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Tantissimi classici della letteratura e della cultura politica,
economica e scientifica in lingua inglese con audio di ReadSpeaker e traduttore
automatico interattivo FGA Translate
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Abbe Prevost - MANON LESCAUT
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Alcott, Louisa M. - AN OLDFASHIONED GIRL
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Alcott, Louisa M. - LITTLE MEN
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Alcott, Louisa M. - LITTLE WOMEN
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Alcott, Louisa May - JACK AND JILL
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Alcott, Louisa May - LIFE LETTERS AND JOURNALS
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Andersen, Hans Christian - FAIRY TALES
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Anonimo - BEOWULF
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Ariosto, Ludovico - ORLANDO ENRAGED
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Aurelius, Marcus - MEDITATIONS
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Austen, Jane - EMMA
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Austen, Jane - MANSFIELD PARK
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Austen, Jane - NORTHANGER ABBEY
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Austen, Jane - PERSUASION
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Austen, Jane - PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
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Austen, Jane - SENSE AND SENSIBILITY
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Authors, Various - LETTERS OF ABELARD AND HELOISE
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Authors, Various - SELECTED ENGLISH LETTERS
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Autori Vari - THE WORLD ENGLISH BIBLE
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Bacon, Francis - THE ADVANCEMENT OF LEARNING
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Balzac, Honore de - EUGENIE GRANDET
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Balzac, Honore de - FATHER GORIOT
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Baroness Orczy - THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL
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Barrie, J. M. - PETER AND WENDY
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Barrie, James M. - PETER PAN
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Bierce, Ambrose - THE DEVIL'S DICTIONARY
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Blake, William - SONGS OF INNOCENCE AND EXPERIENCE
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Boccaccio, Giovanni - DECAMERONE
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Brent, Linda - INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF A SLAVE GIRL
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Bronte, Charlotte - JANE EYRE
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Bronte, Charlotte - VILLETTE
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Buchan, John - GREENMANTLE
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Buchan, John - MR STANDFAST
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Buchan, John - THE 39 STEPS
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Bunyan, John - THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS
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Burckhardt, Jacob - THE CIVILIZATION OF THE RENAISSANCE IN ITALY
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Burnett, Frances H. - A LITTLE PRINCESS
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Burnett, Frances H. - LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY
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Burnett, Frances H. - THE SECRET GARDEN
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Butler, Samuel - EREWHON
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Carlyle, Thomas - PAST AND PRESENT
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Carlyle, Thomas - THE FRENCH REVOLUTION
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Cellini, Benvenuto - AUTOBIOGRAPHY
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Cervantes - DON QUIXOTE
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Chaucer, Geoffrey - THE CANTERBURY TALES
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Chesterton, G. K. - A SHORT HISTORY OF ENGLAND
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Chesterton, G. K. - THE BALLAD OF THE WHITE HORSE
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Chesterton, G. K. - THE INNOCENCE OF FATHER BROWN
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Chesterton, G. K. - THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
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Chesterton, G. K. - THE MAN WHO WAS THURSDAY
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Chesterton, G. K. - THE WISDOM OF FATHER BROWN
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Chesterton, G. K. - TWELVE TYPES
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Chesterton, G. K. - WHAT I SAW IN AMERICA
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Chesterton, Gilbert K. - HERETICS
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Chopin, Kate - AT FAULT
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Chopin, Kate - BAYOU FOLK
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Chopin, Kate - THE AWAKENING AND SELECTED SHORT STORIES
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Clark Hall, John R. - A CONCISE ANGLOSAXON DICTIONARY
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Clarkson, Thomas - AN ESSAY ON THE SLAVERY AND COMMERCE OF THE HUMAN SPECIES
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Clausewitz, Carl von - ON WAR
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Coleridge, Herbert - A DICTIONARY OF THE FIRST OR OLDEST WORDS IN THE ENGLISH
LANGUAGE
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Coleridge, S. T. - COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS
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Coleridge, S. T. - HINTS TOWARDS THE FORMATION OF A MORE COMPREHENSIVE THEORY
OF LIFE
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Coleridge, S. T. - THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER
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Collins, Wilkie - THE MOONSTONE
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Collodi - PINOCCHIO
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Conan Doyle, Arthur - A STUDY IN SCARLET
