwards concerning the idea we form of power and efficacy. But as such
a method of proceeding may seem either to weaken my system, by resting
one part of it on another, or to breed a confusion in my reasoning, I
shall endeavour to maintain my present assertion without any such
assistance.
It shall therefore be allowed for a moment, that the production of one
object by another in any one instance implies a power; and that this
power is connected with its effect. But it having been already proved,
that the power lies not in the sensible qualities of the cause; and there
being nothing but the sensible qualities present to us; I ask, why in
other instances you presume that the same power still exists, merely upon
the appearance of these qualities? Your appeal to past experience decides
nothing in the present case; and at the utmost can only prove, that that
very object, which produced any other, was at that very instant endowed
with such a power; but can never prove, that the same power must continue
in the same object or collection of sensible qualities; much less, that a
like power is always conjoined with like sensible qualities. should it be
said, that we have experience, that the same power continues united with
the same object, and that like objects are endowed with like powers, I
would renew my question, why from this experience we form any conclusion
beyond those past instances, of which we have had experience. If you
answer this question in, the same manner as the preceding, your answer
gives still occasion to a new question of the same kind, even in
infinitum; which clearly proves, that the foregoing reasoning had no just
foundation.
Thus not only our reason fails us in the discovery of the ultimate
connexion of causes and effects, but even after experience has informed
us of their constant conjunction, it is impossible for us to satisfy
ourselves by our reason, why we should extend that experience beyond
those particular instances, which have fallen under our observation. We
suppose, but are never able to prove, that there must be a resemblance
betwixt those objects, of which we have had experience, and those which
lie beyond the reach of our discovery.
We have already taken notice of certain relations, which make us pass
from one object to another, even though there be no reason to determine us
to that transition; and this we may establish for a general rule, that
wherever the mind constantly and uniformly makes a transition without any
reason, it is influenced by these relations. Now this is exactly the
present case. Reason can never shew us the connexion of one object with
another, though aided by experience, and the observation of their constant
conjunction in all past instances. When the mind, therefore, passes from
the idea or impression of one object to the idea or belief of another, it
is not determined by reason, but by certain principles, which associate
together the ideas of these objects, and unite them in the imagination.
Had ideas no more union in the fancy than objects seem to have to the
understanding, we coued never draw any inference from causes to effects,
nor repose belief in any matter of fact. The inference, therefore,
depends solely on the union of ideas.
The principles of union among ideas, I have reduced to three general
ones, and have asserted, that the idea or impression of any object
naturally introduces the idea of any other object, that is resembling,
contiguous to, or connected with it. These principles I allow to be
neither the infallible nor the sole causes of an union among ideas. They
are not the infallible causes. For one may fix his attention during
Sometime on any one object without looking farther. They are not the sole
causes. For the thought has evidently a very irregular motion in running
along its objects, and may leap from the heavens to the earth, from one
end of the creation to the other, without any certain method or order.
But though I allow this weakness in these three relations, and this
irregularity in the imagination; yet I assert that the only general
principles, which associate ideas, are resemblance, contiguity and
causation.
There is indeed a principle of union among ideas, which at first sight
may be esteemed different from any of these, but will be found at the
bottom to depend on the same origin. When every individual of any species
of objects is found by experience to be constantly united with an
individual of another species, the appearance of any new individual of
either species naturally conveys the thought to its usual attendant. Thus
because such a particular idea is commonly annexed to such a particular
word, nothing is required but the hearing of that word to produce the
correspondent idea; and it will scarce be possible for the mind, by its
utmost efforts, to prevent that transition. In this case it is not
absolutely necessary, that upon hearing such a particular sound we
should reflect on any past experience, and consider what idea has been
usually connected with the sound. The imagination of itself supplies the
place of this reflection, and is so accustomed to pass from the word to
the idea, that it interposes not a moment's delay betwixt the hearing of
the one, and the conception of the other.
But though I acknowledge this to be a true principle of association among
ideas, I assert it to be the very same with that betwixt the ideas of
cause and effects and to be an essential part in all our reasonings from
that relation. We have no other notion of cause and effect, but that of
certain objects, which have been always conjoined together, and which in
all past instances have been found inseparable. We cannot penetrate into
the reason of the conjunction. We only observe the thing itself, and
always find that from the constant conjunction the objects acquire an
union in the imagination. When the impression of one becomes present to
us, we immediately form an idea of its usual attendant; and consequently
we may establish this as one part of the definition of an opinion or
belief, that it is an idea related to or associated with a present
impression.
Thus though causation be a philosophical relation, as implying contiguity,
succession, and constant conjunction, yet it is only so far as it is a
natural relation, and produces an union among our ideas, that we are able
to reason upon it, or draw any inference from it.
SECT. VII. OF THE NATURE OF THE IDEA OR BELIEF.
The idea of an object is an essential part of the belief of it, but not
the whole. We conceive many things, which we do not believe. In order
then to discover more fully the nature of belief, or the qualities of
those ideas we assent to, let us weigh the following considerations.
It is evident, that all reasonings from causes or effects terminate in
conclusions, concerning matter of fact; that is, concerning the existence
of objects or of their qualities. It is also evident, that the idea, of
existence is nothing different from the idea of any object, and that when
after the simple conception of any thing we would conceive it as
existent, we in reality make no addition to or alteration on our first
idea. Thus when we affirm, that God is existent, we simply form the idea
of such a being, as he is represented to us; nor is the existence, which
we attribute to him, conceived by a particular idea, which we join to the
idea of his other qualities, and can again separate and distinguish from
them. But I go farther; and not content with asserting, that the
conception of the existence of any object is no addition to the simple
conception of it, I likewise maintain, that the belief of the existence
joins no new ideas to those which compose the idea of the object. When
I think of God, when I think of him as existent, and when I believe him
to be existent, my idea of him neither encreases nor diminishes. But as
it is certain there is a great difference betwixt the simple conception of
the existence of an object, and the belief of it, and as this difference
lies not in the parts or composition of the idea, which we conceive; it
follows, that it must lie in the manner, in which we conceive it.
Suppose a person present with me, who advances propositions, to which I
do not assent, that Caesar dyed in his bed, that silver is more fusible,
than lead, or mercury heavier than gold; it is evident, that
notwithstanding my incredulity, I clearly understand his meaning, and
form all the same ideas, which he forms. My imagination is endowed with
the same powers as his; nor is it possible for him to conceive any idea,
which I cannot conceive; nor conjoin any, which I cannot conjoin. I
therefore ask, Wherein consists the difference betwixt believing and
disbelieving any proposition? The answer is easy with regard to
propositions, that are proved by intuition or demonstration. In that
case, the person, who assents, not only conceives the ideas according to
the proposition, but is necessarily determined to conceive them in that
particular manner, either immediately or by the interposition of other
ideas. Whatever is absurd is unintelligible; nor is it possible for the
imagination to conceive any thing contrary to a demonstration. But as in
reasonings from causation, and concerning matters of fact, this absolute
necessity cannot take place, and the imagination is free to conceive both
sides of the question, I still ask, Wherein consists the deference
betwixt incredulity and belief? since in both cases the conception of the
idea is equally possible and requisite.
It will not be a satisfactory answer to say, that a person, who does not
assent to a proposition you advance; after having conceived the object in
the same manner with you; immediately conceives it in a different manner,
and has different ideas of it. This answer is unsatisfactory; not because
it contains any falshood, but because it discovers not all the truth.
It is contest, that in all cases, wherein we dissent from any person, we
conceive both sides of the question; but as we can believe only one, it
evidently follows, that the belief must make some difference betwixt that
conception to which we assent, and that from which we dissent. We may
mingle, and unite, and separate, and confound, and vary our ideas in a
hundred different ways; but until there appears some principle, which
fixes one of these different situations, we have in reality no opinion:
And this principle, as it plainly makes no addition to our precedent
ideas, can only change the manner of our conceiving them.
All the perceptions of the mind are of two kinds, viz. impressions and
ideas, which differ from each other only in their different degrees of
force and vivacity. Our ideas are copyed from our impressions, and
represent them in all their parts. When you would any way vary the idea
of a particular object, you can only encrease or diminish its force and
vivacity. If you make any other change on it, it represents a different
object or impression. The case is the same as in colours. A particular
shade of any colour may acquire a new degree of liveliness or brightness
without any other variation. But when you produce any other variation,
it is no longer the same shade or colour. So that as belief does nothing
but vary the manner, in which we conceive any object, it can only bestow
on our ideas an additional force and vivacity. An opinion, therefore, or
belief may be most accurately defined, a lively idea related to or
associated with a present impression.
We may here take occasion to observe a very remarkable error, which
being frequently inculcated in the schools, has become a kind of
establishd maxim, and is universally received by all logicians. This
error consists in the vulgar division of the acts of the understanding,
into CONCEPTION, JUDGMENT and REASONING, and in the definitions we give
of them. Conception is defind to be the simple survey of one or more
ideas: Judgment to be the separating or uniting of different ideas:
Reasoning to be the separating or uniting of different ideas by the
interposition of others, which show the relation they bear to each other.
But these distinctions and definitions are faulty in very considerable
articles. For FIRST, it is far from being true, that in every judgment,
which we form, we unite two different ideas; since in that proposition,
GOD IS, or indeed any other, which regards existence, the idea of
existence is no distinct idea, which we unite with that of the object,
and which is capable of forming a compound idea by the union. SECONDLY,
As we can thus form a proposition, which contains only one idea, so we
may exert our reason without employing more than two ideas, and without
having recourse to a third to serve as a medium betwixt them. We infer a
cause immediately from its effect; and this inference is not only a true
species of reasoning, but the strongest of all others, and more
convincing than when we interpose another idea to connect the two
extremes. What we may in general affirm concerning these three acts of
the understanding is, that taking them in a proper light, they all
resolve themselves into the first, and are nothing but particular ways of
conceiving our objects. Whether we consider a single object, or several;
whether we dwell on these objects, or run from them to others; and in
whatever form or order we survey them, the act of the mind exceeds not a
simple conception; and the only remarkable difference, which occurs on
this occasion, is, when we join belief to the conception, and are
persuaded of the truth of what we conceive. This act of the mind has
never yet been explaind by any philosopher; and therefore I am at liberty
to propose my hypothesis concerning it; which is, that it is only a strong
and steady conception of any idea, and such as approaches in some measure
to an immediate impression. [Footnote 5.]
[Footnote 5. Here are the heads of those arguments, which lead us to this
conclusion. When we infer the existence of an object from that of others,
some object must always be present either to the memory or senses, in
order to be the foundation of our reasoning; since the mind cannot run up
with its inferences IN INFINITUM. Reason can never satisfy us that the
existence of any one object does ever imply that of another; so that when
we pass from the impression of one to the idea or belief of another, we
are not determined by reason, but by custom or a principle of association.
But belief is somewhat more than a simple idea. It is a particular manner
of forming an idea: And as the same idea can only be varyed by a variation
of its degrees of force and vivacity; it follows upon the whole, that
belief is a lively idea produced by a relation to a present impression,
according to the foregoing definition.]
This operation of the mind, which forms the belief of any matter of fact, seems hitherto to have been one of the greatest mysteries of philosophy; though no one has so much as suspected, that there was any difficulty in explaining it. For my part I must own, that I find a considerable difficulty in the case; and that even when I think I understand the subject perfectly, I am at a loss for terms to express my meaning. I conclude, by an induction which seems to me very evident, that an opinion or belief is nothing but an idea, that is different from a fiction, not in the nature or the order of its parts, but in the manner of its being conceived. But when I would explain this manner, I scarce find any word that fully answers the case, but am obliged to have recourse to every one's feeling, in order to give him a perfect notion of this operation of the mind. An idea assented to FEELS different from a fictitious idea, that the fancy alone presents to us: And this different feeling I endeavour to explain by calling it a superior force, or vivacity, or solidity, or FIRMNESS, or steadiness. This variety of terms, which may seem so unphilosophical, is intended only to express that act of the mind, which renders realities more present to us than fictions, causes them to weigh more in the thought, and gives them a superior influence on the passions and imagination. Provided we agree about the thing, 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 objects with all the circumstances of place and time. It may set them, in a, manner, before our eyes in their true colours, just as they might have existed. But as it is impossible, that that faculty can ever, of itself, reach belief, it is evident, that belief consists not in the nature and order of our ideas, but in the manner of their conception, and in their feeling to the mind. I confess, that it is impossible to explain perfectly this feeling or manner of conception. We may make use of words, that express something near it. But its true and proper name is belief, which is a term that every one sufficiently understands in common life. And in philosophy we can go no farther, than assert, that it is something felt by the mind, which distinguishes the ideas of the judgment from the fictions of the imagination. It gives them more force and influence; makes them appear of greater importance; infixes them in the mind; and renders them the governing principles of all our actions.
This definition will also be found to be entirely conformable to every
one's feeling and experience. Nothing is more evident, than that those
ideas, to which we assent, are more strong, firm and vivid, than the
loose reveries of a castle-builder. If one person sits down to read a
book as a romance, and another as a true history, they plainly receive
the same ideas, and in the same order; nor does the incredulity of the
one, and the belief of the other hinder them from putting the very same
sense upon their author. His words produce the same ideas in both; though
his testimony has not the same influence on them. The latter has a more
lively conception of all the incidents. He enters deeper into the
concerns of the persons: represents to himself their actions, and
characters, and friendships, and enmities: He even goes so far as to form
a notion of their features, and air, and person. While the former, who
gives no credit to the testimony of the author, has a more faint and
languid conception of all these particulars; and except on account of the
style and ingenuity of the composition, can receive little entertainment
from it.
SECT. VIII. OF THE CAUSES OF BELIEF.
Having thus explained the nature of belief, and shewn that it consists in
a lively idea related to a present impression; let us now proceed to
examine from what principles it is derived, and what bestows the vivacity
on the idea.
I would willingly establish it as a general maxim in the science of human
nature, that when any impression becomes present to us, it not only
transports the mind to such ideas as are related to it, but likewise
communicates to them a share of its force and vivacity. All the
operations of the mind depend in a great measure on its disposition, when
it performs them; and according as the spirits are more or less elevated,
and the attention more or less fixed, the action will always have more or
less vigour and vivacity. When therefore any object is presented, which
elevates and enlivens the thought, every action, to which the mind
applies itself, will be more strong and vivid, as Tong as that
disposition continues, Now it is evident the continuance of the
disposition depends entirely on the objects, about which the mind is
employed; and that any new object naturally gives a new direction to the
spirits, and changes the disposition; as on the contrary, when the mind
fixes constantly on the same object, or passes easily and insensibly
along related objects, the disposition has a much longer duration. Hence
it happens, that when the mind is once inlivened by a present impression,
it proceeds to form a more lively idea of the related objects, by a
natural transition of the disposition from the one to the other. The
change of the objects is so easy, that the mind is scarce sensible of it,
but applies itself to the conception of the related idea with all the
force and vivacity it acquired from the present impression.
If in considering the nature of relation, and that facility of
transition, which is essential to it, we can satisfy ourselves concerning
the reality of this phaenomenon, it is well: But I must confess I place my
chief confidence in experience to prove so material a principle. We may,
therefore, observe, as the first experiment to our present purpose, that
upon the appearance of the picture of an absent friend, our idea of him
is evidently inlivened by the resemblance, and that every passion, which
that idea occasions, whether of joy or sorrow, acquires new force and
vigour. In producing this effect there concur both a relation and a
present impression. Where the picture bears him no resemblance, or at
least was not intended for him, it never so much as conveys our thought
to him: And where it is absent, as well as the person; though the mind may
pass from the thought of the one to that of the other; it feels its idea
to be rather weekend than inlivened 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
reflexion in an image, which is equally distinct and obscure.
The ceremonies of the Roman Catholic religion may be considered as
experiments of the same nature. The devotees of that strange superstition
usually plead in excuse of the mummeries, with which they are 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 away, if directed entirely to distant and
immaterial objects. We shadow out the objects of our faith, say they, in
sensible types and images, and render them more present to us by the
immediate presence of these types, than 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 inlivening the idea is
very common; and as in every case a resemblance and a present impression
must concur, we are abundantly supplyed with experiments to prove the
reality of the foregoing principle.
We may add force to these experiments by others of a different kind, in
considering the effects of contiguity, as well as of resemblance. It is
certain, that distance diminishes the force of every idea, and that upon
our approach to any object; though it does not discover itself to our
senses; it operates upon the mind with an influence that 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 and family
naturally produces an idea of them. But as in this latter case, both the
objects of the mind are ideas; notwithstanding there is an easy
transition betwixt them; that transition alone is not able to give a
superior vivacity to any of the ideas, for want of some immediate
impression. [Footnote 6.]
[Footnote 6. NATURANE NOBIS, IN QUIT, DATUM DICAM, AN ERRORE QUODAM, UT,
CUM EA LOCA VIDEAMUS, IN QUIBUS MEMORIA DIGNOS VIROS ACCEPERIMUS MULTURN
ESSE VERSATOS, MAGIS MOVEAMUR, QUAM SIQUANDO EORUM IPSORUM AUT JACTA
AUDIAMUS, AUT SCRIPTUM ALIQUOD LEGAMUS? VELUT EGO NUNC MOVEOR. VENIT ENIM
MIHI PLATONIS IN MENTEM: QUEM ACCIPIMUS PRIMURN HIC DISPUTARE SOLITUM:
CUJUS ETIAM ILLI HORTULI PROPINQUI NON MEMORIAM SOLUM MIHI AFFERUNT, SED
IPSUM VIDENTUR IN CONSPECTU MEO HIC PONERE. HIC SPEUSIPPUS, HIC
XENOCRATES, HIC EJUS AUDITOR POLEMO; CUJUS IPSA ILLA SESSIO FUIT, QUAM
VIDEAMUS. EQUIDEM ETIAM CURIAM NOSTRAM, HOSTILIAM DICO, NON HANC NOVAM,
QUAE MIHI MINOR ESSE VIDETUR POST QUAM EST MAJOR, SOLE BARN INTUENS
SCIPIONEM, CATONEM, LACLIUM, NOSTRUM VERO IN PRIMIS AVUM COGITARE. TANTA
VIS ADMONITIONIS INEST IN LOCIS; UT NON SINE CAUSA EX HIS MEMORIAE DUCTA
SIT DISCIPLINA. Cicero de Finibus, lib. 5.
{"Should I, he said, "attribute to instinct or to some kind of illusion
the fact that when we see those places in which we are told notable men
spent much of their time, we are more powerfully affected than when we
hear of the exploits of the men themselves or read something written?
This is just what is happening to me now; for I am reminded of Plato who,
we are told, was the first to make a practice of holding discussions
here. Those gardens of his near by do not merely put me in mind of him;
they seem to set the man himself before my very eyes. Speusippus was
here; so was Xenocrates; so was his pupil, Polemo, and that very seat
which we may view was his.
"Then again, when I looked at our Senate-house (I mean the old building
of Hostilius, not this new one; when it was enlarged, it diminished in my
estimation), I used to think of Scipio, Cato, Laelius and in particular
of my own grandfather.
"Such is the power of places to evoke associations; so it is with good
reason that they are used as a basis for memory training."}]
No one can doubt but causation has the same influence as the other two
relations; of resemblance and contiguity. Superstitious people are fond
of the relicks of saints and holy men, for the same reason that they seek
after types and images, in order to enliven their devotion, and give them
a more intimate and strong conception of those exemplary lives, which
they desire to imitate. Now it is evident, one of the best relicks a
devotee coued 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, from which we learn the reality of his existence. This phaenomenon
clearly proves, that a present impression with a relation of causation
may, inliven any idea, and consequently produce belief or assent,
according to the precedent definition of it.
But why need we seek for other arguments to prove, that a present
impression with a relation or transition of the fancy may inliven any
idea, when this very instance of our reasonings from cause and effect
will alone suffice to that purpose? It is certain we must have an idea of
every matter of fact, which we believe. It is certain, that this idea
arises only from a relation to a present impression. It is certain, that
the belief super-adds nothing to the idea, but only changes our manner of
conceiving it, and renders it more strong and lively. The present
conclusion concerning the influence of relation is the immediate
consequence of all these steps; and every step appears to me sure end
infallible. There enters nothing into this operation of the mind but a
present impression, a lively idea, and a relation or association in the
fancy betwixt the impression and idea; so that there can be no suspicion
of mistake.
In order to put this whole affair in a fuller light, let us consider it
as a question in natural philosophy, which we must determine by
experience and observation. I suppose there is an object presented, from
which I draw a certain conclusion, and form to myself ideas, which I am
said to believe or assent to. Here it is evident, that however that
object, which is present to my senses, and that other, whose existence I
infer by reasoning, may be thought to influence each other by their
particular powers or qualities; yet as the phenomenon of belief, which we
at present examine, is merely internal, these powers and qualities, being
entirely unknown, can have no hand in producing it. It is the present
impression, which is to be considered as the true and real cause of the
idea, and of the belief which attends it. We must therefore endeavour to
discover by experiments the particular qualities, by which it is enabled
to produce so extraordinary an effect.
First then I observe, that the present impression has not this effect by
its own proper power and efficacy, and when considered alone, as a single
perception, limited to the present moment. I find, that an impression,
from which, on its first appearance, I can draw no conclusion, may
afterwards become the foundation of belief, when I have had experience of
its usual consequences. We must in every case have observed the same
impression in past instances, and have found it to be constantly
conjoined with some other impression. This is confirmed by such a
multitude of experiments, that it admits not of the smallest doubt.
From a second observation I conclude, that the belief, which attends the
present impression, and is produced by a number of past impressions and
conjunctions; that this belief, I say, arises immediately, without any
new operation of the reason or imagination. Of this I can be certain,
because I never am conscious of any such operation, and find nothing in
the subject, on which it can be founded. Now as we call every thing
CUSTOM, which proceeds from a past repetition, without any new reasoning
or conclusion, we-may establish it as a certain truth, that all the
belief, which follows upon any present impression, is derived solely from
that origin. When we are accustomed to see two impressions conjoined
together, the appearance or idea of the one immediately carries us to the
idea of the other.
Being fully satisfyed on this head, I make a third set of experiments, in
order to know, whether any thing be requisite, beside the customary
transition, towards the production of this phaenomenon of belief. I
therefore change the first impression into an idea; and observe, that
though the customary transition to the correlative idea still remains, yet
there is in reality no belief nor perswasion. A present impression, then,
is absolutely requisite to this whole operation; and when after this I
compare an impression with an idea, and find that their only difference
consists in their different degrees of force and vivacity, I conclude
upon the whole, that belief is a more vivid and intense conception of an
idea, proceeding from its relation to a present impression.
Thus all probable reasoning is nothing but a species of sensation. It is
not solely in poetry and music, we must follow our taste and sentiment,
but likewise in philosophy. When I am convinced of any principle, it is
only an idea, which strikes more strongly upon me. When I give the
preference to one set of arguments above another, I do nothing but decide
from my feeling concerning the superiority of their influence. Objects
have no discoverable connexion together; nor is it from any other
principle but custom operating upon the imagination, that we can draw any
inference from the appearance of one to the existence of another.
It will here be worth our observation, that the past experience, on which
all our judgments concerning cause and effect depend, may operate on our
mind in such an insensible manner as never to be taken notice of, and may
even in some measure be unknown to us. A person, who stops short in his
journey upon meeting a river in his way, foresees the consequences of his
proceeding forward; and his knowledge of these consequences is conveyed
to him by past experience, which informs him of such certain conjunctions
of causes and effects. But can we think, that on this occasion he
reflects on any past experience, and calls to remembrance instances, that
he has seen or heard of, in order to discover the effects of water on
animal bodies? No surely; this is not the method, in which he proceeds in
his reasoning. The idea of sinking is so closely connected with that of
water, and the idea of suffocating with that of sinking, that the mind
makes the transition without the assistance of the memory. The custom
operates before we have time for reflection. The objects seem so
inseparable, that we interpose not a moment's delay in passing from the
one to the other. But as this transition proceeds from experience, and
not from any primary connexion betwixt the ideas, we must necessarily
acknowledge, that experience may produce a belief and a judgment of
causes and effects by a secret operation, and without being once thought
of. This removes all pretext, if there yet remains any, for asserting
that the mind is convinced by reasoning of that principle, that instances
of which we have no experience, must necessarily resemble those, of which
we have. For we here find, that the understanding or imagination can draw
inferences from past experience, without reflecting on it; much more
without forming any principle concerning it, or reasoning upon that
principle.
In general we may observe, that in all the most established and uniform
conjunctions of causes and effects, such as those of gravity, impulse,
solidity, &c. the mind never carries its view expressly to consider any
past experience: Though in other associations of objects, which are more
rare and unusual, it may assist the custom and transition of ideas by
this reflection. Nay we find in some cases, that the reflection produces
the belief without the custom; or more properly speaking, that the
reflection produces the custom in an oblique and artificial manner. I
explain myself. It is certain, that not only in philosophy, but even in
common life, we may attain the knowledge of a particular cause merely by
one experiment, provided it be made with judgment, and after a careful
removal of all foreign and superfluous circumstances. Now as after one
experiment of this kind, the mind, upon the appearance either of the
cause or the effect, can draw an inference concerning the existence of
its correlative; and as a habit can never be acquired merely by one
instance; it may be thought, that belief cannot in this case be esteemed
the effect of custom. But this difficulty will vanish, if we consider,
that though we are here supposed to have had only one experiment of a
particular effect, yet we have many millions to convince us of this
principle; that like objects placed in like circumstances, will always
produce like effects; and as this principle has established itself by a
sufficient custom, it bestows an evidence and firmness on any opinion, to
which it can be applied. The connexion of the ideas is not habitual after
one experiment: but this connexion is comprehended under another
principle, that is habitual; which brings us back to our hypothesis. In
all cases we transfer our experience to instances, of which we have no
experience, either expressly or tacitly, either directly or indirectly.
I must not conclude this subject without observing, that it is very
difficult to talk of the operations of the mind with perfect propriety
and exactness; because common language has seldom made any very nice
distinctions among them, but has generally called by the same term all
such as nearly resemble each other. And as this is a source almost
inevitable of obscurity and confusion in the author; so it may frequently
give rise to doubts and objections in the reader, which otherwise he
would never have dreamed of. Thus my general position, that an opinion or
belief is nothing but a strong and lively idea derived from a present
impression related to it, maybe liable to the following objection, by
reason of a little ambiguity in those words strong and lively. It may be
said, that not only an impression may give rise to reasoning, but that an
idea may also have the same influence; especially upon my principle, that
all our ideas are derived from correspondent impressions. For suppose I
form at present an idea, of which I have forgot the correspondent
impression, I am able to conclude from this idea, that such an impression
did once exist; and as this conclusion is attended with belief, it may be
asked, from whence are the qualities of force and vivacity derived, which
constitute this belief? And to this I answer very readily, from the
present idea. For as this idea is not here considered, as the
representation of any absent object, but as a real perception in the
mind, of which we are intimately conscious, it must be able to bestow on
whatever is related to it the same quality, call it firmness, or
solidity, or force, or vivacity, with which the mind reflects upon it,
and is assured of its present existence. The idea here supplies the place
of an impression, and is entirely the same, so far as regards our present
purpose.
Upon the same principles we need not be surprized to hear of the
remembrance of an idea: that is, of the idea of an idea, and of its force
and vivacity superior to the loose conceptions of the imagination. In
thinking of our past thoughts we not only delineate out the objects, of
which we were thinking, but also conceive the action of the mind in the
meditation, that certain JE-NE-SCAI-QUOI, of which it is impossible to
give any definition or description, but which every one sufficiently
understands. When the memory offers an idea of this, and represents it as
past, it is easily conceived how that idea may have more vigour and
firmness, than when we think of a past thought, of which we have no
remembrance.
After this any one will understand how we may form the idea of an
impression and of an idea, and how we way believe the existence of an
impression and of an idea.
SECT. IX. OF THE EFFECTS OF OTHER RELATIONS AND OTHER HABITS.
However convincing the foregoing arguments may appear, we must not rest
contented with them, but must turn the subject on every side, in order to
find some new points of view, from which we may illustrate and confirm
such extraordinary, and such fundamental principles. A scrupulous
hesitation to receive any new hypothesis is so laudable a disposition in
philosophers, and so necessary to the examination of truth, that it
deserves to be complyed with, and requires that every argument be
produced, which may tend to their satisfaction, and every objection
removed, which may stop them in their reasoning.
I have often observed, that, beside cause and effect, the two relations
of resemblance and contiguity, are to be considered as associating
principles of thought, and as capable of conveying the imagination from
one idea to another. I have also observed, that when of two objects
connected to-ether by any of these relations, one is immediately present
to the memory or senses, not only the mind is conveyed to its co-relative
by means of the associating principle; but likewise conceives it with an
additional force and vigour, by the united operation of that principle,
and of the present impression. All this I have observed, in order to
confirm by analogy, my explication of our judgments concerning cause and
effect. But this very argument may, perhaps, be turned against me, and
instead of a confirmation of my hypothesis, may become an objection to
it. For it may be said, that if all the parts of that hypothesis be true,
viz. that these three species of relation are derived from the same
principles; that their effects in informing and enlivening our ideas are
the same; and that belief is nothing but a more forcible and vivid
conception of an idea; it should follow, that that action of the mind may
not only be derived from the relation of cause and effect, but also from
those of contiguity and resemblance. But as we find by experience, that
belief arises only from causation, and that we can draw no inference
from one object to another, except they be connected by this relation, we
may conclude, that there is some error in that reasoning, which leads us
into such difficulties.
