INGLES- HUME, vol. 4 philosophical works (The Inquiries, Natural History of Religion, and other Essays) (1828 ed.) [1828].pdf

8/22/2019 INGLES- HUME, vol. 4 philosophical works (The Inquiries, Natural History of Religion, and other Essays) (1828 ed.)

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THEPHILOSOPHICAL W O R K S..

OF

DAVID HUME.'..INCLUDING ALL THE ESSAYS, AND X H I B I T I N G THEMORE IMPORTANTALTERATIONSANDCORRECTIONS

I N THE SUCCESSIVE EDITIONSPUBLISHEDBYTHEAUTHOR.

IN F O U R W L U I I I E S .

E D I N B U R G H :P n l N T E D F O R ADAMBLACK A N D WILLIAM TAIT;

AND C H A R L E S TAIT,63,. LEET STREET,

MDCCCXXVI.LONDON.


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ADVERTISEMENT.Most of the principles and reasonings con-tained in this volume were published in a workin three volumes, called A Treatise of Human

Nature; a work which the Author had project-ed before he left College, and which he wroteand published not long after. But not findingit successful, he was sensible of his error in go-ing to the ress too early, and he cast the wholeanew in the following pieces; where some ne-gligences in his former reasoning, and more inthe expression, are,he hopes, corrected.Yetseveral writers, who havehonoured the Au-thor's Philosophy with answers, have takencare odirect all theirbatteriesagainst hatjuvenile work, which theAuthorneverac-knowledged, andhave affected to triumph inany advantages which, they imagined, they hadobtained over i t ; a practice very contrary toall rules of candourand fair-dealing, and astrong instance of those polemical artifices,which a bigotted zeal thinks itself authorizedto employ. HenceforthheAuthor d&ires,that the following Pieces may alone be regard-ed as containing his philosophical sentimentsand principles.

VOL. IY. b


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CONTENTS O F V O L U M E F O U R T H .

A N I M Q U I R Y C O N C E R N I N G THE H U M A N U N D E R -S T A N D I N G .SECTION1. Of theifferentpecies of Philosophy . .2. Of the Origin of Ideas . . . . .3. Of the Association of Ideas . . . .4. Sceptical Doubts concerning the Operations of thestanding . . . . . . .5. S c e p t i d S olu tion of these Doubts . .6. Of Probability . , . . . .7. Of the Idea of Necessary Connexion . .8. Of Libertynd Necessity , ~ , .9, Of theeason of Anim als . . . .

10. Of Miracles . . , . , .11. Of a Particular Providence and of a Futu re S ta te12. Of theAcademical rSceptical Philosophy .A DISSERTATIONN THE PASSIONS . ,

. .* .Under-. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. I. .

P A G E31722324'9677194

121127155174195

AN I N Q U I R Y C O N C E R N I N G THE P R I N C I P L E S OFM O R A L S .

1. Of theeneralrinciples of Morals . , . . 2372. Of Benevolence , . . , , . . . 2453. Of Justice . , . . I . . . . 253A Of Politicalociety . . . . . . . 2785. Whytility pleases . . . . . . . 2856. Of Qualities useful tourselves . . , . . 3087. Of Qualitiesmmediatelygreeable to Ourselves , . 327


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'1111... CONTENTS.nzCtIon8.Of Qualitiesimmediately agreeable tothers ,9. Conclusion , . . . . . . .

APPENDIX.I. Concerningoralentiment . . . , ,9, Of Self-Love . . . . . . .3. Some fartherconsiderations with regard tcr Just ice .9 Of some Verbalisputes . . . . .A DULOQUE . , . . . . .

THE NATURAL H I S T O R Y OF RELIGION.INTUODUCTION . . . . . . . .

1. That Polytheism was t h e Primary Religion of M en .2. Origin of Polytheism . . . . , . .3. The enme Subject continued . . . . . .4. Deities not considered as Creators OT Formers of th e World5. Various Forms of Polytheism ;Allegory, Hero-Worship ,6. Origin of Theismromolytheism . . . . .7. Confirmation of this Doctrine . . . . . .8. Flux and Reflux of Polytheism and Theism . . .9. Comparison of these Religions with regard o Persecution

and Toleration . . . . . . . .10. Withegard to Courageor Abasement . . ,11. With regardoeason or Absurdity . . . .12. Withegardooubt or Conviction , . . .13. Impious Conceptions of the Divine Nature in Popular Reli-14. Badnfluence of PopularReligions on M orality . .lb General Corollary . I . . . . .

gions of both kinds . . . . , . .

P A G E33934.7

366378387396409

48548644,14454504584G3469471 474478480L49850%510

A D D I T I O K A I .


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ADDlTIONAL ESSAYS.IECTIOX1. Of Impudencend Modesty , , . . , ,%.Of Love andarriage . . . . . . .3. Of thetudy of History . . . . . ' . .I.f Avarice . , . . I . , . .5 . Of Essayriting . . . . . . . I6. Of Moral Prejudices . . . . . . .7. Of heiddle Station of Life . . . . . .8. Of Suicide . . . . . . . .9. On the Immortality of the Soul . I . I .

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AN

I N Q U I R YC O N C E R N I N G

H U M A N U N D E R S T A N D IN G .


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SECTION I.

OF THE DIFFER ENT SPECIES OF PHILOsOeHft.

MORALhilosophy, or the science of hum an'nature ,may be treated after tw o different manners,each ofwhich has tspeculiar merit, and may contribute tothe entertainment, instruction, andreformation of man-kind. T h e one considers man chiefly as born for ac-tion, and as influenced in his measures by taste an dsentiment; pursuing one object and avoiding another,according to he value which hese objects seem topossess, and according to the light in which they pre-sent themselves. As virtue, of all objects, is allowedto be the most valuable, this species of philosopherspaint her in the most amiable colours, borrow ing allhelpsfrompoetryand eloquence, and reating heirsubject in an easy and obvious manner, an d such as isbest fitted to please he imagination, and engage theaffections. They select the most striking observationsand instarrcesr&an common ife, place opposite cha-racters in a proper contrast, and, alluring us into th epaths of virtue by the viewsof glory and happiness,direct our steps in 'these paths by the soundest pre'

A 2


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4 SECTION I.cepts and most i l lustriousexamples.They makeusfeel the difference between vice and v irtue; they exciteand regulate our sentiments; nd so they can but bendo u r heafts to the love of probity and true honour, theythiik that they have fully attained the end of al l theirlabours. - ,The other species of philosophers consider man inthe l ight of a reasonable rathe r than an active being,and endeavou r to form his understanding m ore thancultivate his manners. They regard hum an nature asa subject of speculation ; nd with a narrow scrutinyexaxnine it, in order to find those principles which re-gulate our understanding, excite our sentiments, andma ke.us approv e or blameanyparticular obj& ac-tion, or behaviour. The y hink t a reproad! to .allliterature, that philosophy should not y et have fixed,beyond controversy, the foundation of morals,, reason-+ nd ckiticism ; n d should for ever @& of truthand falsehood, vice and virtue, h u g nd deforplityiwitbout being able to, determine- the source of tbpedistinctions. While they +tempt this arduous kk,they are deterred by no d S c u l t i e s ;but. p r M , w n gfromparticuIar nstances ogeneralprinciples, theys t i l l pushan heir inquiries to principles more general,and rest not satisfied till they arrive at those originalprin ciples b;v.which, in every science, all human curio-sity must be boiuded. Though ,their speculations seemabstract, and even unintelligible to comm on readers,they & t the ,approbation of the learned and thewise, and think themselves sufficiently compensated fort h e labour of their whole, lives, if ,th ey can discoverm m e kidden truths which may contribute to the in-struction.pfposteritg.

I t L certain that the easy and obviops phaosophy

- e


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OF THE DIFPEREWT GPBCIES OF PHILOSOPHY. 8will a l w y s , with thegenerality of mankind, have &e *preference above the accnrate and abstruSe; and bymany will be r w n d e d , not only as a t m e agree-aWe, b e r ndus e f i d , then fbe.other. ' It entixs moreintommmon life; moulds the hkirtlindeffectiom ; d ,by toaching those principly. whioh actuate men,' w o m their conduct, and bring s them nearer to.thatmodel of perfection which it describes. On the CQBLtrary;'the absasuse philosophy, beiig founded~dturn of mind which cannotenter into busiriess andaction, vanishes when the philosoper leaves the shadeand-comesnto opal day ; nor can its principleseasilyretain any influence over our conduct and behadour.. T h e feelings of om heart, the agitation of o ~ l r as-siops, the vehemence of mlr af fedons, dissipate allits conclnsions, and reduce t h e 'profdnd pliilosopherto o mexe +b&n.This aha mustbe d s s e c l , that t h e 'a s s t durabter,as well as justest h e , has been .rscq&ed by the easyphilosophy; and that aktra&&aners .seem hithertot o have enjoyed only a momembry reputation, fr& thecaprice o r ignorrrncs of t&&rown age, b u t bsve notbeen able to ' support their p m w n with M e quitdbleposterity. i t is easy for a & & m n d phiTaxqhpr tecommit a mistake in his subtle reasonings; a d onemistake is the nemsary parent ofder, h b hepushes on his coasepraerrces, and is I deterred &omembracing any condusion, by its ,1111nsdppearance,o r its contradiction to p o p l a r opinion. But a phiilosopher, who purposes only to represent the commonsense of mank-ind in mere beautifuland more engagingCOIOUIS,if by accident he fdlsinto error, p e s nu far-ther; but renew ing his appeal to common sense, indthe natural sentiments of the mind, retunas in@ ' & e