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Conan Doyle, Arthur - MEMOIRS OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
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Conan Doyle, Arthur - THE HOUND OF THE BASKERVILLES
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Conan Doyle, Arthur - THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
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Conan Doyle, Arthur - THE SIGN OF THE FOUR
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Conrad, Joseph - HEART OF DARKNESS
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Conrad, Joseph - LORD JIM
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Conrad, Joseph - NOSTROMO
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Conrad, Joseph - THE NIGGER OF THE NARCISSUS
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Conrad, Joseph - TYPHOON
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Crane, Stephen - LAST WORDS
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Crane, Stephen - MAGGIE
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Crane, Stephen - THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE
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Crane, Stephen - WOUNDS IN THE RAIN
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Dante - THE DIVINE COMEDY: HELL
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Dante - THE DIVINE COMEDY: PARADISE
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Dante - THE DIVINE COMEDY: PURGATORY
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Darwin, Charles - THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF CHARLES DARWIN
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Darwin, Charles - THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES
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Defoe, Daniel - A GENERAL HISTORY OF THE PYRATES
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Defoe, Daniel - A JOURNAL OF THE PLAGUE YEAR
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Defoe, Daniel - CAPTAIN SINGLETON
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Defoe, Daniel - MOLL FLANDERS
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Defoe, Daniel - ROBINSON CRUSOE
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Defoe, Daniel - THE COMPLETE ENGLISH TRADESMAN
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Defoe, Daniel - THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF ROBINSON CRUSOE
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Deledda, Grazia - AFTER THE DIVORCE
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Dickens, Charles - A CHRISTMAS CAROL
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Dickens, Charles - A TALE OF TWO CITIES
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Dickens, Charles - BLEAK HOUSE
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Dickens, Charles - DAVID COPPERFIELD
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Dickens, Charles - DONBEY AND SON
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Dickens, Charles - GREAT EXPECTATIONS
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Dickens, Charles - HARD TIMES
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Dickens, Charles - LETTERS VOLUME 1
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Dickens, Charles - LITTLE DORRIT
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Dickens, Charles - MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT
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Dickens, Charles - NICHOLAS NICKLEBY
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Dickens, Charles - OLIVER TWIST
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Dickens, Charles - OUR MUTUAL FRIEND
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Dickens, Charles - PICTURES FROM ITALY
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Dickens, Charles - THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD
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Dickens, Charles - THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP
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Dickens, Charles - THE PICKWICK PAPERS
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Dickinson, Emily - POEMS
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Dostoevsky, Fyodor - CRIME AND PUNISHMENT
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Dostoyevsky, Fyodor - THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV
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Du Maurier, George - TRILBY
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Dumas, Alexandre - THE COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO
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Dumas, Alexandre - THE MAN IN THE IRON MASK
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Dumas, Alexandre - THE THREE MUSKETEERS
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Eliot, George - DANIEL DERONDA
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Eliot, George - MIDDLEMARCH
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Eliot, George - SILAS MARNER
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Eliot, George - THE MILL ON THE FLOSS
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Engels, Frederick - THE CONDITION OF THE WORKING-CLASS IN ENGLAND IN 1844
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Equiano - AUTOBIOGRAPHY
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Esopo - FABLES
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Fenimore Cooper, James - THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS
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Fielding, Henry - TOM JONES
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France, Anatole - THAIS
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France, Anatole - THE GODS ARE ATHIRST
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France, Anatole - THE LIFE OF JOAN OF ARC
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France, Anatole - THE SEVEN WIVES OF BLUEBEARD
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Frank Baum, L. - THE PATCHWORK GIRL OF OZ
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Frank Baum, L. - THE WONDERFUL WIZARD OF OZ
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Franklin, Benjamin - AUTOBIOGRAPHY
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Frazer, James George - THE GOLDEN BOUGH
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Freud, Sigmund - DREAM PSYCHOLOGY
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Galsworthy, John - COMPLETE PLAYS
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Galsworthy, John - STRIFE