This is the objection; let us now consider its solution. It is evident,
that whatever is present to the memory, striking upon the mind with a
vivacity, which resembles an immediate impression, must become of
considerable moment in all the operations of the mind, and must easily
distinguish itself above the mere fictions of the imagination. Of these
impressions or ideas of the memory we form a kind of system,
comprehending whatever we remember to have been present, either to our
internal perception or senses; and every particular of that system,
joined to the present impressions, we are pleased to call a reality. But
the mind stops not here. For finding, that with this system of
perceptions, there is another connected by custom, or if you will, by the
relation of cause or effect, it proceeds to the consideration of their
ideas; and as it feels that it is in a manner necessarily determined to
view these particular ideas, and that the custom or relation, by which it
is determined, admits not of the least change, it forms them into a new
system, which it likewise dignifies with the title of realities. The
first of these systems is the object of the memory and senses; the second
of the judgment.
It is this latter principle, which peoples the world, and brings us
acquainted with such existences, as by their removal in time and place,
lie beyond the reach of the senses and memory. By means of it I paint the
universe in my imagination, and fix my attention on any part of it I
please. I form an idea of ROME, which I neither see nor remember; but
which is connected with such impressions as I remember to have received
from the conversation and books of travellers and historians. This idea
of Rome I place in a certain situation on the idea of an object, which I
call the globe. I join to it the conception of a particular government,
and religion, and manners. I look backward and consider its first
foundation; its several revolutions, successes, and misfortunes. All
this, and everything else, which I believe, are nothing but ideas; though
by their force and settled order, arising from custom and the relation of
cause and effect, they distinguish themselves from the other ideas, which
are merely the offspring of the imagination.
As to the influence of contiguity and resemblance, we may observe, that
if the contiguous and resembling object be comprehended in this system of
realities, there is no doubt but these two relations will assist that of
cause and effect, and infix the related idea with more force in the
imagination. This I shall enlarge upon presently. Mean while I shall
carry my observation a step farther, and assert, that even where the
related object is but feigned, the relation will serve to enliven the
idea, and encrease its influence. A poet, no doubt, will be the better
able to form a strong description of the Elysian fields, that he prompts
his imagination by the view of a beautiful meadow or garden; as at
another time he may by his fancy place himself in the midst of these
fabulous regions, that by the feigned contiguity he may enliven his
imagination.
But though I cannot altogether exclude the relations of resemblance and
contiguity from operating on the fancy in this manner, it is observable
that, when single, their influence is very feeble and uncertain. As the
relation of cause and effect is requisite to persuade us of any real
existence, so is this persuasion requisite to give force to these other
relations. For where upon the appearance of an impression we not only
feign another object, but likewise arbitrarily, and of our mere good-will
and pleasure give it a particular relation to the impression, this can
have but a small effect upon the mind; nor is there any reason, why, upon
the return of the same impression, we should be determined to place the
same object in the same relation to it. There is no manner of necessity
for the mind to feign any resembling and contiguous objects; and if it
feigns such, there is as little necessity for it always to confine itself
to the same, without any difference or variation. And indeed such a
fiction is founded on so little reason, that nothing but pure caprice can
determine the mind to form it; and that principle being fluctuating and
uncertain, it is impossible it can ever operate with any considerable
degree of force and constancy. The mind forsees and anticipates the
change; and even from the very first instant feels the looseness of its
actions, and the weak hold it has of its objects. And as this
imperfection is very sensible in every single instance, it still
encreases by experience and observation, when we compare the several
instances we may remember, and form a general rule against the reposing
any assurance in those momentary glimpses of light, which arise in the
imagination from a feigned resemblance and contiguity.
The relation of cause and effect has all the opposite advantages. The
objects it presents are fixt and unalterable. The impressions of the
memory never change in any considerable degree; and each impression draws
along with it a precise idea, which takes its place in the imagination as
something solid and real, certain and invariable. The thought is always
determined to pass from the impression to the idea, and from that
particular impression to that particular idea, without any choice or
hesitation.
But not content with removing this objection, I shall endeavour to
extract from it a proof of the present doctrine. Contiguity and
resemblance have an effect much inferior to causation; but still have
some effect, and augment the conviction of any opinion, and the vivacity
of any conception. If this can be proved in several new instances, beside
what we have already observed, it will be allowed no inconsiderable
argument, that belief is nothing but a lively idea related to a present
impression.
To begin with contiguity; it has been remarked among the Mahometans as
well as Christians, that those pilgrims, who have seen MECCA or the HOLY
LAND, are ever after more faithful and zealous believers, than those who
have not had that advantage. A man, whose memory presents him with a
lively image of the Red-Sea, and the Desert, and Jerusalem, and Galilee,
can never doubt of any miraculous events, which are related either by
Moses or the Evangelists. The lively idea of the places passes by an easy
transition to the facts, which are supposed to have been related to them
by contiguity, and encreases the belief by encreasing the vivacity of the
conception. The remembrance of these fields and rivers has the same
influence on the vulgar as a new argument; and from the same causes.
We may form a like observation concerning resemblance. We have remarked,
that the conclusion, which we draw from a present object to its absent
cause or effect, is never founded on any qualities, which we observe in
that object, considered in itself, or, in other words, that it is
impossible to determine, otherwise than by experience, what will result
from any phenomenon, or what has preceded it. But though this be so evident
in itself, that it seemed not to require any, proof; yet some
philosophers have imagined that there is an apparent cause for the
communication of motion, and that a reasonable man might immediately
infer the motion of one body from the impulse of another, without having
recourse to any past observation. That this opinion is false will admit
of an easy proof. For if such an inference may be drawn merely from the
ideas of body, of motion, and of impulse, it must amount to a
demonstration, and must imply the absolute impossibility of any contrary
supposition. Every effect, then, beside the communication of motion,
implies a formal contradiction; and it is impossible not only that it can
exist, but also that it can be conceived. But we may soon satisfy
ourselves of the contrary, by forming a clear and consistent idea of one
body's moving upon another, and of its rest immediately upon the contact,
or of its returning back in the same line in which it came; or of its
annihilation; or circular or elliptical motion: and in short, of an
infinite number of other changes, which we may suppose it to undergo.
These suppositions are all consistent and natural; and the reason, Why we
imagine the communication of motion to be more consistent and natural not
only than those suppositions, but also than any other natural effect, is
founded on the relation of resemblance betwixt the cause and effect,
which is here united to experience, and binds the objects in the closest
and most intimate manner to each other, so as to make us imagine them to
be absolutely inseparable. Resemblance, then, has the same or a parallel
influence with experience; and as the only immediate effect of experience
is to associate our ideas together, it follows, that all belief arises
from the association of ideas, according to my hypothesis.
It is universally allowed by the writers on optics, that the eye at all
times sees an equal number of physical points, and that a man on the top
of a mountain has no larger an image presented to his senses, than when
he is cooped up in the narrowest court or chamber. It is only by
experience that he infers the greatness of the object from some peculiar
qualities of the image; and this inference of the judgment he confounds
with sensation, as is common on other occasions. Now it is evident, that
the inference of the judgment is here much more lively than what is usual
in our common reasonings, and that a man has a more vivid conception of
the vast extent of the ocean from the image he receives by the eye, when
he stands on the top of the high promontory, than merely from hearing the
roaring of the waters. He feels a more sensible pleasure from its
magnificence; which is a proof of a more lively idea: And he confounds
his judgment with sensation, which is another proof of it. But as the
inference is equally certain and immediate in both cases, this superior
vivacity of our conception in one case can proceed from nothing but this,
that in drawing an inference from the sight, beside the customary
conjunction, there is also a resemblance betwixt the image and the object
we infer; which strengthens the relation, and conveys the vivacity of the
impression to the related idea with an easier and more natural movement.
No weakness of human nature is more universal and conspicuous than what
we commonly call CREDULITY, or a too easy faith in the testimony of
others; and this weakness is also very naturally accounted for from the
influence of resemblance. When we receive any matter of fact upon human
testimony, our faith arises from the very same origin as our inferences
from causes to effects, and from effects to causes; nor is there anything
but our experience of the governing principles of human nature, which can
give us any assurance of the veracity of men. But though experience be the
true standard of this, as well as of all other judgments, we. seldom
regulate ourselves entirely by it; but have a remarkable propensity to
believe whatever is reported, even concerning apparitions, enchantments,
and prodigies, however contrary to daily experience and observation. The
words or discourses of others have an intimate connexion with certain
ideas in their mind; and these ideas have also a connexion with the facts
or objects, which they represent. This latter connexion is generally much
over-rated, and commands our assent beyond what experience will justify;
which can proceed from nothing beside the resemblance betwixt the ideas
and the facts. Other effects only point out their causes in an oblique
manner; but the testimony of men does it directly, and is to be
considered as an image as well as an effect. No wonder, therefore, we are
so rash in drawing our inferences from it, and are less guided by
experience in our judgments concerning it, than in those upon any other
subject.
As resemblance, when conjoined with causation, fortifies our reasonings;
so the want of it in any very great degree is able almost entirely to
destroy them. Of this there is a remarkable instance in the universal
carelessness and stupidity of men with regard to a future state, where
they show as obstinate an incredulity, as they do a blind credulity on
other occasions. There is not indeed a more ample matter of wonder to the
studious, and of regret to the pious man, than to observe the negligence
of the bulk of mankind concerning their approaching condition; and it is
with reason, that many eminent theologians have not scrupled to affirm,
that though the vulgar have no formal principles of infidelity, yet they
are really infidels in their hearts, and have nothing like what we can
call a belief of the eternal duration of their souls. For let us consider
on the one hand what divines have displayed with such eloquence
concerning the importance of eternity; and at the same time reflect, that
though in matters of rhetoric we ought to lay our account with some
exaggeration, we must in this case allow, that the strongest figures are
infinitely inferior to the subject: And after this let us view on the
other hand, the prodigious security of men in this particular: I ask, if
these people really believe what is inculcated on them, and what they
pretend to affirm; and the answer is obviously in the negative. As belief
is an act of the mind arising from custom, it is not strange the want of
resemblance should overthrow what custom has established, and diminish
the force of the idea, as much as that latter principle encreases it. A
future state is so far removed from our comprehension, and we have so
obscure an idea of the manner, in which we shall exist after the
dissolution of the body, that all the reasons we can invent, however
strong in themselves, and however much assisted by education, are never
able with slow imaginations to surmount this difficulty, or bestow a
sufficient authority and force on the idea. I rather choose to ascribe
this incredulity to the faint idea we form of our future condition,
derived from its want of resemblance to the present life, than to that
derived from its remoteness. For I observe, that men are everywhere
concerned about what may happen after their death, provided it regard
this world; and that there are few to whom their name, their family,
their friends, and their country are in. any period of time entirely
indifferent.
And indeed the want of resemblance in this case so entirely destroys
belief, that except those few, who upon cool reflection on the importance
of the subject, have taken care by repeated meditation to imprint in
their minds the arguments for a future state, there scarce are any, who
believe the immortality of the soul with a true and established judgment;
such as is derived from the testimony of travellers and historians. This
appears very conspicuously wherever men have occasion to compare the
pleasures and pains, the rewards and punishments of this life with those
of a future; even though the case does not concern themselves, and there
is no violent passion to disturb their judgment. The Roman Clatholicks are
certainly the most zealous of any sect in the Christian world; and yet
you'll find few among the more sensible people of that communion who do
not blame the Gunpowder-treason, and the massacre of St. Bartholomew, as
cruel and barbarous, though projected or executed against those very
people, whom without any scruple they condemn to eternal and infinite
punishments. All we can say in excuse for this inconsistency is, that
they really do not believe what they affirm concerning a future state;
nor is there any better proof of it than the very inconsistency.
We may add to this a remark; that in matters of religion men take a
pleasure in being terrifyed, and that no preachers are so popular, as
those who excite the most dismal and gloomy passions. In the common
affairs of life, where we feel and are penetrated with the solidity of
the subject, nothing can be more disagreeable than fear and terror; and
it is only in dramatic performances and in religious discourses, that they
ever give pleasure. In these latter cases the imagination reposes itself
indolently on the idea; and the passion, being softened by the want of
belief in the subject, has no more than the agreeable effect of
enlivening the mind, and fixing the attention.
The present hypothesis will receive additional confirmation, if we
examine the effects of other kinds of custom, as well as of other
relations. To understand this we must consider, that custom, to which I
attribute all belief and reasoning, may operate upon the mind in
invigorating an idea after two several ways. For supposing that in all
past experience we have found two objects to have been always conjoined
together, it is evident, that upon the appearance of one of these objects
in an impression, we must from custom make an easy transition to the idea
of that object, which usually attends it; and by means of the present
impression and easy transition must conceive that idea in a stronger and
more lively manner, than we do any loose floating image of the fancy. But
let us next suppose, that a mere idea alone, without any of this curious
and almost artificial preparation, should frequently make its appearance
in the mind, this idea must by degrees acquire a facility and force; and
both by its firm hold and easy introduction distinguish itself from any
new and unusual idea. This is the only particular, in which these two
kinds of custom agree; and if it appear, that their effects on the
judgment, are similar and proportionable, we may certainly conclude, that
the foregoing explication of that faculty is satisfactory. But can we
doubt of this agreement in their influence on the judgment, when we
consider the nature and effects Of EDUCATION?
All those opinions and notions of things, to which we have been
accustomed from our infancy, take such deep root, that it is impossible
for us, by all the powers of reason and experience, to eradicate them;
and this habit not only approaches in its influence, but even on many
occasions prevails over that which a-rises from the constant and
inseparable union of causes and effects. Here we most not be contented
with saying, that the vividness of the idea produces the belief: We must
maintain that they are individually the same. The frequent repetition of
any idea infixes it in the imagination; but coued never possibly of
itself produce belief, if that act of the mind was, by the original
constitution of our natures, annexed only to a reasoning and comparison
of ideas. Custom may lead us into some false comparison of ideas. This is
the utmost effect we can conceive of it. But it is certain it coued never
supply the place of that comparison, nor produce any act of the mind,
which naturally belonged to that principle.
A person, that has lost a leg or an arm by amputation, endeavours for a
long time afterwards to serve himself with them. After the death of any
one, it is a common remark of the whole family, but especially of the
servants, that they can scarce believe him to be dead, but still imagine
him to be in his chamber or in any other place, where they were
accustomed to find him. I have often heard in conversation, after talking
of a person, that is any way celebrated, that one, who has no
acquaintance with him, will say, I have never seen such-a-one, but almost
fancy I have; so often have I heard talk of him. All these are parallel
instances.
If we consider this argument from EDUCATION in a proper light, it will
appear very convincing; and the more so, that it is founded on one of the
most common phaenomena, that is any where to be met with. I am persuaded,
that upon examination we shall find more than one half of those opinions,
that prevail among mankind, to be owing to education, and that the
principles, which are thus implicitely embraced, overballance those,
which are owing either to abstract reasoning or experience. As liars, by
the frequent repetition of their lies, come at last to remember them; so
the judgment, or rather the imagination, by the like means, may have
ideas so strongly imprinted on it, and conceive them in so full a light,
that they may operate upon the mind in the same manner with those, which
the senses, memory or reason present to us. But as education is an
artificial and not a natural cause, and as its maxims are frequently
contrary to reason, and even to themselves in different times and places,
it is never upon that account recognized by philosophers; though in
reality it be built almost on the same foundation of custom and repetition
as our reasonings from causes and effects.
[Footnote 7. In general we may observe, that as our assent to all probable
reasonings is founded on the vivacity of ideas, It resembles many of
those whimsies and prejudices, which are rejected under the opprobrious
character of being the offspring of the imagination. By this expression
it appears that the word, imagination, is commonly usd in two different
senses; and tho nothing be more contrary to true philosophy, than this
inaccuracy, yet in the following reasonings I have often been obligd to
fall into it. When I oppose the Imagination to the memory, I mean the
faculty, by which we form our fainter ideas. When I oppose it to reason,
I mean the same faculty, excluding only our demonstrative and probable
reasonings. When I oppose it to neither, it is indifferent whether it be
taken in the larger or more limited sense, or at least the context will
sufficiently explain the meaning.]
SECT. X. OF THE INFLUENCE OF BELIEF.
But though education be disclaimed by philosophy, as a fallacious ground
of assent to any opinion, it prevails nevertheless in the world, and is
the cause why all systems are apt to be rejected at first as new and
unusual. This perhaps will be the fate of what I have here advanced
concerning belief, and though the proofs I have produced appear to me
perfectly conclusive, I expect not to make many proselytes to my opinion.
Men will scarce ever be persuaded, that effects of such consequence can
flow from principles, which are seemingly so inconsiderable, and that the
far greatest part of our reasonings with all our actions and passions, can
be derived from nothing but custom and habit. To obviate this objection, I
shall here anticipate a little what would more properly fall under our
consideration afterwards, when we come to treat of the passions and the
sense of beauty.
There is implanted in the human mind a perception of pain and pleasure,
as the chief spring and moving principle of all its actions. But pain and
pleasure have two ways of making their appearance in the mind; of which
the one has effects very different from the other. They may either appear
in impression to the actual feeling, or only in idea, as at present when
I mention them. It is evident the influence of these upon our actions is
far from being equal. Impressions always actuate the soul, and that in
the highest degree; but it is not every idea which has the same effect.
Nature has proceeded with caution in this came, and seems to have
carefully avoided the inconveniences of two extremes. Did impressions
alone influence the will, we should every moment of our lives be subject
to the greatest calamities; because, though we foresaw their approach, we
should not be provided by nature with any principle of action, which
might impel us to avoid them. On the other hand, did every idea influence
our actions, our condition would not be much mended. For such is the
unsteadiness and activity of thought, that the images of every thing,
especially of goods and evils, are always wandering in the mind; and were
it moved by every idle conception of this kind, it would never enjoy a
moment's peace and tranquillity.
Nature has, therefore, chosen a medium, and has neither bestowed on every
idea of good and evil the power of actuating the will, nor yet has
entirely excluded them from this influence. Though an idle fiction has no
efficacy, yet we find by experience, that the ideas of those objects,
which we believe either are or will be existent, produce in a lesser
degree the same effect with those impressions, which are immediately
present to the senses and perception. The effect, then, of belief is to
raise up a simple idea to an equality with our impressions, and bestow on
it a like influence on the passions. This effect it can only have by
making an idea approach an impression in force and vivacity. For as the
different degrees of force make all the original difference betwixt an
impression and an idea, they must of consequence be the source of all the
differences in the effects of these perceptions, and their removal, in
whole or in part, the cause of every new resemblance they acquire.
Wherever we can make an idea approach the impressions in force and
vivacity, it will likewise imitate them in its influence on the mind; and
vice versa, where it imitates them in that influence, as in the present
case, this must proceed from its approaching them in force and vivacity.
Belief, therefore, since it causes an idea to imitate the effects of the
impressions, must make it resemble them in these qualities, and is
nothing but A MORE VIVID AND INTENSE CONCEPTION OF ANY IDEA. This, then,
may both serve as an additional argument for the present system, and may
give us a notion after what manner our reasonings from causation are able
to operate on the will and passions.
As belief is almost absolutely requisite to the exciting our passions, so
the passions in their turn are very favourable to belief; and not only
such facts as convey agreeable emotions, but very often such as give
pain, do upon that account become more readily the objects of faith and
opinion. A coward, whose fears are easily awakened, readily assents to
every account of danger he meets with; as a person of a sorrowful and
melancholy disposition is very credulous of every thing, that nourishes
his prevailing passion. When any affecting object is presented, it gives
the alarm, and excites immediately a degree of its proper passion;
especially in persons who are naturally inclined to that passion. This
emotion passes by an easy transition to the imagination; and diffusing
itself over our idea of the affecting object, makes us form that idea
with greater force and vivacity, and consequently assent to it, according
to the precedent system. Admiration and surprize have the same effect as
the other passions; and accordingly we may observe, that among the
vulgar, quacks and projectors meet with a more easy faith upon account of
their magnificent pretensions, than if they kept themselves within the
bounds of moderation. The first astonishment, which naturally attends
their miraculous relations, spreads itself over the whole soul, and so
vivifies and enlivens the idea, that it resembles the inferences we draw
from experience. This is a mystery, with which we may be already a little
acquainted, and which we shall have farther occasion to be let into in
the progress of this treatise.
After this account of the influence of belief on the passions, we shall
find less difficulty in explaining its effects on the imagination,
however extraordinary they may appear. It is certain we cannot take
pleasure in any discourse, where our judgment gives no assent to those
images which are presented to our fancy. The conversation of those who
have acquired a habit of lying, though in affairs of no moment, never
gives any satisfaction; and that because those ideas they present to us,
not being attended with belief, make no impression upon the mind. Poets
themselves, though liars by profession, always endeavour to give an air of
truth to their fictions; and where that is totally neglected, their
performances, however ingenious, will never be able to afford much
pleasure. In short, we may observe, that even when ideas have no manner
of influence on the will and passions, truth and reality are still
requisite, in order to make them entertaining to the imagination.
But if we compare together all the phenomena that occur on this head, we
shall find, that truth, however necessary it may seem in all works of
genius, has no other effect than to procure an easy reception for the
ideas, and to make the mind acquiesce in them with satisfaction, or at
least without reluctance. But as this is an effect, which may easily be
supposed to flow from that solidity and force, which, according to my
system, attend those ideas that are established by reasonings from
causation; it follows, that all the influence of belief upon the fancy
may be explained from that system. Accordingly we may observe, that
wherever that influence arises from any other principles beside truth or
reality, they supply its place, and give an equal entertainment to the
imagination. Poets have formed what they call a poetical system of
things, which though it be believed neither by themselves nor readers, is
commonly esteemed a sufficient foundation for any fiction. We have been
so much accustomed to the names of MARS, JUPITER, VENUS, that in the same
manner as education infixes any opinion, the constant repetition of these
ideas makes them enter into the mind with facility, and prevail upon the
fancy, without influencing the judgment. In like manner tragedians always
borrow their fable, or at least the names of their principal actors, from
some known passage in history; and that not in order to deceive the
spectators; for they will frankly confess, that truth is not in any
circumstance inviolably observed: but in order to procure a more easy
reception into the imagination for those extraordinary events, which they
represent. But this is a precaution, which is not required of comic
poets, whose personages and incidents, being of a more familiar kind,
enter easily into the conception, and are received without any such
formality, even though at first night they be known to be fictitious, and
the pure offspring of the fancy.
This mixture of truth and falshood in the fables of tragic poets not only
serves our present purpose, by shewing, that the imagination can be
satisfyed without any absolute belief or assurance; but may in another
view be regarded as a very strong confirmation of this system. It is
evident, that poets make use of this artifice of borrowing the names of
their persons, and the chief events of their poems, from history, in
order to procure a more easy reception for the whole, and cause it to
make a deeper impression on the fancy and affections. The several
incidents of the piece acquire a kind of relation by being united into
one poem or representation; and if any of these incidents be an object of
belief, it bestows a force and vivacity on the others, which are related
to it. The vividness of the first conception diffuses itself along the
relations, and is conveyed, as by so many pipes or canals, to every idea
that has any communication with the primary one. This, indeed, can never
amount to a perfect assurance; and that because the union among the ideas
is, in a manner, accidental: But still it approaches so near, in its
influence, as may convince us, that they are derived from the same
origin. Belief must please the imagination by means of the force and
vivacity which attends it; since every idea, which has force and
vivacity, is found to be agreeable to that faculty.
To confirm this we may observe, that the assistance is mutual betwixt the
judgment and fancy, as well as betwixt the judgment and passion; and that
belief not only gives vigour to the imagination, but that a vigorous and
strong imagination is of all talents the most proper to procure belief
and authority. It is difficult for us to withhold our assent from what is
painted out to us in all the colours of eloquence; and the vivacity
produced by the fancy is in many cases greater than that which arises
from custom and experience. We are hurried away by the lively imagination
of our author or companion; and even be himself is often a victim to his
own fire and genius.
Nor will it be amiss to remark, that as a lively imagination very often
degenerates into madness or folly, and bears it a great resemblance in
its operations; so they influence the judgment after the same manner, and
produce belief from the very same principles. When the imagination, from
any extraordinary ferment of the blood and spirits, acquires such a
vivacity as disorders all its powers and faculties, there is no means of
distinguishing betwixt truth and falshood; but every loose fiction or
idea, having the same influence as the impressions of the memory, or the
conclusions of the judgment, is received on the same footing, and
operates with equal force on the passions. A present impression and a
customary transition are now no longer necessary to enliven our ideas.
Every chimera of the brain is as vivid and intense as any of those
inferences, which we formerly dignifyed with the name of conclusions
concerning matters of fact, and sometimes as the present impressions of
the senses.
We may observe the same effect of poetry in a lesser degree; and this is
common both to poetry and madness, that the vivacity they bestow on the
ideas is not derived from the particular situations or connexions of the
objects of these ideas, but from the present temper and disposition of
the person. But how great soever the pitch may be, to which this vivacity
rises, it is evident, that in poetry it never has the same feeling with
that which arises in the mind, when we reason, though even upon the lowest
species of probability. The mind can easily distinguish betwixt the one
and the other; and whatever emotion the poetical enthusiasm may give to
the spirits, it is still the mere phantom of belief or persuasion. The
case is the same with the idea, as with the passion it occasions. There
is no passion of the human mind but what may arise from poetry; though at
the same time the feelings of the passions are very different when
excited by poetical fictions, from what they are when they are from
belief and reality. A passion, which is disagreeable in real life, may
afford the highest entertainment in a tragedy, or epic poem. In the
latter case, it lies not with that weight upon us: It feels less firm and
solid: And has no other than the agreeable effect of exciting the
spirits, and rouzing the attention. The difference in the passions is a
clear proof of a like difference in those ideas, from which the passions
are derived. Where the vivacity arises from a customary conjunction with
a present impression; though the imagination may not, in appearance, be so
much moved; yet there is always something more forcible and real in its
actions, than in the fervors of poetry and eloquence. The force of our
mental actions in this case, no more than in any other, is not to be
measured by the apparent agitation of the mind. A poetical description
may have a more sensible effect on the fancy, than an historical
narration. It may collect more of those circumstances, that form a
compleat image or picture. It may seem to set the object before us in
more lively colours. But still the ideas it presents are different to the
feeling from those, which arise from the memory and the judgment. There
is something weak and imperfect amidst all that seeming vehemence of
thought and sentiment, which attends the fictions of poetry.
We shall afterwards have occasion to remark both the resemblance and
differences betwixt a poetical enthusiasm, and a serious conviction. In
the mean time I cannot forbear observing, that the great difference in
their feeling proceeds in some measure from reflection and GENERAL RULES.
We observe, that the vigour of conception, which fictions receive from
poetry and eloquence, is a circumstance merely accidental, of which every
idea is equally susceptible; and that such fictions are connected with
nothing that is real. This observation makes us only lend ourselves, so
to speak, to the fiction: But causes the idea to feel very different from
the eternal established persuasions founded on memory and custom. They
are somewhat of the same kind: But the one is much inferior to the other,
both in its causes and effects.
A like reflection on general rules keeps us from augmenting our belief
upon every encrease of the force and vivacity of our ideas. Where an
opinion admits of no doubt, or opposite probability, we attribute to it a
full conviction: though the want of resemblance, or contiguity, may render
its force inferior to that of other opinions. It is thus the understanding
corrects the appearances of the senses, and makes us imagine, that an
object at twenty foot distance seems even to the eye as large as one of
the same dimensions at ten.
We may observe the same effect of poetry in a lesser degree; only with
this difference, that the least reflection dissipates the illusions of
poetry, and Places the objects in their proper light. It is however
certain, that in the warmth of a poetical enthusiasm, a poet has a,
counterfeit belief, and even a kind of vision of his objects: And if
there be any shadow of argument to support this belief, nothing
contributes more to his full conviction than a blaze of poetical figures
and images, which have their effect upon the poet himself, as well as
upon his readers.
SECT. XI. OF THE PROBABILITY OF CHANCES.
But in order to bestow on this system its full force and evidence, we
must carry our eye from it a moment to consider its consequences, and
explain from the same principles some other species of reasoning, which
are derived from the same origin.
