{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_18819/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_18819","id":"gutenberg_18819","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/18819","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Biographies","Category: History - Modern (1750+)","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Hume, David, 1711-1776","Philosophers, Modern -- England -- Biography"],"text":"Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Martin Pettit and\nthe Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnglish Men of Letters\n\nEDITED BY JOHN MORLEY\n\n\nHUME\n\n[Illustration: Publisher's logo]\n\nHUME\n\nBY\n\nPROFESSOR HUXLEY\n\n\nLondon\nMACMILLAN AND CO\n1879\n\n_The Right of Translation and Reproduction is Reserved_\n\nLONDON:\nR. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR,\nBREAD STREET HILL.\n\n\n              *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n                          CONTENTS.\n\n\n\n                   _PART I.--HUME'S LIFE._\n\n\n                         CHAPTER I.\n                                                         PAGE\nEARLY LIFE: LITERARY AND POLITICAL WRITINGS                 1\n\n\n                         CHAPTER II.\n\nLATER YEARS: THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND                        26\n\n\n\n                 _PART II.--HUME'S PHILOSOPHY._\n\n\n                         CHAPTER I.\n\nTHE OBJECT AND SCOPE OF PHILOSOPHY                         48\n\n\n                         CHAPTER II.\n\nTHE CONTENTS OF THE MIND                                   60\n\n\n                        CHAPTER III.\n\nTHE ORIGIN OF THE IMPRESSIONS.                             74\n\n\n                        CHAPTER IV.\n\nTHE CLASSIFICATION AND THE NOMENCLATURE OF MENTAL\nOPERATIONS                                                 89\n\n\n                        CHAPTER V.\n\nTHE MENTAL PHENOMENA OF ANIMALS                           103\n\n\n                        CHAPTER VI.\n\nLANGUAGE--PROPOSITIONS CONCERNING NECESSARY TRUTHS        114\n\n\n                       CHAPTER VII.\n\nTHE ORDER OF NATURE: MIRACLES                             129\n\n\n                       CHAPTER VIII.\n\nTHEISM: EVOLUTION OF THEOLOGY                             140\n\n\n                        CHAPTER IX.\n\nTHE SOUL: THE DOCTRINE OF IMMORTALITY                     165\n\n\n                        CHAPTER X.\n\nVOLITION: LIBERTY AND NECESSITY                           183\n\n\n                        CHAPTER XI.\n\nTHE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS                                  197\n\n\n              *       *       *       *       *\n\n\nHUME.\n\n\n\n\nPART I.\n\n_HUME'S LIFE._\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nEARLY LIFE: LITERARY AND POLITICAL WRITINGS.\n\n\nDavid Hume was born, in Edinburgh on the 26th of April (O.S.), 1711. His\nparents were then residing in the parish of the Tron church, apparently\non a visit to the Scottish capital, as the small estate which his father\nJoseph Hume, or Home, inherited, lay in Berwickshire, on the banks of\nthe Whitadder or Whitewater, a few miles from the border, and within\nsight of English ground. The paternal mansion was little more than a\nvery modest farmhouse,[1] and the property derived its name of\nNinewells from a considerable spring, which breaks out on the slope in\nfront of the house, and falls into the Whitadder.\n\nBoth mother and father came of good Scottish families--the paternal line\nrunning back to Lord Home of Douglas, who went over to France with the\nDouglas during the French wars of Henry V. and VI. and was killed at the\nbattle of Verneuil. Joseph Hume died when David was an infant, leaving\nhimself and two elder children, a brother and a sister, to the care of\ntheir mother, who is described by David Hume in _My Own Life_ as \"a\nwoman of singular merit, who though young and handsome devoted herself\nentirely to the rearing and education of her children.\" Mr. Burton says:\n\"Her portrait, which I have seen, represents a thin but pleasing\ncountenance, expressive of great intellectual acuteness;\" and as Hume\ntold Dr. Black that she had \"precisely the same constitution with\nhimself\" and died of the disorder which proved fatal to him, it is\nprobable that the qualities inherited from his mother had much to do\nwith the future philosopher's eminence. It is curious, however, that her\nestimate of her son in her only recorded, and perhaps slightly\napocryphal utterance, is of a somewhat unexpected character. \"Our\nDavie's a fine goodnatured crater, but uncommon wake-minded.