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Galsworthy, John - STUDIES AND ESSAYS
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Galsworthy, John - THE FIRST AND THE LAST
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Galsworthy, John - THE FORSYTE SAGA
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Galsworthy, John - THE LITTLE MAN
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Galsworthy, John - THE SILVER BOX
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Galsworthy, John - THE SKIN GAME
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Gaskell, Elizabeth - CRANFORD
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Gaskell, Elizabeth - MARY BARTON
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Gaskell, Elizabeth - NORTH AND SOUTH
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Gaskell, Elizabeth - THE LIFE OF CHARLOTTE BRONTE
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Gay, John - THE BEGGAR'S OPERA
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Gentile, Maria - THE ITALIAN COOK BOOK
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Gilbert and Sullivan - PLAYS
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Goethe - FAUST
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Gogol - DEAD SOULS
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Goldsmith, Oliver - SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER
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Goldsmith, Oliver - THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD
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Grahame, Kenneth - THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS
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Grimm, Brothers - FAIRY TALES
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Harding, A. R. - GINSENG AND OTHER MEDICINAL PLANTS
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Hardy, Thomas - A CHANGED MAN AND OTHER TALES
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Hardy, Thomas - FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD
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Hardy, Thomas - JUDE THE OBSCURE
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Hardy, Thomas - TESS OF THE D'URBERVILLES
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Hardy, Thomas - THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE
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Hartley, Cecil B. - THE GENTLEMEN'S BOOK OF ETIQUETTE
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Hawthorne, Nathaniel - LITTLE MASTERPIECES
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Hawthorne, Nathaniel - THE SCARLET LETTER
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Henry VIII - LOVE LETTERS TO ANNE BOLEYN
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Henry, O. - CABBAGES AND KINGS
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Henry, O. - SIXES AND SEVENS
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Henry, O. - THE FOUR MILLION
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Henry, O. - THE TRIMMED LAMP
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Henry, O. - WHIRLIGIGS
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Hindman Miller, Gustavus - TEN THOUSAND DREAMS INTERPRETED
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Hobbes, Thomas - LEVIATHAN
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Homer - THE ILIAD
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Homer - THE ODYSSEY
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Hornaday, William T. - THE EXTERMINATION OF THE AMERICAN BISON
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Hume, David - A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE
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Hume, David - AN ENQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING
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Hume, David - DIALOGUES CONCERNING NATURAL RELIGION
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Ibsen, Henrik - A DOLL'S HOUSE
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Ibsen, Henrik - AN ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE
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Ibsen, Henrik - GHOSTS
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Ibsen, Henrik - HEDDA GABLER
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Ibsen, Henrik - JOHN GABRIEL BORKMAN
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Ibsen, Henrik - ROSMERHOLM
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Ibsen, Henrik - THE LADY FROM THE SEA
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Ibsen, Henrik - THE MASTER BUILDER
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Ibsen, Henrik - WHEN WE DEAD AWAKEN
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Irving, Washington - THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW
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James, Henry - ITALIAN HOURS
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James, Henry - THE ASPERN PAPERS
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James, Henry - THE BOSTONIANS
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James, Henry - THE PORTRAIT OF A LADY
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James, Henry - THE TURN OF THE SCREW
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James, Henry - WASHINGTON SQUARE
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Jerome, Jerome K. - THREE MEN IN A BOAT
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Jerome, Jerome K. - THREE MEN ON THE BUMMEL
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Jevons, Stanley - POLITICAL ECONOMY
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Johnson, Samuel - A GRAMMAR OF THE ENGLISH TONGUE
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Jonson, Ben - THE ALCHEMIST
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Jonson, Ben - VOLPONE
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Joyce, James - A PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST AS A YOUNG MAN
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Joyce, James - CHAMBER MUSIC
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Joyce, James - DUBLINERS
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Joyce, James - ULYSSES
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Keats, John - ENDYMION
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Keats, John - POEMS PUBLISHED IN 1817
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Keats, John - POEMS PUBLISHED IN 1820