Those philosophers, who have divided human reason into knowledge and
probability, and have defined the first to be that evidence, which arises
from the comparison of ideas, are obliged to comprehend all our arguments
from causes or effects under the general term of probability. But though
every one be free to use his terms in what sense he pleases; and
accordingly in the precedent part of this discourse, I have followed this
method of expression; it is however certain, that in common discourse we
readily affirm, that many arguments from causation exceed probability,
and may be received as a superior kind of evidence. One would appear
ridiculous, who would say, that it is only probable the sun will rise
to-morrow, or that all men must dye; though it is plain we have no further
assurance of these facts, than what experience affords us. For this
reason, it would perhaps be more convenient, in order at once to preserve
the common signification of words, and mark the several degrees of
evidence, to distinguish human reason into three kinds, viz. THAT FROM
KNOWLEDGE, FROM PROOFS, AND FROM PROBABILITIES. By knowledge, I mean the
assurance arising from the comparison of ideas. By proofs, those
arguments, which are derived from the relation of cause and effect, and
which are entirely free from doubt and uncertainty. By probability, that
evidence, which is still attended with uncertainty. It is this last
species of reasoning, I proceed to examine.
Probability or reasoning from conjecture may be divided into two kinds,
viz. that which is founded on chance, and that which arises from causes.
We shall consider each of these in order.
The idea of cause and effect is derived from experience, which presenting
us with certain objects constantly conjoined with each other, produces
such a habit of surveying them in that relation, that we cannot without a
sensible violence survey them iii any other. On the other hand, as chance
is nothing real in itself, and, properly speaking, is merely the negation
of a cause, its influence on the mind is contrary to that of causation;
and it is essential to it, to leave the imagination perfectly indifferent,
either to consider the existence or non-existence of that object, which
is regarded as contingent. A cause traces the way to our thought, and in
a manner forces us to survey such certain objects, in such certain
relations. Chance can only destroy this determination of the thought, and
leave the mind in its native situation of indifference; in which, upon
the absence of a cause, it is instantly re-instated.
Since therefore an entire indifference is essential to chance, no one
chance can possibly be superior to another, otherwise than as it is
composed of a superior number of equal chances. For if we affirm that one
chance can, after any other manner, be superior to another, we must at
the same time affirm, that there is something, which gives it the
superiority, and determines the event rather to that side than the other:
That is, in other words, we must allow of a cause, and destroy the
supposition of chance; which we had before established. A perfect and
total indifference is essential to chance, and one total indifference can
never in itself be either superior or inferior to another. This truth is
not peculiar to my system, but is acknowledged by every one, that forms
calculations concerning chances.
And here it is remarkable, that though chance and causation be directly
contrary, yet it is impossible for us to conceive this combination of
chances, which is requisite to render one hazard superior to another,
without supposing a mixture of causes among the chances, and a
conjunction of necessity in some particulars, with a total indifference
in others. Where nothing limits the chances, every notion, that the most
extravagant fancy can form, is upon a footing of equality; nor can there
be any circumstance to give one the advantage above another. Thus unless
we allow, that there are some causes to make the dice fall, and preserve
their form in their fall, and lie upon some one of their sides, we can
form no calculation concerning the laws of hazard. But supposing these
causes to operate, and supposing likewise all the rest to be indifferent
and to be determined by chance, it is easy to arrive at a notion of a
superior combination of chances. A dye that has four sides marked with a
certain number of spots, and only two with another, affords us an obvious
and easy instance of this superiority. The mind is here limited by the
causes to such a precise number and quality of the events; and at the
same time is undetermined in its choice of any particular event.
Proceeding then in that reasoning, wherein we have advanced three steps;
that chance is merely the negation of a cause, and produces a total
indifference in the mind; that one negation of a cause and one total
indifference can never be superior or inferior to another; and that there
must always be a mixture of causes among the chances, in order to be the
foundation of any reasoning: We are next to consider what effect a
superior combination of chances can have upon the mind, and after what
manner it influences our judgment and opinion. Here we may repeat all the
same arguments we employed in examining that belief, which arises from
causes; and may prove, after the same manner, that a superior number of
chances produces our assent neither by demonstration nor probability.
It is indeed evident that we can never by the comparison of mere ideas
make any discovery, which can be of consequence in this affairs and that
it is impossible to prove with certainty, that any event must fall on that
side where there is a superior number of chances. To, suppose in this
case any certainty, were to overthrow what we have established concerning
the opposition of chances, and their perfect equality and indifference.
Should it be said, that though in an opposition of chances it is
impossible to determine with certainty, on which side the event will fall,
yet we can pronounce with certainty, that it is more likely and probable,
it will be on that side where there is a superior number of chances, than
where there is an inferior: should this be said, I would ask, what is here
meant by likelihood and probability? The likelihood and probability of
chances is a superior number of equal chances; and consequently when we
say it is likely the event win fall on the side, which is superior, rather
than on the inferior, we do no more than affirm, that where there is a
superior number of chances there is actually a superior, and where there
is an inferior there is an inferior; which are identical propositions,
and of no consequence. The question is, by what means a superior number
of equal chances operates upon the mind, and produces belief or assent;
since it appears, that it is neither by arguments derived from
demonstration, nor from probability.
In order to clear up this difficulty, we shall suppose a person to take a
dye, formed after such a manner as that four of its sides are marked with
one figure, or one number of spots, and two with another; and to put this
dye into the box with an intention of throwing it: It is plain, he must
conclude the one figure to be more probable than the other, and give the
preference to that which is inscribed on the greatest number of sides. He
in a manner believes, that this will lie uppermost; though still with
hesitation and doubt, in proportion to the number of chances, which are
contrary: And according as these contrary chances diminish, and the
superiority encreases on the other side, his belief acquires new degrees
of stability and assurance. This belief arises from an operation of the
mind upon the simple and limited object before us; and therefore its
nature will be the more easily discovered and explained. We have nothing
but one single dye to contemplate, in order to comprehend one of the most
curious operations of the understanding.
This dye, formed as above, contains three circumstances worthy of our
attention. First, Certain causes, such as gravity, solidity, a cubical
figure, &c. which determine it to fall, to preserve its form in its fall,
and to turn up one of its sides. Secondly, A certain number of sides,
which are supposed indifferent. Thirdly, A certain figure inscribed on
each side. These three particulars form the whole nature of the dye, so
far as relates to our present purpose; and consequently are the only
circumstances regarded by the mind in its forming a judgment concerning
the result of such a throw. Let us, therefore, consider gradually and
carefully what must be the influence of these circumstances on the
thought and imagination.
First, We have already observed, that the mind is determined by custom to
pass from any cause to its effect, and that upon the appearance of the
one, it is almost impossible for it not to form an idea of the other.
Their constant conjunction in past instances has produced such a habit in
the mind, that it always conjoins them in its thought, and infers the
existence of the one from that of its usual attendant. When it considers
the dye as no longer supported by the box, it can not without violence
regard it as suspended in the air; but naturally places it on the table,
and views it as turning up one of its sides. This is the effect of the
intermingled causes, which are requisite to our forming any calculation
concerning chances.
Secondly, It is supposed, that though the dye be necessarily determined to
fall, and turn up one of its sides, yet there is nothing to fix the
particular side, but that this is determined entirely by chance. The very
nature and essence of chance is a negation of causes, and the leaving the
mind in a perfect indifference among those events, which are supposed
contingent. When therefore the thought is determined by the causes to
consider the dye as falling and turning up one of its sides, the chances
present all these sides as equal, and make us consider every one of them,
one after another, as alike probable and possible. The imagination passes
from the cause, viz. the throwing of the dye, to the effect, viz. the
turning up one of the six sides; and feels a kind of impossibility both
of stopping short in the way, and of forming any other idea. But as all
these six sides are incompatible, and the dye cannot turn up above one at
once, this principle directs us not to consider all of them at once as
lying uppermost; which we look upon as impossible: Neither does it direct
us with its entire force to any particular side; for in that case this
side would be considered as certain and inevitable; but it directs us to
the whole six sides after such a manner as to divide its force equally
among them. We conclude in general, that some one of them must result
from the throw: We run all of them over in our minds: The determination
of the thought is common to all; but no more of its force falls to the
share of any one, than what is suitable to its proportion with the rest.
It is after this manner the original impulse, and consequently the
vivacity of thought, arising from the causes, is divided and split in
pieces by the intermingled chances.
We have already seen the influence of the two first qualities of the dye,
viz. the causes, and the number and indifference of the sides, and have
learned how they give an impulse to the thought, and divide that impulse
into as many parts as there are unites in the number of sides. We must
now consider the effects of the third particular, viz. the figures
inscribed on each side. It is evident that where several sides have the
same figure inscribe on them, they must concur in their influence on the
mind, and must unite upon one image or idea of a figure all those divided
impulses, that were dispersed over the several sides, upon which that
figure is inscribed. Were the question only what side will be turned up,
these are all perfectly equal, and no one coued ever have any advantage
above another. But as the question is concerning the figure, and as the
same figure is presented by more than one side: it is evident, that the
impulses belonging to all these sides must re-unite in that one figure,
and become stronger and more forcible by the union. Four sides are
supposed in the present case to have the same figure inscribed on them,
and two to have another figure. The impulses of the former are,
therefore, superior to those of the latter. But as the events are
contrary, and it is impossible both these figures can be turned up; the
impulses likewise become contrary, and the inferior destroys the
superior, as far as its strength goes. The vivacity of the idea is always
proportionable to the degrees of the impulse or tendency to the
transition; and belief is the same with the vivacity of the idea,
according to the precedent doctrine.
SECT. XII. OF THE PROBABILITY OF CAUSES.
What I have said concerning the probability of chances can serve to no
other purpose, than to assist us in explaining the probability of causes;
since it is commonly allowed by philosophers, that what the vulgar call
chance is nothing but a secret and concealed cause. That species of
probability, therefore, is what we must chiefly examine.
The probabilities of causes are of several kinds; but are all derived
from the same origin, viz. THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS TO A PRESENT
IMPRESSION. As the habit, which produces the association, arises from the
frequent conjunction of objects, it must arrive at its perfection by
degrees, and must acquire new force from each instance, that falls under
our observation. The first instance has little or no force: The second
makes some addition to it: The third becomes still more sensible; and
it is by these slow steps, that our judgment arrives at a full assurance.
But before it attains this pitch of perfection, it passes through several
inferior degrees, and in all of them is only to be esteemed a presumption
or probability. The gradation, therefore, from probabilities to proofs is
in many cases insensible; and the difference betwixt these kinds of
evidence is more easily perceived in the remote degrees, than in the near
and contiguous.
It is worthy of remark on this occasion, that though the species of
probability here explained be the first in order, and naturally takes
place before any entire proof can exist, yet no one, who is arrived at
the age of maturity, can any longer be acquainted with it. It is true,
nothing is more common than for people of the most advanced knowledge to
have attained only an imperfect experience of many particular events;
which naturally produces only an imperfect habit and transition: But then
we must consider, that the mind, having formed another observation
concerning the connexion of causes and effects, gives new force to its
reasoning from that observation; and by means of it can build an argument
on one single experiment, when duly prepared and examined. What we have
found once to follow from any object, we conclude will for ever follow
from it; and if this maxim be not always built upon as certain, it is not
for want of a sufficient number of experiments, but because we frequently
meet with instances to the contrary; which leads us to the second species
of probability, where there is a contrariety in our experience and
observation.
It would be very happy for men in the conduct of their lives and actions,
were the same objects always conjoined together, and, we had nothing to
fear but the mistakes of our own judgment, without having any reason to
apprehend the uncertainty of nature. But as it is frequently found, that
one observation is contrary to another, and that causes and effects
follow not in the same order, of which we have I had experience, we are
obliged to vary our reasoning on, account of this uncertainty, and take
into consideration the contrariety of events. The first question, that
occurs on this head, is concerning the nature and causes of the
contrariety.
The vulgar, who take things according to their first appearance,
attribute the uncertainty of events to such an uncertainty in the causes,
as makes them often fail of their usual influence, though they meet with
no obstacle nor impediment in their operation. But philosophers observing,
that almost in every part of nature there is contained a vast variety of
springs and principles, which are hid, by reason of their minuteness or
remoteness, find that 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 hindrance and opposition. A
peasant can give no better reason for the stopping of any clock or watch
than to say, that commonly it does not go right: But an artizan easily
perceives, that the same force in the spring or pendulum has always the
same influence on the wheels; but fails of its usual effect, perhaps by
reason of a grain of dust, which puts a stop to the whole movement. From
the observation of several parallel instances, philosophers form a maxim,
that the connexion betwixt all causes and effects is equally necessary,
and that its seeming uncertainty in some instances proceeds from the
secret opposition of contrary causes.
But however philosophers and the vulgar may differ in their explication
of the contrariety of events, their inferences from it are always of the
same kind, and founded on the same principles. A contrariety of events in
the past may give us a kind of hesitating belief for the future after two
several ways. First, By producing an imperfect habit and transition from
the present impression to the related idea. When the conjunction of any
two objects is frequent, without being entirely constant, the mind is
determined to pass from one object to the other; but not with so entire a
habit, as when the union is uninterrupted, and all the instances we have
ever met with are uniform and of a piece-.. We find from common
experience, in our actions as well as reasonings, that a constant
perseverance in any course of life produces a strong inclination and
tendency to continue for the future; though there are habits of inferior
degrees of force, proportioned to the inferior degrees of steadiness and
uniformity in our conduct.
There is no doubt but this principle sometimes takes place, and produces
those inferences we draw from contrary phaenomena: though I am perswaded,
that upon examination we shall not find it to be the principle, that most
commonly influences the mind in this species of reasoning. When we follow
only the habitual determination of the mind, we make the transition
without any reflection, and interpose not a moment's delay betwixt the
view of one object and the belief of that, which is often found to attend
it. As the custom depends not upon any deliberation, it operates
immediately, without allowing any time for reflection. But this method of
proceeding we have but few instances of in our probable reasonings; and
even fewer than in those, which are derived from the uninterrupted
conjunction of objects. In the former species of reasoning we commonly
take knowingly into consideration the contrariety of past events; we
compare the different sides of the contrariety, and carefully weigh the
experiments, which we have on each side: Whence we may conclude, that our
reasonings of this kind arise not directly from the habit, but in an
oblique manner; which we must now endeavour to explain.
It is evident, that when an object is attended with contrary effects, we
judge of them only by our past experience, and always consider those as
possible, which we have observed to follow from it. And as past
experience regulates our judgment concerning the possibility of these
effects, so it does that concerning their probability; and that effect,
which has been the most common, we always esteem the most likely. Here
then are two things to be considered, viz. the reasons which determine us
to make the past a standard for the future, and the manner how we extract
a single judgment from a contrariety of past events.
First we may observe, that the supposition, that the future resembles the
past, is not founded on arguments of any kind, but is derived entirely
from habit, by which we are determined to expect for the future the same
train of objects, to which we have been accustomed. This habit or
determination to transfer the past to the future is full and perfect; and
consequently the first impulse of the imagination in this species of
reasoning is endowed with the same qualities.
But, secondly, when in considering past experiments we find them of a
contrary nature, this determination, though full and perfect in itself,
presents us with no steady object, but offers us a number of disagreeing
images in a certain order and proportion. The first impulse, therefore,
is here broke into pieces, and diffuses itself over all those images, of
which each partakes an equal share of that force and vivacity, that is
derived from the impulse. Any of these past events may again happen; and
we judge, that when they do happen, they will be mixed in the same
proportion as in the past.
If our intention, therefore, be to consider the proportions of contrary
events in a great number of instances, the images presented by our past
experience must remain in their FIRST FORM, and preserve their first
proportions. Suppose, for instance, I have found by long observation,
that of twenty ships, which go to sea, only nineteen return. Suppose I
see at present twenty ships that leave the port: I transfer my past
experience to the future, and represent to myself nineteen of these ships
as returning in safety, and one as perishing. Concerning this there can
be no difficulty. But as we frequently run over those several ideas of
past events, in order to form a judgment concerning one single event,
which appears uncertain; this consideration must change the FIRST FORM of
our ideas, and draw together the divided images presented by experience;
since it is to it we refer the determination of that particular event,
upon which we reason. Many of these images are supposed to concur, and a
superior number to concur on one side. These agreeing images unite
together, and render the idea more strong and lively, not only than a
mere fiction of the imagination, but also than any idea, which is
supported by a lesser number of experiments. Each new experiment is as a
new stroke of the pencil, which bestows an additional vivacity on the
colours without either multiplying or enlarging the figure. This
operation of the mind has been so fully explained in treating of the
probability of chance, that I need not here endeavour to render it more
intelligible. Every past experiment may be considered as a kind of
chance; I it being uncertain to us, whether the object will exist
conformable to one experiment or another. And for this reason every thing
that has been said on the one subject is applicable to both.
Thus upon the whole, contrary experiments produce an imperfect belief,
either by weakening the habit, or by dividing and afterwards joining in
different parts, that perfect habit, which makes us conclude in general,
that instances, of which we have no experience, must necessarily resemble
those of which we have.
To justify still farther this account of the second species of
probability, where we reason with knowledge and reflection from a
contrariety of past experiments, I shall propose the following
considerations, without fearing to give offence by that air of subtilty,
which attends them. Just reasoning ought still, perhaps, to retain its
force, however subtile; in the same manner as matter preserves its
solidity in the air, and fire, and animal spirits, as well as in the
grosser and more sensible forms.
First, We may observe, that there is no probability so great as not to
allow of a contrary possibility; because otherwise it would cease to be a
probability, and would become a certainty. That probability of causes,
which is most extensive, and which we at present examine, depends on a
contrariety of experiments: and it is evident An experiment in the past
proves at least a possibility for the future.
Secondly, The component parts of this possibility and probability are of
the same nature, and differ in number only, but not in kind. It has been
observed, that all single chances are entirely equal, and that the only
circumstance, which can give any event, that is contingent, a superiority
over another is a superior number of chances. In like manner, as the
uncertainty of causes is discovery by experience, which presents us with
a view of contrary events, it is plain, that when we transfer the past to
the future, the known to the unknown, every past experiment has the same
weight, and that it is only a superior number of them, which can throw the
ballance on any side. The possibility, therefore, which enters into every
reasoning of this kind, is composed of parts, which are of the same
nature both among themselves, and with those, that compose the opposite
probability.
Thirdly, We may establish it as a certain maxim, that in all moral as
well as natural phaenomena, wherever any cause consists of a number of
parts, and the effect encreases or diminishes, according to the variation
of that number, the effects properly speaking, is a compounded one, and
arises from the union of the several effects, that proceed from each part
of the cause. Thus, because the gravity of a body encreases or diminishes
by the encrease or diminution of its parts, we conclude that each part
contains this quality and contributes to the gravity of the whole. The
absence or presence of a part of the cause is attended with that of a
proportionable part of the effect. This connexion or constant conjunction
sufficiently proves the one part to be the cause of the other. As the
belief which we have of any event, encreases or diminishes according to
the number of chances or past experiments, it is to be considered as a
compounded effect, of which each part arises from a proportionable number
of chances or experiments.
Let us now join these three observations, and see what conclusion we can
draw from them. To every probability there is an opposite possibility.
This possibility is composed of parts, that are entirely of the same
nature with those of the probability; and consequently have the same
influence on the mind and understanding. The belief, which attends the
probability, is a compounded effect, and is formed by the concurrence of
the several effects, which proceed from each part of the probability.
Since therefore each part of the probability contributes to the
production of the belief, each part of the possibility must have the same
influence on the opposite side; the nature of these parts being entirely
the same. The contrary belief, attending the possibility, implies a view
of a certain object, as well as the probability does an opposite view. In
this particular both these degrees of belief are alike. The only manner
then, in which the superior number of similar component parts in the one
can exert its influence, and prevail above the inferior in the other, is
by producing a stronger and more lively view of its object. Each part
presents a particular view; and all these views uniting together produce
one general view, which is fuller and more distinct by the greater number
of causes or principles, from which it is derived.
The component parts of the probability and possibility, being alike in
their nature, must produce like effects; and the likeness of their
effects consists in this, that each of them presents a view of a
particular object. But though these parts be alike in their nature, they
are very different in their quantity and number; and this difference must
appear in the effect as well as the similarity. Now as the view they
present is in both cases full and entire, and comprehends the object in
all its parts, it is impossible that in this particular there can be any
difference; nor is there any thing but a superior vivacity in the
probability, arising from the concurrence of a superior number of views,
which can distinguish these effects.
Here is almost the same argument in a different light. All our reasonings
concerning the probability of causes are founded on the transferring of
past to future. The transferring of any past experiment to the future is
sufficient to give us a view of the object; whether that experiment be
single or combined with others of the same kind; whether it be entire, or
opposed by others of a contrary kind. Suppose, then, it acquires both
these qualities of combination and opposition, it loses not upon that
account its former power of presenting a view of the object, but only
concurs with and opposes other experiments, that have a like influence. A
question, therefore, may arise concerning the manner both of the
concurrence and opposition. As to the concurrence, there is only the
choice left betwixt these two hypotheses. First, That the view of the
object, occasioned by the transference of each past experiment, preserves
itself entire, and only multiplies the number of views. Or, SECONDLY,
That it runs into the other similar and correspondent views, and gives
them a superior degree of force and vivacity. But that the first
hypothesis is erroneous, is evident from experience, which informs us,
that the belief, attending any reasoning, consists in one conclusion, not
in a multitude of similar ones, which would only distract the mind, and
in many cases would be too numerous to be comprehended distinctly by any
finite capacity. It remains, therefore, as the only reasonable opinion,
that these similar views run into each other, and unite their forces; so
as to produce a stronger and clearer view, than what arises from any one
alone. This is the manner, in which past experiments concur, when they
are transfered to any future event. As to the manner of their opposition,
it is evident, that as the contrary views are incompatible with each
other, and it is impossible the object can at once exist conformable to
both of them, their influence becomes mutually destructive, and the mind
is determined to the superior only with that force, which remains, after
subtracting the inferior.
I am sensible how abstruse all this reasoning must appear to the
generality of readers, who not being accustomed to such profound
reflections on the intellectual faculties of the mind, will be apt to
reject as chimerical whatever strikes not in with the common received
notions, and with the easiest and most obvious principles of philosophy.
And no doubt there are some pains required to enter into these arguments;
though perhaps very little are necessary to perceive the imperfection of
every vulgar hypothesis on this subject, and the little light, which
philosophy can yet afford us in such sublime and such curious
speculations. Let men be once fully perswaded of these two principles,
THAT THERE, IS NOTHING IN ANY OBJECT, CONSIDERed IN ITSELF, WHICH CAN
AFFORD US A REASON FOR DRAWING A CONCLUSION BEYOND it; and, THAT EVEN
AFTER THE OBSERVATION OF THE FREQUENT OR CONSTANT CONJUNCTION OF OBJECTS,
WE HAVE NO REASON TO DRAW ANY INFERENCE CONCERNING ANY OBJECT BEYOND
THOSE OF WHICH WE HAVE HAD EXPERIENCE; I say, let men be once fully
convinced of these two principles, and this will throw them so loose from
all common systems, that they will make no difficulty of receiving any,
which may appear the most extraordinary. These principles we have found
to be sufficiently convincing, even with regard to our most certain
reasonings from causation: But I shall venture to affirm, that with
regard to these conjectural or probable reasonings they still acquire a
new degree of evidence.
First, It is obvious, that in reasonings of this kind, it is not the
object presented to us, which, considered in itself, affords us any reason
to draw a conclusion concerning any other object or event. For as this
latter object is supposed uncertain, and as the uncertainty is derived
from a concealed contrariety of causes in the former, were any of the
causes placed in the known qualities of that object, they would no longer
be concealed, nor would our conclusion be uncertain.
But, secondly, it is equally obvious in this species of reasoning, that if
the transference of the past to the future were founded merely on a
conclusion of the understanding, it coued never occasion any belief or
assurance. When we transfer contrary experiments to the future, we can
only repeat these contrary experiments with their particular proportions;
which coued not produce assurance in any single event, upon which we
reason, unless the fancy melted together all those images that concur,
and extracted from them one single idea or image, which is intense and
lively in proportion to the number of experiments from which it is
derived, and their superiority above their antagonists. Our past
experience presents no determinate object; and as our belief, however
faint, fixes itself on a determinate object, it is evident that the belief
arises not merely from the transference of past to future, but from some
operation of the fancy conjoined with it. This may lead us to conceive
the manner, in which that faculty enters into all our reasonings.
I shall conclude this subject with two reflections, which may deserve our
attention. The FIRST may be explained after this manner. When the mind
forms a reasoning concerning any matter of fact, which is only probable,
it casts its eye backward upon past experience, and transferring it to
the future, is presented with so many contrary views of its object, of
which those that are of the same kind uniting together, and running into
one act of the mind, serve to fortify and inliven it. But suppose that
this multitude of views or glimpses of an object proceeds not from
experience, but from. a voluntary act of the imagination; this effect
does not follow, or at least, follows not in the same degree. For though
custom and education produce belief by such a repetition, as is not
derived from experience, yet this requires a long tract of time, along
with a very frequent and undesigned repetition. In general we may
pronounce, that a person who would voluntarily repeat any idea in his
mind, though supported by one past experience, would be no more inclined
to believe the existence of its object, than if he had contented himself
with one survey of it. Beside the effect of design; each act of the mind,
being separate and independent, has a separate influence, and joins not
its force with that of its fellows. Not being united by any common
object, producing them, they have no relation to each other; and
consequently make no transition or union of forces. This phaenomenon we
shall understand better afterwards.
My second reflection is founded on those large probabilities, which the
mind can judge of, and the minute differences it can observe betwixt
them. When the chances or experiments on one side amount to ten thousand,
and on the other to ten thousand and one, the judgment gives the
preference to the latter, upon account of that superiority; though it is
plainly impossible for the mind to run over every particular view, and
distinguish the superior vivacity of the image arising from the superior
number, where the difference is so inconsiderable. We have a parallel
instance in the affections. It is evident, according to the principles
above-mentioned, that when an object produces any passion in us, which
varies according to the different quantity of the object; I say, it is
evident, that the passion, properly speaking, is not a simple emotion,
but a compounded one, of a great number of weaker passions, derived from
a view of each part of the object. For otherwise it were impossible the
passion should encrease by the encrease of these parts. Thus a man, who
desires a thousand pound, has in reality a thousand or more desires which
uniting together, seem to make only one passion; though the composition
evidently betrays itself upon every alteration of the object, by the
preference he gives to the larger number, if superior only by an unite.
Yet nothing can be more certain, than that so small a difference would
not be discernible in the passions, nor coued render them distinguishable
from each other. The difference, therefore, of our conduct in preferring
the greater number depends not upon our passions, but upon custom, and
general rules. We have found in a multitude of instances, that the
augmenting the numbers of any sum augments the passion, where the numbers
are precise and the difference sensible. The mind can perceive from its
immediate feeling, that three guineas produce a greater passion than two;
and this it transfers to larger numbers, because of the resemblance; and
by a general rule assigns to a thousand guineas, a stronger passion than
to nine hundred and ninety nine. These general rules we shall explain
presently.
But beside these two species of probability, which a-re derived from an
imperfect experience and from contrary causes, there is a third arising
from ANALOGY, which differs from them in some material circumstances.
According to the hypothesis above explained all kinds of reasoning from
causes or effects are founded on two particulars, viz., the constant
conjunction of any two objects in all past experience, and the
resemblance of a present object to any one of them. The effect of these
two particulars is, that the present object invigorates and inlivens the
imagination; and the resemblance, along with the constant union, conveys
this force and vivacity to the related idea; which we are therefore said
to believe, or assent to. If you weaken either the union or resemblance,
you weaken the principle of transition, and of consequence that belief,
which arises from it. The vivacity of the first impression cannot be
fully conveyed to the related idea, either where the conjunction of their
objects is not constant, or where the present impression does not
perfectly resemble any of those, whose union we are accustomed to
observe. In those probabilities of chance and causes above-explained,
it is the constancy of the union, which is diminished; and in the
probability derived from analogy, it is the resemblance only, which is
affected. Without some degree of resemblance, as well as union, it is
impossible there can be any reasoning: but as this resemblance admits of
many different degrees, the reasoning becomes proportionably more or less
firm and certain. An experiment loses of its force, when transferred to
instances, which are not exactly resembling; though it is evident it may
still retain as much as may be the foundation of probability, as long as
there is any resemblance remaining.
SECT. XIII. OF UNPHILOSOPHICAL PROBABILITY.
All these kinds of probability are received by philosophers, and allowed
to be reasonable foundations of belief and opinion. But there are others,
that are derived from the same principles, though they have not had the
good fortune to obtain the same sanction. The first probability of this
kind may be accounted for thus. The diminution of the union, and of the
resemblance, as above explained, diminishes the facility of the
transition, and by that means weakens the evidence; and we may farther
observe, that the same diminution of the evidence will follow from a
diminution of the impression, and from the shading of those colours,
under which it appears to the memory or senses. The argument, which we
found on any matter of fact we remember, is more or less convincing
according as the fact is recent or remote; and though the difference in
these degrees of evidence be not received by philosophy as solid and
legitimate; because in that case an argument must have a different force
to day, from what it shall have a month hence; yet notwithstanding the
opposition of philosophy, it is certain, this circumstance has a
considerable influence on the understanding, and secretly changes the
authority of the same argument, according to the different times, in
which it is proposed to us. A greater force and vivacity in the
impression naturally conveys a greater to the related idea; and it is on
the degrees of force and vivacity, that the belief depends, according to
the foregoing system.