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6 SECTION I*right path, and secures himself from any dangerous il-P.mions. . T h e fame of Cicero flourishes at present ;b u t t h a t of Aristotle. is utterly decayed. La Bruyerep85~esth e seas, andstillmaintainshisreputation ;but the glory of Malebranche is confined to his ownnationand to his .own age. AndAddison,perhaps,will be read with pleasure, when Locke shall 'b e en-tirely forgotten. 1The mere philosopher is a charac ter which is com-monly but littleacceptable n he world, as beingsupposed to contribute nothing either to the advantageor pleasure of society;while he lives remote from com-municationwith mankind, andiswrapped p in principlesa d otions equally remote from their comprehension.On the otherhand, the mere ignorants still more despis-ed ; or is any thing deemed a surer sign of an illiberalgenius, in an age and nation where the sciences flou-rish, than to be entirely'destitute of all relish for those'nobleentertainments. T h e mostperfectcharacter ssupposed to lie between: those extremes; etaining anequal ability and taste kK bboks, company, and busi-ness ; reserving in conv&ation that discernment anddelicacy which arise from polite letters ;and; in busi-mess, that prob ity and accuracy which are the natura lresult of a ust philosophy. I n order odiffuseandcultivate so accomplished a character, nothing can bem ore useful than compositions of the easy style andmanner, which draw no t too much from life, require.no ,de ep application or retreat o becomprehended,.and send back the student amongm a n e d full of noblesentiments and wise precepts, applicable to every exi-

*

x This is not intended any way to detract from &e m&jt of Mr h k e ,&e was really a &eat philosopher, and a just and modest reawn-. Itis only meant to show the common fate of such abstract philowphy.-Note in EDIZIONS, L.


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OF DIFFERENT SPECIES OB PHILOSOPHY. 7gence of human life. By means of such compositions,virtue becomes amiable, science agreeable, companyinstructive, and retirement e n t e d n i n g .Man is a reaionable being ; nd,- as such, receivesfrom science his proper food and nourishment : But sonairow a re 'the bounds of human understanding, thatlittle satisfaction can be hoped for in this particukw,either from the extent or security of his acquisitions.Man is a sociable, no less than a 'reasonable being:But neither 'can he always enjoy company agreeableand amusing, or preserve the proper relish for them.M an is also. an active being ; nd, from that disposi?tion, as well as from the various necessities of humanlife, must submit to business and occupation : But the'mind requires some relaxation, and cannot always s u pport tsbent to care and industry. I t seems, then,that Nature has pointed out a mixed kind of ife asmost suitable to the human race, and secretly admotnished them to allow none of these biases to 'dm w toomuch, so as to ncapacitate hem for otheroccupa-tionsandentertainments. ndulge 'yo ur passion forscience, says she, but let your science be hum an," andsuch as may have a direct reference to action and so-ciety. Abstruse hought andprofound. esearches Iprohibit, and will severely pun ish, by the pensive me-lancholy which they introduce, by the endless .uncer-tainty in which they involve you, and by the-cold re-ception your pretended discoveries shall meetwith,when communicated. Be aphilosopher: but,' amidstall your philosophy, be stili a man.I W er e th e generality of mankind contented io preferthe easy philosophy to the abstract andprofound, with-'out throwing any blame or contempt on the latter, itmight not be improper, perhaps, to comply with thir


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OF TILE DIFSEBENT SPECIES OF PHILOSOPHY. 9brie of thebwh.and .theuse and %re of every pa rtQF organ, Accurwy is, in every case, sdvat l tageoytobemty, and just reasoning to delicatesentiment.La va i a wautd- we exalt the one by depreci8ting theP h Z * .Besides, we may observe, in every art or pfess ion,even those which most concern life or actisn, that aspirit of twcurwy, howeveracquired,carries a ll ofthemnearer their perfection, and renders them m oresutwervient to he nterests of society. And hougha philosopher may live remote from business, th e ge-nius of philosophy, if carefully cultivated by several,must gradually diffuse itself throughou t the whole so-ciety, and hestow a similar correctness on every art o rcalling. T h e politician will acqu iregreater oresightand subtilty n th e subdividing and balancingof power;the lawyer moremethodandfinerprincip les n hisreasonings;and hegeneidmore egular i ty nhisd i s c i p l i n e , and m ore caution in his plans and opera-t i om The stabili ty of m odern gove rnm e~ts aboveth e ancient, and the accuracy of modern philosophy,have improved, and probably will still improve, by si-milar gradations.W ere there no adva ntage to be reaped from thesestudies beyond the gra tifica tion of a n innocent curiosi-ty, yet ought Mt even this to be despised, as being anaccession to those few afe andharmlesspleasureswhich a re bestowed on the hum an race. T h e sweetestand most iw ffis ive pa th of life leads through the ave- .nu@ of seience and learning ; nd whoever can eitherremme 8py obstructiope io tbis-way, or op en up anyge prospect, ought so fer to be esteemed a benefactor-,to mankind. And though these esearches may a ppear painful and fatiguing it is with some miads BS


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10 SECTION I.with some bodies, which, be ing endowed with vigorousand florid health, require sevepe exercise, an d reap apleasure from what, tu the generelity of mankind, mayseem burdensome and laborious. Obscurity, ndeed,is painful to th e mind as well as to the eye ; ut, tobring light from. bscurity, by whatever labour, mustneeds be delightful and rejoicing.

But this obscurity, in the pr~ fo u n d nd abstract phi-losophy, is okjected to, not only as painful and fatigu-ing, but as the nevitable source of uncertainty anderror. H ere , indeed, lies the justest: and most plausi-ble objection against a considerable pa rt of metaphy-sics, that theyarenotproperly a science, but ariseeither from the fruitless efforts of human vanity, whichwould penetrate into subjects utterlynaccessible to th eunderstanding, or from the craft of popular supersti-tions, which, being unable to defend themselves on fairground, raise these entangling bram bles ta cover andprotect heir weakness. Chased from theopen coun-try, these robbers fly into the forest, and lie in wait tobreak in upon every unguarded avenue of the mind,and overwhelm it with religious fears and prejudices.The stoutest antagonist, if he remit .his watch a mo-ment, is oppressed; nd many, through cowardice and.folly, open th e gates to th e enemies, and willingly re-ceive them with revepense and submission as their le-gal sovereigns.

B ut is this a ufficient reason why philosophers shoulddesist from such researches, and leave superstition stillin possession of he r ret rea t? I s it not proper to drawan opposite conclusion, and perceive the necessity ofcarrying the war into the most secret recesses of the. enem y? I n .vain do we hope, that men, from requent

disappointment, will at last abandon such airy sciences,


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OF THE DIFFERENT SPECIES OF PHILOSOPHY. 11and discover the proper prov ince of humin reason;h r , besides that many persons find too sensible an in-terest in perpetually recalling such topics besides this,I say th e motive of M i d despair can never reasonablyhave place in the sciences; since, how.ever unsuccess-ful formerattempts may haveproved, there is stillr o o m to hope, that the industry, good fortune, or im-proved sagacity of succeeding generations, may reach-discoveries unknown to former ages. Each adven turousgenius will still leap at the arduous prize, and find him-self stimulated, rather than discouraged, by the failuresof his predecessors ;while h e hopes tha t the glory ofachieving so hard an adventure is reserved for himalone. T h e onlymethod of freeing earning a t oncefrom theseabstruse questions, is to nqu ire seriouslyinto henature of humanunderstanding,and show,from an exact analysis of its powers and capacity, tha tit is by no means fitted for such remote and abstrusesubjects. W e must submit to this fatigue, in orde r tolive a t ease ever af ter ; and must cultivatg true meta-physicswithsome care, in order to destroy the falseand dulterated . Indolence,which to some persmsaffords a safeguard against this deceitful philosophy,is, with others, overbalanced by curiosity ; nd despair,which at some moments prevails, may give place after-wards to sanguine hopesand expectations. Accurateand jus t reasoning is th e only Catholic remedy fittedfor all persons and all dispositions, and is alone ableto subvert thot abstruse philosophy and metaphysicaljargon, which, being mixed u p with popular supersti-tion, renders it in a manner impenetrable to carelessreasoners, and gives it the air of science and wisdom.Besides this advan tage of rejecting, after deliberateinquiry, the most uucertainand disagreeable pgrt of