\" The first\npart of the judgment was indeed verified by \"Davie's\" whole life; but\none might seek in vain for signs of what is commonly understood as\n\"weakness of mind\" in a man who not only showed himself to be an\nintellectual athlete, but who had an eminent share of practical wisdom\nand tenacity of purpose. One would like to know, however, when it was\nthat Mrs. Hume committed herself to this not too flattering judgment of\nher younger son. For as Hume reached the mature age of four and thirty,\nbefore he obtained any employment of sufficient importance to convert\nthe meagre pittance of a middling laird's younger brother into a decent\nmaintenance, it is not improbable that a shrewd Scots wife may have\nthought his devotion to philosophy and poverty to be due to mere\ninfirmity of purpose. But she lived till 1749, long enough to see more\nthan the dawn of her son's literary fame and official importance, and\nprobably changed her mind about \"Davie's\" force of character.\n\nDavid Hume appears to have owed little to schools or universities. There\nis some evidence that he entered the Greek class in the University of\nEdinburgh in 1723--when he was a boy of twelve years of age--but it is\nnot known how long his studies were continued, and he did not graduate.\nIn 1727, at any rate, he was living at Ninewells, and already possessed\nby that love of learning and thirst for literary fame, which, as _My Own\nLife_ tells us, was the ruling passion of his life and the chief source\nof his enjoyments. A letter of this date, addressed to his friend\nMichael Ramsay, is certainly a most singular production for a boy of\nsixteen. After sundry quotations from Virgil the letter proceeds:--\n\n     \"The perfectly wise man that outbraves fortune, is much greater\n     than the husbandman who slips by her; and, indeed, this pastoral\n     and saturnian happiness I have in a great measure come at just now.\n     I live like a king, pretty much by myself, neither full of action\n     nor perturbation--_molles somnos_. This state, however, I can\n     foresee is not to be relied on. My peace of mind is not\n     sufficiently confirmed by philosophy to withstand the blows of\n     fortune. This greatness and elevation of soul is to be found only\n     in study and contemplation. This alone can teach us to look down on\n     human accidents. You must allow [me] to talk thus like a\n     philosopher: 'tis a subject I think much on, and could talk all day\n     long of.\"\n\nIf David talked in this strain to his mother her tongue probably gave\nutterance to \"Bless the bairn!\" and, in her private soul, the epithet\n\"wake-minded\" may then have recorded itself. But, though few lonely,\nthoughtful, studious boys of sixteen give vent to their thoughts in such\nstately periods, it is probable that the brooding over an ideal is\ncommoner at this age, than fathers and mothers, busy with the cares of\npractical life, are apt to imagine.\n\nAbout a year later, Hume's family tried to launch him into the\nprofession of the law; but, as he tells us, \"while they fancied I was\nporing upon Voet and Vinnius, Cicero and Virgil were the authors which I\nwas secretly devouring,\" and the attempt seems to have come to an abrupt\ntermination. Nevertheless, as a very competent authority[2] wisely\nremarks:--\n\n     \"There appear to have been in Hume all the elements of which a good\n     lawyer is made: clearness of judgment, power of rapidly acquiring\n     knowledge, untiring industry, and dialectic skill: and if his mind\n     had not been preoccupied, he might have fallen into the gulf in\n     which many of the world's greatest geniuses lie\n     buried--professional eminence; and might have left behind him a\n     reputation limited to the traditional recollections of the\n     Parliament house, or associated with important decisions. He was\n     through life an able, clear-headed, man of business, and I have\n     seen several legal documents, written in his own hand and evidently\n     drawn by himself. They stand the test of general professional\n     observation; and their writer, by preparing documents of facts of\n     such a character on his own responsibility, showed that he had\n     considerable confidence in his ability to adhere to the forms\n     adequate for the occasion. He talked of it as 'an ancient prejudice\n     industriously propagated by the dunces in all countries, that _a\n     man of genius is unfit for business_,' and he showed, in his\n     general conduct through life, that he did not choose to come\n     voluntarily under this proscription.