There is a second difference, which we may frequently observe in our
degrees of belief and assurance, and which never fails to take place,
though disclaimed by philosophers. An experiment, that is recent and fresh
in the memory, affects us more than one that is in some measure
obliterated; and has a superior influence on the judgment, as well as on
the passions. A lively impression produces more assurance than a faint
one; because it has more original force to communicate to the related
idea, which thereby acquires a greater force and vivacity. A recent
observation has a like effect; because the custom and transition is there
more entire, and preserves better the original force in the
communication. Thus a drunkard, who has seen his companion die of a
debauch, is struck with that instance for some time, and dreads a like
accident for himself: But as the memory of it decays away by degrees, his
former security returns, and the danger seems less certain and real.
I add, as a third instance of this kind, that though our reasonings from
proofs and from probabilities be considerably different from each other,
yet the former species of reasoning often degenerates insensibly into the
latter, by nothing but the multitude of connected arguments. It is
certain, that when an inference is drawn immediately from an object,
without any intermediate cause or effect, the conviction is much
stronger, and the persuasion more lively, than when the imagination is
carryed through a long chain of connected arguments, however infallible
the connexion of each link may be esteemed. It is from the original
impression, that the vivacity of all the ideas is derived, by means of
the customary transition of the imagination; and it is evident this
vivacity must gradually decay in proportion to the distance, and must
lose somewhat in each transition. Sometimes this distance has a greater
influence than even contrary experiments would have; and a man may
receive a more lively conviction from a probable reasoning, which is
close and immediate, than from a long chain of consequences, though just
and conclusive in each part. Nay it is seldom such reasonings produce any
conviction; and one must have a very strong and firm imagination to
preserve the evidence to the end, where it passes through so many, stages.
But here it may not be amiss to remark a very curious phaenomenon, which
the present subject suggests to us. It is evident there is no point of
ancient history, of which we can have any assurance, but by passing
through many millions of causes and effects, and through a chain of
arguments of almost an immeasurable length. Before the knowledge of the
fact coued come to the first historian, it must be conveyed through many
mouths; and after it is committed to writing, each new copy is a new
object, of which the connexion with the foregoing is known only by
experience and observation. Perhaps, therefore, it may be concluded from
the precedent reasoning, that the evidence of all ancient history must now
be lost; or at least, will be lost in time, as the chain of causes
encreases, and runs on to a greater length. But as it seems contrary to
common sense to think, that if the republic of letters, and the art of
printing continue on the same footing as at present, our posterity, even
after a thousand ages, can ever doubt if there has been such a man as
JULIUS CAESAR; this may be considered as an objection to the present
system. If belief consisted only in a certain vivacity, conveyed from an
original impression, it would decay by the length of the transition, and
must at last be utterly extinguished: And vice versa, if belief on some
occasions be not capable of such an extinction; it must be something
different from that vivacity.
Before I answer this objection I shall observe, that from this topic
there has been borrowed a very celebrated argument against the Christian
Religion; but with this difference, that the connexion betwixt each link
of the chain in human testimony has been there supposed not to go beyond
probability, and to be liable to a degree of doubt and uncertainty. And
indeed it must be confest, that in this manner of considering the
subject, (which however is not a true one) there is no history or
tradition, but what must in the end lose all its force and evidence.
Every new probability diminishes the original conviction; and however
great that conviction may be supposed, it is impossible it can subsist
under such re-iterated diminutions. This is true in general; though we
shall find [Part IV. Sect. 1.] afterwards, that there is one very
memorable exception, which is of vast consequence in the present subject
of the understanding.
Mean while to give a solution of the preceding objection upon the
supposition, that historical evidence amounts at first to an entire proof;
let us consider, that though the links are innumerable, that connect
any original fact with the present impression, which is the foundation of
belief; yet they are all of the same kind, and depend on the fidelity of
Printers and Copyists. One edition passes into another, and that into a
third, and so on, till we come to that volume we peruse at present. There
is no variation in the steps. After we know one we know all of them; and
after we have made one, we can have no scruple as to the rest. This
circumstance alone preserves the evidence of history, and will perpetuate
the memory of the present age to the latest posterity. If all the long
chain of causes and effects, which connect any past event with any volume
of history, were composed of parts different from each other, and which
it were necessary for the mind distinctly to conceive, it is impossible we
should preserve to the end any belief or evidence. But as most of these
proofs are perfectly resembling, the mind runs easily along them, jumps
from one part to another with facility, and forms but a confused and
general notion of each link. By this means a long chain of argument, has
as little effect in diminishing the original vivacity, as a much shorter
would have, if composed of parts, which were different from each other,
and of which each required a distinct consideration.
A fourth unphilosophical species of probability is that derived from
general rules, which we rashly form to ourselves, and which are the
source of what we properly call PREJUDICE. An IRISHMAN cannot have wit,
and a Frenchman cannot have solidity; for which reason, though the
conversation of the former in any instance be visibly very agreeable, and
of the latter very judicious, we have entertained such a prejudice
against them, that they must be dunces or fops in spite of sense and
reason. Human nature is very subject to errors of this kind; and perhaps
this nation as much as any other.
Should it be demanded why men form general rules, and allow them to
influence their judgment, even contrary to present observation and
experience, I should reply, that in my opinion it proceeds from those
very principles, on which all judgments concerning causes and effects
depend. Our judgments concerning cause and effect are derived from habit
and experience; and when we have been accustomed to see one object united
to another, our imagination passes from the first to the second, by a
natural transition, which precedes reflection, and which cannot be
prevented by it. Now it is the nature of custom not only to operate with
its full force, when objects are presented, that are exactly the, same
with those to which we have been accustomed; but also to operate in an
inferior degree, when we discover such as are similar; and though the
habit loses somewhat of its force by every difference, yet it is seldom
entirely destroyed, where any considerable circumstances remain the same.
A man, who has contracted a custom of eating fruit by the use of pears or
peaches, will satisfy himself with melons, where he cannot find his
favourite fruit; as one, who has become a drunkard by the use of red
wines, will be carried almost with the same violence to white, if
presented to him. From this principle I have accounted for that species
of probability, derived from analogy, where we transfer our experience in
past instances to objects which are resembling, but are not exactly the
same with those concerning which we have had experience. In proportion as
the resemblance decays, the probability diminishes; but still has some
force as long as there remain any traces of the resemblance.
This observation we may carry farther; and may remark, that though custom
be the foundation of all our judgments, yet sometimes it has an effect on
the imagination in opposition to the judgment, and produces a contrariety
in our sentiments concerning the same object. I explain myself. In almost
all kinds of causes there is a complication of circumstances, of which
some are essential, and others superfluous; some are absolutely requisite
to the production of the effect, and others are only conjoined by
accident. Now we may observe, that when these superfluous circumstances
are numerous, and remarkable, and frequently conjoined with the
essential, they have such an influence on the imagination, that even in
the absence of the latter they carry us on to t-he conception of the
usual effect, and give to that conception a force and vivacity, which
make it superior to the mere fictions of the fancy. We may correct this
propensity by a reflection on the nature of those circumstances: but it is
still certain, that custom takes the start, and gives a biass to the
imagination.
To illustrate this by a familiar instance, let us consider the case of a
man, who, being hung out from a high tower in a cage of iron cannot
forbear trembling, when he surveys the precipice below him, though he
knows himself to be perfectly secure from falling, by his experience of
the solidity of the iron, which supports him; and though the ideas of fall
and descent, and harm and death, be derived solely from custom and
experience. The same custom goes beyond the instances, from which it is
derived, and to which it perfectly corresponds; and influences his ideas
of such objects as are in some respect resembling, but fall not precisely
under the same rule. The circumstances of depth and descent strike so
strongly upon him, that their influence can-not be destroyed by the
contrary circumstances of support and solidity, which ought to give him a
perfect security. His imagination runs away with its object, and excites
a passion proportioned to it. That passion returns back upon the
imagination and inlivens the idea; which lively idea has a new influence
on the passion, and in its turn augments its force and violence; and both
his fancy and affections, thus mutually supporting each other, cause the
whole to have a very great influence upon him.
But why need we seek for other instances, while the present subject of
philosophical probabilities offers us so obvious an one, in the
opposition betwixt the judgment and imagination arising from these
effects of custom? According to my system, all reasonings are nothing but
the effects of custom; and custom has no influence, but by inlivening the
imagination, and giving us a strong conception of any object. It may,
therefore, be concluded, that our judgment and imagination can never be
contrary, and that custom cannot operate on the latter faculty after such
a manner, as to render it opposite to the former. This difficulty we can
remove after no other manner, than by supposing the influence of general
rules. We shall afterwards take [Sect. 15.] notice of some general rules,
by which we ought to regulate our judgment concerning causes and effects;
and these rules are formed on the nature of our understanding, and on our
experience of its operations in the judgments we form concerning objects.
By them we learn to distinguish the accidental circumstances from the
efficacious causes; and when we find that an effect can be produced
without the concurrence of any particular circumstance, we conclude that
that circumstance makes not a part of the efficacious cause, however
frequently conjoined with it. But as this frequent conjunction necessity
makes it have some effect on the imagination, in spite of the opposite
conclusion from general rules, the opposition of these two principles
produces a contrariety in our thoughts, and causes us to ascribe the one
inference to our judgment, and the other to our imagination. The general
rule is attributed to our judgment; as being more extensive and constant.
The exception to the imagination, as being more capricious and uncertain.
Thus our general rules are in a manner set in opposition to each other.
When an object appears, that resembles any cause in very considerable
circumstances, the imagination naturally carries us to a lively
conception of the usual effect, Though the object be different in the most
material and most efficacious circumstances from that cause. Here is the
first influence of general rules. But when we take a review of this act
of the mind, and compare it with the more general and authentic
operations of the understanding, we find it to be of an irregular nature,
and destructive of all the most established principles of reasonings;
which is the cause of our rejecting it. This is a second influence of
general rules, and implies the condemnation of the former. Sometimes the
one, sometimes the other prevails, according to the disposition and
character of the person. The vulgar are commonly guided by the first, and
wise men by the second. Mean while the sceptics may here have the
pleasure of observing a new and signal contradiction in our reason, and
of seeing all philosophy ready to be subverted by a principle of human
nature, and again saved by a new direction of the very same principle.
The following of general rules is a very unphilosophical species of
probability; and yet it is only by following them that we can correct
this, and all other unphilosophical probabilities.
Since we have instances, where general rules operate on the imagination
even contrary to the judgment, we need not be surprized to see their
effects encrease, when conjoined with that latter faculty, and to observe
that they bestow on the ideas they present to us a force superior to what
attends any other. Every one knows, there is an indirect manner of
insinuating praise or blame, which is much less shocking than the open
flattery or censure of any person. However be may communicate his
sentiments by such secret insinuations, and make them known with equal
certainty as by the open discovery of them, it is certain that their
influence is not equally strong and powerful. One who lashes me with
concealed strokes of satire, moves not my indignation to such a degree,
as if he flatly told me I was a fool and coxcomb; though I equally
understand his meaning, as if he did. This difference is to be attributed
to the influence of general rules.
Whether a person openly, abuses me, or slyly intimates his contempt, in
neither case do I immediately perceive his sentiment or opinion; and it is
only by signs, that is, by its effects, I become sensible of it. The only
difference, then, betwixt these two cases consists in this, that in the
open discovery of his sentiments he makes use of signs, which are general
and universal; and in the secret intimation employs such as are more
singular and uncommon. The effect of this circumstance is, that the
imagination, in running from the present impression to the absent idea,
makes the transition with greater facility, and consequently conceives
the object with greater force, where the connexion is common and
universal, than where it is more rare and particular. Accordingly we may
observe, that the open declaration of our sentiments is called the taking
off the mask, as the secret intimation of our opinions is said to be the
veiling of them. The difference betwixt an idea produced by a general
connexion, and that arising from a particular one is here compared to the
difference betwixt an impression and an idea. This difference in the
imagination has a suitable effect on the passions; and this effect is
augmented by another circumstance. A secret intimation of anger or
contempt shews that we still have some consideration for the person, and
avoid the directly abusing him. This makes a concealed satire less
disagreeable; but still this depends on the same principle. For if an
idea were not more feeble, when only intimated, it would never be
esteemed a mark of greater respect to proceed in this method than in the
other.
Sometimes scurrility is less displeasing than delicate satire, because it
revenges us in a manner for the injury at the very time it is committed,
by affording us a just reason to blame and contemn the person, who
injures us. But this phaenomenon likewise depends upon the same
principle. For why do we blame all gross and injurious language, unless
it be, because we esteem it contrary to good breeding and humanity? And
why is it contrary, unless it be more shocking than any delicate satire?
The rules of good breeding condemn whatever is openly disobliging, and
gives a sensible pain and confusion to those, with whom we converse.
After this is once established, abusive language is universally blamed,
and gives less pain upon account of its coarseness and incivility, which
render the person despicable, that employs it. It becomes less
disagreeable, merely because originally it is more so; and it is more
disagreeable, because it affords an inference by general and common
rules, that are palpable and undeniable.
To this explication of the different influence of open and concealed
flattery or satire, I shall add the consideration of another phenomenon,
which is analogous to it. There are many particulars in the point of
honour both of men and women, whose violations, when open and avowed, the
world never excuses, but which it is more apt to overlook, when the
appearances are saved, and the transgression is secret and concealed.
Even those, who know with equal certainty, that the fault is committed,
pardon it more easily, when the proofs seem in some measure oblique and
equivocal, than when they are direct and undeniable. The same idea is
presented in both cases, and, properly speaking, is equally assented to
by the judgment; and yet its influence is different, because of the
different manner, in which it is presented.
Now if we compare these two cases, of the open and concealed violations
of the laws of honour, we shall find, that the difference betwixt them
consists in this, that in the first ease the sign, from which we infer
the blameable action, is single, and suffices alone to be the foundation
of our reasoning and judgment; whereas in the latter the signs are
numerous, and decide little or nothing when alone and unaccompanyed with
many minute circumstances, which are almost imperceptible. But it is
certainly true, that any reasoning is always the more convincing, the
more single and united it is to the eye, and the less exercise it gives
to the imagination to collect all its parts, and run from them to the
correlative idea, which forms the conclusion. The labour of the thought
disturbs the regular progress of the sentiments, as we shall observe
presently.[Part IV. Sect. 1.] The idea strikes not on us with ouch
vivacity; and consequently has no such influence on the passion and
imagination.
From the same principles we may account for those observations of the
CARDINAL DE RETZ, that there are many things, in which the world wishes
to be deceived; and that it more easily excuses a person in acting than
in talking contrary to the decorum of his profession and character. A
fault in words is commonly more open and distinct than one in actions,
which admit of many palliating excuses, and decide not so clearly
concerning the intention and views of the actor.
Thus it appears upon the whole, that every kind of opinion or judgment,
which amounts not to knowledge, is derived entirely from the force and
vivacity of the perception, and that these qualities constitute in the
mind, what we call the BELIEF Of the existence of any object. This force
and this vivacity are most conspicuous in the memory; and therefore our
confidence in the veracity of that faculty is the greatest imaginable,
and equals in many respects the assurance of a demonstration. The next
degree of these qualities is that derived from the relation of cause and
effect; and this too is very great, especially when the conjunction is
found by experience to be perfectly constant, and when the object, which
is present to us, exactly resembles those, of which we have had
experience. But below this degree of evidence there are many others,
which have an influence on the passions and imagination, proportioned to
that degree of force and vivacity, which they communicate to the ideas.
It is by habit we make the transition from cause to effect; and it is from
some present impression we borrow that vivacity, which we diffuse over
the correlative idea. But when we have not observed a sufficient number
of instances, to produce a strong habit; or when these instances are
contrary to each other; or when the resemblance is not exact; or the
present impression is faint and obscure; or the experience in some
measure obliterated from the memory; or the connexion dependent on a long
chain of objects; or the inference derived from general rules, and yet
not conformable to them: In all these cases the evidence diminishes by
the diminution of the force and intenseness of the idea. This therefore
is the nature of the judgment and probability.
What principally gives authority to this system is, beside the undoubted
arguments, upon which each part is founded, the agreement of these parts,
and the necessity of one to explain another. The belief, which attends
our memory, is of the same nature with that, which is derived from our
judgments: Nor is there any difference betwixt that judgment, which is
derived from a constant and uniform connexion of causes and effects, and
that which depends upon an interrupted and uncertain. It is indeed
evident, that in all determinations, where the mind decides from contrary
experiments, it is first divided within itself, and has an inclination to
either side in proportion to the number of experiments we have seen and
remember. This contest is at last determined to the advantage of that
side, where we observe a superior number of these experiments; but still
with a diminution of force in the evidence correspondent to the number of
the opposite experiments. Each possibility, of which the probability is
composed, operates separately upon the imagination; and it is the larger
collection of possibilities, which at last prevails, and that with a
force proportionable to its superiority. All these phenomena lead
directly to the precedent system; nor will it ever be possible upon any
other principles to give a satisfactory and consistent explication of
them. Without considering these judgments as the effects of custom on the
imagination, we shall lose ourselves in perpetual contradiction and
absurdity.
SECT. XIV. OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNEXION.
Having thus explained the manner, in which we reason beyond our immediate
impressions, and conclude that such particular causes must have such
particular effects; we must now return upon our footsteps to examine that
question, which [Sect. 2.] first occured to us, and which we dropt in our
way, viz. What is our idea of necessity, when we say that two objects are
necessarily connected together. Upon this head I repeat what I have often
had occasion to observe, that as we have no idea, that is not derived
from an impression, we must find some impression, that gives rise to this
idea of necessity, if we assert we have really such an idea. In order to
this I consider, in what objects necessity is commonly supposed to lie;
and finding that it is always ascribed to causes and effects, I turn my
eye to two objects supposed to be placed in that relation; and examine
them in all the situations, of which they are susceptible. I immediately
perceive, that they are contiguous in time and place, and that the object
we call cause precedes the other we call effect. In no one instance can
I go any farther, nor is it possible for me to discover any third
relation betwixt these objects. I therefore enlarge my view to comprehend
several instances; where I find like objects always existing in like
relations of contiguity and succession. At first sight this seems to
serve but little to my purpose. The reflection on several instances only
repeats the same objects; and therefore can never give rise to a new
idea. But upon farther enquiry I find, that the repetition is not in
every particular the same, but produces a new impression, and by that
means the idea, which I at present examine. For after a frequent
repetition, I find, that upon the appearance of one of the objects, the
mind is determined by custom to consider its usual attendant, and to
consider it in a stronger light upon account of its relation to the first
object. It is this impression, then, or determination, which affords me
the idea of necessity.
I doubt not but these consequences will at first sight be received
without difficulty, as being evident deductions from principles, which we
have already established, and which we have often employed in our
reasonings. This evidence both in the first principles, and in the
deductions, may seduce us unwarily into the conclusion, and make us
imagine it contains nothing extraordinary, nor worthy of our curiosity.
But though such an inadvertence may facilitate the reception of this
reasoning, it will make it be the more easily forgot; for which reason I
think it proper to give warning, that I have just now examined one of the
most sublime questions in philosophy, viz. that concerning the power and
efficacy of causes; where all the sciences seem so much interested. Such
a warning will naturally rouze up the attention of the reader, and make
him desire a more full account of my doctrine, as well as of the
arguments, on which it is founded. This request is so reasonable, that I
cannot refuse complying with it; especially as I am hopeful that these
principles, the more they are examined, will acquire the more force and
evidence.
There is no question, which on account of its importance, as well as
difficulty, has caused more disputes both among ancient and modern
philosophers, than this concerning the efficacy of causes, or that
quality which makes them be followed by their effects. But before they
entered upon these disputes, methinks it would not have been improper to
have examined what idea we have of that efficacy, which is the subject of
the controversy. This is what I find principally wanting in their
reasonings, and what I shall here endeavour to supply.
I begin with observing that the terms of EFFICACY, AGENCY, POWER, FORCE,
ENERGY, NECESSITY, CONNEXION, and PRODUCTIVE QUALITY, are all nearly
synonymous; and therefore it is an absurdity to employ any of them in
defining the rest. By this observation we reject at once all the vulgar
definitions, which philosophers have given of power and efficacy; and
instead of searching for the idea in these definitions, must look for it
in the impressions, from which it is originally derived. If it be a
compound idea, it must arise from compound impressions. If simple, from
simple impressions.
I believe the most general and most popular explication of this matter, is
to say [See Mr. Locke, chapter of power.], that finding from experience,
that there are several new productions in matter, such as the motions and
variations of body, and concluding that there must somewhere be a power
capable of producing them, we arrive at last by this reasoning at the idea
of power and efficacy. But to be convinced that this explication is more
popular than philosophical, we need but reflect on two very obvious
principles. First, That reason alone can never give rise to any original
idea, and secondly, that reason, as distinguished from experience, can
never make us conclude, that a cause or productive quality is absolutely
requisite to every beginning of existence. Both these considerations have
been sufficiently explained: and therefore shall not at present be any
farther insisted on.
I shall only infer from them, that since reason can never give rise to
the idea of efficacy, that idea must be derived from experience, and from
some particular instances of this efficacy, which make their passage into
the mind by the common channels of sensation or reflection. Ideas always
represent their objects or impressions; and vice versa, there are some
objects necessary to give rise to every idea. If we pretend, therefore,
to have any just idea of this efficacy, we must produce some instance,
wherein the efficacy is plainly discoverable to the mind, and its
operations obvious to our consciousness or sensation. By the refusal of
this, we acknowledge, that the idea is impossible and imaginary, since
the principle of innate ideas, which alone can save us from this dilemma,
has been already refuted, and is now almost universally rejected in the
learned world. Our present business, then, must be to find some natural
production, where the operation and efficacy of a cause can be clearly
conceived and comprehended by the mind, without any danger of obscurity
or mistake.
In this research we meet with very little encouragement from that
prodigious diversity, which is found in the opinions of those
philosophers, who have pretended to explain the secret force and energy
of causes. [See Father Malbranche, Book vi. Part 2, chap. 3. And the
illustrations upon it.] There are some, who maintain, that bodies operate
by their substantial form; others, by their accidents or qualities;
several, by their matter and form; some, by their form and accidents;
others, by certain virtues and faculties distinct from all this. All these
sentiments again are mixed and varyed in a thousand different ways; and
form a strong presumption, that none of them have any solidity or
evidence, and that the supposition of an efficacy in any of the known
qualities of matter is entirely without foundation. This presumption must
encrease upon us, when we consider, that these principles of substantial
forms, and accidents, and faculties, are not in reality any of the known
properties of bodies, but are perfectly unintelligible and inexplicable.
For it is evident philosophers would never have had recourse to such
obscure and uncertain principles, had they met with any satisfaction in
such as are clear and intelligible; especially in such an affair as this,
which must be an object of the simplest understanding, if not of the
senses. Upon the whole, we may conclude, that it is impossible in any one
instance to shew the principle, in which the force and agency of a cause
is placed; and that the most refined and most vulgar understandings are
equally at a loss in this particular. If any one think proper to refute
this assertion, he need not put himself to the trouble of inventing any
long reasonings: but may at once shew us an instance of a cause, where we
discover the power or operating principle. This defiance we are obliged
frequently to make use of, as being almost the only means of proving a
negative in philosophy.
The small success, which has been met with in all the attempts to fix
this power, has at last obliged philosophers to conclude, that the
ultimate force and efficacy of nature is perfectly unknown to us, and
that it is in vain we search for it in all the known qualities of matter.
In this opinion they are almost unanimous; and it is only in the inference
they draw from it, that they discover any difference in their sentiments.
For some of them, as the CARTESIANS in particular, having established it
as a principle, that we are perfectly acquainted with the essence of
matter, have very naturally inferred, that it is endowed with no
efficacy, and that it is impossible for it of itself to communicate
motion, or produce any of those effects, which we ascribe to it. As the
essence of matter consists in extension, and as extension implies not
actual motion, but only mobility; they conclude, that the energy, which
produces the motion, cannot lie in the extension.
This conclusion leads them into another, which they regard as perfectly
unavoidable. Matter, say they, is in itself entirely unactive, and
deprived of any power, by which it may produce, or continue, or
communicate motion: But since these effects are evident to our senses,
and since the power, that produces them, must be placed somewhere, it
must lie in the DEITY, or that divine being, who contains in his nature
all excellency and perfection. It is the deity, therefore, who is the
prime mover of the universe, and who not only first created matter, and
gave it it's original impulse, but likewise by a continued exertion of
omnipotence, supports its existence, and successively bestows on it all
those motions, and configurations, and qualities, with which it is
endowed.
This opinion is certainly very curious, and well worth our attention; but
it will appear superfluous to examine it in this place, if we reflect a
moment on our present purpose in taking notice of it. We have established
it as a principle, that as all ideas are derived from impressions, or
some precedent perceptions, it is impossible we can have any idea of power
and efficacy, unless some instances can be produced, wherein this power
is perceived to exert itself. Now, as these instances can never be
discovered in body, the Cartesians, proceeding upon their principle of
innate ideas, have had recourse to a supreme spirit or deity, whom they
consider as the only active being in the universe, and as the immediate
cause of every alteration in matter. But the principle of innate ideas
being allowed to be false, it follows, that the supposition of a deity
can serve us in no stead, in accounting for that idea of agency, which we
search for in vain in all the objects, which are presented to our senses,
or which we are internally conscious of in our own minds. For if every
idea be derived from an impression, the idea of a deity proceeds from the
same origin; and if no impression, either of sensation or reflection,
implies any force or efficacy, it is equally impossible to discover or
even imagine any such active principle in the deity. Since these
philosophers, therefore, have concluded, that matter cannot be endowed
with any efficacious principle, because it is impossible to discover in it
such a principle; the same course of reasoning should determine them to
exclude it from the supreme being. Or if they esteem that opinion absurd
and impious, as it really is, I shall tell them how they may avoid it;
and that is, by concluding from the very first, that they have no
adequate idea of power or efficacy in any object; since neither in body
nor spirit, neither in superior nor inferior natures, are they able to
discover one single instance of it.
The same conclusion is unavoidable upon the hypothesis of those, who
maintain the efficacy of second causes, and attribute a derivative, but a
real power and energy to matter. For as they confess, that this energy
lies not in any of the known qualities of matter, the difficulty still
remains concerning the origin of its idea. If we have really an idea of
power, we may attribute power to an unknown quality: But as it is
impossible, that that idea can be derived from such a quality, and as
there is nothing in known qualities, which can produce it; it follows
that we deceive ourselves, when we imagine we are possest of any idea of
this kind, after the manner we commonly understand it. All ideas are
derived from, and represent impressions. We never have any impression,
that contains any power or efficacy. We never therefore have any idea of
power.
Some have asserted, that we feel an energy, or power, in our own mind;
and that having in this manner acquired the idea of power, we transfer
that quality to matter, where we are not able immediately to discover it.
The motions of our body, and the thoughts and sentiments of our mind,
(say they) obey the will; nor do we seek any farther to acquire a just
notion of force or power. But to convince us how fallacious this
reasoning is, we need only consider, that the will being here considered
as a cause, has no more a discoverable connexion with its effects, than
any material cause has with its proper effect. So far from perceiving the
connexion betwixt an act of volition, and a motion of the body; it is
allowed that no effect is more inexplicable from the powers and essence
of thought and matter. Nor is the empire of the will over our mind more
intelligible. The effect is there distinguishable and separable from the
cause, and coued not be foreseen without the experience of their constant
conjunction. We have command over our mind to a certain degree, but
beyond that, lose all empire over it: And it is evidently impossible to
fix any precise bounds to our authority, where we consult not experience.
In short, the actions of the mind are, in this respect, the same with
those of matter. We perceive only their constant conjunction; nor can we
ever reason beyond it. No internal impression has an apparent energy,
more than external objects have. Since, therefore, matter is confessed by
philosophers to operate by an unknown force, we should in vain hope to
attain an idea of force by consulting our own minds. [Footnote 8.]
[Footnote 8. The same imperfection attends our ideas of the Deity; but
this can have no effect either on religion or morals. The order of the
universe proves an omnipotent mind; that is, a mind whose wili is
CONSTANTLY ATTENDED with the obedience of every creature and being.
Nothing more is requisite to give a foundation to all the articles of
religion. nor is It necessary we shoud form a distinct idea of the force
and energy of the supreme Being.]