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12 SECTION 1.k i n g , here are manypositive advan tages which re-sult from an accurate scrutiny into the pow ers and fa-culties of human nature. It is remarkable, concerningt h e operations of tht: mind, that, though most intimate-Iy present to us, yet, whenever they become the objectaf reflection, they seem involved in obscurity;nor c anth e eye readily find those lines and boundaries whichdiscriminateanddist inguish hem. " h e objects a retoo ine to remain long in the same aspect or situation;and m ust be apprehended in an instant, by a superiorpenetration, derived &om nature, and improved by hs-bitand reflection. I t becomes, therefore, no ,incon-siderable part of science, barely to know the differentoperations of the mind, .to separate hem from eachother, ~AYclass them under their proper beads, and tocorrect all that seeming disorder in which they k i n -volved, when made the object of reflection and inquiry.Th is task of ordering and distinguishing, which has n omerit when performed with regard to external bodies,th e objects of our senses rises in its value, when direct-4 owards the operations of the mind, in proportionto the difficulty and labour which we meet with in per-forming it. And if we can go no arther than thismental geography, o r delineation of the distinct partsand powers of the mind, it is at lea st a satisfaction togo so far ; and the m ore obvious this science may ap-pear (and It is by no m eans obvious), the more con-temptible still must the ignorance of it be esteemed, inall pretenders to learning and philosophy.Nor can there rem ain any uspicion that this scienceEs uncertain and chimerical, unless we shou ld entertainsuch a scepticism as is entirely subversive of all specu-Iation, snd even action. I t cannot be doub ted that themind is endowed with several powers andfaculties ;


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OF THE DIFFERENT SPECIES OF PHILOSOPHY. 1sthat these powers a re distinct from each other ; hatwhat is really distinct to the. immediate perception maybe distinguished by reflect& ; nd consequently, thatthere is a truth an d falsehood in all propositions onthis subject, and a truth an d falsehood which lie notbeyond the compass of hum an understending; T he reare many obvious distinctionsof this kind, such as thosebetween the will and understanding, the imaginationan d passions, which fall within the com prehension ofevery human crea ture; and the finer an d more philo-so ph icd distinctions ar e no less real nd certain, tho ug hmoredifficult to becomprehended.Some nstances,especially late ones, of success in these inquiries, maygive us a juster notion of the certiinty and soliditj ofthis branch of learning. And shall we' esteem i twoicthy the labour -of a philosopher to give us a true sys-tem of the planets, and adjust the position and orderofthose remote bodies, while we affect to overlook thosewho, with so much success, delineate the pa rts of th emind, in which we are so intimately co nce rned ? *-

9 That faculty by which we discem'trutb and falsebold, and that bywhich we perceive vice snd virtue, had long beenconfounded with eachother; atld all morality was supposed to be built on e t e r n d and imanrt-able relations, which, to every intelligent mind, were equally inPsliablezw any proposition eoncerniug quantity or number: But a *.late philo-sopher has taught us, by the most convincing arguments, thrt morality isnothing in the abstract nature of things, but is entirely relative to tbesentloen4 or mental taste of each particular being; in the name ms~llleraa tbe distinctions of sweet wad bitter, hot and cold, arise from the par-War feeling of each sense or organ. M o d perceptions, therefore,ought not to be classed with the operations of the understanding, butwith the t a s t e s or sentiments.It hadbeen usual with pbilmphers to divide ail t h e psiom of the


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14 SECTION 1B u t may we not hope that philosophy, if cultivated

with care, and encouraged by the attention of the pub-lic, may carry its researches s t i l l farther, and discover,at least in some degree, the secre t springs and princi-ples by which the human mind is actuated in its opera- 1tion 1.' Astronomersadongontentedhemselves ewithroving, from thehenomena, the true motions, 'order, and. magnitude of theeavenly bodies, till a fphilosopher a t last arose, who seems, from th e hap-piest reasoning, to have also determined the laws andforces by which the revolutions of the plane ts are go- 1vernedndirected. T h e l ikeas been performed ?with r e g h d to. other parts of nature. And there is noreason to despair of equal success in our inquiries con- 58

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mind into two classes, 'th e se16sh a nd benevolent, which werb supposedto stand in constant opposition and contrariety ; or was it thought thatthe Iatter could ever attain their proper object bu t at the expense of theformer. Am ong the selfish passions were r a n k d avarice, ambition, re-~ e n g e . Am ong .&e benevolent, atural ffection,riendship, ublicsp ir it Philosophers may now'perceive he mproprietyof this divi-don I t has been proved, beyond all controveray, that even t h e passions,cbmmonly esteem ed selfish, carry the mind beyond self, directly to theobject; that tho ugh th e satisfaction of these passions givesus enjoyment,yet t h e prospect of this enjoyment is not the cause of the passim, but,

the contrary, the passion is antecedent to the enjoyment, and withoutthe former the latter could never possibly exist; hat the case is precise-ly t h e same with t h e passions denominated benevolent, and consequentlythat a m an is no more interested when he seeks his own glory than whenthe happiness of his friend is the object of his wishes; nor is he anymo re disinterested when he sacrifices his ease and quie t to public good,than when he labours for the gratification of avarice or ambition. Here,therefore, is a considerabIe adjustment in the boundaries of he passions,nhieh had been confounded by the negligence or i n a c c u r a c y of formerphilosophers. These two instances may suffice to show us the natureand importance of this species ofphilosophy,-Notein EDITIOXSandL.


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OF THE DIFFERENT SPECIES OF PHILOSOPHY. 15cerning the men tal pow ers and economy, if prosecutedwith equal capacityandcaution. I t isprobable hatone.operation and principle of the mind depends onanother ; which again may b e resolved' into one moregeneral and universal: An d how far these researchesmay possibly be carried, iL will be difficult for us, be-fore.or even after a careful trial, exactly to determine.This s.certain, hat attempts of thiskindareeveryday made, even by hose who philosophize the mostnegligently;andnothingcan be morerequisite hanto enter upon the enterprise with thorough care andattention, that, if it lie within the compass of hum anunderstanding, it may a t last be happily achieved; ifnot, it may, however, be rejected with some confidencean d security. Th is ast conclusion, surely, snotde-sirable, nor ought it to be embraced too rashly. Forhow much must we diminish from the beauty and valueof this species of philosophy, upon such a supposition?M oralists have hitherto been accustomed, when heyconsidered, the vast mu ltitude and d iversity of thoseactions that excite our approbation r dislike, to searchfor some common principleon which thisvariety ofsentimentsmightepend.Andhoughheyavesometimes car ried the m atte r too far, by their passionfor some one gene ral principle, it must, however, beconfessed, that they are excusable in expecting to findsome generalprinciples nto which all he vices andvirtues were justly to be resolved. T h e like has beentheendeavour of critics, logicians,andeven politi-,cians :Nor have their attempts been wholly unsuccess-ful, though perhaps longer time, greater accuracy, andm ore ardent application, may bring these sciences stillnearer their perfection. To throw up at once all pre-tensions of this kind, may justly be deemed more rash,


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16 SECTION I.precipitate, and dogmatical, than even the boldest andmost affirmative philosophy that has ever attempted toimpose its crude dictates and principles on mankind.What though hese easoningsconcerninghumanna tu re seem abstract, and of difficult compreheasian,this sffords no presumption of their falsehood. Onthe contrary, it seems impossible, th at what hasyhither-to escaped so many wise and profound philosophers,an be very obvious and easy. Andwhateverpainsthese researches may cost us, we may think ou rsd ve ssufficiently rewarded, not on ly in point of profit but b fpIeasure, if, by that means, we can make an y additionto our stock of knowledge in subjects of such unspeak-able importance.

But as, after all, the abstractedness of these specula-tions is no recomm endation, but rather a disadvantageto them ; an d as his difficulty may perhaps be sur-mounted by care and art, and the avoiding of all un-necessary detail, we have, in the following Inquiry, at-tempted to throw some light upon subjec ts from whichuncertainty has hitherto deterred the wise, and obscu-rity the ignorant. H ap py if we can unite the bounda-ries of the different species of philosophy, by reconcil-ingprofound nquirywithclearness, an d ruth withnovelty ! And still more happy, if, reasoning n hiseasy manner, we can undermine the foundations o f a nabstrusephilosophy, which seems to havehithertoserved only as a sh el te rt o superstition, and a cover toabsurdity and error !


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OB THE O R I G I N OF IDEAS. 17

SECTION 11.OF THE O R I G I N OF IDEAS.