\"\n\nSix years longer Hume remained at Ninewells before he made another\nattempt to embark in a practical career--this time commerce--and with a\nlike result. For a few months' trial proved that kind of life, also, to\nbe hopelessly against the grain.\n\nIt was while in London, on his way to Bristol, where he proposed to\ncommence his mercantile life, that Hume addressed to some eminent London\nphysician (probably, as Mr. Burton suggests, Dr. George Cheyne) a\nremarkable letter. Whether it was ever sent seems doubtful; but it shows\nthat philosophers as well as poets have their Werterian crises, and it\npresents an interesting parallel to John Stuart Mill's record of the\ncorresponding period of his youth. The letter is too long to be given in\nfull, but a few quotations may suffice to indicate its importance to\nthose who desire to comprehend the man.\n\n     \"You must know then that from my earliest infancy I found always a\n     strong inclination to books and letters. As our college education\n     in Scotland, extending little further than the languages, ends\n     commonly when we are about fourteen or fifteen years of age, I was\n     after that left to my own choice in my reading, and found it\n     incline me almost equally to books of reasoning and philosophy, and\n     to poetry and the polite authors. Every one who is acquainted\n     either with the philosophers or critics, knows that there is\n     nothing yet established in either of these two sciences, and that\n     they contain little more than endless disputes, even in the most\n     fundamental articles. Upon examination of these, I found a certain\n     boldness of temper growing on me, which was not inclined to submit\n     to any authority in these subjects, but led me to seek out some new\n     medium, by which truth might be established. After much study and\n     reflection on this, at last, when I was about eighteen years of\n     age, there seemed to be opened up to me a new scene of thought,\n     which transported me beyond measure, and made me, with an ardour\n     natural to young men, throw up every other pleasure or business to\n     apply entirely to it. The law, which was the business I designed to\n     follow, appeared nauseous to me, and I could think of no other way\n     of pushing my fortune in the world, but that of a scholar and\n     philosopher. I was infinitely happy in this course of life for some\n     months; till at last, about the beginning of September, 1729, all\n     my ardour seemed in a moment to be extinguished, and I could no\n     longer raise my mind to that pitch, which formerly gave me such\n     excessive pleasure.\"\n\nThis \"decline of soul\" Hume attributes, in part, to his being smitten\nwith the beautiful representations of virtue in the works of Cicero,\nSeneca, and Plutarch, and being thereby led to discipline his temper and\nhis will along with his reason and understanding.\n\n     \"I was continually fortifying myself with reflections against\n     death, and poverty, and shame, and pain, and all the other\n     calamities of life.\"\n\nAnd he adds very characteristically:--\n\n     \"These no doubt are exceeding useful when joined with an active\n     life, because the occasion being presented along with the\n     reflection, works it into the soul, and makes it take a deep\n     impression: but, in solitude, they serve to little other purpose\n     than to waste the spirits, the force of the mind meeting no\n     resistance, but wasting itself in the air, like our arm when it\n     misses its aim.