It has been established as a certain principle, that general or abstract
ideas are nothing but individual ones taken in a certain light, and that,
in reflecting on any object, it is as impossible to exclude from our
thought all particular degrees of quantity and quality as from the real
nature of things. If we be possest, therefore, of any idea of power in
general, we must also be able to conceive some particular species of it;
and as power cannot subsist alone, but is always regarded as an attribute
of some being or existence, we must be able. to place this power in some
particular being, and conceive that being as endowed with a real force
and energy, by which such a particular effect necessarily results from
its operation. We must distinctly and particularly conceive the connexion
betwixt the cause and effect, and be able to pronounce, from a simple
view of the one, that it must be followed or preceded by the other. This
is the true manner of conceiving a particular power in a particular body:
and a general idea being impossible without an individual; where the
latter is impossible, it is certain the former can never exist. Now
nothing is more evident, than that the human mind cannot form such an
idea of two objects, as to conceive any connexion betwixt them, or
comprehend distinctly that power or efficacy, by which they are united.
Such a connexion would amount to a demonstration, and would imply the
absolute impossibility for the one object not to follow, or to be
conceived not to follow upon the other: Which kind of connexion has
already been rejected in all cases. If any one is of a contrary opinion,
and thinks he has attained a notion of power in any particular object, I
desire he may point out to me that object. But till I meet with
such-a-one, which I despair of, I cannot forbear concluding, that since
we can never distinctly conceive how any particular power can possibly
reside in any particular object, we deceive ourselves in imagining we can
form any such general idea.
Thus upon the whole we may infer, that when we talk of any being, whether
of a superior or inferior nature, as endowed with a power or force,
proportioned to any effect; when we speak of a necessary connexion
betwixt objects, and suppose, that this connexion depends upon an
efficacy or energy, with which any of these objects are endowed; in all
these expressions, so applied, we have really no distinct meaning, and
make use only of common words, without any clear and determinate ideas.
But as it is more probable, that these expressions do here lose their true
meaning by being wrong applied, than that they never have any meaning;
it will be proper to bestow another consideration on this subject, to see
if possibly we can discover the nature and origin of those ideas, we
annex to them.
Suppose two objects to be presented to us, of which the one is the cause
and the other the effect; it is plain, that from the simple consideration
of one, or both these objects we never shall perceive the tie by which
they are united, or be able certainly to pronounce, that there is a
connexion betwixt them. It is not, therefore, from any one instance, that
we arrive at the idea of cause and effect, of a necessary connexion of
power, of force, of energy, and of efficacy. Did we never see any but
particular conjunctions of objects, entirely different from each other,
we should never be able to form any such ideas.
But again; suppose we observe several instances, in which the same
objects are always conjoined together, we immediately conceive a
connexion betwixt them, and begin to draw an inference from one to
another. This multiplicity of resembling instances, therefore,
constitutes the very essence of power or connexion, and is the source
from which the idea of it arises. In order, then, to understand the idea
of power, we must consider that multiplicity; nor do I ask more to give a
solution of that difficulty, which has so long perplexed us. For thus I
reason. The repetition of perfectly similar instances can never alone
give rise to an original idea, different from what is to be found in any
particular instance, as has been observed, and as evidently follows from
our fundamental principle, that all ideas are copyed from impressions.
Since therefore the idea of power is a new original idea, not to be found
in any one instance, and which yet arises from the repetition of several
instances, it follows, that the repetition alone has not that effect, but
must either discover or produce something new, which is the source of
that idea. Did the repetition neither discover nor produce anything new,
our ideas might be multiplyed by it, but would not be enlarged above what
they are upon the observation of one single instance. Every enlargement,
therefore, (such as the idea of power or connexion) which arises from the
multiplicity of similar instances, is copyed from some effects of the
multiplicity, and will be perfectly understood by understanding these
effects. Wherever we find anything new to be discovered or produced by
the repetition, there we must place the power, and must never look for it
in any other object.
But it is evident, in the first place, that the repetition of like objects
in like relations of succession and contiguity discovers nothing new in
any one of them: since we can draw no inference from it, nor make it a
subject either of our demonstrative or probable reasonings;[Sect. 6.] as
has been already proved. Nay suppose we coued draw an inference, it would
be of no consequence in the present case; since no kind of reasoning can
give rise to a new idea, such as this of power is; but wherever we
reason, we must antecedently be possest of clear ideas, which may be the
objects of our reasoning. The conception always precedes the
understanding; and where the one is obscure, the other is uncertain;
where the one fails, the other must fail also.
Secondly, It is certain that this repetition of similar objects in similar
situations produces nothing new either in these objects, or in any
external body. For it will readily be allowed, that the several instances
we have of the conjunction of resembling causes and effects are in
themselves entirely independent, and that the communication of motion,
which I see result at present from the shock of two billiard-balls, is
totally distinct from that which I saw result from such an impulse a
twelve-month ago. These impulses have no influence on each other. They
are entirely divided by time and place; and the one might have existed
and communicated motion, though the other never had been in being.
There is, then, nothing new either discovered or produced in any objects
by their constant conjunction, and by the uninterrupted resemblance of
their relations of succession and contiguity. But it is from this
resemblance, that the ideas of necessity, of power, and of efficacy, are
derived. These ideas, therefore, represent not anything, that does or
can belong to the objects, which are constantly conjoined. This is an
argument, which, in every view we can examine it, will be found perfectly
unanswerable. Similar instances are still the first source of our idea of
power or necessity; at the same time that they have no influence by their
similarity either on each other, or on any external object. We must,
therefore, turn ourselves to some other quarter to seek the origin of
that idea.
Though the several resembling instances, which give rise to the idea of
power, have no influence on each other, and can never produce any new
quality in the object, which can be the model of that idea, yet the
observation of this resemblance produces a new impression in the mind,
which is its real model. For after we have observed the resemblance in a
sufficient number of instances, we immediately feel a determination of
the mind to pass from one object to its usual attendant, and to conceive
it in a stronger light upon account of that relation. This determination
is the only effect of the resemblance; and therefore must be the same
with power or efficacy, whose idea is derived from the resemblance. The
several instances of resembling conjunctions lead us into the notion of
power and necessity. These instances are in themselves totally distinct
from each other, and have no union but in the mind, which observes them,
and collects their ideas. Necessity, then, is the effect of this
observation, and is nothing but an internal impression of. the mind, or a
determination to carry our thoughts from one object to another. Without
considering it in this view, we can never arrive at the most distant
notion of it, or be able to attribute it either to external or internal
objects, to spirit or body, to causes or effects.
The necessary connexion betwixt causes and effects is the foundation of
our inference from one to the other. The foundation of our inference is
the transition arising from the accustomed union. These are, therefore,
the same.
The idea of necessity arises from some impression. There is no impression
conveyed by our senses, which can give rise to that idea. It must,
therefore, be derived from some internal impression, or impression of
reflection. There is no internal impression, which has any relation to
the present business, but that propensity, which custom produces, to pass
from an object to the idea of its usual attendant. This therefore is the
essence of necessity. Upon the whole, necessity is something, that exists
in the mind, not in objects; nor is it possible for us ever to form the
most distant idea of it, considered as a quality in bodies. Either we
have no idea of necessity, or necessity is nothing but that determination
of the thought to pass from causes to effects, and from effects to
causes, according to their experienced union.
Thus as the necessity, which makes two times two equal to four, or three
angles of a triangle equal to two right ones, lies only in the act of the
understanding, by which we consider and compare these ideas; in like
manner the necessity or power, which unites causes and effects, lies in
the determination of the mind to pass from the one to the other. The
efficacy or energy of causes is neither placed in the causes themselves,
nor in the deity, nor in the concurrence of these two principles; but
belongs entirely to the soul, which considers the union of two or more
objects in all past instances. It is here that the real power of causes is
placed along with their connexion and necessity.
I am sensible, that of all the paradoxes, which I, have had, or shall
hereafter have occasion to advance in the course of this treatise, the
present one is the most violent, and that it is merely by dint of solid
proof and reasoning I can ever hope it will have admission, and overcome
the inveterate prejudices of mankind. Before we are reconciled to this
doctrine, how often must we repeat to ourselves, that the simple view of
any two objects or actions, however related, can never give us any idea,
of power, or of a connexion betwixt them: that this idea arises from the
repetition of their union: that the repetition neither discovers nor
causes any thing in the objects, but has an influence only on the mind,
by that customary transition it produces: that this customary transition
is, therefore, the same with the power and necessity; which are
consequently qualities of perceptions, not of objects, and are internally
felt by the soul, and not perceivd externally in bodies? There is
commonly an astonishment attending every thing extraordinary; and this
astonishment changes immediately into the highest degree of esteem or
contempt, according as we approve or disapprove of the subject. I am much
afraid, that though the foregoing reasoning appears to me the shortest and
most decisive imaginable; yet with the generality of readers the biass of
the mind will prevail, and give them a prejudice against the present
doctrine.
This contrary biass is easily accounted for. It is a common observation,
that the mind has a great propensity to spread itself on external
objects, and to conjoin with them any internal impressions, which they
occasion, and which always make their appearance at the same time that
these objects discover themselves to the senses. Thus as certain sounds
and smells are always found to attend certain visible objects, we
naturally imagine a conjunction, even in place, betwixt the objects and
qualities, though the qualities be of such a nature as to admit of no such
conjunction, and really exist no where. But of this more fully hereafter
[Part IV, Sect. 5.]. Mean while it is sufficient to observe, that the same
propensity is the reason, why we suppose necessity and power to lie in
the objects we consider, not in our mind that considers them;
notwithstanding it is not possible for us to form the most distant idea
of that quality, when it is not taken for the determination of the mind,
to pass from the idea of an object to that of its usual attendant.
But though this be the only reasonable account we can give of necessity,
the contrary notion if; so riveted in the mind from the principles
above-mentioned, that I doubt not but my sentiments will be treated by
many as extravagant and ridiculous. What! the efficacy of causes lie in
the determination of the mind! As if causes did not operate entirely
independent of the mind, and would not continue their operation, even
though there was no mind existent to contemplate them, or reason
concerning them. Thought may well depend on causes for its operation, but
not causes on thought. This is to reverse the order of nature, and make
that secondary, which is really primary, To every operation there is a
power proportioned; and this power must be placed on the body, that
operates. If we remove the power from one cause, we must ascribe it to
another: But to remove it from all causes, and bestow it on a being, that
is no ways related to the cause or effect, but by perceiving them, is a
gross absurdity, and contrary to the most certain principles of human
reason.
I can only reply to all these arguments, that the case is here much the
same, as if a blind man should pretend to find a great many absurdities
in the supposition, that the colour of scarlet is not the same with the
sound of a trumpet, nor light the same with solidity. If we have really
no idea of a power or efficacy in any object, or of any real connexion
betwixt causes and effects, it will be to little purpose to prove, that an
efficacy is necessary in all operations. We do not understand our own
meaning in talking so, but ignorantly confound ideas, which are entirely
distinct from each other. I am, indeed, ready to allow, that there may be
several qualities both in material and immaterial objects, with which we
are utterly unacquainted; and if we please to call these POWER or
EFFICACY, it will be of little consequence to the world. But when, instead
of meaning these unknown qualities, we make the terms of power and
efficacy signify something, of which we have a clear idea, and which is
incompatible with those objects, to which we apply it, obscurity and
error begin then to take place, and we are led astray by a false
philosophy. This is the case, when we transfer the determination of the
thought to external objects, and suppose any real intelligible connexion
betwixt them; that being a quality, which can only belong to the mind
that considers them.
As to what may be said, that the operations of nature are independent of
our thought and reasoning, I allow it; and accordingly have observed,
that objects bear to each other the relations of contiguity and
succession: that like objects may be observed in several instances to
have like relations; and that all this is independent of, and antecedent
to the operations of the understanding. But if we go any farther, and
ascribe a power or necessary connexion to these objects; this is what we
can never observe in them, but must draw the idea of it from what we feel
internally in contemplating them. And this I carry so far, that I am
ready to convert my present reasoning into an instance of it, by a
subtility, which it will not be difficult to comprehend.
When any object is presented to us, it immediately conveys to the mind a
lively idea of that object, which is usually found to attend it; and this
determination of the mind forms the necessary connexion of these objects.
But when we change the point of view, from the objects to the
perceptions; in that case the impression is to be considered as the
cause, and the lively idea as the effect; and their necessary connexion
is that new determination, which we feel to pass from the idea of the one
to that of the other. The uniting principle among our internal
perceptions is as unintelligible as that among external objects, and is
not known to us any other way than by experience. Now the nature and
effects of experience have been already sufficiently examined and
explained. It never gives us any insight into the internal structure or
operating principle of objects, but only accustoms the mind to pass from
one to another.
It is now time to collect all the different parts of this reasoning, and
by joining them together form an exact definition of the relation of
cause and effect, which makes the subject of the present enquiry. This
order would not have been excusable, of first examining our inference
from the relation before we had explained the relation itself, had it
been possible to proceed in a different method. But as the nature of the
relation depends so much on that of the inference, we have been obliged
to advance in this seemingly preposterous manner, and make use of terms
before we were able exactly to define them, or fix their meaning. We
shall now correct this fault by giving a precise definition of cause and
effect.
There may two definitions be given of this relation, which are only
different, by their presenting a different view of the same object, and
making us consider it either as a philosophical or as a natural relation;
either as a comparison of two ideas, or as an association betwixt them.
We may define a CAUSE to be An object precedent and contiguous to
another, and where all the objects resembling the former are placed in
like relations of precedency and contiguity to those objects that
resemble the latter. I If this definition be esteemed defective, because
drawn from objects foreign to the cause, we may substitute this other
definition in its place, viz. A CAUSE is an object precedent and
contiguous to another, and so united with it, that the idea, of the one
determines the mind to form the idea of the other, and the impression of
the one to form a more lively idea of the other. 2 should this
definition also be rejected for the same reason, I know no other remedy,
than that the persons, who express this delicacy, should substitute a
juster definition in its place. But for my part I must own my incapacity
for such an undertaking. When I examine with the utmost accuracy those
objects, which are commonly denominated causes and effects, I find, in
considering a single instance, that the one object is precedent and
contiguous to the other; and in inlarging my view to consider several
instances, I find only, that like objects are constantly placed in like
relations of succession and contiguity. Again, when I consider the
influence of this constant conjunction, I perceive, that such a relation
can never be an object of reasoning, and can never operate upon the mind,
but by means of custom, which determines the imagination to make a
transition from the idea of one object to that of its usual attendant,
and from the impression of one to a more lively idea of the other.
However extraordinary these sentiments may appear, I think it fruitless
to trouble myself with any farther enquiry or reasoning upon the subject,
but shall repose myself on them as on established maxims.
It will only be proper, before we leave this subject, to draw some
corrollaries from it, by which we may remove several prejudices and
popular errors, that have very much prevailed in philosophy. First, We
may learn from the foregoing, doctrine, that all causes are of the same
kind, and that in particular there is no foundation for that distinction,
which we sometimes make betwixt efficient causes and causes sine qua non;
or betwixt efficient causes, and formal, and material, and exemplary, and
final causes. For as our idea of efficiency is derived from the constant
conjunction of two objects, wherever this is observed, the cause is
efficient; and where it is not, there can never be a cause of any kind.
For the same reason we must reject the distinction betwixt cause and
occasion, when supposed to signify any thing essentially different from
each other. If constant conjunction be implyed in what we call occasion,
it is a real cause. If not, it is no relation at all, and cannot give rise
to any argument or reasoning.
Secondly, The same course of reasoning will make us conclude, that there
is but one kind of necessity, as there is but one kind of cause, and that
the common distinction betwixt moral and physical necessity is without
any foundation in nature. This clearly appears from the precedent
explication of necessity. It is the constant conjunction of objects, along
with the determination of the mind, which constitutes a physical
necessity: And the removal of these is the same thing with chance. As
objects must either be conjoined or not, and as the mind must either be
determined or not to pass from one object to another, it is impossible to
admit of any medium betwixt chance and an absolute necessity. In
weakening this conjunction and determination you do not change the nature
of the necessity; since even in the operation of bodies, these have
different degrees of constancy and force, without producing a different
species of that relation.
The distinction, which we often make betwixt POWER and the EXERCISE
of it, is equally without foundation.
Thirdly, We may now be able fully to overcome all that repugnance, which
it is so natural for us to entertain against the foregoing reasoning, by
which we endeavoured to prove, that the necessity of a cause to every
beginning of existence is not founded on any arguments either
demonstrative or intuitive. Such an opinion will not appear strange after
the foregoing definitions. If we define a cause to be an object precedent
and contiguous to another, and where all the objects resembling the
farmer are placed in a like relation of .priority and contiguity to those
objects, that resemble the latter; we may easily conceive, that there is
no absolute nor metaphysical necessity, that every beginning of existence
should be attended with such an object. If we define a cause to be, AN
OBJECT PRECEDENT AND CONTIGUOUS TO ANOTHER, AND SO UNITED WITH IT IN THE
IMAGINATION, THAT THE IDEA OF THE ONE DETERMINES THE MIND TO FORM THE
IDEA OF THE OTHER, AND THE IMPRESSION OF THE ONE TO FORM A MORE LIVELY
IDEA OF THE OTHER; we shall make still less difficulty of assenting to
this opinion. Such an influence on the mind is in itself perfectly
extraordinary and incomprehensible; nor can we be certain of its reality,
but from experience and observation.
I shall add as a fourth corrollary that we can never have reason to
believe that any object exists, of which we cannot form an idea. For as
all our reasonings concerning existence are derived from causation, and
as all our reasonings concerning causation are derived from the
experienced conjunction of objects, not from any reasoning or reflection,
the same experience must give us a notion of these objects, and must
remove all mystery from our conclusions. This is so evident, that it would
scarce have merited our attention, were it not to obviate certain
objections of this kind, which might arise against the following
reasonings concerning matter and substance. I need not observe, that a
full knowledge of the object is not requisite, but only of those
qualities of it, which we believe to exist.
SECT. XV. RULES BY WHICH TO JUDGE OF CAUSES AND EFFECTS.
According to the precedent doctrine, there are no objects which by the
mere survey, without consulting experience, we can determine to be the
causes of any other; and no objects, which we can certainly determine in
the same manner not to be the causes. Any thing may produce any thing.
Creation, annihilation, motion, reason, volition; all these may arise
from one another, or from any other object we can imagine. Nor will this
appear strange, if we compare two principles explained above, THAT THE
CONSTANT CONJUNCTION OF OBJECTS DETERMINES THEIR CAUSATION, AND
[Part I. Sect. 5.] THAT, PROPERTY SPEAKING, NO OBJECTS ARE CONTRARY TO
EACH OTHER BUT EXISTENCE AND NON-EXISTENCE. Where objects are not
contrary, nothing hinders them from having that constant conjunction, on
which the relation of cause and effect totally depends.
Since therefore it is possible for all objects to become causes or effects
to each other, it may be proper to fix some general rules, by which we
may know when they really are so.
(1) The cause and effect must be contiguous in space and time.
(2) The cause must be prior to the effect.
(3) There must be a constant union betwixt the cause and effect. It is
chiefly this quality, that constitutes the relation.
(4) The same cause always produces the same effect, and the same effect
never arises but from the same cause. This principle we derive from
experience, and is the source of most of our philosophical reasonings.
For when by any clear experiment we have discovered the causes or effects
of any phaenomenon, we immediately extend our observation to every
phenomenon of the same kind, without waiting for that constant
repetition, from which the first idea of this relation is derived.
(5) There is another principle, which hangs upon this, viz. that where
several different objects produce the same effect, it must be by means of
some quality, which we discover to be common amongst them. For as like
effects imply like causes, we must always ascribe the causation to the
circumstance, wherein we discover the resemblance.
(6) The following principle is founded on the same reason. The difference
in the effects of two resembling objects must proceed from that
particular, in which they differ. For as like causes always produce like
effects, when in any instance we find our expectation to be disappointed,
we must conclude that this irregularity proceeds from some difference in
the causes.
(7) When any object encreases or diminishes with the encrease or
diminution of its cause, it is to be regarded as a compounded effect,
derived from the union of the several different effects, which arise from
the several different parts of the cause. The absence or presence of one
part of the cause is here supposed to be always attended with the absence
or presence of a proportionable part of the effect. This constant
conjunction sufficiently proves, that the one part is the cause of the
other. We must, however, beware not to draw such a conclusion from a few
experiments. A certain degree of heat gives pleasure; if you diminish
that heat, the pleasure diminishes; but it does not follow, that if you
augment it beyond a certain degree, the pleasure will likewise augment;
for we find that it degenerates into pain.
(8) The eighth and last rule I shall take notice of is, that an object,
which exists for any time in its full perfection without any effect, is
not the sole cause of that effect, but requires to be assisted by some
other principle, which may forward its influence and operation. For as
like effects necessarily follow from like causes, and in a contiguous
time and place, their separation for a moment shews, that these causes
are not compleat ones.
Here is all the LOGIC I think proper to employ in my reasoning; and
perhaps even this was not very necessary, but might have been supplyd by
the natural principles of our understanding. Our scholastic head-pieces
and logicians shew no such superiority above the mere vulgar in their
reason and ability, as to give us any inclination to imitate them in
delivering a long system of rules and precepts to direct our judgment, in
philosophy. All the rules of this nature are very easy in their
invention, but extremely difficult in their application; and even
experimental philosophy, which seems the most natural and simple of any,
requires the utmost stretch of human judgment. There is no phaenomenon in
nature, but what is compounded and modifyd by so many different
circumstances, that in order to arrive at the decisive point, we must
carefully separate whatever is superfluous, and enquire by new
experiments, if every particular circumstance of the first experiment was
essential to it. These new experiments are liable to a discussion of the
same kind; so that the utmost constancy is requird to make us persevere
in our enquiry, and the utmost sagacity to choose the right way among so
many that present themselves. If this be the case even in natural
philosophy, how much more in moral, where there is a much greater
complication of circumstances, and where those views and sentiments,
which are essential to any action of the mind, are so implicit and
obscure, that they often escape our strictest attention, and are not only
unaccountable in their causes, but even unknown in their existence? I am
much afraid lest the small success I meet with in my enquiries will make
this observation bear the air of an apology rather than of boasting.
If any thing can give me security in this particular, it will be the
enlarging of the sphere of my experiments as much as possible; for which
reason it may be proper in this place to examine the reasoning faculty of
brutes, as well as that of human creatures.
SECT. XVI OF THE REASON OF ANIMALS
Next to the ridicule of denying an evident truth, is that of taking much
pains to defend it; and no truth appears to me more evident, than that
beasts are endowd with thought and reason as well as men. The arguments
are in this case so obvious, that they never escape the most stupid and
ignorant.
We are conscious, that we ourselves, in adapting means to ends, are
guided by reason and design, and that it is not ignorantly nor casually we
perform those actions, which tend to self-preservation, to the obtaining
pleasure, and avoiding pain. When therefore we see other creatures, in
millions of instances, perform like actions, and direct them to the ends,
all our principles of reason and probability carry us with an invincible
force to believe the existence of a like cause. It is needless in my
opinion to illustrate this argument by the enumeration of particulars.
The smallest attention will supply us with more than are requisite. The
resemblance betwixt the actions of animals and those of men is so entire
in this respect, that the very first action of the first animal we shall
please to pitch on, will afford us an incontestable argument for the
present doctrine.
This doctrine is as useful as it is obvious, and furnishes us with a kind
of touchstone, by which we may try every system in this species of
philosophy. It is from the resemblance of the external actions of animals
to those we ourselves perform, that we judge their internal likewise to
resemble ours; and the same principle of reasoning, carryd one step
farther, will make us conclude that since our internal actions resemble
each other, the causes, from which they are derivd, must also be
resembling. When any hypothesis, therefore, is advancd to explain a
mental operation, which is common to men and beasts, we must apply the
same hypothesis to both; and as every true hypothesis will abide this
trial, so I may venture to affirm, that no false one will ever be able to
endure it. The common defect of those systems, which philosophers have
employd to account for the actions of the mind, is, that they suppose
such a subtility and refinement of thought, as not only exceeds the
capacity of mere animals, but even of children and the common people in
our own species; who are notwithstanding susceptible of the same emotions
and affections as persons of the most accomplishd genius and
understanding. Such a subtility is a dear proof of the falshood, as the
contrary simplicity of the truth, of any system.
Let us therefore put our present system concerning the nature of the
understanding to this decisive trial, and see whether it will equally
account for the reasonings of beasts as for these of the human species.
Here we must make a distinction betwixt those actions of animals, which
are of a vulgar nature, and seem to be on a level with their common
capacities, and those more extraordinary instances of sagacity, which
they sometimes discover for their own preservation, and the propagation
of their species. A dog, that avoids fire and precipices, that shuns
strangers, and caresses his master, affords us an instance of the first
kind. A bird, that chooses with such care and nicety the place and
materials of her nest, and sits upon her eggs for a due time, and in
suitable season, with all the precaution that a chymist is capable of in
the most delicate projection, furnishes us with a lively instance of the
second.
As to the former actions, I assert they proceed from a reasoning, that is
not in itself different, nor founded on different principles, from that
which appears in human nature. It is necessary in the first place, that
there be some impression immediately present to their memory or senses,
in order to be the foundation of their judgment. From the tone of voice
the dog infers his masters anger, and foresees his own punishment. From a
certain sensation affecting his smell, he judges his game not to be far
distant from him.
Secondly, The inference he draws from the present impression is built on
experience, and on his observation of the conjunction of objects in past
instances. As you vary this experience, he varies his reasoning. Make a
beating follow upon one sign or motion for some time, and afterwards upon
another; and he will successively draw different conclusions, according
to his most recent experience.
Now let any philosopher make a trial, and endeavour to explain that act
of the mind, which we call BELIEF, and give an account of the principles,
from which it is derivd, independent of the influence of custom on the
imagination. and let his hypothesis be equally applicable to beasts as to
the human species; and after he has done this, I promise to embrace his
opinion. But at the same time I demand as an equitable condition, that if
my system be the only one, which can answer to all these terms, it may be
receivd as entirely satisfactory and convincing. And that it is the only
one, is evident almost without any reasoning. Beasts certainly never
perceive any real connexion among objects. It is therefore by experience
they infer one from another. They can never by any arguments form a
general conclusion, that those objects, of which they have had no
experience, resemble those of which they have. It is therefore by means of
custom alone, that experience operates upon them. All this was
sufficiently evident with respect to man. But with respect to beasts
there cannot be the least suspicion of mistake; which must be ownd to be
a strong confirmation, or rather an invincible proof of my system.
Nothing shews more the force of habit in reconciling us to any
phaenomenoun, than this, that men are not astonished at the operations of
their own reason, at the same time, that they admire the instinct of
animals, and find a difficulty in explaining it, merely because it cannot
be reducd tothe very same principles. To consider the matter aright,
reason is nothing but a wonderful and unintelligible instinct in our
souls, which carries us along a certain train of ideas, and endows them
with particular qualities, according to their particular situations and
relations. This instinct, it is true, arises from past observation and
experience; but can any one give the ultimate reason, why past experience
and observation produces such an effect, any more than why nature alone
shoud produce it? Nature may certainly produce whatever can arise from
habit: Nay, habit is nothing but one of the principles of nature, and
derives all its force from that origin.
PART IV. OF THE SCEPTICAL AND OTHER SYSTEMS OF PHILOSOPHY.
SECT. I. OF SCEPTICISM WITH REGARD TO REASON.
In all demonstrative sciences the rules are certain and infallible; but
when we apply them, our fallible said uncertain faculties are very apt to
depart from them, and fall into error. We must, therefore, in every
reasoning form a new judgment, as a check or controul on our first
judgment or belief; and must enlarge our view to comprehend a kind of
history of all the instances, wherein our understanding has deceived us,
compared with those, wherein its testimony was just and true. Our reason
must be considered as a kind of cause, of which truth is the natural
effect; but such-a-one as by the irruption of other causes, and by the
inconstancy of our mental powers, may frequently be prevented. By this
means all knowledge degenerates into probability; and this probability is
greater or less, according to our experience of the veracity or
deceitfulness of our understanding, and according to the simplicity or
intricacy of the question.
There is no Algebraist nor Mathematician so expert in his science, as to
place entire confidence in any truth immediately upon his discovery of
it, or regard it as any thing, but a were probability. Every time he runs
over his proofs, his confidence encreases; but still more by the
approbation of his friends; and is raised to its utmost perfection by the
universal assent and applauses of the, learned world. Now it is evident,
that this gradual encrease of assurance is nothing but the addition of
new probabilities, and is derived from the constant union of causes and
effects, according to past experience and observation.
In accompts of any length or importance, Merchants seldom trust to the,
infallible certainty of numbers for their security; but by the artificial
structure of the accompts, produce a probability beyond what is derived
from the skill and experience of the accomptant. For that is plainly of
itself some degree of probability; though uncertain and variable,
according to the degrees of his experience and length of the accompt. Now
as none will maintain, that our assurance in a long numeration exceeds
probability, I may safely affirm, that there scarce is any proposition
concerning numbers, of which we can have a fuller security. For it is
easily possible, by gradually diminishing the numbers, to reduce the
longest series of addition to the most simple question, which can be
formed, to an addition of two single numbers; and upon this supposition
we shall find it impracticable to shew the precise limits of knowledge
and of probability, or discover that particular number, at which the one
ends and the other begins. But knowledge and probability are of such
contrary and disagreeing natures, that they cannot well run insensibly
into each other, and that because they will not divide, but must be
either entirely present, or entirely absent. Besides, if any single
addition were certain, every one would be so, and consequently the whole
or total sum; unless the whole can be different from all its parts. I had
almost said, that this was certain; but I reflect that it must reduce
itself, as well as every other reasoning, and from knowledge degenerate
into probability.