EVERYne will readily allow, tha t there is a consi-derable difference between the perceptions of the mind,when a man eels thepain of excessive heat, or he

I pleasure of moderatewarmth ; nd when heafterwardsrecalls to his memory this sensation, o r anticipates itby his imagination. Thes e faculties may mimic orcopy the perceptions of the senses, but they never canentirely each he orceand vivacity of the originalsentiment. The utmost we say of them, even whenthey operate with greatest vigour, is, th at they repre-sen t their object in so lively a manner, tha t we couldalmost say we feel or see it :But, except the mind bedisordered by disease o r madness, they never can ar-rive at such a pitch of vivacity, as to render these per-ceptions altogether undistinguishable. All the coloursof poetry, however splendid, can never paint na tu ra lobjects in such a manner as to m ake the description betaken for a real landscape. T h e most lively thought isstill inferior to the du llest sensation,W e may observe a like distinction toun through allthe other perceptions of the mind. A man in a fit ofYOL, IV. ' B


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I 8 SECTION 11.anger is actuated in a very different manner from onewho only thinks of that emotion. If you tell me thatany person is in love, I easily understand your mean-ing, and form a just conception of his situation ; butnever can mistake that conception for the real disordersand agitations of the passion. W h e n we reflect on ourpast sentiments and affections, our thought is a faithfulmirror, and copies its objects truly ; but the colourswhich it employs are faint and dull, in comparison ofthose in which our original perceptions were clothed.I t requires no nice discernment o r metaphysical head tomark the d istinction between them,Here, therefore, we may divide all the perceptionsofthe mind into two classes o r species, which ar e distin-guished by their different degrees of force and vivacity.T h e less forcible and lively are commonly denominatedTHOUGHTSr I D E A S . T h e other species want a namein our language, and in p o s t others ; svppose, be-cause t was notrequisiteforany, bu t philosophicalpurpqses, to rank them under a general term or appel-lation. Let us, therefore, use a little freedom, and ca llthem IMPRESSIONS;mploying tha t word nasensesomew hat different rom the usual. By the term impres-sion, then, I mean all ou r more lively perceptions, whenwe hear, or see, or feel, or love, or hate, or desire, orwill. And mpressions are distinguished from ideas,which are th e less lively perceptions, of which we areconscious, when we reflect on any of those sensations o rmovements above mentioned.Nothing,atfirst view, mayseem moreunboundedthan the thought of man ;which not only escapes allhuman power and authority, but is not even restrainedwithin the. limits of nature and reality. To form mon-ste rs and oin ncongruous shap,e.s andappearances,


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OF THE O R l G l N OF IDEAS. 19costs the imagination no more trouble than to conceivethe most na tural and familiar objects. And while hebody is confined to one planet, along which it creepswith pain an d difficulty, the thought can in an instanttransport us into the most dis tan t regions of the uni-verse, or even beyond the universe, into the unboundedchaos, where natu re is supposed to lie in total confu-sion. W h a t neverwasseen or heard of,may yetbeconceived; nor is any thing eyond the power ofthought,except what implies an absolute contradiction.But though our thought seems to possess this un-bounded liberty, we shall find upon a nearer examina-tion, that it is really confined within very narrow limits,and that all this creative power of the mind m o u n t s tono more than the faculty of compounding, transposing,augmenting, or diminishing the materialsafforded usby the senses and experience. W h e n we think of agoldenmountain, we only join twoconsistent ideas,gold and mountain, with which we were formerly ac-quainted. A virtuous horse we can conceive; because,from our own feeling, we can conceive virtue ; nd thiswe may unite to the figure and shape of a horse, whichis an animal familiar to us. I n short, all the materialsof thinking are derived either from our outward or in-ward sentiment : The mixture and composition of thesebelongs alone to the mind and will :Or, to express my-self in philosophical anguage, all our ideas or morefeeble perceptions are copies of o ur impressions o r m o r elively ones.T o prove this, the two following arguments will, Ihope, be sufficient.First,W h e n we analyze our thoughtso r ideas, however com pounded or sublime, we alwaysfind that they resolve themselves into such simple ideasas were copied from a precedent feeling or sentiment.

B 2


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20 SECTION 11.Even those ideas, which a t first view, seem the mostwide of this origin, ar e found, upon a nearer scrutiny,to be derived from it. The idea of GOD, s meaningan infinitely ntelligent, wise, an d goodBeing,arisesfrom reflecting on the operations of ou r own mind, andaugm enting, withou t limit, those qualities of goodnessan d wisdom. W e may prosecute this inquiry to whatleng th we please; where we shall always find, thateveryidea which we examine is copiedfrom a similar impres-sion. T hose who would assert, that this position is notuniversally true, nor without exception, have only one,and tha t an easy method of refuting it ; by producingth at idea, w hich, in their opinion, is no t derived fromthissource. It will then be incumbenton us, if we

would maintain our doctrine, to produce the impressionor lively perception w hich corresponds to it.Secondly, If it happen, from a defect of the organ,that a man is not susceptible of an y species of sensa-tion, we always find that he is as little susceptible ofth e correspondent ideas. A blind man can orm nonotion of colours;a deaf man of sounds.Restoreeither of them that sense in which he is deficient ; byopening this new inlet for his sensations, you also openan inle t for the ideas; and he finds no difficulty in con-ceiving these objects. T h e case is th e same, if the ob-

ject proper for exciting any sensation has never beenapplied to the organ. A Laplander or Negro has nonotion of the elish of wine. An d though here ar efew or no instances of a like deficiency in the mind,where a person has never felt, o r is wholly incapableof a sentiment or passion that belongs to his species,yet we find the same observation to take place in a lessdegree. A man of mild manners can form no idea ofinveterate revenge or cruelty ; nor can a selfish heart


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OF THE O R I G I N OF I D E A S . 21easily conceive the heights of friendship and generosi-ty. I t is readily allowed, that othe r beings may pos-ses many senses of which we can have no conception ;because the ideas of them have never been introducedto us, in th e only manne r by which an idea can haveaccess to the mind, to wit, by the actua l feeling andsensation.

There is, however, oneontradictory henom e-non, which may prove, that t isnotabsolutely im-possible for ideas to arise, independent of their corre-spondent impressions. I believe it will readilybe al-lowed, that the several distinct ideas of colour, whichenter by the eye, or those of sound, which a re con-veyed by the ear, ar e really different from each other,though, at he same time, resembling. Now, if thisbe true of different colours, it must be n o less so ofthe different hades of the same colour;andeachshade produces a distinct idea, independent of the rest,For if this should be denied, it is possible, by the con-tinual grada tion of shades, to run a colour insensiblyinto what is most remote from it ; an d if you will no tallow an y of the means o be different, you cannot,without absurdity, deny the ex trem es to be the same.Suppose, therefore, a person to have enjoyed his sightfor th irty years, and to have become perfectly acquaint-ed withcolours of allkinds,exceptoneparticularshade of blue, for nstance, which it never has beenhis fortune to meet with ; et all the different shadesofthat colour, except that single one, be placed beforehim, descendinggradually rom hedeepest to helightest, it is plain, th at h e will perce ive a blank wheFethat shade is wanting, and will be sensible that there isa greater distance in that place between the contigu-


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22 SECTION 11.ous colours than in any other. Now I ask, whether itbe possible for him, from his own imagination, to sup-ply this deficiency, and raise up to h imself the idea ofth a t particular shade, though it had never been con-veyed to him by his senses ? I believe th ere ar e fewbut will be of opinion that he ca n; an d this may serveas a proof, tha t the simple ideas are no t always, in e-very instance, derived from the correspondent impres-sions, hough his nstance is so singular, that t isscarcely worth our observing, and does not merit, thatfor it alone we should alter our general maxim.H er e, therefore, s a proposition, which notonlyseems in itself simple an d intelligible, but, if a properuse were made of it, might render every dispute equal-ly intelligible, and banish all tha t jargon which has so'Iqng taken possession of metaphysical reasonings, an ddrawn disgraceupon hem.All ideas, especiallyab-stra ct ones, are naturally faint and obscure. T h e mindhas but a slender hold of them. Th ey are apt to beconfounded with other resembling ideas, an d when wehave often employed any term, though without a dis-tinct meaning, we are ap t to imagine it has a determi-na te idea ann exed to it. On the con trary, all impres-sions, that is, all sensations either outward o r inward,are s trongand vivid. T h e limits between them aremore exactly determined ; nor is it easy to fall into anyerr or or mistake with regard to them. W h e n we enter-'tain,' therefore, any suspicion tha t a philosophical termis employed without any m eaning o r idea, (as is buttoo frequent),. we need but inqnire, from what impres-sion is that supposed idea derived ? And if it be im-possible to assign any, this will serve to confirm ou rsuspicion. Bybringing deas in so cleara ight, we


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OF THE ORIGIN OF IDEAS. 23may reasonably hope to remove all dispute, which mayarise concerning their nature and reality.

* I t is probable that no more was meant by those who denied innateideas, than that al l ideas w ere copies of o w impressions; though it m us tbe confessed, that the terms which they employed were not chosen withsuch caution, nor so exactly defined, as to prevent all mistakes abouttheir doctrine. For what is meant by innate I If innate be equivalentto natural, then all the perceptions and i d e a of the mind must beallow-ed to be innate or natural, in whatever sense we take the latter word,whether in opposition to what is uncommon, artificial, or miraculous.If by innate be m eant contemporary to our birth, the dispute seems to befrivolous ; nor is it worth while to inquire at what time thinking begins,whether before, at, or after our birth. Again, the word idea seems to becommonly taken in a very loose sense by Locke and others, as standingfor any of our perceptions, our sensations an d passions, as well asthoughts. Now, in this sense, I shnuld desire to know what can bemeant by asserting that self-love, or resentment of injuries, or the pas-sion between the sexes, is not innate?

Bu t admitting these terms, impressions and ideas, in the sense aboveexplained, and understanding by innate what is original or copied fromno precedent perception, then may we assert, that all our impressions areinnate, and our ideas not innate.To be ingenuous, I must o m t t o be my opinion, that Lo cke wasbetray ed into this question by the schoolmen, who, making use of unde-fined terms, draw out their disputes to a tedious length, without evertouching thepoint i n question. A like ambiguity and circumlocutionseem to run throug h hat philosophers reasonings, on this as well 85most other subjects. . .