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King James - THE BIBLE
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Kipling, Rudyard - CAPTAINS COURAGEOUS
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Kipling, Rudyard - INDIAN TALES
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Kipling, Rudyard - JUST SO STORIES
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Kipling, Rudyard - KIM
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Kipling, Rudyard - THE JUNGLE BOOK
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Kipling, Rudyard - THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING
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Kipling, Rudyard - THE SECOND JUNGLE BOOK
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Lawrence, D. H - THE RAINBOW
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Lawrence, D. H - THE WHITE PEACOCK
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Lawrence, D. H - TWILIGHT IN ITALY
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Lawrence, D. H. - AARON'S ROD
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Lawrence, D. H. - SONS AND LOVERS
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Lawrence, D. H. - THE LOST GIRL
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Lawrence, D. H. - WOMEN IN LOVE
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Lear, Edward - BOOK OF NONSENSE
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Lear, Edward - LAUGHABLE LYRICS
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Lear, Edward - MORE NONSENSE
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Lear, Edward - NONSENSE SONG
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Leblanc, Maurice - ARSENE LUPIN VS SHERLOCK HOLMES
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Leblanc, Maurice - THE ADVENTURES OF ARSENE LUPIN
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Leblanc, Maurice - THE CONFESSIONS OF ARSENE LUPIN
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Leblanc, Maurice - THE HOLLOW NEEDLE
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Leblanc, Maurice - THE RETURN OF ARSENE LUPIN
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Lehmann, Lilli - HOW TO SING
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Leroux, Gaston - THE MAN WITH THE BLACK FEATHER
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Leroux, Gaston - THE MYSTERY OF THE YELLOW ROOM
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Leroux, Gaston - THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA
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London, Jack - MARTIN EDEN
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London, Jack - THE CALL OF THE WILD
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London, Jack - WHITE FANG
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Machiavelli, Nicolo' - THE PRINCE
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Malthus, Thomas - PRINCIPLE OF POPULATION
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Mansfield, Katherine - THE GARDEN PARTY AND OTHER STORIES
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Marlowe, Christopher - THE JEW OF MALTA
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Marryat, Captain - THE CHILDREN OF THE NEW FOREST
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Maupassant, Guy De - BEL AMI
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Melville, Hermann - MOBY DICK
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Melville, Hermann - TYPEE
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Mill, John Stuart - PRINCIPLES OF POLITICAL ECONOMY
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Milton, John - PARADISE LOST
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Mitra, S. M. - HINDU TALES FROM THE SANSKRIT
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Montaigne, Michel de - ESSAYS
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Montgomery, Lucy Maud - ANNE OF GREEN GABLES
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More, Thomas - UTOPIA
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Nesbit, E. - FIVE CHILDREN AND IT
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Nesbit, E. - THE PHOENIX AND THE CARPET
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Nesbit, E. - THE RAILWAY CHILDREN
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Nesbit, E. - THE STORY OF THE AMULET
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Newton, Isaac - OPTICKS
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Nietsche, Friedrich - BEYOND GOOD AND EVIL
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Nietsche, Friedrich - THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA
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Nightingale, Florence - NOTES ON NURSING
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Owen, Wilfred - POEMS
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Ozaki, Yei Theodora - JAPANESE FAIRY TALES
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Pascal, Blaise - PENSEES
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Pellico, Silvio - MY TEN YEARS IMPRISONMENT
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Perrault, Charles - FAIRY TALES
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Pirandello, Luigi - THREE PLAYS
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Plato - THE REPUBLIC
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Poe, Edgar Allan - THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS 1
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Poe, Edgar Allan - THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS 2
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Poe, Edgar Allan - THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS 3
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Poe, Edgar Allan - THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS 4
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Poe, Edgar Allan - THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS 5
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Poe, Edgar Allan - THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER
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Potter, Beatrix - THE TALE OF PETER RABBIT
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Proust, Marcel - SWANN'S WAY
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Radcliffe, Ann - A SICILIAN ROMANCE
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Ricardo, David - ON THE PRINCIPLES OF POLITICAL ECONOMY AND TAXATION
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Richardson, Samuel - PAMELA