Since therefore all knowledge resolves itself into probability, and
becomes at last of the same nature with that evidence, which we employ in
common life, we must now examine this latter species of reasoning, and
see on what foundation it stands.
In every judgment, which we can form concerning probability, as well as
concerning knowledge, we ought always to correct the first judgment,
derived from the nature of the object, by another judgment, derived from
the nature of the understanding. It is certain a man of solid sense and
long experience ought to have, and usually has, a greater assurance in
his opinions, than one that is foolish and ignorant, and that our
sentiments have different degrees of authority, even with ourselves, in
proportion to the degrees of our reason and experience. In the man of the
best sense and longest experience, this authority is never entire; since
even such-a-one must be conscious of many errors in the past, and must
still dread the like for the future. Here then arises a new species of
probability to correct and regulate the first, and fix its just standard
and proportion. As demonstration is subject to the controul of
probability, so is probability liable to a new correction by a reflex act
of the mind, wherein the nature of our understanding, and our reasoning
from the first probability become our objects.
Having thus found in every probability, beside the original uncertainty
inherent in the subject, a new uncertainty derived from the weakness of
that faculty, which judges, and having adjusted these two together, we
are obliged by our reason to add a new doubt derived from the possibility
of error in the estimation we make of the truth and fidelity of our
faculties. This is a doubt, which immediately occurs to us, and of which,
if we would closely pursue our reason, we cannot avoid giving a decision.
But this decision, though it should be favourable to our preceding
judgment, being founded only on probability, must weaken still further
our first evidence, and must itself be weakened by a fourth doubt of the
same kind, and so on in infinitum: till at last there remain nothing of
the original probability, however great we may suppose it to have been,
and however small the diminution by every new uncertainty. No finite
object can subsist under a decrease repeated IN INFINITUM; and even the
vastest quantity, which can enter into human imagination, must in this
manner be reduced to nothing. Let our first belief be never so strong, it
must infallibly perish by passing through so many new examinations, of
which each diminishes somewhat of its force and vigour. When I reflect on
the natural fallibility of my judgment, I have less confidence in my
opinions, than when I only consider the objects concerning which I
reason; and when I proceed still farther, to turn the scrutiny against
every successive estimation I make of my faculties, all the rules of
logic require a continual diminution, and at last a total extinction of
belief and evidence.
Should it here be asked me, whether I sincerely assent to this argument,
which I seem to take such pains to inculcate, and whether I be really one
of those sceptics, who hold that all is uncertain, and that our judgment
is not in any thing possest of any measures of truth and falshood; I
should reply, that this question is entirely superfluous, and that
neither I, nor any other person was ever sincerely and constantly of that
opinion. Nature, by an absolute and uncontroulable necessity has
determined us to judge as well as to breathe and feel; nor can we any
more forbear viewing certain objects in a stronger and fuller light, upon
account of their customary connexion with a present impression, than we
can hinder ourselves from thinking as long, as we are awake, or seeing
the surrounding bodies, when we turn our eyes towards them in broad
sunshine. Whoever has taken the pains to refute the cavils of this total
scepticism, has really disputed without an antagonist, and endeavoured by
arguments to establish a faculty, which nature has antecedently implanted
in the mind, and rendered unavoidable.
My intention then in displaying so carefully the arguments of that
fantastic sect, is only to make the reader sensible of the truth of my
hypothesis, that all our reasonings concerning causes and effects are
derived from nothing but custom; and that belief is more properly an act
of the, sensitive, than of the cogitative part of our natures. I have
here proved, that the very same principles, which make us form a decision
upon any subject, and correct that decision by the consideration of our
genius and capacity, and of the situation of our mind, when we examined
that subject; I say, I have proved, that these same principles, when
carryed farther, and applied to every new reflex judgment, must, by
continually diminishing the original evidence, at last reduce it to
nothing, and utterly subvert all belief and opinion. If belief,
therefore, were a simple act of the thought, without any peculiar manner
of conception, or the addition of a force and vivacity, it must
infallibly destroy itself, and in every case terminate in a total
suspense of judgment. But as experience will sufficiently convince any
one, who thinks it worth while to try, that though he can find no error in
the foregoing arguments, yet he still continues to believe, and think,
and reason as usual, he may safely conclude, that his reasoning and
belief is some sensation or peculiar manner of conception, which it is
impossible for mere ideas and reflections to destroy.
But here, perhaps, it may be demanded, how it happens, even upon my
hypothesis, that these arguments above-explained produce not a total
suspense of judgment, and after what manner the mind ever retains a
degree of assurance in any subject? For as these new probabilities, which
by their repetition perpetually diminish the original evidence, are
founded on the very same principles, whether of thought or sensation, as
the primary judgment, it may seem unavoidable, that in either case they
must equally subvert it, and by the opposition, either of contrary
thoughts or sensations, reduce the mind to a total uncertainty. I
suppose, there is some question proposed to me, and that after revolving
over the impressions of my memory and senses, and carrying my thoughts
from them to such objects, as are commonly conjoined with them, I feel a
stronger and more forcible conception on the one side, than on the other.
This strong conception forms my first decision. I suppose, that
afterwards I examine my judgment itself, and observing from experience,
that it is sometimes just and sometimes erroneous, I consider it as
regulated by contrary principles or causes, of which some lead to truth,
and some to error; and in ballancing these contrary causes, I diminish by
a new probability the assurance of my first decision. This new
probability is liable to the same diminution as the foregoing, and so on,
IN INFINITUM. It is therefore demanded, how it happens, that even after
all we retain a degree of belief, which is sufficient for our purpose,
either in philosophy or common life.
I answer, that after the first and second decision; as the action of the
mind becomes forced and unnatural, and the ideas faint and obscure; though
the principles of judgment, and the ballancing of opposite causes be the
same as at the very beginning; yet their influence on the imagination,
and the vigour they add to, or diminish from the thought, is by no means
equal. Where the mind reaches not its objects with easiness and facility,
the same principles have not the same effect as in a more natural
conception of the ideas; nor does the imagination feel a sensation, which
holds any proportion with that which arises from its common judgments and
opinions. The attention is on the stretch: The posture of the mind is
uneasy; and the spirits being diverted from their natural course, are not
governed in their movements by the same laws, at least not to the same
degree, as when they flow in their usual channel.
If we desire similar instances, it will not be very difficult to find
them. The present subject of metaphysics will supply us abundantly. The
same argument, which would have been esteemed convincing in a reasoning
concerning history or politics, has little or no influence in these
abstruser subjects, even though it be perfectly comprehended; and that
because there is required a study and an effort of thought, in order to
its being comprehended: And this effort of thought disturbs the operation
of our sentiments, on which the belief depends. The case is the same in
other subjects. The straining of the imagination always hinders the
regular flowing of the passions and sentiments. A tragic poet, that would
represent his heroes as very ingenious and witty in their misfortunes,
would never touch the passions. As the emotions of the soul prevent any
subtile reasoning and reflection, so these latter actions of the mind are
equally prejudicial to the former. The mind, as well as the body, seems
to be endowed with a certain precise degree of force and activity, which
it never employs in one action, but at the expense of all the rest. This
is more evidently true, where the actions are of quite different natures;
since in that case the force of the mind is not only diverted, but even
the disposition changed, so as to render us incapable of a sudden
transition from one action to the other, and still more of performing
both at once. No wonder, then, the conviction, which arises from a
subtile reasoning, diminishes in proportion to the efforts, which the
imagination makes to enter into the reasoning, and to conceive it in all
its parts. Belief, being a lively conception, can never be entire, where
it is not founded on something natural and easy.
This I take to be the true state of the question, and cannot approve of
that expeditious way, which some take with the sceptics, to reject at
once all their arguments without enquiry or examination. If the sceptical
reasonings be strong, say they, it is a proof, that reason may have some
force and authority: if weak, they can never be sufficient to invalidate
all the conclusions of our understanding. This argument is not just;
because the sceptical reasonings, were it possible for them to exist, and
were they not destroyed by their subtility, would be successively both
strong and weak, according to the successive dispositions of the mind.
Reason first appears in possession of the throne, prescribing laws, and
imposing maxims, with an absolute sway and authority. Her enemy,
therefore, is obliged to take shelter under her protection, and by making
use of rational arguments to prove the fallaciousness and imbecility of
reason, produces, in a manner, a patent under her band and seal. This
patent has at first an authority, proportioned to the present and
immediate authority of reason, from which it is derived. But as it is
supposed to be contradictory to reason, it gradually diminishes the force
of that governing power and its own at the same time; till at last they
both vanish away into nothing, by a regulax and just diminution. The
sceptical and dogmatical reasons are of the same kind, though contrary in
their operation and tendency; so that where the latter is strong, it has
an enemy of equal force in the former to encounter; and as their forces
were at first equal, they still continue so, as long as either of them
subsists; nor does one of them lose any force in the contest, without
taking as much from its antagonist. It is happy, therefore, that nature
breaks the force of all sceptical arguments in time, and keeps them from
having any considerable influence on the understanding. Were we to trust
entirely to their self-destruction, that can never take place, until they
have first subverted all conviction, and have totally destroyed human
reason.
Thus the sceptic still continues to reason and believe, even though be asserts, that he cannot defend his reason by reason; and by the same rule he must assent to the principle concerning the existence of body, though he cannot pretend by any arguments of philosophy to maintain its veracity. Nature has not left this to his choice, and has doubtless, esteemed it an affair of too great importance to be trusted to our uncertain reasonings and speculations. We may well ask, What causes induce us to believe in the existence of body? but it is in vain to ask, Whether there be body or not? That is a point, which we must take for granted in all our reasonings.
The subject, then, of our present enquiry is concerning the causes which induce us to believe in the existence of body: And my reasonings on this head I shall begin with a distinction, which at first sight may seem superfluous, but which will contribute very much to the perfect understanding of what follows. We ought to examine apart those two questions, which are commonly confounded together, viz. Why we attribute a continued existence to objects, even when they are not present to the senses; and why we suppose them to have an existence DISTINCT from the mind and perception. Under this last head I comprehend their situation as well as relations, their external position as well as the independence of their existence and operation. These two questions concerning the continued and distinct existence of body are intimately connected together. For if the objects of our senses continue to exist, even when they are not perceived, their existence is of course independent of and distinct from the perception: and vice versa, if their existence be independent of the perception and distinct from it, they must continue to exist, even though they be not perceived. But though the decision of the one question decides the other; yet that we may the more easily discover the principles of human nature, from whence the decision arises, we shall carry along with us this distinction, and shall consider, whether it be the senses, reason, or the imagination, that produces the opinion of a continued or of a distinct existence. These are the only questions, that are intelligible on the present subject. For as to the notion of external existence, when taken for something specially different from our perceptions [Part. II. Sect. 6.], we have already shewn its absurdity.
To begin with the SENSES, it is evident these faculties are incapable of giving rise to the notion of the continued existence of their objects, after they no longer appear to the senses. For that is a contradiction in terms, and suppose that the senses continue to operate, even after they have ceased all manner of operation. These faculties, therefore, if they have any influence in the present case, must produce the opinion of a distinct, not of a continued existence; and in order to that, must present their impressions either as images and representations, or as these very distinct and external existences.
That our senses offer not their impressions as the images of something distinct, or independent, and external, is evident; because they convey to us nothing but a single perception, and never give us the least intimation of any thing beyond. A single perception can never produce the idea of a double existence, but by some inference either of the reason or imagination. When the mind looks farther than what immediately appears to it, its conclusions can never be put to the account of the senses; and it certainly looks farther, when from a single perception it infers a double existence, and supposes the relations of resemblance and causation betwixt them.
If our senses, therefore, suggest any idea of distinct existences, they must convey the impressions as those very existences, by a kind of fallacy and illusion. Upon this bead we may observe, that all sensations are felt by the mind, such as they really are, and that when we doubt, whether they present themselves as distinct objects, or as mere impressions, the difficulty is not concerning their nature, but concerning their relations and situation. Now if the senses presented our impressions as external to, and independent of ourselves, both the objects and ourselves must be obvious to our senses, otherwise they coued not be compared by these faculties. The difficulty, then, is how fax we are ourselves the objects of our senses.
It is certain there is no question in philosophy more abstruse than that concerning identity, and the nature of the uniting principle, which constitutes a person. So far from being able by our senses merely to determine this question, we must have recourse to the most profound metaphysics to give a satisfactory answer to it; and in common life it is evident these ideas of self and person are never very fixed nor determinate. It is absurd, therefore, to imagine the senses can ever distinguish betwixt ourselves and external objects.
Add to this, that every impression, external and internal, passions, affections, sensations, pains and pleasures, are originally on the same footing; and that whatever other differences we may observe among them, they appear, all of them, in their true colours, as impressions or perceptions. And indeed, if we consider the matter aright, it is scarce possible it should be otherwise, nor is it conceivable that our senses should be more capable of deceiving us in the situation and relations, than in the nature of our impressions. For since all actions and sensations of the mind are known to us by consciousness, they must necessarily appear in every particular what they are, and be what they appear. Every thing that enters the mind, being in reality a perception, it is impossible any thing should to feeling appear different. This were to suppose, that even where we are most intimately conscious, we might be mistaken.
But not to lose time in examining, whether it is possible for our senses to deceive us, and represent our perceptions as distinct from ourselves, that is as external to and independent of us; let us consider whether they really do so, and whether this error proceeds from an immediate sensation, or from some other causes.
To begin with the question concerning EXTERNAL existence, it may perhaps be said, that setting aside the metaphysical question of the identity of a thinking substance, our own body evidently belongs to us; and as several impressions appear exterior to the body, we suppose them also exterior to ourselves. The paper, on which I write at present, is beyond my hand. The table is beyond the paper. The walls of the chamber beyond the table. And in casting my eye towards the window, I perceive a great extent of fields and buildings beyond my chamber. From all this it may be infered, that no other faculty is required, beside the senses, to convince us of the external existence of body. But to prevent this inference, we need only weigh the three following considerations. First, That, properly speaking, it is not our body we perceive, when we regard our limbs and members, but certain impressions, which enter by the senses; so that the ascribing a real and corporeal existence to these impressions, or to their objects, is an act of the mind as difficult to explain, as that which we examine at present. Secondly, Sounds, and tastes, and smelts, though commonly regarded by the mind as continued independent qualities, appear not to have any existence in extension, and consequently cannot appear to the senses as situated externally to the body. The reason, why we ascribe a, place to them, shall be: considered afterwards. Thirdly, Even our sight informs us not of distance or outness (so to speak) immediately and without a certain reasoning and experience, as is acknowledged by the most rational philosophers.
As to the independency of our perceptions on ourselves, this can never be an object of the senses; but any opinion we form concerning it, must be derived from experience and observation: And we shall see afterwards, that our conclusions from experience are far from being favourable to the doctrine of the independency of our perceptions. Mean while we may observe that when we talk of real distinct existences, we have commonly more in our eye their independency than external situation in place, and think an object has a sufficient reality, when its Being is uninterrupted, and independent of the incessant revolutions, which we are conscious of in ourselves.
Thus to resume what I have said concerning the senses; they give us no notion of continued existence, because they cannot operate beyond the extent, in which they really operate. They as little produce the opinion of a distinct existence, because they neither can offer it to the mind as represented, nor as original. To offer it as represented, they must present both an object and an image. To make it appear as original, they must convey a falshood; and this falshood must lie in the relations and situation: In order to which they must be able to compare the object with ourselves; and even in that case they do not, nor is it possible they should, deceive us. We may, therefore, conclude with certainty, that the opinion of a continued and of a distinct existence never arises from the senses.
To confirm this we may observe, that there are three different kinds of impressions conveyed by the senses. The first are those of the figure, bulk, motion and solidity of bodies. The second those of colours, tastes, smells, sounds, heat and cold. The third are the pains and pleasures, that arise from the application of objects to our bodies, as by the cutting of our flesh with steel, and such like. Both philosophers and the vulgar suppose the first of these to have a distinct continued existence. The vulgar only regard the second as on the same footing. Both philosophers and the vulgar, again, esteem the third to be merely perceptions and consequently interrupted and dependent beings.
Now it is evident, that, whatever may be our philosophical opinion, colours, Sounds, heat and cold, as far as appears to the senses, exist after the same manner with motion and solidity, and that the difference we make betwixt them in this respect, arises not from the mere perception. So strong the prejudice for the distinct continued existence Of the former qualities, that when the contrary opinion is advanced by modern philosophers, people imagine they can almost refute it from their feeling and experience, and that their very senses contradict this philosophy. It is also evident, that colours, sounds, &c. are originally on the same footing with the pain that arises from steel, and pleasure that proceeds from a fire; and that the difference betwixt them is founded neither on perception nor reason, but on the imagination. For as they are confest to be, both of them, nothing but perceptions arising from the particular configurations and motions of the parts of body, wherein possibly can their difference consist? Upon the whole, then, we may conclude, that as far as the senses are judges, all perceptions are the same in the manner of their existence.
We may also observe in this instance of sounds and colours, that we can attribute a distinct continued existence to objects without ever consulting REASON, or weighing our opinions by any philosophical principles. And indeed, whatever convincing arguments philosophers may fancy they can produce to establish the belief of objects independent of the mind, it is obvious these arguments are known but to very few, and that it is not by them, that children, peasants, and the greatest part of mankind are induced to attribute objects to some impressions, and deny them to others. Accordingly we find, that all the conclusions, which the vulgar form on this head, are directly contrary to those, which are confirmed by philosophy. For philosophy informs us, that every thing, which appears to the mind, is nothing but a perception, and is interrupted, and dependent on the mind: whereas the vulgar confound perceptions and objects, and attribute a distinct continued existence to the very things they feel or see. This sentiment, then, as it is entirely unreasonable, must proceed from some other faculty than the understanding. To which we may add, that as long as we take our perceptions and objects to be the same, we can never infer the existence of the one from that of the other, nor form any argument from the relation of cause and effect; which is the only one that earl assure us of matter of fact. Even after we distinguish our perceptions from our objects, it will appear presently, that we are still incapable of reasoning from the existence of one to that of the other: So that upon the whole our reason neither does, nor is it possible it ever should, upon any supposition, give us an assurance of the continued and distinct existence of body. That opinion must be entirely owing to the IMAGINATION: which must now be the subject of our enquiry.
Since all impressions are internal and perishing existences, and appear as such, the notion of their distinct and continued existence must arise from a concurrence of some of their qualities with the qualities of the imagination, and since this notion does not extend to all of them, it must arise from certain qualities peculiar to some impressions. It will therefore be easy for us to discover these qualities by a comparison of the impressions, to which we attribute a distinct and continued existence, with those, which we regard as internal and perishing.
We may observe, then, that it is neither upon account of the involuntariness of certain impressions, as is commonly supposed, nor of their superior force and violence, that we attribute to them a reality, and continued existence, which we refuse to others, that are voluntary or feeble. For it is evident our pains and pleasures, our passions and affections, which we never suppose to have any existence beyond our perception, operate with greater violence, and are equally involuntary, as the impressions of figure and extension, colour and sound, which we suppose to be permanent beings. The heat of a fire, when moderate, is supposed to exist in the fire; but the pain, which it causes upon a near approach, is not taken to have any being, except in the perception.
These vulgar opinions, then, being rejected, we must search for some other hypothesis, by which we may discover those peculiar qualities in our impressions, which makes us attribute to them a distinct and continued existence.
After a little examination, we shall find, that all those objects, to which we attribute a continued existence, have a peculiar constancy, which distinguishes them from the impressions, whose existence depends upon our perception. Those mountains, and houses, and trees, which lie at present under my eye, have always appeared to me in the same order; and when I lose sight of them by shutting my eyes or turning my head, I soon after find them return upon me without the least alteration. My bed and table, my books and papers, present themselves in the same uniform manner, and change not upon account of any interruption in my seeing or perceivilng them. This is the case with all the impressions, whose objects are supposed to have an external existence; and is the case with no other impressions, whether gentle or violent, voluntary or involuntary.
This constancy, however, is not so perfect as not to admit of very considerable exceptions. Bodies often change their position and qualities, and after a little absence or interruption may become hardly knowable. But here it is observable, that even in these changes they preserve a coherence, and have a regular dependence on each other; which is the foundation of a kind of reasoning from causation, and produces the opinion of their continued existence. When I return to my chamber after an hour's absence, I find not my fire in the same situation, in which I left it: But then I am accustomed in other instances to see a like alteration produced in a like time, whether I am present or absent, near or remote. This coherence, therefore, in their changes is one of the characteristics of external objects, as well as their constancy.
Having found that the opinion of the continued existence of body depends on the COHERENCE, and CONSTANCY of certain impressions, I now proceed to examine after what manner these qualities give rise to so extraordinary an opinion. To begin with the coherence; we may observe, that though those internal impressions, which we regard as fleeting and perishing, have also a certain coherence or regularity in their appearances, yet it is of somewhat a different nature, from that which we discover in bodies. Our passions are found by experience to have a mutual connexion with and dependence on each other; but on no occasion is it necessary to suppose, that they have existed and operated, when they were not perceived, in order to preserve the same dependence and connexion, of which we have had experience. The case is not the same with relation to external objects. Those require a continued existence, or otherwise lose, in a great measure, the regularity of their operation. I am here seated in my chamber with my face to the fire; and all the objects, that strike my senses, are contained in a few yards around me. My memory, indeed, informs me of the existence of many objects; but then this information extends not beyond their past existence, nor do either my senses or memory give any testimony to the continuance of their being. When therefore I am thus seated, and revolve over these thoughts, I hear on a sudden a noise as of a door turning upon its hinges; and a little after see a porter, who advances towards me. This gives occasion to many new reflections and reasonings. First, I never have observed, that this noise coued proceed from any thing but the motion of a door; and therefore conclude, that the present phaenomenon is a contradiction to all past experience, unless the door, which I remember on the other side the chamber, be still in being. Again, I have always found, that a human body was possest of a quality, which I call gravity, and which hinders it from mounting in the air, as this porter must have done to arrive at my chamber, unless the stairs I remember be not annihilated by my absence. But this is not all. I receive a letter, which upon, opening it I perceive by the hand-writing and subscription to have come from a friend, who says he is two hundred leagues distant. It is evident I can never account for this phenomenon, conformable to my experience in other instances, without spreading out in my mind the whole sea and continent between us, and supposing the effects and continued existence of posts and ferries, according to my Memory and observation. To consider these phaenomena of the porter and letter in a certain light, they are contradictions to common experience, and may be regarded as objections to those maxims, which we form concerning the connexions of causes and effects. I am accustomed to hear such a sound, and see such an object in motion at the same time. I have not received in this particular instance both these perceptions. These observations are contrary, unless I suppose that the door still remains, and that it was opened without my perceiving it: And this supposition, which was at first entirely arbitrary and hypothetical, acquires a force and evidence by its being the only one, upon which I can reconcile these contradictions. There is scarce a moment of my life, wherein there is not a similar instance presented to me, and I have not occasion to suppose the continued existence of objects, in order to connect their past and present appearances, and give them such an union with each other, as I have found by experience to be suitable to their particular natures and circumstances. Here then I am naturally led to regard the world, as something real and durable, and as preserving its existence, even when it is no longer present to my perception. But though this conclusion from the coherence of appearances may seem to be of the same nature with our reasonings concerning causes and effects; as being derived from custom, and regulated by past experience; we shall find upon examination, that they are at the bottom considerably different from each other, and that this inference arises from the understanding, and from custom in an indirect and oblique manner. For it will readily be allowed, that since nothing is ever really present to the mind, besides its own perceptions, it is not only impossible, that any habit should ever be acquired otherwise than by the regular succession of these perceptions, but also that any habit should ever exceed that degree of regularity. Any degree, therefore, of regularity in our perceptions, can never be a foundation for us to infer a, greater degree of regularity in some objects, which are not perceived; since this supposes a contradiction, viz. a habit acquired by what was never present to the mind. But it is evident, that whenever we infer the continued existence of the objects of sense from their coherence, and the frequency of their union, it is in order to bestow on the objects a greater regularity than what is observed in our mere perceptions. We remark a connexion betwixt two kinds of objects in their past appearance to the senses, but are not able to observe this connexion to be perfectly constant, since the turning about of our head or the shutting of our eyes is able to break it. What then do we suppose in this case, but that these objects still continue their usual connexion, notwithstanding their apparent interruption, and that the irregular appearances are joined by something, of which we are insensible? But as all reasoning concerning matters of fact arises only from custom, and custom can only be the effect of repeated perceptions, the extending of custom and reasoning beyond the perceptions can never be the direct and natural effect of the constant repetition and connexion, but must arise from the co-operation of some other principles.
I have already observed [Part II, Sect. 4.], in examining the foundation of mathematics, that the imagination, when set into any train of thinking, is apt to continue, even when its object fails it, and like a galley put in motion by the oars, carries on its course without any new impulse. This I have assigned for the reason, why, after considering several loose standards of equality, and correcting them by each other, we proceed to imagine so correct and exact a standard of that relation, as is not liable to the least error or variation. The same principle makes us easily entertain this opinion of the continued existence of body. Objects have a certain coherence even as they appear to our senses; but this coherence is much greater and more uniform, if we suppose the object.% to have a continued existence; and as the mind is once in the train of observing an uniformity among objects, it naturally continues, till it renders the uniformity as compleat as possible. The simple supposition of their continued existence suffices for this purpose, and gives us a notion of a much greater regularity among objects, than what they have when we look no farther than our senses.
But whatever force we may ascribe to this principle, I am afraid it is too weak to support alone so vast an edifice, as is that of the continued existence of all external bodies; and that we must join the constancy of their appearance to the coherence, in order to give a satisfactory account of that opinion. As the explication of this will lead me into a considerable compass of very profound reasoning; I think it proper, in order to avoid confusion, to give a short sketch or abridgment of my system, and afterwards draw out all its parts in their full compass. This inference from the constancy of our perceptions, like the precedent from their coherence, gives rise to the opinion of the continued existence of body, which is prior to that of its distinct existence, and produces that latter principle.
When we have been accustomed to observe a constancy in certain impressions, and have found, that the perception of the sun or ocean, for instance, returns upon us after an absence or annihilation with like parts and in a like order, as at its first appearance, we are not apt to regard these interrupted perceptions as different, (which they really are) but on the contrary consider them as individually the same, upon account of their resemblance. But as this interruption of their existence is contrary to their perfect identity, and makes us regard the first impression as annihilated, and the second as newly created, we find ourselves somewhat at a loss, and are involved in a kind of contradiction. In order to free ourselves from this difficulty, we disguise, as much as possible, the interruption, or rather remove it entirely, by supposing that these interrupted perceptions are connected by a real existence, of which we are insensible. This supposition, or idea of continued existence, acquires a force and vivacity from the memory of these broken impressions, and from that propensity, which they give us, to suppose them the same; and according to the precedent reasoning, the very essence of belief consists in the force and vivacity of the conception.
In order to justify this system, there are four things requisite. First, To explain the PRINCIPIUM INDIVIDUATIONIS, or principle of identity. Secondly, Give a reason, why the resemblance of our broken and interrupted perceptions induces us to attribute an identity to them. Thirdly, Account for that propensity, which this illusion gives, to unite these broken appearances by a continued existence. Fourthly and lastly, Explain that force and vivacity of conception, which arises from the propensity.
First, As to the principle of individuation; we may observe, that the view of any one object is not sufficient to convey the idea of identity. For in that proposition, an object is the same with itself, if the idea expressed by the word, object, were no ways distinguished from that meant by itself; we really should mean nothing, nor would the proposition contain a predicate and a subject, which however are implyed in this affirmation. One single object conveys the idea of unity, not that of identity.
On the other hand, a multiplicity of objects can never convey this idea, however resembling they may be supposed. The mind always pronounces the one not to be the other, and considers them as forming two, three, or any determinate number of objects, whose existences are entirely distinct and independent.
Since then both number and unity are incompatible with the relation of identity, it must lie in something that is neither of them. But to tell the truth, at first sight this seems utterly impossible. Betwixt unity and number there can be no medium; no more than betwixt existence and nonexistence. After one object is supposed to exist, we must either suppose another also to exist; in which case we have the idea of number: Or we must suppose it not to exist; in which case the first object remains at unity.