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24 SECTION I1 I.

SECTION n r .OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.

beIT s evident, that he re is aprinciple of connection F!between the different thoughts or ideas of the mind,and that, inheir ppearanceohe memory or ima- jgination, they introduce each othe r with a certain de.gree of metbod and regularity. In our more seriousthinking or discourse, this is SO observable, tha t an y 1iparticularhought,whichreaksn upon theegular 6tract or chain of ideas, is immediately rem arked andrejected, And even in our wildest and most w anderingreveries, nay, in onr very dreams, we shall find, if wereflect, that the imagination ran no t altoge the r at ad-ventures, bu t tha t the re was still a connection upheldam ong the d ifferent ideas which succeeded each other.W e r e t h e loosest and freest conversation to be tran-scribed, here would imm ediatelybeobserved some-thing which connected it in a ll its transitions. Or wherethis is wanting, the person who brok e the threadof dis-course might still inform you, that there had secretlyrevolved in hisminda succession of thought, which 'had gradually led him from the subject of conversa-tion, A m o n g different languages, even when we can-

il..qk'


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OF TH E ASSOCIATION OF I D E A S . 25not suspect th e least connection o r comm unication, itis found, tha t the words expressive of ideas the mostcompounded, do yet nearly correspond to each othe r ;a certain proof that the simple ideas comprehended inthe compound ones were bound together by some uni-versalprinciple, which had an equal influence on allmankind.

Tho ugh i t be too obvious to escape observation, thatdifferent deas ar e connected ogether, I donotfindthat anyphilosopherhasattempted to enumerate orclass all the principles of association;a subject, how-ever, that seems worthy of curiosity. To me there ap-pear to be on ly three principles of connection am ongideas, namely, Resemblance, Cmtiguity in time o r place,and Cause o r Bfect .T h a t these principles serve to connect deas, will not,I believe, be much doubted. A picture naturally leadsour hou ghts o he original. b The ment ion of oneapartment in a building naturally introduces an inquiryo r discourse concerning the others ; and if we thinkof a wound, we can scarcely forbear reflecting on th epain which follows it . d Bu t that this enumeration iscomplete, and that the re are no oth er principles of as-sociation except these, may be difficult to prove to thesatisfaction of the read er, or even to a man's own satis-faction. All we can do, in such cases, is orunoverseveral instances, an d examine carefully the princ iplewhich binds the different thoughts to each other, neverstopping till we render the principle as general as pos-sible. e The more instances we examine, and the morecare we employ, th e T o re assurance shall we acquire,

Resemblance. ' ontiguity. d Cause and Effect.e For instanee, Contrastor Contrariety, is also a connection among

ideas, but it may perhaps be considered as a mixture of Cauaation andBesemblance. Where two objects are contrary, the one destroys the


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26 EECTIOR IV.tha t the enumeration whieh we form from the whole iscomplete and entire. 3, .

I!

other; that is, the cause of its annihilatihn, rind the ide a of theannihiletion of an object, implies the ideaof its former existence'

3 This Essay, as it stand s i n EDITIONS, L,N, thu s continues.Instead of entering intoa detail of this kind, which would lead us in tomany useless subtilities, we sha ll consider some of the effects of this con-nexion upon the passions and ima ginatio n; where we may open up a field

of speculation more entertaining, and perhaps more instructive, than theother.

As man is a reasonable being , and is continually in pursuit of happi-ness, which he hopes to find in the gratificationf some passion o r affec-tion, he seldom acts,:or speak$, or thinks, without purpose and intention,H e has sti ll some object in view; and however improper the means maysometimes be, which he chooses for the attainment of his end, he neverloses view of an end, nor will he so much as throw away his thoughts orreilections, where he hopes not to rea p any satisfaction from them.

In all compositions of genius, therefore, ' t i s requisite that the writerhave some plan or object; and though he may be hurried fro m this planby the vehemence of thought, as i n an ode , or dro p it carelessly as in anepistle or essay, there must appearsome aim or intentio n, i n his first set-t ing out, if not in the composition of the whole work. A productionwithout a design would r e s e ~ b l e ore the ravings of a madman, thanthe sober efforts of genius and learnin g.A s this rule a d m i t s of no exception, it folIows, that in narrative com-positions, the events or action s which the writer relates, must be connect-ed together by some bond or t ie: They must be related to each other i nthe imagination, and form a kind of unity, which may bring them underone pla n or view, and which may be the object or end of the writer i nhis first undertaking.T h is connecting principle, amon g the several events which form thesubject of a poem or history, may be very different, a ccord ing to the dif-fere nt designa of the poet or historian. Ovid has formed his plan uponthe con nectin g principle o f resemblance. Ev ery fab ulo us ransformation,produced by the miraculous power of the gods, falls within the compassof his work. The re needs but his one circum stanc e n any event, tobring it under his original plan or intention.A n annal ist or historian, who should undertake to write the history ofEuro pe during any century, would be influenced by the connexion of

E",


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OF TH E ASSOCIATION OF I D E A S . 27contiguity in time or place. All events which happen in that portion ofspace, and period of time, are comprehend ed in his design, tho ugh inother respects different and unconnected. Th ey have still a species ofunity, amidst all their d iversity.

B ut the most usual species of conn exion am on g the different events,which e nter into any narrative composition, is that of m use and effect ;while the historian traces the series of actions according to their natu ralorder, rem ounts o heir secretspringsandprinciples,anddelineatestheirmostremoteconsequences. H e chooses forhissubject a certainportion of that great chain of events, which compose he history of man-kind : Each link in this chain he endeavours t o touch in h is narration :Sometimesunavoidable guorance enders all hisattempts ruitless :Sometimes he suppliesbyconjecture wh at s wan ting in knowledge:And always, he is sensible that the moreun bro ken the ch ain is, which hepresents ohis eaders, hemoreperfect shisproduction. H e sees,that the knowledge of causes is not only the most satisfactory, this re-latio n or connexion being the strongest of all others, but also the mostinstructive ; ince it is by this knowledge alone we are enabled to con-trol events and govern futurity.He re, therefore, we may attain som e notion of that unity of action,abou t which all critics, aft er A ristotle, have talked so much ; erhaps tolittle purpose, while they directed not their taste or sentim ent by the ac-curacy of philosophy. It appea rs that, in all productions, as well aa i nthe epic and tragic, there is a certain unity required, and that, on no oc-casion, our thou gh ts can be allowed to run at adventures, if we wouldproduce a work that will give any lasting entertainment to mankind. Itappears also, that even a biographer, who sho uld write the life of Achil-les, would connect the events by showing their m utu al dependance an drelation, as much as a poet, w ho should make the anger of tha t hero thesubject of his narration. * .Nor only in an y limitedportion of life, aman's actions have a dependance on each other,but a lsoduring thewholeperiod of his duration from the cradle to the grape ; or is i t possible tostrike off one link, however m inute, in this regular chain, without affect-in g the whole series of events which follow. e unity of action, here-fore, which is to be found inbiography or hiPry,. differs from: that ofepic poetry, not in kind, but in degree. I n epic poetry, the connexionam ong the events is more close and sensible ; he narration is not car-. * Contrary to Aristotle, Mk%; Y hh :&,k x , r;bay ~ r v &pa/vgr, SF; dl i v ~ rJiv i r ~. "OVW 5 4 r p f t i s :h a o h h a i k r v ,if u ' r pia &pia yh8~@6g&, & C* 'KV. .; I ~~~~~,V 9' Yvcr $. n m h , G+ T? Y ~ V S J ~ p -


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28 ESSAY I V .rid o n through m c h a length of time ; nd the actors hasten to some re-ma rkable period, which satisfies the curiosity of the reader. This con.duct of t h e epic poet depends on that particular situation of the imagina-tion and of the passions, which is supposed in tha t production. The im&gination, both of writer and&, is m ore enlivened, and the passionsmore enflamedtban i n history, biography, or any species of narration,that confine themselves tu s t r i c t truth and reality. Let us consider theeffect f thesetwo circumstances, of a n enlivened imagination aq d in-flam ed e o n s , which belong to poetry, especially the epic kind, aboveany oth er species of composition ; nd let us s ee for wh at reason theyrequire a strict= and closer unity in the fable.

First, All poetry being a species of painting, approaches us nearer tbthe objects than any other species of narration, throws a stronger lightupo n them, and delineates more distinctly these minutea circumstances,which, though to the historian they seeni superffuous, serve mightily toenliven the imag ery and gratify the fancy. If i t be not necessary, as inthe I l iad, to inform us each time the hero buckles his shoes an d ties hisgarter% i t will be requisite, perhaps, to enter into a greater detail than i nthe Heiuiade; where heevents are NU over with such rapidity, thatwe scarce have leisure to become acquainted w ith th e scene or action.Were a poet, therefore, to comprehend in his subject any great compassof time or series of events, and trac e up the death of Hector to its rB-mote causes, in the rape of Helen, or the judge me nt of Paris, he mustdruw ou t his poem to a n immeasurable length, in orde r to fill t h i s largecarrvw with just puntin g and magery. The reader's imaginatiolqinflamedwith such a seriea of poetical descriptions, and his passions, agitated bya continual sympathy with th e cetors, muat i k g long before the periodof narration, and must sink into lassitude and d isgu;us t , from the repeat.ed violence of th e same movements.