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Rider Haggard, H. - ALLAN QUATERMAIN
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Rider Haggard, H. - KING SOLOMON'S MINES
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Rousseau, J. J. - THE ORIGIN AND FOUNDATION OF INEQUALITY AMONG MANKIND
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Ruskin, John - THE SEVEN LAMPS OF ARCHITECTURE
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Schiller, Friedrich - THE DEATH OF WALLENSTEIN
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Schiller, Friedrich - THE PICCOLOMINI
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Schopenhauer, Arthur - THE ART OF CONTROVERSY
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Schopenhauer, Arthur - THE WISDOM OF LIFE
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Scott Fitzgerald, F. - FLAPPERS AND PHILOSOPHERS
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Scott Fitzgerald, F. - TALES OF THE JAZZ AGE
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Scott Fitzgerald, F. - THE BEAUTIFUL AND DAMNED
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Scott Fitzgerald, F. - THIS SIDE OF PARADISE
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Scott, Walter - IVANHOE
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Scott, Walter - QUENTIN DURWARD
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Scott, Walter - ROB ROY
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Scott, Walter - THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR
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Scott, Walter - WAVERLEY
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Sedgwick, Anne Douglas - THE THIRD WINDOW
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Sewell, Anna - BLACK BEAUTY
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Shakespeare, William - COMPLETE WORKS
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Shakespeare, William - HAMLET
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Shakespeare, William - OTHELLO
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Shakespeare, William - ROMEO AND JULIET
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Shelley, Mary - FRANKENSTEIN
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Shelley, Percy Bysshe - A DEFENCE OF POETRY AND OTHER ESSAYS
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Shelley, Percy Bysshe - COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS
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Sheridan, Richard B. - THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL
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Sienkiewicz, Henryk - QUO VADIS
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Smith, Adam - THE WEALTH OF NATIONS
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Smollett, Tobias - TRAVELS THROUGH FRANCE AND ITALY
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Spencer, Herbert - ESSAYS ON EDUCATION AND KINDRED SUBJECTS
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Spyri, Johanna - HEIDI
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Sterne, Laurence - A SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY
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Sterne, Laurence - TRISTRAM SHANDY
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Stevenson, Robert Louis - A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES
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Stevenson, Robert Louis - ESSAYS IN THE ART OF WRITING
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Stevenson, Robert Louis - KIDNAPPED
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Stevenson, Robert Louis - NEW ARABIAN NIGHTS
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Stevenson, Robert Louis - THE BLACK ARROW
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Stevenson, Robert Louis - THE STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE
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Stevenson, Robert Louis - TREASURE ISLAND
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Stoker, Bram - DRACULA
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Strindberg, August - LUCKY PEHR
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Strindberg, August - MASTER OLOF
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Strindberg, August - THE RED ROOM
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Strindberg, August - THE ROAD TO DAMASCUS
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Strindberg, August - THERE ARE CRIMES AND CRIMES
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Swift, Jonathan - A MODEST PROPOSAL
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Swift, Jonathan - A TALE OF A TUB
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Swift, Jonathan - GULLIVER'S TRAVELS
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Swift, Jonathan - THE BATTLE OF THE BOOKS AND OTHER SHORT PIECES
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Tagore, Rabindranath - FRUIT GATHERING
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Tagore, Rabindranath - THE GARDENER
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Tagore, Rabindranath - THE HUNGRY STONES AND OTHER STORIES
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Thackeray, William - BARRY LYNDON
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Thackeray, William - VANITY FAIR
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Thackeray, William Makepeace - THE BOOK OF SNOBS
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Thackeray, William Makepeace - THE ROSE AND THE RING
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Thackeray, William Makepeace - THE VIRGINIANS
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Thoreau, Henry David - WALDEN
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Tolstoi, Leo - A LETTER TO A HINDU
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Tolstoy, Lev - ANNA KARENINA
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Tolstoy, Lev - WAR AND PEACE
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Trollope, Anthony - AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY
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Trollope, Anthony - BARCHESTER TOWERS
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Trollope, Anthony - FRAMLEY PARSONAGE
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Trollope, Anthony - THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS
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Trollope, Anthony - THE MAN WHO KEPT HIS MONEY IN A BOX
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Trollope, Anthony - THE WARDEN