To remove this difficulty, let us have recourse to the idea of time or duration. I have already observd [Part II, Sect. 5.], that time, in a strict sense, implies succession, and that when we apply its idea to any unchangeable object, it is only by a fiction of the imagination, by which the unchangeable object is supposd to participate of the changes of the co-existent objects, and in particular of that of our perceptions. This fiction of the imagination almost universally takes place; and it is by means of it, that a single object, placd before us, and surveyd for any time without our discovering in it any interruption or variation, is able to give us a notion of identity. For when we consider any two points of this time, we may place them in different lights: We may either survey them at the very same instant; in which case they give us the idea of number, both by themselves and by the object; which must be multiplyd, in order to be conceivd at once, as existent in these two different points of time: Or on the other hand, we may trace the succession of time by a like succession of ideas, and conceiving first one moment, along with the object then existent, imagine afterwards a change in the time without any VARIATION or INTERRUPTION in the object; in which case it gives us the idea of unity. Here then is an idea, which is a medium betwixt unity and. number; or more properly speaking, is either of them, according to the view, in which we take it: And this idea we call that of identity. We cannot, in any propriety of speech, say, that an object is the same with itself, unless we mean, that the object existent at one time is the same with itself existent at another. By this means we make a difference, betwixt the idea meant by the word, OBJECT, and that meant by ITSELF, without going the length of number, and at the same time without restraining ourselves to a strict and absolute unity. Thus the principle of individuation is nothing but the INVARIABLENESS and UNINTERRUPTEDNESS of any object, thro a supposd variation of time, by which the mind can trace it in the different periods of its existence, without any break of the view, and without being obligd to form the idea of multiplicity or number.
I now proceed to explain the SECOND part of my system, and shew why the constancy of our perceptions makes us ascribe to them a perfect numerical identity, tho there be very long intervals betwixt their appearance, and they have only one of the essential qualities of identity, VIZ, INVARIABLENESS. That I may avoid all ambiguity and confusion on this head, I shall observe, that I here account for the opinions and belief of the vulgar with regard to the existence of body; and therefore must entirely conform myself to their manner of thinking and of expressing themselves. Now we have already observd, that however philosophers may distinguish betwixt the objects and perceptions of the senses; which they suppose co-existent and resembling; yet this is a distinction, which is not comprehended by the generality of mankind, who as they perceive only one being, can never assent to the opinion of a double existence and representation. Those very sensations, which enter by the eye or ear, are with them the true objects, nor can they readily conceive that this pen or paper, which is immediately perceivd, represents another, which is different from, but resembling it. In order, therefore, to accommodate myself to their notions, I shall at first suppose; that there is only a single existence, which I shall call indifferently OBJECT or PERCEPTION, according as it shall seem best to suit my purpose, understanding by both of them what any common man means by a hat, or shoe, or stone, or any other impression, conveyd to him by his senses. I shall be sure to give warning, when I return to a more philosophical way of speaking and thinking.
To enter, therefore, upon the question concerning the source of the error and deception with regard to identity, when we attribute it to our resembling perceptions, notwithstanding their interruption; I must here recal an observation, which I have already provd and explaind [Part II. Sect. 5.]. Nothing is more apt to make us mistake one idea for another, than any relation betwixt them, which associates them together in the imagination, and makes it pass with facility from one to the other. Of all relations, that of resemblance is in this respect the most efficacious; and that because it not only causes an association of ideas, but also of dispositions, and makes us conceive the one idea by an act or operation of the mind, similar to that by which we conceive the other. This circumstance I have observd to be of great moment; and we may establish it for a general rule, that whatever ideas place the mind in the same disposition or in similar ones, are very apt to be confounded. The mind readily passes from one to the other, and perceives not the change without a strict attention, of which, generally speaking, it is wholly incapable.
In order to apply this general maxim, we must first examine the disposition of the mind in viewing any object which preserves a perfect identity, and then find some other object, that is confounded with it, by causing a similar disposition. When we fix our thought on any object, and suppose it to continue the same for some time; it is evident we suppose the change to lie only in the time, and never exert ourselves to produce any new image or idea of the object. The faculties of the mind repose themselves in a manner, and take no more exercise, than what is necessary to continue that idea, of which we were formerly possest, and which subsists without variation or interruption. The passage from one moment to another is scarce felt, and distinguishes not itself by a different perception or idea, which may require a different direction of the spirits, in order to its conception.
Now what other objects, beside identical ones, are capable of placing the mind in the same disposition, when it considers them, and of causing the same uninterrupted passage of the imagination from one idea to another? This question is of the last importance. For if we can find any such objects, we may certainly conclude, from the foregoing principle, that they are very naturally confounded with identical ones, and are taken for them in most of our reasonings. But though this question be very important, it is not very difficult nor doubtful. For I immediately reply, that a succession of related objects places the mind in this disposition, and is considered with the same smooth and uninterrupted progress of the imagination, as attends the view of the same invariable object. The very nature and essence of relation is to connect our ideas with each other, and upon the appearance of one, to facilitate the transition to its correlative. The passage betwixt related ideas is, therefore, so smooth and easy, that it produces little alteration on the mind, and seems like the continuation of the same action; and as the continuation of the same action is an effect of the continued view of the same object, it is for this reason we attribute sameness to every succession of related objects. The thought slides along the succession with equal facility, as if it considered only one object; and therefore confounds the succession with the identity.
We shall afterwards see many instances of this tendency of relation to make us ascribe an identity to different objects; but shall here confine ourselves to the present subject. We find by experience, that there is such a constancy in almost all the impressions of the senses, that their interruption produces no alteration on them, and hinders them not from returning the same in appearance and in situation as at their first existence. I survey the furniture of my chamber; I shut my eyes, and afterwards open them; and find the new perceptions to resemble perfectly those, which formerly struck my senses. This resemblance is observed in a thousand instances, and naturally connects together our ideas of these interrupted perceptions by the strongest relation. and conveys the mind with an easy transition from one to another. An easy transition or passage of the imagination, along the ideas of these different and interrupted perceptions, is almost the same disposition of mind with that in which we consider one constant and uninterrupted perception. It is therefore very natural for us to mistake the one for the other.
[Footnote 9 This reasoning, it must be confest, is somewhat abstruse, and difficult to be comprehended; but it is remarkable, that this very difficulty may be converted into a proof of the reasoning. We may observe, that there are two relations, and both of them resemblances, which contribute to our mistaking the succession of our interrupted perceptions for an identical object. The first is, the resemblance of the perceptions: The second is the resemblance, which the act of the mind in surveying a succession of resembling objects bears to that in surveying an identical object. Now these resemblances we are apt to confound with each other; and it is natural we shoud, according to this very reasoning. But let us keep them distinct, and we shall find no difficulty in conceiving the precedent argument.]
The persons, who entertain this opinion concerning the identity of our resembling perceptions, are in general an the unthinking and unphilosophical part of mankind, (that is, all of us, at one time or other) and consequently such as suppose their perceptions to be their only objects, and never think of a double existence internal and external, representing and represented. The very image, which is present to the senses, is with us the real body; and it is to these interrupted images we ascribe a perfect identity. But as the interruption of the appearance seems contrary to the identity, and naturally leads us to regard these resembling perceptions as different from each other, we here find ourselves at a loss how to reconcile such opposite opinions. The smooth passage of the imagination along the ideas of the resembling perceptions makes us ascribe to them a perfect identity. The interrupted manner of their appearance makes us consider them as so many resembling, but still distinct beings, which appear after certain intervals. The perplexity arising from this contradiction produces a propension to unite these broken appearances by the fiction of a continued existence, which is the third part of that hypothesis I proposed to explain.
Nothing is more certain from experience, than that any contradiction either to the sentiments or passions gives a sensible uneasiness, whether it proceeds from without or from within; from the opposition of external objects, or from the combat of internal principles. On the contrary, whatever strikes in with the natural propensities, and either externally forwards their satisfaction, or internally concurs with their movements, is sure to give a sensible pleasure. Now there being here an opposition betwixt the notion of the identity of resembling perceptions, and the interruption of their appearance, the mind must be uneasy in that situation, and will naturally seek relief from the uneasiness. Since the uneasiness arises from the opposition of two contrary principles, it must look for relief by sacrificing the one to the other. But as the smooth passage of our thought along our resembling perceptions makes us ascribe to them an identity, we can never without reluctance yield up that opinion. We must, therefore, turn to the other side, and suppose that our perceptions are no longer interrupted, but preserve a continued as well as an invariable existence, and are by that means entirely the same. But here the interruptions in the appearance of these perceptions are so long and frequent, that it is impossible to overlook them; and as the appearance of a perception in the mind and its existence seem at first sight entirely the same, it may be doubted, whether we can ever assent to so palpable a contradiction, and suppose a perception to exist without being present to the mind. In order to clear up this matter, and learn how the interruption in the appearance of a perception implies not necessarily an interruption in its existence, it will be proper to touch upon some principles, which we shall have occasion to explain more fully afterwards. [Sect. 6.]
We may begin with observing, that the difficulty in the present case is not concerning the matter of fact, or whether the mind forms such a conclusion concerning the continued existence of its perceptions, but only concerning the manner in which the conclusion is formed, and principles from which it is derived. It is certain, that almost all mankind, and even philosophers themselves, for the greatest part of their lives, take their perceptions to be their only objects, and suppose, that the very being, which is intimately present to the mind, is the real body or material existence. It is also certain, that this very perception or object is supposed to have a continued uninterrupted being, and neither to be annihilated by our absence, nor to be brought into existence by our presence. When we are absent from it, we say it still exists, but that we do not feel, we do not see it. When we are present, we say we feel, or see it. Here then may arise two questions; First, How we can satisfy ourselves in supposing a perception to be absent from the mind without being annihilated. Secondly, After what manner we conceive an object to become present to the mind, without some new creation of a perception or image; and what we mean by this seeing, and feeling, and perceiving.
As to the first question; we may observe, that what we. call a mind, is nothing but a heap or collection of different perceptions, united together by certain relations, and supposed, though falsely, to be endowed with a perfect simplicity and identity. Now as every perception is distinguishable from another, and may be considered as separately existent; it evidently follows, that there is no absurdity in separating any particular perception from the mind; that is, in breaking off all its relations, with that connected mass of perceptions, which constitute a thinking being.
The same reasoning affords us an answer to the second question. If the name of perception renders not this separation from a mind absurd and contradictory, the name of object, standing for the very same thing, can never render their conjunction impossible. External objects are seen, and felt, and become present to the mind; that is, they acquire such a relation to a connected heap of perceptions, as to influence them very considerably in augmenting their number by present reflections and passions, and in storing the memory with ideas. The same continued and uninterrupted Being may, therefore, be sometimes present to the mind, and sometimes absent from it, without any real or essential change in the Being itself. An interrupted appearance to the senses implies not necessarily an interruption in the existence. The supposition of the continued existence of sensible objects or perceptions involves no contradiction. We may easily indulge our inclination to that supposition. When the exact resemblance of our perceptions makes us ascribe to them an identity, we may remove the seeming interruption by feigning a continued being, which may fill those intervals, and preserve a perfect and entire identity to our perceptions.
But as we here not only feign but believe this continued existence, the question is, from whence arises such a belief; and this question leads us to the fourth member of this system. It has been proved already, that belief in general consists in nothing, but the vivacity of an idea; and that an idea may acquire this vivacity by its relation to some present impression. Impressions are naturally the most vivid perceptions of the mind; and this quality is in part conveyed by the relation to every connected idea. The relation causes a smooth passage from the impression to the idea, and even gives a propensity to that passage. The mind falls so easily from the one perception to the other, that it scarce perceives the change, but retains in the second a considerable share of the vivacity of the first. It is excited by the lively impression; and this vivacity is conveyed to the related idea, without any great diminution in the passage, by reason of the smooth transition and the propensity of the imagination.
But suppose, that this propensity arises from some other principle, besides that of relation; it is evident it must still have the same effect, and convey the vivacity from the impression to the idea. Now this is exactly the present case. Our memory presents us with a vast number of instances of perceptions perfectly resembling each other, that return at different distances of time, and after considerable interruptions. This resemblance gives us a propension to consider these interrupted perceptions as the same; and also a propension to connect them by a continued existence, in order to justify this identity, and avoid the contradiction, in which the interrupted appearance of these perceptions seems necessarily to involve us. Here then we have a propensity to feign the continued existence of all sensible objects; and as this propensity arises from some lively impressions of the memory, it bestows a vivacity on that fiction: or in other words, makes us believe the continued existence of body. If sometimes we ascribe a continued existence to objects, which are perfectly new to us, and of whose constancy and coherence we have no experience, it is because the manner, in which they present themselves to our senses, resembles that of constant and coherent objects; and this resemblance is a source of reasoning and analogy, and leads us to attribute the same qualities to similar objects.
I believe an intelligent reader will find less difficulty to assent to this system, than to comprehend it fully and distinctly, and will allow, after a little reflection, that every part carries its own proof along with it. It is indeed evident, that as the vulgar suppose their perceptions to be their only objects, and at the same time believe the continued existence of matter, we must account for the origin of the belief upon that supposition. Now upon that supposition, it is a false opinion that any of our objects, or perceptions, are identically the same after an interruption; and consequently the opinion of their identity can never arise from reason, but must arise from the imagination. The imagination is seduced into such an opinion only by means of the resemblance of certain perceptions; since we find they are only our resembling perceptions, which we have a propension to suppose the same. This propension to bestow an identity on our resembling perceptions, produces the fiction of a continued existence; since that fiction, as well as the identity, is really false, as is acknowledged by all philosophers, and has no other effect than to remedy the interruption of our perceptions, which is the only circumstance that is contrary to their identity. In the last place this propension causes belief by means of the present impressions of the memory; since without the remembrance of former sensations, it is plain we never should have any belief of the continued existence of body. Thus in examining all these parts, we find that each of them is supported by the strongest proofs: and that all of them together form a consistent system, which is perfectly convincing. A strong propensity or inclination alone, without any present impression, will sometimes cause a belief or opinion. How much more when aided by that circumstance?
But though we are led after this manner, by the natural propensity of the imagination, to ascribe a continued existence to those sensible objects or perceptions, which we find to resemble each other in their interrupted appearance; yet a very little reflection and philosophy is sufficient to make us perceive the fallacy of that opinion. I have already observed, that there is an intimate connexion betwixt those two principles, of a continued and of a distinct or independent existence, and that we no sooner establish the one than the other follows, as a necessary consequence. It is the opinion of a continued existence, which first takes place, and without much study or reflection draws the other along with it, wherever the mind follows its first and most natural tendency. But when we compare experiments, and reason a little upon them, we quickly perceive, that the doctrine of the independent existence of our sensible perceptions is contrary to the plainest experience. This leads us backward upon our footsteps to perceive our error in attributing a continued existence to our perceptions, and is the origin of many very curious opinions, which we shall here endeavour to account for.
It will first be proper to observe a few of those experiments, which convince us, that our perceptions are not possest of any independent existence. When we press one eye with a finger, we immediately perceive all the objects to become double, and one half of them to be removed from their common and natural position. But as we do not attribute to continued existence to both these perceptions, and as they are both of the same nature, we clearly perceive, that all our perceptions are dependent on our organs, and the disposition of our nerves and animal spirits. This opinion is confirmed by the seeming encrease and diminution of objects, according to their distance; by the apparent alterations in their figure; by the changes in their colour and other qualities from our sickness and distempers: and by an infinite number of other experiments of the same kind; from all which we learn, that our sensible perceptions are not possest of any distinct or independent existence.
The natural consequence of this reasoning should be, that our perceptions have no more a continued than an independent existence; and indeed philosophers have so far run into this opinion, that they change their system, and distinguish, (as we shall do for the future) betwixt perceptions and objects, of which the former are supposed to be interrupted, and perishing, and different at every different return; the latter to be uninterrupted, and to preserve a continued existence and identity. But however philosophical this new system may be esteemed, I assert that it is only a palliative remedy, and that it contains all the difficulties of the vulgar system, with some others, that are peculiar to itself. There are no principles either of the understanding or fancy, which lead us directly to embrace this opinion of the double existence of perceptions and objects, nor can we arrive at it but by passing through the common hypothesis of the identity and continuance of our interrupted perceptions. Were we not first perswaded, that our perceptions are our only objects, and continue to exist even when they no longer make their appearance to the senses, we should never be led to think, that our perceptions and objects are different, and that our objects alone preserve a continued existence. The latter hypothesis has no primary recommendation either to reason or the imagination, but acquires all its influence on the imagination from the former. This proposition contains two parts, which we shall endeavour to prove as distinctly and clearly, as such abstruse subjects will permit.
As to the first part of the proposition, that this philosophical hypothesis has no primary recommendation, either to reason, or the imagination, we may soon satisfy ourselves with regard to reason by the following reflections. The only existences, of which we are certain, are perceptions, which being immediately present to us by consciousness, command our strongest assent, and are the first foundation of all our conclusions. The only conclusion we can draw from the existence of one thing to that of another, is by means of the relation of cause and effect, which shews, that there is a connexion betwixt them, and that the existence of one is dependent on that of the other. The idea of this relation is derived from past experience, by which we find, that two beings are constantly conjoined together, and are always present at once to the mind. But as no beings are ever present to the mind but perceptions; it follows that we may observe a conjunction or a relation of cause and effect between different perceptions, but can never observe it between perceptions and objects. It is impossible, therefore, that from the existence or any of the qualities of the former, we can ever form any conclusion concerning the existence of the latter, or ever satisfy our reason in this particular.
It is no less certain, that this philosophical system has no primary recommendation to the imagination, and that that faculty would never, of itself, and by its original tendency, have fallen upon such a principle. I confess it will be somewhat difficult to prove this to the fall satisfaction of the reader; because it implies a negative, which in many cases will not admit of any positive proof. If any one would take the pains to examine this question, and would invent a system, to account for the direct origin of this opinion from the imagination, we should be able, by the examination of that system, to pronounce a certain judgment in the present subject. Let it be taken for granted, that our perceptions are broken, and interrupted, and however like, are still different from each other; and let any one upon this supposition shew why the fancy, directly and immediately, proceeds to the belief of another existence, resembling these perceptions in their nature, but yet continued, and uninterrupted, and identical; and after he has done this to my satisfaction, I promise to renounce my present opinion. Mean while I cannot forbear concluding, from the very abstractedness and difficulty of the first supposition, that it is an improper subject for the fancy to work upon. Whoever would explain the origin of the common opinion concerning the continued and distinct existence of body, must take the mind in its common situation, and must proceed upon the supposition, that our perceptions are our only objects, and continue to exist even when they are not perceived. Though this opinion be false, it is the most natural of any, and has alone any primary recommendation to the fancy.
As to the second part of the proposition, that the philosophical system acquires all its influence on the imagination from the vulgar one; we may observe, that this is a natural and unavoidable consequence of the foregoing conclusion, that it has no primary recommendation to reason or the imagination. For as the philosophical system is found by experience to take hold of many minds, and in particular of all those, who reflect ever so little on this subject, it must derive all its authority from the vulgar system; since it has no original authority of its own. The manner, in which these two systems, though directly contrary, are connected together, may be explains, as follows.
The imagination naturally runs on in this train of thinking. Our perceptions are our only objects: Resembling perceptions are the same, however broken or uninterrupted in their appearance: This appealing interruption is contrary to the identity: The interruption consequently extends not beyond the appearance, and the perception or object really continues to exist, even when absent from us: Our sensible perception s have, therefore, a continued and uninterrupted existence. But as a little reflection destroys this conclusion, that our perceptions have a continued existence, by shewing that they have a dependent one, it would naturally be expected, that we must altogether reject the opinion, that there is such a thing in nature as a continued existence, which is preserved even when it no longer appears to the senses. The case, however, is otherwise. Philosophers are so far from rejecting the opinion of a continued existence upon rejecting that of the independence and continuance of our sensible perceptions, that though all sects agree in the latter sentiment, the former, which is, in a manner, its necessary consequence, has been peculiar to a few extravagant sceptics; who after all maintained that opinion in words only, and were never able to bring themselves sincerely to believe it.
There is a great difference betwixt such opinions as we form after a calm and profound reflection, and such as we embrace by a kind of instinct or natural impulse, on account of their suitableness and conformity to the mind. If these opinions become contrary, it is not difficult to foresee which of them will have the advantage. As long as our attention is bent upon the subject, the philosophical and studyed principle may prevail; but the moment we relax our thoughts, nature will display herself, and draw us back to our former opinion. Nay she has sometimes such an influence, that she can stop our progress, even in the midst of our most profound reflections, and keep us from running on with all the consequences of any philosophical opinion. Thus though we clearly perceive the dependence and interruption of our perceptions, we stop short in our career, and never upon that account reject the notion of an independent and continued existence. That opinion has taken such deep root in the imagination, that it is impossible ever to eradicate it, nor will any strained metaphysical conviction of the dependence of our perceptions be sufficient for that purpose.
But though our natural and obvious principles here prevail above our studied reflections, it is certain there must be sonic struggle and opposition in the case: at least so long as these rejections retain any force or vivacity. In order to set ourselves at ease in this particular, we contrive a new hypothesis, which seems to comprehend both these principles of reason and imagination. This hypothesis is the philosophical, one of the double existence of perceptions and objects; which pleases our reason, in allowing, that our dependent perceptions are interrupted and different; and at the same time is agreeable to the imagination, in attributing a continued existence to something else, which we call objects. This philosophical system, therefore, is the monstrous offspring of two principles, which are contrary to each other, which are both at once embraced by the mind, and which are unable mutually to destroy each other. The imagination tells us, that our resembling perceptions have a continued and uninterrupted existence, and are not annihilated by their absence. Reflection tells us, that even our resembling perceptions are interrupted in their existence, and different from each other. The contradiction betwixt these opinions we elude by a new fiction, which is conformable to the hypotheses both of reflection and fancy, by ascribing these contrary qualities to different existences; the interruption to perceptions, and the continuance to objects. Nature is obstinate, and will not quit the field, however strongly attacked by reason; and at the same time reason is so clear in the point, that there is no possibility of disguising her. Not being able to reconcile these two enemies, we endeavour to set ourselves at ease as much as possible, by successively granting to each whatever it demands, and by feigning a double existence, where each may find something, that has all the conditions it desires. Were we fully convinced, that our resembling perceptions are continued, and identical, and independent, we should never run into this opinion of a double existence. since we should find satisfaction in our first supposition, and would not look beyond. Again, were we fully convinced, that our perceptions are dependent, and interrupted, and different, we should be as little inclined to embrace the opinion of a double existence; since in that case we should clearly perceive the error of our first supposition of a continued existence, and would never regard it any farther. It is therefore from the intermediate situation of the mind, that this opinion arises, and from such an adherence to these two contrary principles, as makes us seek some pretext to justify our receiving both; which happily at last is found in the system of a double existence.
Another advantage of this philosophical system is its similarity to the vulgar one; by which means we can humour our reason for a moment, when it becomes troublesome and sollicitous; and yet upon its least negligence or inattention, can easily return to our vulgar and natural notions. Accordingly we find, that philosophers neglect not this advantage; but immediately upon leaving their closets, mingle with the rest of mankind in those exploded opinions, that our perceptions are our only objects, and continue identically and uninterruptedly the same in all their interrupted appearances.
There are other particulars of this system, wherein we may remark its
dependence on the fancy, in a very conspicuous manner. Of these, I shall
observe the two following. First, We suppose external objects to resemble
internal perceptions. I have already shewn, that the relation of cause
and effect can never afford us any just conclusion from the existence or
qualities of our perceptions to the existence of external continued
objects: And I shall farther add, that even though they coued afford such
a conclusion, we should never have any reason to infer, that our objects
resemble our perceptions. That opinion, therefore, is derived from
nothing but the quality of the fancy above-explained, Secondly, As we suppose our objects in general to resemble our
perceptions, so we take it for granted, that every particular object
resembles that perception, which it causes. The relation of cause and
effect determines us to join the other of resemblance; and the ideas of
these existences being already united together in the fancy by the former
relation, we naturally add the latter to compleat the union. We have a
strong propensity to compleat every union by joining new relations to
those which we have before observed betwixt any ideas, as we shall have
occasion to observe presently. [Sect. 5.]
Having thus given an account of all the systems both popular and
philosophical, with regard to external existences, I cannot forbear
giving vent to a certain sentiment, which arises upon reviewing those
systems. I begun this subject with premising, that we ought to have an
implicit faith in our senses, and that this would be the conclusion, I
should draw from the whole of my reasoning. But to be ingenuous, I feel
myself at present of a quite contrary sentiment, and am more inclined to
repose no faith at all in my senses, or rather imagination, than to place
in it such an implicit confidence. I cannot conceive bow such trivial
qualities of the fancy, conducted by such false suppositions, can ever
lead to any solid and rational system. They are the coherence and
constancy of our perceptions, which produce the opinion of their
continued existence; though these qualities of perceptions have no
perceivable connexion with such an existence. The constancy of our
perceptions has the most considerable effect, and yet is attended with
the greatest difficulties. It is a gross illusion to suppose, that our
resembling perceptions are numerically the same; and it is this illusion,
which leads us into the opinion, that these perceptions are
uninterrupted, and are still existent, even when they are not present to
the senses. This is the case with our popular system. And as to our
philosophical one, it is liable to the same difficulties; and is
over-and-above loaded with this absurdity, that it at once denies and
establishes the vulgar supposition. Philosophers deny our resembling
perceptions to be identically the same, and uninterrupted; and yet have
so great a propensity to believe them such, that they arbitrarily invent
a new set of perceptions, to which they attribute these qualities. I say,
a new set of perceptions: For we may well suppose in general, but it is
impossible for us distinctly to conceive, objects to be in their nature
any thing but exactly the same with perceptions. What then can we look
for from this confusion of groundless and extraordinary opinions but
error and falshood? And how can we justify to ourselves any belief we
repose in them?
This sceptical doubt, both with respect to reason and the senses, is a
malady, which can never be radically cured, but must return upon us every
moment, however we may chace it away, and sometimes may seem entirely
free from it. It is impossible upon any system to defend either our
understanding or senses; and we but expose them farther when we endeavour
to justify them in that manner. As the sceptical doubt arises naturally
from a profound and intense reflection on those subjects, it always
encreases, the farther we carry our reflections, whether in opposition or
conformity to it. Carelessness and in-attention alone can afford us any
remedy. For this reason I rely entirely upon them; and take it for
granted, whatever may be the reader's opinion at this present moment,
that an hour hence he will be persuaded there is both an external and
internal world; and going upon that supposition, I intend to examine some
general systems both ancient and modern, which have been proposed of
both, before I proceed to a more particular enquiry concerning our
impressions. This will not, perhaps, in the end be found foreign to our
present purpose. The notion of accidents is an unavoidable consequence of this method of
thinking with regard to substances and substantial forms; nor can we
forbear looking upon colours, sounds, tastes, figures, and other
properties of bodies, as existences, which cannot subsist apart, but
require a subject of inhesion to sustain and support them. For having
never discovered any of these sensible qualities, where, for the reasons
above-mentioned, we did not likewise fancy a substance to exist; the same
habit, which makes us infer a connexion betwixt cause and effect, makes
us here infer a dependence of every quality on the unknown substance. The
custom of imagining a dependence has the same effect as the custom of
observing it would have. This conceit, however, is no more reasonable
than any of the foregoing. Every quality being a distinct thing from
another, may be conceived to exist apart, and may exist apart, not only
from every other quality, but from that unintelligible chimera of a
substance.
But these philosophers carry their fictions still farther in their
sentiments concerning occult qualities, and both suppose a substance
supporting, which they do not understand, and an accident supported, of
which they have as imperfect an idea. The whole system, therefore, is
entirely incomprehensible, and yet is derived from principles as natural
as any of these above-explained. In considering this subject we may observe a gradation of three opinions,
that rise above each other, according as the persons, who form them,
acquire new degrees of reason and knowledge. These opinions are that of
the vulgar, that of a false philosophy, and that of the true; where we
shall find upon enquiry, that the true philosophy approaches nearer to
the sentiments of the vulgar, than to those of a mistaken knowledge. It is
natural. for men, in their common and care, less way of thinking, to
imagine they perceive a connexion betwixt such objects as they have
constantly found united together; and because custom has rendered it
difficult to separate the ideas, they are apt to fancy such a separation
to be in itself impossible and absurd. But philosophers, who abstract
from the effects of custom, and compare the ideas of objects, immediately
perceive the falshood of these vulgar sentiments, and discover that there
is no known connexion among objects. Every different object appears to
them entirely distinct and separate; and they perceive, that it is not
from a view of the nature and qualities of objects we infer one from
another, but only when in several instances we observe them to have been
constantly conjoined. But these philosophers, instead of drawing a just
inference from this observation, and concluding, that we have no idea of
power or agency, separate from the mind, and belonging to causes; I say,
instead of drawing this conclusion, they frequently search for the
qualities, in which this agency consists, and are displeased with every
system, which their reason suggests to them, in order to explain it. They
have sufficient force of genius to free them from the vulgar error, that
there is a natural and perceivable connexion betwixt the several sensible
qualities and. actions of matter; but not sufficient to keep them from
ever seeking for this connexion in matter, or causes. Had they fallen
upon the just conclusion, they would have returned back to the situation
of the vulgar, and would have regarded all these disquisitions with
indolence and indifference. At present they seem to be in a very
lamentable condition, and such as the poets have given us but a faint
notion of in their descriptions of the punishment of Sisyphus and
Tantalus. For what can be imagined more tormenting, than to seek with
eagerness, what for ever flies us; and seek for it in a place, where it is
impossible it can ever exist?