Scondly, Th at an epic poet must not trace the causes to any grea tdistance, aiil fartherappear, if we wnuder anotherreason,which isdrawn froma propertyof &e PDsfiona still m e emarkable a nd singuIar.'Tis evident, that in a juet composition, all t h e affections excited by th edifferent events described an d represented, add mutual force to esch 0-ther; and that, while the heroes ar e all engaged in one comm on scene,and each action is strongly connected with the wbole, the concern is con-tinually aw&e, and the passions mak e an easy traneitiun f rom one ob.j& to an d h e r . The st lwg oonnenion of the events, a8 it facilitates thepassage of the houghtor magination, rom one to another, f a d -Utes also the transfu sion of the passions, an d preserves +e affection stillin the same channel and direction. O ur sympathy and concern for E v eprepares the way for a like sympathy with Adam ; The affection is pre.


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OF THE A S S O C I A T I O N OF IDEAS. 29served almost entire i n the transition ; nd the mind seiaes immediatelyt h e new object, 8s strongly related to that which formerly engaged itsattention. B u t were the poet to make a total digression from his sub-ject, a nd intr od uce a new actor, n o way connected with the personages,the imagination, f eeling a breach in the transition, wo uld enter coldlyinto the new scene ;would kindle by slow degrees ; nd in returning tothe main subject of theoem, would pass, as t were, upon foreign ground,and have its concern to excite anew, in order to take party wth the prin-cipal actors. T h e same inconvenience follows i n a lesser degree, wherethe poet traces his events to too great a distance, and binds together ac-tions, which, though not altogether disjoined, have not so strong a con-nexion as is requ kite to forward the transition of the passions. H en cear i ses the artifice ofobliquenarration , employed in he Odyssey andE n e i d ;where the hero is introdu ced, a t flrst, near the poriod of his de-s igns , and afterwards shows us, as i t were in perspective, the more dis-tan t events and causes. By this means, the reader's curiosity is imme-diately excited: The eventa follow with rapidity, and in a ery close con-nexion : An d the concern is preserved alive, and con tinually increase sby means of the near relation of the objects, from the beginning to theend of the narration.

Th e same rule takes place in dramatic poetry ; or is it ever permittedi n a regular composition, to introduce an actor who has no connexion,or but a s m a l l ~ o n e ,with theprincipal personages of he fable. T h espectator's concern must not be diverted by any scenes disjoined and se-parate from he rest. This break s the cours e of the passions, and pre-vents that communication of th e several emotions, by which one sceneadds force to another, and transfuses the pity aqd terror i t excites up oneach succee ding scene, un til the whole produces that rapidity of move-ment, which is peculiar o he heatre. H o w must it extinguish thiswarmth of affection to be entertained, on a sudden, with a new actionand new personages, no way related to the former; to flnd so sensible abreach or vacuity in the courseof the passions, by means of this breachin the connexion of ideas ; nd instead of carrying the sympathy of onescene into the following, to be oblige d every moment, to excite a newconcern, and take party in a new scene of action 7B ut though this rule of unity of action be common to dramatic an depic poetry ;we may still observe a d ifferenc e b etwix t them, which may,perhaps, deserve our attention. In both these species of composition,' t i s requ isite the action be one and simple, in orde r to preserve tbe'con-cern or sympathy entire and undiverted: Bu t in epic or narrative poetry,this rule is $so established upo n anoth er foun dation , vir. the necessitythat is incumbenton every write r to form some plan or design, before he


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ESSAY IV.enter on any discourse or narration, an d to comprehend his subje ct i nsom e gen eral aspect or united view, which m ay be the coustant object ofhis attention. As the author s entirely lost i n dramatic compositions,and the specta tor supposes himself to be really present at the actions re-presented; this reason has 110 place with regard to the stage ; ut anydialo gue or conversation may be introduced, which, without impm babili-ty, might have passed in that determinate portion of space, representedby the thestre. Hence, in all our English comedies, even those of Con-grew, the unity of action is never strictly observed J b u t the pOet thinksit sufficient, if his personages beany way related to each other, by blood,o r by living i n the same family ; and he afterwards introduces them inparticular s c e n q where they display their humo urs and characters, with-o u t much forwarding the main action. T h e double plots of Terence arelicenses of thesame kind;bu t n a lesser degree. An d hou gh hisconduct be no t perfectly regular, it is not wholly unsuitable to th e na-tur e of comedy, where the movements and passions are not raised to sucha height as in tragedy; at the snme time, tha t the fiction or representa-tion palliates, in some degree, such licenses. I n a narrative poem, thefirst proposition or design confines the auth or to one subject ; nd anydigressions of this na tu re would, a t first view, be rejected as absurd andmonstrous. Ne ither Boccace, la Fontaine, nor any auth or of that kind,though pleasantry be their chief object, have ever indulged them.

To retu rn to the comparison of history an d epic poetry, we may con-clude, from the foregoing reasonings, tha t as a certain unity is requisitei n all productions, it cannotbewanting to historymore han oanyoth er; tha t in history, the connex ion amon g he several events, whichunites them into one body, is the relation of cause and effect, the =mewhirh takes place in epic poetry;and that, in he atter composition,this connexion is only requiredo be closer and m ore sensible, on a ccou ntof the lively imagination and stron g passions, wh ich m ust be touched byth e poet in his narration. T h e Pcloppon nesian war is a proper subjectfor history, the siege of Athens for M epic poem, and the de ath of Al-c ib ia dk for a tragedy.As he difference, therefore, betw ixt history and epic poe try consistsonly in the .degrees of connexion, which bind oge ther those severaleven ts of which their subje ct is composed, it will be difficult, if not im-possible, by words, to d eterm ine ex actly th e bo und swhich separate themfrom each other. That is a matter of taste more than of reasoning; andperhaps, this unity may often be discovered in a subject, where, at firstview, and fro ma n abstra ct onsideration, we should least expect to find it.

'Tis evident that Ho me r, in the course of his narration, exceeds thefirst proposition of his wbjec t ; arrd tbat the anger of Achilles, which


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OF T H E A S S O C IA TIO N OF I D E A S . 31caused the death of Hec tor, is not the sam e with that which producedso many ills to the Greeks. B u t the strong cnnnesion betwixt these twomovem ents, the quick transition from one to the other, the contrast be-twixt the eflkts of concord and discord among st the princes, and the na-tural curiosity we have to see Achilles in anion, after so long repose;all these causes carry on the reader, and produce a sufficient unity in thesubject.I t may be objected to Milton, that he has traced u p his causes to toogreat a distance, and that the rebellion of the angels produces the fall ofman by a train of events, p h ic h is both very long and very casual. No tto mention that the creation of the world, which he has related at length,is no more the cause of that catastrophe, than of the battle of P ha r~ al ia ,or any other event that has ever happened. B ut if we consider, on th eother hand, that all these events, the rebellion of the angels, the creationof the world , and the fall of m an, resemble each other in being miracu.lous, and out of the comm on course of nature ; hat they are supposed tobe contiguous in time; and that, being detached from all other events,an d being the only original facts which revelation discovers, they strikethe eye at once, and naturally recall each other o the thoughtor imagina-tion. I f we consider all these circumstances,I say, we shall find, that theseparts of the action have a sufficient unity to ma ke them be comprehend.ed i n one fable or narration. TOwhich we may add, that the rebellionof the angels and the fall of man have a peculiar resemblance, as beingcounterparts to each other, and presenting to the reader the same moral,of obedience to our Creator.

These lwse hintsI haye thrown together, in order to excite the curio-sity of philosophers, and beget a suspicionat lepst if not a full persuasion,that this subject is very copious, and that m any o perations of the humanmind depend on he connexion or association of ideas, wh ich is here ex-plained. Particularly, he sym pathy betw ixt he pasSions and imagina-tion, will, perhaps, appear remarkable; while y e observe that the affec-tions, excited by one ob ject, pass easily to another connected with t ; b u ttransfuse themselves +th difficulty, or not at all , along different objects,which have no ma nner of connexion together. By introducing into anycompo sition, personages an d actions foreign to each other, an njudiciousauthor loses that communication ofemotions, by which alone he caninterest the heart, and raise the passionso their proper height an d period.m e u l l explication of thisprinciple and all its consequenc,es, wo uldlead us into reasonings too profqund an d too copious for these Essays.!Tis sufficient for us,at present, to have establivhed this conclusion, thatp e hree connecting principles of all ideas, are the relations of r e s e yblance, cont igui ty, and catinl ion.


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32 SECTION 1V.

SECTION IV.sCEP1'1CAL DOUBTS CONCERNING THEOPERATIONS OF

TH EUNDERSTANDING.

PART 1.