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Trollope, Anthony - THE WAY WE LIVE NOW
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Twain, Mark - LIFE ON THE MISSISSIPPI
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Twain, Mark - SPEECHES
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Twain, Mark - THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN
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Twain, Mark - THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER
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Twain, Mark - THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER
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Vari, Autori - THE MAGNA CARTA
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Verga, Giovanni - SICILIAN STORIES
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Verne, Jules - 20000 LEAGUES UNDER THE SEAS
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Verne, Jules - A JOURNEY TO THE CENTRE OF THE EARTH
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Verne, Jules - ALL AROUND THE MOON
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Verne, Jules - AROUND THE WORLD IN 80 DAYS
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Verne, Jules - FIVE WEEKS IN A BALLOON
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Verne, Jules - FROM THE EARTH TO THE MOON
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Verne, Jules - MICHAEL STROGOFF
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Verne, Jules - THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND
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Voltaire - PHILOSOPHICAL DICTIONARY
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Vyasa - MAHABHARATA
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Wallace, Edgar - SANDERS OF THE RIVER
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Wallace, Edgar - THE DAFFODIL MYSTERY
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Wallace, Lew - BEN HUR
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Webster, Jean - DADDY LONG LEGS
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Wedekind, Franz - THE AWAKENING OF SPRING
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Wells, H. G. - KIPPS
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Wells, H. G. - THE INVISIBLE MAN
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Wells, H. G. - THE ISLAND OF DOCTOR MOREAU
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Wells, H. G. - THE STOLEN BACILLUS AND OTHER INCIDENTS
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Wells, H. G. - THE TIME MACHINE
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Wells, H. G. - THE WAR OF THE WORLDS
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Wells, H. G. - WHAT IS COMING
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Wharton, Edith - THE AGE OF INNOCENCE
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White, Andrew Dickson - FIAT MONEY INFLATION IN FRANCE
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Wilde, Oscar - A WOMAN OF NO IMPORTANCE
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Wilde, Oscar - AN IDEAL HUSBAND
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Wilde, Oscar - DE PROFUNDIS
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Wilde, Oscar - LADY WINDERMERE'S FAN
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Wilde, Oscar - SALOME
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Wilde, Oscar - SELECTED POEMS
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Wilde, Oscar - THE BALLAD OF READING GAOL
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Wilde, Oscar - THE CANTERVILLE GHOST
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Wilde, Oscar - THE HAPPY PRINCE AND OTHER TALES
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Wilde, Oscar - THE IMPORTANCE OF BEING EARNEST
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Wilde, Oscar - THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GREY
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Wilde, Oscar - THE SOUL OF MAN
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Wilson, Epiphanius - SACRED BOOKS OF THE EAST
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Wollstonecraft, Mary - A VINDICATION OF THE RIGHTS OF WOMAN
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Woolf, Virgina - NIGHT AND DAY
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Woolf, Virgina - THE VOYAGE OUT
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Woolf, Virginia - JACOB'S ROOM
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Woolf, Virginia - MONDAY OR TUESDAY
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Wordsworth, William - POEMS
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Wordsworth, William - PROSE WORKS
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Zola, Emile - THERESE RAQUIN
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A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE
By DAVID HUME
CONTENTS
VOLUME I
INTRODUCTION BY THE AUTHOR.
BOOK I OF THE UNDERSTANDING
PART I OF IDEAS, THEIR ORIGIN, COMPOSITION, CONNEXION,
ABSTRACTION, ETC.
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.
PART II. OF THE IDEAS OF SPACE AND TIME.
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.
PART III. OF KNOWLEDGE AND PROBABILITY.
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
PART IV. OF THE SCEPTICAL AND OTHER SYSTEMS OF PHILOSOPHY.
SECT. I. OF SCEPTICISM WITH REGARD TO REASON.
SECT. II. OF SCEPTICISM WITH REGARD TO THE SENSES.
SECT. III. OF THE ANTIENT 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.
VOLUME II
BOOK II OF THE PASSIONS
PART I OF PRIDE AND HUMILITY
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. XII OF THE PRIDE AND HUMILITY OF ANIMALS
PART II OF LOVE AND HATRED
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
PART III OF THE WILL AND DIRECT PASSIONS
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
BOOK III OF MORALS
PART I OF VIRTUE AND VICE IN GENERAL
SECT. I MORAL DISTINCTIONS NOT DERIVED FROM REASON
SECT. II MORAL DISTINCTIONS DERIVED FROM A MORAL SENSE
PART II OF JUSTICE AND INJUSTICE
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
PART III OF THE OTHER VIRTUES AND VICES
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
APPENDIX TO THE TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE
* * * * *
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.
INTRODUCTION.
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.
BOOK I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING
PART I. OF IDEAS, THEIR ORIGIN, COMPOSITION, CONNEXION, ABSTRACTION,
ETC.