But as nature seems to have observed a kind of justice and compensation
in every thing, she has not neglected philosophers more than the rest of
the creation; but has reserved them a consolation amid all their
disappointments and afflictions. This consolation principally consists in
their invention of the words: faculty and occult quality. For it being
usual, after the frequent use of terms, which are really significant and
intelligible, to omit the idea, which we would express by them, and to
preserve only the custom, by which we recal the idea at pleasure; so it
naturally happens, that after the frequent use of terms, which are wholly
insignificant and unintelligible, we fancy them to be on the same footing
with the precedent, and to have a secret meaning, which we might discover
by reflection. The resemblance of their appearance deceives the mind, as
is usual, and makes us imagine a thorough resemblance and conformity. By
this means these philosophers set themselves at ease, and arrive at last,
by an illusion, at the same indifference, which the people attain by
their stupidity, and true philosophers by their moderate scepticism. They
need only say, that any phenomenon, which puzzles them, arises from a
faculty or an occult quality, and there is an end of all dispute and
enquiry upon the matter.
But among all the instances, wherein the Peripatetics have shewn they
were guided by every trivial propensity of the imagination, no one is
more-remarkable than their sympathies, antipathies, and horrors of a
vacuum. There is a very remarkable inclination in human nature, to bestow
on external objects the same emotions, which it observes in itself; and
to find every where those ideas, which are most present to it. This
inclination, it is true, is suppressed by a little reflection, and only
takes place in children, poets, and the ancient philosophers. It appears
in children, by their desire of beating the stones, which hurt them: In
poets, by their readiness to personify every thing: And in the ancient
philosophers, by these fictions of sympathy and antipathy. We must pardon
children, because of their age; poets, because they profess to follow
implicitly the suggestions of their fancy: But what excuse shall we find
to justify our philosophers in so signal a weakness?
Having found such contradictions and difficulties in every system concerning
external objects, and in the idea of matter, which we fancy so clear and determinate,
we shall naturally expect still greater difficulties and contradictions in every
hypothesis concerning our internal perceptions, and the nature of the mind,
which we are apt to imagine so much more obscure, and uncertain. But in this
we should deceive ourselves. The intellectual world, though involved in infinite
obscurities, is not perplexed with any such contradictions, as those we have
discovered in the natural. What is known concerning it, agrees with itself;
and what is unknown, we must be contented to leave so.
It is true, would we hearken to certain philosophers, they promise to
diminish our ignorance; but I am afraid it is at the hazard of running us
into contradictions, from which the subject is of itself exempted. These
philosophers are the curious reasoners concerning the material or
immaterial substances, in which they suppose our perceptions to inhere.
In order to put a stop to these endless cavils on both sides, I know no
better method, than to ask these philosophers in a few words, What they
mean by substance and inhesion? And after they have answered this
question, it will then be reasonable, and not till then, to enter
seriously into the dispute.
This question we have found impossible to be answered with regard to matter
and body: but besides that in the case of the mind, it labours under all the
same difficulties, it is burthened with some additional ones, which are peculiar
to that subject. As every idea is derived from a precedent impression, had we
any idea of the substance of our minds, we must also have an impression of it;
which is very difficult, if not impossible, to be conceived. For how can an
impression represent a substance, otherwise than by resembling it? And how can
an impression resemble a substance, since, according to this philosophy, it
is not a substance, and has none of the peculiar qualities or characteristics
of a substance?
But leaving the question of what may or may not be, for that other what
actually is, I desire those philosophers, who pretend that we have an
idea of the substance of our minds, to point out the impression that
produces it, and tell distinctly after what manner that impression
operates, and from what object it is derived. Is it an impression of
sensation or of reflection? Is it pleasant, or painful, or indifferent? I
Does it attend us at all times, or does it only return at intervals? If
at intervals, at what times principally does it return, and by what
causes is it produced?
If instead of answering these questions, any one should evade the difficulty,
by saying, that the definition of a substance is something which may exist by
itself; and that this definition ought to satisfy us: should this be said, I
should observe, that this definition agrees to
every thing, that can possibly be conceived; and never will serve to distinguish
substance from accident, or the soul from its perceptions. For thus I reason.
Whatever is clearly conceived may exist; and whatever is clearly conceived,
after any manner, may exist after the same manner. This is one principle, which
has been already acknowledged. Again, every thing, which is different, is distinguishable,
and every thing which is distinguishable, is separable by the imagination. This
is another principle. My conclusion from both
is, that since all our perceptions are different from each other, and from every
thing else in the universe, they are also distinct and separable, and may be
considered as separately existent, and may exist separately, and have no need
of any thing else to support their existence. They are, therefore, substances,
as far as this definition explains a substance.
Thus neither by considering the first origin of ideas, nor by means of a
definition are we able to arrive at any satisfactory notion of substance;
which seems to me a sufficient reason for abandoning utterly that dispute
concerning the materiality and immateriality of the soul, and makes me
absolutely condemn even the question itself. We have no perfect idea of
any thing but of a perception. A substance is entirely different from a
perception. We have, therefore, no idea of a substance. Inhesion in
something is supposed to be requisite to support the existence of our
perceptions. Nothing appears requisite to support the existence of a
perception. We have, therefore, no idea of inhesion. What possibility
then of answering that question, Whether perceptions inhere in a material
or immaterial substance, when we do not so much as understand the meaning
of the question?
There is one argument commonly employed for the immateriality of the
soul, which seems to me remarkable. Whatever is extended consists of
parts; and whatever consists of parts is divisible, if not in reality, at
least in the imagination. But it is impossible anything divisible can be
conjoined to a thought or perception, which is a being altogether
inseparable and indivisible. For supposing such a conjunction, would the
indivisible thought exist on the left or on the right hand of this
extended divisible body? On the surface or in the middle? On the back or
fore side of it? If it be conjoined with the extension, it must exist
somewhere within its dimensions. If it exist within its dimensions, it
must either exist in one particular part; and then that particular part
is indivisible, and the perception is conjoined only with it, not with
the extension: Or if the thought exists in every part, it must also be
extended, and separable, and divisible, as well as the body; which is
utterly absurd and contradictory. For can any one conceive a passion of a
yard in length, a foot in breadth, and an inch in thickness? Thought,
therefore, and extension are qualities wholly incompatible, and never can
incorporate together into one subject.
This argument affects not the question concerning the substance of the
soul, but only that concerning its local conjunction with matter; and
therefore it may not be improper to consider in general what objects are,
or are not susceptible of a local conjunction. This is a curious
question, and may lead us to some discoveries of considerable moment.
The first notion of space and extension is derived solely from the senses
of sight and feeling; nor is there any thing, but what is coloured or
tangible, that has parts disposed after such a manner, as to convey that
idea. When we diminish or encrease a relish, it is not after the same
manner that we diminish or encrease any visible object; and when several
sounds strike our hearing at once, custom and reflection alone make us
form an idea of the degrees of the distance and contiguity of those
bodies, from which they are derived. Whatever marks the place of its
existence either must be extended, or must be a mathematical point,
without parts or composition. What is extended must have a particular
figure, as square, round, triangular; none of which will agree to a
desire, or indeed to any impression or idea, except to these two senses
above-mentioned. Neither ought a desire, though indivisible, to be
considered as a mathematical point. For in that case it would be possible,
by the addition of others, to make two, three, four desires, and these
disposed and situated in such a manner, as to have a determinate length,
breadth and thickness; which is evidently absurd.
It will not be surprising after this, if I deliver a maxim, which is condemned
by several metaphysicians, and is esteemed contrary to the most certain principles
of hum reason. This maxim is that an object may exist, and yet be no where:
and I assert, that this is not only possible, but that the greatest part of
beings do and must exist after this manner. An object
may be said to be no where, when its parts are not so situated with respect
to each other, as to form any figure or quantity; nor the whole with respect
to other bodies so as to answer to our notions of contiguity or distance. Now
this is evidently the case with all our perceptions and objects, except those
of the sight and feeling. A moral reflection cannot be placed on the right or
on the left hand of a passion, nor can a smell or sound be either of a circular
or a square figure. These objects and perceptions, so far from requiring any
particular place, are absolutely incompatible with it, and even the imagination
cannot attribute it to them. And as to the absurdity of supposing them to be
no where, we may consider, that if the passions and sentiments appear to the
perception to have any particular place, the idea of extension might be derived
from them, as well as from the sight and touch; contrary to what we have already
established. If they APPEAR not to have any particular place, they may possibly
exist in the same manner; since whatever we conceive is possible.
It will not now be necessary to prove, that those perceptions, which are
simple, and exist no where, are incapable of any conjunction in place
with matter or body, which is extended and divisible; since it is
impossible to found a relation but on some common quality. It may be
better worth our while to remark, that this question of the local
conjunction of objects does not only occur in metaphysical disputes
concerning the nature of the soul, but that even in common life we have
every moment occasion to examine it. Thus supposing we consider a fig at
one end of the table, and an olive at the other, it is evident, that in
forming the complex ideas of these substances, one of the most obvious is
that of their different relishes; and it is as evident, that we
incorporate and conjoin these qualities with such as are coloured and
tangible. The bitter taste of the one, and sweet of the other are
supposed to lie in the very visible body, and to be separated from each
other by the whole length of the table. This is so notable and so natural
an illusion, that it may be proper to consider the principles, from which
it is derived.
Though an extended object be incapable of a conjunction in place with
another, that exists without any place or extension, yet are they
susceptible of many other relations. Thus the taste and smell of any
fruit are inseparable from its other qualities of colour and tangibility;
and whichever of them be the cause or effect, it is certain they are
always co-existent. Nor are they only co-existent in general, but also
co-temporary in their appearance in the mind; and it is upon the
application of the extended body to our senses we perceive its particular
taste and smell. These relations, then, of causation, and contiguity in
the time of their appearance, betwixt the extended object and the
quality, which exists without any particular place, must have such an
effect on the mind, that upon the appearance of one it will immediately
turn its thought to the conception of the other. Nor is this all. We not
only turn our thought from one to the other upon account of their
relation, but likewise endeavour to give them a new relation, viz. that
of a CONJUNCTION IN PLACE, that we may render the transition more easy
and natural. For it is a quality, which I shall often have occasion to
remark in human nature, and shall explain more fully in its proper place,
that when objects are united by any relation, we have a strong propensity
to add some new relation to them, in order to compleat the union. In our
arrangement of bodies we never fail to place such as are resembling, in
contiguity to each other, or at least in correspondent points of view:
Why? but because we feel a satisfaction in joining the relation of
contiguity to that of resemblance, or the resemblance of situation to
that of qualities. The effects this propensity have been [Sect. 2, towards
the end.] already observed in that resemblance, which we so readily
suppose betwixt particular impressions and their external causes. But we
shall not find a more evident effect of it, than in the present instance,
where from the relations of causation and contiguity in time betwixt two
objects, we feign likewise that of a conjunction in place, in order to
strengthen the connexion.
But whatever confused notions we may form of an union in place betwixt an
extended body, as a fig, and its particular taste, it is certain that upon
reflection we must observe this union something altogether unintelligible
and contradictory. For should we ask ourselves one obvious question, viz.
if the taste, which we conceive to be contained in the circumference of
the body, is in every part of it or in one only, we must quickly find
ourselves at a loss, and perceive the impossibility of ever giving a
satisfactory answer. We cannot rely, that it is only in one part: For
experience convinces us, that every part has the same relish. We can as
little reply, that it exists in every part: For then we must suppose it
figured and extended; which is absurd and incomprehensible. Here then we
are influenced by two principles directly contrary to each other, viz.
that inclination of our fancy by which we are determined to incorporate
the taste with the extended object, and our reason, which shows us the
impossibility of such an union. Being divided betwixt these opposite
principles, we renounce neither one nor the other, but involve the
subject in such confusion and obscurity, that we no longer perceive the
opposition. We suppose, that the taste exists within the circumference of
the body, but in such a manner, that it fills the whole without
extension, and exists entire in every part without separation. In short,
we use in our most familiar way of thinking, that scholastic principle,
which, when crudely proposed, appears so shocking, of TOTUM IN TOTO &
TOLUM IN QUALIBET PARTE: Which is much the same, as if we should say,
that a thing is in a certain place, and yet is not there.
All this absurdity proceeds from our endeavouring to bestow a place on
what is utterly incapable of it; and that endeavour again arises from our
inclination to compleat an union, which is founded on causation, and a
contiguity of time, by attributing to the objects a conjunction in place.
But if ever reason be of sufficient force to overcome prejudice, it is
certain, that in the present case it must prevail. For we have only this
choice left, either to suppose that some beings exist without any place;
or that they are figured and extended; or that when they are incorporated
with extended objects, the whole is in the whole, and the whole in every
part. The absurdity of the two last suppositions proves sufficiently the
veracity of the first. Nor is there any fourth opinion. For as to the
supposition of their existence in the manner of mathematical points, it
resolves itself into the second opinion, and supposes, that several
passions may be placed in a circular figure, and that a certain number of
smells, conjoined with a certain number of sounds, may make a body of
twelve cubic inches; which appears ridiculous upon the bare mentioning of
it.
But though in this view of things we cannot refuse to condemn the
materialists, who conjoin all thought with extension; yet a little
reflection will show us equal reason for blaming their antagonists, who
conjoin all thought with a simple and indivisible substance. The most
vulgar philosophy informs us, that no external object can make itself
known to the mind immediately, and without the interposition of an image
or perception. That table, which just now appears to me, is only a
perception, and all its qualities are qualities of a perception. Now the
most obvious of all its qualities is extension. The perception consists
of parts. These parts are so situated, as to afford us the notion of
distance and contiguity; of length, breadth, and thickness. The
termination of these three dimensions is what we call figure. This figure
is moveable, separable, and divisible. Mobility, and separability are the
distinguishing properties of extended objects. And to cut short all
disputes, the very idea of e
SECT. III. OF THE ancient PHILOSOPHY.
Several moralists have recommended it as an excellent method of becoming
acquainted with our own hearts, and knowing our progress in virtue, to
recollect our dreams in a morning, and examine them with the same rigour,
that we would our most serious and most deliberate actions. Our character
is the same throughout, say they, and appears best where artifice, fear,
and policy have no place, and men can neither be hypocrites with
themselves nor others. The generosity, or baseness of our temper, our
meekness or cruelty, our courage or pusilanimity, influence the fictions
of the imagination with the most unbounded liberty, and discover
themselves in the most glaring colours. In like manner, I am persuaded,
there might be several useful discoveries made from a criticism of the
fictions of the ancient philosophy, concerning substances, and
substantial form, and accidents, and occult qualities; which, however
unreasonable and capricious, have a very intimate connexion with the
principles of human nature.
It is confest by the most judicious philosophers, that our ideas of bodies
are nothing but collections formed by the mind of the ideas of the
several distinct sensible qualities, of which objects are composed, and
which we find to have a constant union with each other. But however these
qualities may in themselves be entirely distinct, it is certain we
commonly regard the compound, which they form, as ONE thing, and as
continuing the SAME under very considerable alterations. The acknowledged
composition is evidently contrary to this supposed simplicity, and the
variation to the identity. It may, therefore, be worth while to consider
the causes, which make us almost universally fall into such evident
contradictions, as well as the means by which we endeavour to conceal
them.
It is evident, that as the ideas of the several distinct, successive
qualities of objects are united together by a very close relation, the
mind, in looking along the succession, must be carryed from one part of
it to another by an easy transition, and will no more perceive the
change, than if it contemplated the same unchangeable object. This easy
transition is the effect, or rather essence of relation; I and as the
imagination readily takes one idea for another, where their influence on
the mind is similar; hence it proceeds, that any such succession of
related qualities is readily considered as one continued object, existing
without any variation. The smooth and uninterrupted progress of the
thought, being alike in both cases, readily deceives the mind, and makes
us ascribe an identity to the changeable succession of connected
qualities.
But when we alter our method of considering the succession, and instead
of traceing it gradually through the successive points of time, survey at
once Any two distinct periods of its duration, and compare the different
conditions of the successive qualities; in that case the variations,
which were insensible when they arose gradually, do now appear of
consequence, and seem entirely to destroy the identity. By this means
there arises a kind of contrariety in our method of thinking, from the
different points of view, in which we survey the object, and from the
nearness or remoteness of those instants of time, which we compare
together. When we gradually follow an object in its successive changes,
the smooth progress of the thought makes us ascribe an identity to the
succession; because it is by a similar act of the mind we consider an
unchangeable object. When we compare its situation after a considerable
change the progress of the thought is. broke; and consequently we are
presented with the idea of diversity: In order to reconcile which
contradictions the imagination is apt to feign something unknown and
invisible, which it supposes to continue the same under all these
variations; and this unintelligible something it calls a substance, or
original and first matter.
We entertain a like notion with regard to the simplicity of substances,
and from like causes. Suppose an object perfectly simple and indivisible
to be presented, along with another object, whose co-existent parts are
connected together by a strong relation, it is evident the actions of the
mind, in considering these two objects, are not very different. The
imagination conceives the simple object at once, with facility, by a
single effort of thought, without change or variation. The connexion of
parts in the compound object has almost the same effect, and so unites
the object within itself, that the fancy feels not the transition in
passing from one part to another. Hence the colour, taste, figure,
solidity, and other qualities, combined in a peach or melon, are
conceived to form one thing; and that on account of their close relation,
which makes them affect the thought in the same manner, as if perfectly
uncompounded. But the mind rests not here. Whenever it views the object
in another light, it finds that all these qualities are different, and
distinguishable, and separable from each other; which view of things
being destructive of its primary and more natural notions, obliges the
imagination to feign an unknown something, or original substance and
matter, as a principle of union or cohesion among these qualities, and as
what may give the compound object a title to be called one thing,
notwithstanding its diversity and composition.
The peripatetic philosophy asserts the original matter to be perfectly
homogeneous in all bodies, and considers fire, water, earth, and air, as
of the very same substance; on account of their gradual revolutions and
changes into each other. At the same time it assigns to each of these
species of objects a distinct substantial form, which it supposes to be
the source of all those different qualities they possess, and to be a new
foundation of simplicity and identity to each particular species. All
depends on our manner of viewing the objects. When we look along the
insensible changes of bodies, we suppose all of them to be of the same
substance or essence. When we consider their sensible differences, we
attribute to each of them a substantial and essential difference. And in
order to indulge ourselves in both these ways of considering our objects,
we suppose all bodies to have at once a substance and a substantial form.
SECT. IV. OF THE MODERN PHILOSOPHY.
But here it may be objected, that the imagination, according to my own
confession, being the ultimate judge of all systems of philosophy, I am
unjust in blaming the ancient philosophers for making use of that
faculty, and allowing themselves to be entirely guided by it in their
reasonings. In order to justify myself, I must distinguish in the
imagination betwixt the principles which are permanent, irresistible, and
universal; such as the customary transition from causes to effects, and
from effects to causes: And the principles, which are changeable, weak,
and irregular; such as those I have just now taken notice of. The former
are the foundation of all our thoughts and actions, so that upon their
removal human nature must immediately perish and go to ruin. The latter
are neither unavoidable to mankind, nor necessary, or so much as useful
in the conduct of life; but on the contrary are observed only to take
place in weak minds, and being opposite to the other principles of custom
and reasoning, may easily be subverted by a due contrast and opposition.
For this reason the former are received by philosophy, and the latter
rejected. One who concludes somebody to be near him, when he hears an
articulate voice in the dark, reasons justly and naturally; though that
conclusion be derived from nothing but custom, which infixes and inlivens
the idea of a human creature, on account of his usual conjunction with
the present impression. But one, who is tormented he knows not why, with
the apprehension of spectres in the dark, may, perhaps, be said to
reason, and to reason naturally too: But then it must be in the same
sense, that a malady is said to be natural; as arising from natural
causes, though it be contrary to health, the most agreeable and most
natural situation of man.
The opinions of the ancient philosophers, their fictions of substance and
accident, and their reasonings concerning substantial forms and occult
qualities, are like the spectres in the dark, and are derived from
principles, which, however common, are neither universal nor unavoidable
in human nature. The modern philosophy pretends to be entirely free from
this defect, and to arise only from the solid, permanent, and consistent
principles of the imagination. Upon what grounds this pretension is
founded must now be the subject of our enquiry.
The fundamental principle of that philosophy is the opinion concerning
colours, sounds, tastes, smells, heat and cold; which it asserts to be
nothing but impressions in the mind, derived from the operation of
external objects, and without any resemblance to the qualities of the
objects. Upon examination, I find only one of the reasons commonly
produced for this opinion to be satisfactory, viz. that derived from the
variations of those impressions, even while the external object, to all
appearance, continues the same. These variations depend upon several
circumstances. Upon the different situations of our health: A man in a
malady feels a disagreeable taste in meats, which before pleased him the
most. Upon the different complexions and constitutions of men That seems
bitter to one, which is sweet to another. Upon the difference of their
external situation and position: Colours reflected from the clouds change
according to the distance of the clouds, and according to the angle they
make with the eye and luminous body. Fire. also communicates the
sensation of pleasure at one distance, and that of pain at another.
Instances of this kind are very numerous and frequent.
The conclusion drawn from them, is likewise as satisfactory as can
possibly be imagined. It is certain, that when different impressions of
the same sense arise from any object, every one of these impressions has
not a resembling quality existent in the object. For as the same object
cannot, at the same time, be endowed with different qualities of the same
sense, and as the same quality cannot resemble impressions entirely
different; it evidently follows, that many of our impressions have no
external model or archetype. Now from like effects we presume like
causes. Many of the impressions of colour, sound, &c. are confest to be
nothing but internal existences, and to arise from causes, which no ways
resemble them. These impressions are in appearance nothing different from
the other impressions of colour, sound, &c. We conclude, therefore, that
they are, all of them, derived from a like origin.
This principle being once admitted, all the other doctrines of that
philosophy seem to follow by an easy consequence. For upon the removal of
sounds, colours, beat, cold, and other sensible qualities, from the rank
of continued independent existences, we are reduced merely to what are
called primary qualities, as the only real ones, of which we have any
adequate notion. These primary qualities are extension and solidity, with
their different mixtures and modifications; figure, motion, gravity, and
cohesion. The generation, encrease, decay, and corruption of animals and
vegetables, are nothing but changes of figure and motion; as also the
operations of all bodies on each other; of fire, of light, water, air,
earth, and of all the elements and powers of nature. One figure and
motion produces another figure and motion; nor does there remain in. the
material universe any other principle, either active or passive, of which
we can form the most distant idea.
I believe many objections might be made to this system But at present I
shall confine myself to one, which is in my opinion very decisive. I
assert, that instead of explaining the operations of external objects by
its means, we utterly annihilate all these objects, and reduce ourselves
to the opinions of the most extravagant scepticism concerning them. If
colours, sounds, tastes, and smells be merely perceptions, nothing we can
conceive is possest of a real, continued, and independent existence; not
even motion, extension and solidity, which are the primary qualities
chiefly insisted on.
To begin with the examination of motion; it is evident this is a quality
altogether inconceivable alone, and without a reference to some other
object. The idea of motion necessarily supposes that of a body moving.
Now what is our idea of the moving body, without which motion is
incomprehensible? It must resolve itself into the idea of extension or of
solidity; and consequently the reality of motion depends upon that of
these other qualities.
This opinion, which is universally acknowledged concerning motion, I have
proved to be true with regard to extension; and have shewn that it is
impossible to conceive extension, but as composed of parts, endowed with
colour or solidity. The idea of extension is a compound idea; but as it
is not compounded of an infinite number of parts or inferior ideas, it
must at last resolve itself into such as are perfectly simple and
indivisible. These simple and indivisible parts, not being ideas of
extension, must be non entities, unless conceived as coloured or solid.
Colour is excluded from any real existence. The reality, therefore, of
our idea of extension depends upon the reality of that of solidity, nor
can the former be just while the latter is chimerical. Let us, then, lend
our attention to the examination of the idea of solidity.
The idea of solidity is that of two objects, which being impelled by the
utmost force, cannot penetrate each other; but still maintain a separate
and distinct existence. Solidity, therefore, is perfectly
incomprehensible alone, and without the conception of some bodies, which
are solid, and maintain this separate and distinct existence. Now what
idea have we of these bodies? The ideas of colours, sounds, and other
secondary qualities are excluded. The idea of motion depends on that of
extension, and the idea of extension on that of solidity. It is
impossible, therefore, that the idea of solidity can depend on either of
them. For that would be to run in a circle, and make one idea depend on
another, while at the same time the latter depends on the former. Our
modern philosophy, therefore, leaves us no just nor satisfactory idea of
solidity; nor consequently of matter.
This argument will appear entirely conclusive to every one that
comprehends it; but because it may seem abstruse and intricate to the
generality of readers, I hope to be excused, if I endeavour to render it
more obvious by some variation of the expression. In order to form an
idea of solidity, we must conceive two bodies pressing on each other
without any penetration; and it is impossible to arrive at this idea, when
we confine ourselves to one object, much more without conceiving any. Two
non-entities cannot exclude each other from their places; because they
-never possess any place, nor can be endowed with any quality. Now I ask,
what idea do we form of these bodies or objects, to which we suppose
solidity to belong? To say, that we conceive them merely as solid, is to
run on in infinitum. To affirm, that we paint them out to ourselves as
extended, either resolves all into a false idea, or returns in a circle.
Extension must necessarily be considered either as coloured, which is a
false idea; I or as solid, which brings us back to the first question. We
may make the same observation concerning mobility and figure; and upon
the whole must conclude, that after the exclusion of colours, sounds,
heat and cold from the rank of external existences, there remains
nothing, which can afford us a just and constituent idea of body.
Add to this, that, properly speaking, solidity or impenetrability is
nothing, but an impossibility of annihilation, as [Part II. Sect. 4.]
has been already observed: For which reason it is the more necessary for
us to form some distinct idea of that object, whose annihilation we
suppose impossible. An impossibility of being annihilated cannot exist,
and can never be conceived to exist, by itself: but necessarily requires
some object or real existence, to which it may belong. Now the difficulty
still remains, how to form an idea of this object or existence, without
having recourse to the secondary and sensible qualities.
Nor must we omit on this occasion our accustomed method of examining
ideas by considering those impressions, from which they are derived. The
impressions, which enter by the sight and hearing, the smell and taste,
are affirmed by modern philosophy to be without any resembling objects;
and consequently the idea of solidity, which is supposed to be real, can
never be derived from any of these senses. There remains, therefore, the
feeling as the only sense, that can convey the impression, which is
original to the idea of solidity; and indeed we naturally imagine, that
we feel the solidity of bodies, and need but touch any object in order to
perceive this quality. But this method of thinking is more popular than
philosophical; as will appear from the following reflections.
First, It is easy to observe, that though bodies are felt by means of
their solidity, yet the feeling is a quite different thing from the
solidity; and that they have not the least resemblance to each other. A
man, who has the palsey in one hand, has as perfect an idea of
impenetrability, when he observes that hand to be supported by the table,
as when he feels the same table with the other hand. An object, that
presses upon any of our members, meets with resistance; and that
resistance, by the motion it gives to the nerves and animal spirits,
conveys a certain sensation to the mind; but it does not follow, that the
sensation, motion, and resistance are any ways resembling.
Secondly, The impressions of touch are simple impressions, except when
considered with regard to their extension; which makes nothing to the
present purpose: And from this simplicity I infer, that they neither
represent solidity, nor any real object. For let us put two cases, viz.
that of a man, who presses a stone, or any solid body, with his hand, and
that of two stones, which press each other; it will readily be allowed,
that these two cases are not in every respect alike, but that in the
former there is conjoined with the solidity, a feeling or sensation, of
which there is no appearance in the latter. In order, therefore, to make
these two cases alike, it is necessary to remove some part of the
impression, which the man feels by his hand, or organ of sensation; and
that being impossible in a simple impression, obliges us to remove the
whole, and proves that this whole impression has no archetype or model in
external objects. To which we may add, that solidity necessarily supposes
two bodies, along with contiguity and impulse; which being a compound
object, can never be represented by a simple impression. Not to mention,
that though solidity continues always invariably the same, the impressions
of touch change every moment upon us; which is a clear proof that the
latter are not representations of the former.
Thus there is a direct and total opposition betwixt our reason and our
senses; or more properly speaking, betwixt those conclusions we form from
cause and effect, and those that persuade us of the continued and
independent existence of body. When we reason from cause and effect, we
conclude, that neither colour, sound, taste, nor smell have a continued
and independent existence. When we exclude these sensible qualities there
remains nothing in the universe, which has such an existence.
SECT. V. OF THE IMMATERIALITY OF THE SOUL.