ALL theobjects of human eason or inquiry maynaturally be divided into two kinds, to wit, Relationsof Ideas, and Matters qf Fact. Of the first kind ar ethe sciences of Geometry,Algebra, and Arithmetic,and, in short, every affirmation which is either intui-tively or demonstratively certain. Th at the square o f th ehypothenuse i s equal to the square of the two sicks, is apropositionwhichexpresses a relationbetween hesefigures. Th a t three imes j v e i s equal t o he h a y qfthirty, expresses elationbetween hesenumbers.Propositions of this kind are discoverable by the mereoperation of thought, without dependence on what isany wherexistent in the universe. T houghhere , .


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SCEPTICAL DOUBTS. 33never were a circle o r triau gle in nature, the truth s de-monstrated by Euclid would for ever retain their cer-tainty and evidence.: M atters of fact, which are the second objects of hu-man reason, are no t ascertained in the same m anner;nor is our evidence of their truth , however great, of aBke natu re .with the foregoing. T h e contra ry of everymatte r of fact is still possible, because it can never im-ply a contradiction, and is conceived by the mind withthe same facility and distinctness, as if ever so con-formable to reality. B a t the sun will not rise to-mor-row, is no less intelligible a proposition, an d implies n omore contradiction, th an he affirmation, that it willrise. W e should in vain, therefore, attempt to demon-strate ts falsehood. W ere i t demonstrativelyfalse, itwould mply a contradiction, and could never be dis-tinctly conceived by the mind.

It may therefore be a subject worthy of curiosity, toinquire what is the natu re of that evidence, which as-sures us of any real existence and matter of fact, be-yond th e present testimony of our senses, or th e re-cordsof our memory. Th is pa rt ofphilosophy, it isobservable, had been little cultivated either by the an-cients or moderns; and therefore our doubts and er-rors, n he prosecution of so importantan inquiry,may be the more excusable, while we march throug hsuch difficult pa ths without anyguide or direction.T hey may even prove useful, by exciting curiMity, anddestroying that implicit faith and security which is thebane of all reasoning and free inquiry. T h e discoveryof defects in the common philosophy, if any such therebe, will not, I presume, be a discouragement, but ra-the r an ncitement, as isusual, to attempt somethingVOL. IV. C


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34 %ECTIO# v.more full and satisfactory thanh et been p~oposedto the public.All reasonings concerning matter of fact seem to befbunded on the relation of Causeand 3fec.t . By meansof th at relation alone we can go beyond the evidenceof our memory and senses. If you were to ask a manwhy he believes any matter of fact whi ch is absent, forinstsnce, that his friend is in the country or in France,be would give you a reason, and this reason would besome oth er fact : s B letter received from him, or theknowledge of his former resolutions and prom ises Aman, finding a watch or any other machine in a desertisland, would conclude tha t the re had once been menin th at island. All our reasonings concerning fact ar eof the sctme nature.Andhere it is constantlysup-posed, that there is a connection between the pre sen tfact an d ha t which is inferred from it. W e r e therenothing to bind them together, th e inferenee would beentirely precarious. T h e hearing of an articulate voiceand rational discourse in th e dark, assures us of the-presence of some person :W h y ? because hese ar ethe effects of the human make and fabric, and closelyconnected with it. I f we anatom ize all the other rea-,mni~gf thisnature, we shall find, th at they are;founded on the relation of cause and effect, and that.this relation is either near or remote, direct or collate-ral. Hea t and light are collateral effects of fire, and.the one effect mny justly be inferred from the other.If we would satisfy ourselves, therefbre , concerning .the nature of that evidence which assures us of mauers .of fact,we must inquire how we arrive at the know-ledge of CLUSB and effect.Ish all venture to affirm, asa general proposition whicb.admits of no exception, that the knowledge of this.se-


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SCEPTICAL I)OUBTS* 35Iation is not, in any nstance,attained by reasoningsaprioTi; u t arises entirely from experience, when wefind, tha t any particular objects are constantly conjoin-ed with each other. Let an object be presented to aman of ever so strong natural reason and abilities ; fthat object be entirely new to him, he will not be able,by the most accurate examination of its sensible quali-ties, todiscoverany of itscauses or effects. Adam,though his rational faculties be supposed, at the veryfirst, entirely perfect, could not have inferred from thefluidity and tran sp aren cy of water, that it would suffo-cate him ; or from the light and warm th of fire that itwould consume him. No object ever discovers, by thequalities which appear to &e senses, either the causeswhich produced it, or the effects which will arise fromi t ; nor can ou r reason, unassisted by experience, everdraw any inference concerning real existence and mat-ter of fact.Th is proposition, th at causes and e$ects are discover-able, not by reason, but by experience,will readily be ad-mitted with regard to such objects as we remember tohave once been altogether unknown to us ; since wemust be conscious of the utter inability which we thenlay under of foretelling what would arise from them.Present two smooth pieces of marble to a man who ha sno tincture of natural philosophy ; he will never dis-cover th at they will adhere together in such a manneras to require great force to separate them in a directline, while they make so small a resistance to a lateralpressure.Sucheventsasbear iltleanalogy o th ecommon course of nature, a re also readily confessed tobe known only by experience ; or does any man ima-gine tha t the explosion of gunpowder, or the attractionof a loadstone, could ever be discovered by arguments

e 2


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36 SECTION I V .a priori . In like manner,when an effect is supposedto depend upon an intricate machinery o r secret struc-ture of parts, we make no difficulty in attributing allour knowledge of it o experience. W h o will assertth at he can give the ultimate reason, why milk o r breadis proper nourishmentfor a man, not for a lion or tigerB ut the same truth may not appear a t first sight tohave the same evidence with rega rd to events, whichhave become familiar to us from our first appearance inthe world,which bear a close analogy to the wholecourse of nature, and which are supposed to depend onthe simple qualities of objects, without any secret struc-ture of parts. W e are aptto imagine, that we could dis-cover these effects by the mere operation of our reasonwithout experience. W e fancy, tha t were we broughton a sudden into this world, we could a t first have in-ferred, thzlt one billiard-ball would communicate mo- ,tion to another upon impulse ; and that we needed notto havewaited for the event, in orde r o pronouncewith certainty concerning it. Such is the influence ofcustom, that where it is strongest, it not only coverso u r natural gnorance,but evenconceals itself, andseems not to take place, merely because it is found inth e highest degree.But to convince us, that all the laws of nature, andall theoperations of bodies, withoutexception, areknownonlybyexperience, the following reflectionsmay perhaps suffice. W e r e any object presented ous, and were we required to pronounce concerning theeffect which will result from it, without consulting pastobservation ; fter what m anner, I beseech you, mustth e mind proceed in this operation ? It must invent orimagine some event which it ascribes to th e object asits effect;and t isplain th a t this invention must be


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SCEPTICAL DOUBTS. 87entirelyarbitrary. T h e mindcannever possibly findth e effect in th e supposed cause, by th e most accura tescrutiny and examination. F o r th e effect is totally dif-ferent from th e cause, and consequently can never bediscovered in it. Motion in th e second billiard-ball isa quite distinct event from motion in the firs t; no r isther e any thing in the o ne to suggest the smallest hintof the othep. A stone or piece of metdl aised in tothe air, and left without any support, immediatelyalls:Bu t to consider the m atter a p l i o r i , is there any thingwe discover in this situation which can bege t the ideaof a downward, rather than an upward, o r any othermotion, in the sto ne o r metal ?A nd as the first imagination o r invention of a parti-cular effect, in all natural opera tions, s arbitrary, wherewe consult not experience ; so m ust we also esteem th esupposed tie o r connexion between the cause and effectwhich binds them together, and renders it impossible,that any other effect could result from the operation ofthat cause. W h e n I see, for instance,abiIliard-ball~moving in a straight line towards an o th er ; even sup:pose motion in the second ball should by accident besuggested to me as the result of their contact or im-.pulse; may I not conceive thatahundreddifferentevents might as well follow from that cause ? May not.both these balls remain a t absolute rest ? May not thefirst ball return in a straight line, or leap off from thesecond in any line or d irection ? A ll these suppositionsare consistent and conceivable. W h y thenshould we give the preference to one, which is no more consistento r conceivable tha n he est ?A ll our reasonings apriori will never be able t o show us a ny foundation forthis preference.

1p a word, then,,every effect is a distinc,t event frcm


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its cause. It could not, therefore, be discovered in thecause; an d the first invention or conception of it, aprimi, mustbeentirelyarbitrary. And even after itis suggested, the conjunction of i t with the cause mustappear equally arbitrary ; ince there &re always m a yother effects, which, t o reason, must seem fully as con-sistent and natural. I n vain, therefore, should we pre-tend to determine any single event, or infer m y causeo r effect, without the assistance of observation and ex-perience.