SECT. I. OF THE ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS.
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 there are few but will be
of opinion that he can; and this may serve as a proof, that the simple
ideas are not always derived from the correspondent impressions; 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 themselves in
new ideas; but as the first ideas are supposed to be derived from
impressions, it still remains true, that all our simple ideas proceed
either mediately or immediately, from their correspondent impressions.
This then is the first principle I establish in the science of human
nature; nor ought we to despise it because of the simplicity of its
appearance. For 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 is
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.
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 shall 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 latter: 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. All 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.
PART II. OF THE IDEAS OF SPACE AND TIME.
SECT. I. OF THE INFINITE DIVISIBILITY OF OUR IDEAS OF SPACE AND TIME.
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.
SECT. IV. OBJECTIONS ANSWERED.
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. But 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 he 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, he 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 space
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. So 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 and certainty. These four are RESEMBLANCE,
CONTRARIETY, DEGREES IN QUALITY, and PROPORTIONS IN QUANTITY OR NUMBER.
Three of these relations are discoverable at first sight, and fall more
properly under the province of intuition than demonstration. When any
objects resemble each other, the resemblance will at first strike the
eye, or rather the mind; and seldom requires a second examination. The
case is the same with contrariety, and with the degrees of any quality.
No one can once doubt but existence and non-existence destroy each
other, and are perfectly incompatible and contrary. And 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 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 begin to exist, are
in themselves equal; and unless there be some cause, which is peculiar
to one time and to one place, and which by that means determines and
fixes the existence, it must remain in eternal suspence; and the object
can never begin to be, for want of something to fix its beginning. But I
ask; Is there any more difficulty in supposing the time and place to be
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, or 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 eye on
each of these degrees of evidence, and see whether they afford any just
conclusion of this nature.
Our foregoing method of reasoning will easily convince us, that there
can be no demonstrative arguments to prove, that those instances, of
which we have, had no experience, resemble those, of which we have had
experience. We can at least conceive a change in the course of nature;
which sufficiently proves, that such a change is not absolutely
impossible. To form a clear idea of any thing, is an undeniable
argument for its possibility, and is alone a refutation of any pretended
demonstration against it.
Probability, as it discovers not the relations of ideas, 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. T 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 he himself is
often a victim to his own fire and genius.
Nor will it be amiss to remark, that as a lively imagination very often
degenerates into madness or folly, and bears it a great resemblance in
its operations; so they influence the judgment after the same manner,
and produce belief from the very same principles. When the imagination,
from any extraordinary ferment of the blood and spirits, acquires such a
vivacity as disorders all its powers and faculties, there is no means
of distinguishing betwixt truth and falshood; but every loose fiction or
idea, having the same influence as the impressions of the memory, or
the conclusions of the judgment, is 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 he 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 antient and modern
philosophers, than this concerning the efficacy of causes, or that
quality which makes them be followed by their effects. But before they
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.
SECT. II. OF SCEPTICISM WITH REGARD TO THE SENSES.
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, . We never can
conceive any thing but perceptions, and therefore must make every thing
resemble them.
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 how 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.
SECT. III. OF THE ANTIENT 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 antient 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.
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 antient 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 antient 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?
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 antient 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 antient 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.
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 extension is copyed from nothing but an
impression, and consequently must perfectly agree to it. To say the idea
of extension agrees to any thing, is to say it is extended.
The free-thinker may now triumph in his turn; and having found there are
impressions and ideas really extended, may ask his antagonists, how
they can incorporate a simple and indivisible subject with an extended
perception? All the arguments of Theologians may here be retorted upon
them. Is the indivisible subject, or immaterial substance, if you
will, on the left or on the right hand of the perception? Is it in this
particular part, or in that other? Is it in every part without being
extended? Or is it entire in any one part without deserting the rest? It
is impossible to give any answer to these questions, but what will both
be absurd in itself, and will account for the union of our indivisible
perceptions with an extended substance.
This gives me an occasion to take a-new into consideration the question
concerning the substance of the soul; and though I have condemned that
question as utterly unintelligible, yet I cannot forbear proposing some
farther reflections concerning it. I assert, that the doctrine of the
immaterialit
♥ FINE AREA VOCALIZZATA CON READSPEAKER
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