.H en ce we may discover the reason, why no philow-pher, who is rational an d modest, ha s ever pretendedto assign the ultimate cause of any natural operation,o r to show distinctly the action of that power, whichproduces any single effect n the universe. I t is con-fessed, th at th e utmosteffort of humanreason is, toreduce die principlesproductive of natu ralpheno-mena to a greater simplicity, and to resolve the manyparticula r effects into a few general causes, by meanss f reasonings from analogy, experience, and observa-tion. Bu t as to the causes of these general causes, weshould in vain attem pt their disco very ; nor shall weever be able to satisty ourselves by any particular ex-plication of them. Th ese ultimate sprin gs andprin-ciples are totally shut up from human curiosity and in-quiry.Elasticity,gravity,cohesion of parts, commu-nication of m otion by impulse; these are pro ba bly theultimate causes and principles which we shall ever dis-cover n nature ; nd we may esteem ourselves suffi-cientlyhappy, if, byaccurate nquiryandreasoning,we can trace up the particular phenomona to, or nearto, thesegeneralprinciples. The most perfectphilo-sophy of the natural kind only staves off our ignorance8 little longer ; as perhaps the most perfect philosophy


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SCEPTICAL DOUBTS. 89of the m o d or metaphysical kind serves only to dis-cover larger portions of i t Thus theobservation ofhuman blindness and weakness is the result of all phi-losophy, and meets us, at every turn, in spite of o wendeavours to elude or avoid it.Nor is geom etry, when taken into the assistance ofnatural philosophy, ever able to remedy this defect, orlead us into the knowledge of u ltimate causes, by allthat accuracy of reasoning for which it is so justly ce-lebrated. Every part of mixed mathem atics proceedsupon the supposition, that certain laws are establishedby Nature in her operations; and abstract reasoningsare employed, either to assist experience in the disco-very of these laws, or to determine their influence inparticular instances, where it depends upon any pre-cise degree of distance and quantity. Thus, i t is a law: of motion, iscovered y experience,hathe momentor force of any body in motion, is in the compound ra-tio or proportion of its solid contents und its velocity :and consequently, that a small force may remove thegreates t obstacle, or raise the greatest weight,f by anycontrivance or m achinery we can increase the velocityof that force, so as to make it an overmatch for itsan -tagonist. Geom etry assists us in the application of thislaw, by giv ing us the just dimensions of all the partsand figures which can ente r into any species ofma-chine ;but still the discovery of the law itself is owingmerely to experienee;and all the abstract reasoningsin the world could never lead us one s tep towards theknowledge of it. W h e n we reason a priori, and cos-&der merely any object or cause, a s it appears to themind, ndependent of all observation , tnever couldsuggest to us the notion of any distinct objec6 such 86its effect i much less yhow us the inseparable and in-


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80 GECTION 1V.violableconnection between hem. A man mustbevery sagacious who could discover by reasoning, tha tcrystal is the effect of heat, and ice of cold, without be-ing previouslyacquainted with the operation of these ' .qualities.

PART 11

BUTwe have not yet attained any tolerab le satisfac-tion with regard to the question first proposed. Eachsolution still gives rise to a new question as difficult asthe foregoing,and eads us on to arthe r inquiries.W he n i t is asked, What is the nature of all ur reason4ings concerning matter offact? the proper answer seemst o be, Tha t they are founded on the relation of causeand effect. W h en again it is asked, What is the foun-dation of all our reasonings and conclusions concerningthat retation ? it may be replied in one word, EXPE-P E R I E N C E . But if we still carry on our sifting humour ,and ask, W h a t is the foundation of all conclusions r o mexperience ? this implies a new question, which may beofmore difficult solution nd xplication.Philoso-phers that give themselves airs of superior wisdom andsufficiency, have a hard task when they encounter per-sons of inquisitive dispositions,who push hemfromevery corner to which they retreat, and who a re su reat last t o bring them to some dangerous dilemma. T h ebest expedient to prevent this confusion, is to be mo-dest in our pretensions,. and even bo discover the di& aF


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SCEPTICAL DOUBTS. 43inferred from the other: I know, in fact, that it alwaysis inferred. B ut if you insist that the inference is madeby a chain of reasoning, I desire you to produce tha treasoning. T h e connection between these propositionsis not intuitive. T h e re is required a medium,whichmay enable the mind to draw su ch an inference, if in-deed it be drawn by reasoning an d argument. W h a tthat medium is, I nlust confess passes my comprehen-sion ; nd it is incumbent on those to produce it whoassert tha t it red ly exists, and is the original of all ourconclusions concerning matter of fact.Thi s negative argument must certainly, n process oftime, become altogether convincing, if many penetrat-ing and able philosophers shall turn their inquirieshisway ; and no one be ever ab le to discover any conn.ect-ingproposition or intermediatestep which supportsthe understand ing in this conclusion. But as the ques-tion is yet new, every reader may no t trus t so far tohis own penetration as to conclude, because an argu-ment escapes his inquiry, that therefore tdoes notreally exist. For his reason, i t may be requisite toventure upon a more difficult task; and, enumeratingall thebranches of hum an knowledge, endeavour toshow, that none of them can afford such an argum ent.All reasonings may be divided into two kinds, name-ly, demonstrative reasoning, or that concerning rela-tions of ideas ; nd moral reasoning, o r that concerningmatter of fact and existence. T h a t there a re n o de-monstrative argum ents in the case, seems evident, sinceit implies no contradiction, th a t th e course of natu remay change, an d th at an object, seemingly like thosewhich we have experienced, may be attended with dif-ferent or contrary effects. May I not clearly and dis-tinctly conceive, that a body, falling from the clouds,


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44 SECTION 1V.an d which in all otherrespectsresembles snow, hasye t the taste of salt or feeling of fire ? Is there anym ore intelligible proposition than to affirm, th at all th etrees will flourish in Decem ber and January, and willdecay in M ay and June ? Now, whatever is intelligi-ble, and can be distinctly conceived, implies no con-tradiction, an d can never be proved false by any de-monstrative argument or abstract reasoning a priori.I f we be, therefore,engaged byarguments to puttrust in past experience, and m ake it the stan dard ofour future judgm ent, these arguments must be proba-ble only, o r such as regard m atter of fact and real ex-istence,accord ing to h e division abovementioned.Bu t that there is no argum ent of this kind, must ap-pear, if our explication of that species of reasoning beadmitted as solid and satisfactory. W e have said thatall arguments concerning existence are founded on therelation of cause and effect; that our knowledge of tha trelation is derived entirely from experience; and th atall our experim ental conclusions proceed upon the sup-position, that the future will be conform able to th epast.To endeavour, therefore, the proof of this last supposi-tionby probablearguments, o r argumentsregardingexistence, mustbe evidently going in a circle, andtaking that for granted which is the very point in ques-tion.I n reality, all arguments from experience are found-ed on th e similarity which we discover am ong na tura lobjects, and by which we are induced 'to exp ect effectssimilar o hose which we have found to fol2ow fromsuch objects. And though none b u t a fool or madmanwill ever pre tend to ispute the authority of experience,o r to reject that great guide of hum an life, i t may sure-ly be allowed a philojopher to have so much curiosity


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S C E P T I C A L DOUBTS. 45

a t least as to examine th e principle of human naturewhichgives this mighty authority to experience, andmakes us draw advantage f rom tha t similarity whichnature has placed am ong ifferent objects. Fro m causeswhich ap pe ar similar, we expect similar effects. T h isis the sum of all our experimental conclusions.Nowit seems evident, that if this conclusion were formed byreason, it would be as perfect a t first, an d upon one

: instance, as afterever so long a courseofexperience :but the case is fa r otherwise. Nothing so like as eggs;yet, no one, on account of this appearing similarity, ex-pects the same taste and relish in allof them. I t isonly after a long course of uniform experiments in any

; kind, that we attain a firm reliauce nd security withrega rd to a particular event. Now, where is that pro-: cess feasoning,which, from one instance, draws Bconclusion so different from that which it infers from ahu nd red instances tha t ar e nowise different from thatsingle one ? This question I propose, as much for thesake of information, as with an intention of raising dif-

ficulties. I cannot find, I cannot imagine, anysuchreasoning. But I keep my mind still open to instruc-tion, if any one will vouchsafe to bestow it o n me.Sh ou ld it be said, that, from a number of uniformexperiments, we infm a connection between th e sensi-ble qualities and th e secret powers, this, I must con-fess, eems th e same difficulty, couched in differentterms. T h e question still occurs, O n what process ofargument is this inference founded? W he re is hemedium, the interposing ideas, which join propositionsso very wide of each othe r? It is confessed, th at thecolour,onsistence, an d ther sensible qualities ofbread, appear no t of themselves to hav e any connec-tion with the secret powers of nourishment and sup-


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46 !SECTION IT,

p ~ r t For otherwise we could infer these secret p o v e rsfrom thefirstappearance of thesesensible qualities,w ithou t the aid of experience, contrary to the senti-ment of all philosophers, and contrary t o plain m atteroffact. H e r e then is ournaturalstate of ignorancewith regard to the pow ers and influence of all objects.How is thisremediedby experience? I t onlyshowsus a number ofuniform ffects resu lting rom ertain 1objects, and teaches us t h a t those particular objects, atthat part icular t ime, were endowed with such powersand forces. W h e n a new object, endow ed withsirni-lar sensible qualities, is produced, we expectsimilarpow ers and forces, and look for a like effect. Fro m abody of like d o u r andconsistence

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INGLES- HUME, vol. 4 philosophical works (The Inquiries, Natural History of Religion, and other Essays) (1828 ed.) [1828].pdf