\"\n\nAlong with all this mental perturbation, symptoms of scurvy, a disease\nnow almost unknown among landsmen, but which, in the days of winter salt\nmeat, before root crops flourished in the Lothians, greatly plagued our\nforefathers, made their appearance. And, indeed, it may be suspected\nthat physical conditions were, at first, at the bottom of the whole\nbusiness; for, in 1731, a ravenous appetite set in and, in six weeks\nfrom being tall, lean, and raw-boned, Hume says he became sturdy and\nrobust, with a ruddy complexion and a cheerful countenance--eating,\nsleeping, and feeling well, except that the capacity for intense mental\napplication seemed to be gone. He, therefore, determined to seek out a\nmore active life; and, though he could not and would not \"quit his\npretensions to learning, but with his last breath,\" he resolved \"to lay\nthem aside for some time, in order the more effectually to resume them.\"\n\nThe careers open to a poor Scottish gentleman in those days were very\nfew; and, as Hume's option lay between a travelling tutorship and a\nstool in a merchant's office, he chose the latter.\n\n     \"And having got recommendation to a considerable trader in Bristol,\n     I am just now hastening thither, with a resolution to forget\n     myself, and everything that is past, to engage myself, as far as is\n     possible, in that course of life, and to toss about the world from\n     one pole to the other, till I leave this distemper behind me.\"[3]\n\nBut it was all of no use--Nature would have her way--and in the middle\nof 1736, David Hume, aged twenty-three, without a profession or any\nassured means of earning a guinea; and having doubtless, by his apparent\nvacillation, but real tenacity of purpose, once more earned the title of\n\"wake-minded\" at home; betook himself to a foreign country.\n\n     \"I went over to France, with a view of prosecuting my studies in a\n     country retreat: and there I laid that plan of life which I have\n     steadily and successfully pursued. I resolved to make a very rigid\n     frugality supply my deficiency of fortune, to maintain unimpaired\n     my independency, and to regard every object as contemptible except\n     the improvement of my talents in literature.\"[4]\n\nHume passed through Paris on his way to Rheims, where he resided for\nsome time; though the greater part of his three years' stay was spent at\nLa Fleche, in frequent intercourse with the Jesuits of the famous\ncollege in which Descartes was educated. Here he composed his first\nwork, the _Treatise of Human Nature_; though it would appear from the\nfollowing passage in the letter to Cheyne, that he had been accumulating\nmaterials to that end for some years before he left Scotland.\n\n     \"I found that the moral philosophy transmitted to us by antiquity\n     laboured under the same inconvenience that has been found in their\n     natural philosophy, of being entirely hypothetical, and depending\n     more upon invention than experience: every one consulted his fancy\n     in erecting schemes of virtue and happiness, without regarding\n     human nature, upon which every moral conclusion must depend.\"\n\nThis is the key-note of the _Treatise_; of which Hume himself says\napologetically, in one of his letters, that it was planned before he was\ntwenty-one and composed before he had reached the age of twenty-five.[5]\n\nUnder these circumstances, it is probably the most remarkable\nphilosophical work, both intrinsically and in its effects upon the\ncourse of thought, that has ever been written. Berkeley, indeed,\npublished the _Essay Towards a New Theory of Vision_, the _Treatise\nConcerning the Principles of Human Knowledge_, and the _Three\nDialogues_, between the ages of twenty-four and twenty-eight; and thus\ncomes very near to Hume, both in precocity and in influence; but his\ninvestigations are more limited in their scope than those of his\nScottish contemporary.\n\nThe first and second volumes of the _Treatise_, containing Book I., \"Of\nthe Understanding,\" and Book II., \"Of the Passions,\" were published in\nJanuary, 1739.[6] The publisher gave fifty pounds for the copyright;\nwhich is probably more than an unknown writer of twenty-seven years of\nage would get for a similar work, at the present time. But, in other\nrespects, its success fell far short of Hume's expectations. In a letter\ndated the 1st of June, 1739, he writes,--\n\n     \"I am not much in the humour of such compositions at present,\n     having received news from London of the success of my _Philosophy_,\n     which is but indifferent, if I may judge by the sale of the book,\n     and if I may believe my bookseller.\"\n\nThis, however, indicates a very different reception from that which\nHume, looking through the inverted telescope of old age, ascribes to the\n_Treatise_ in _My Own Life_.\n\n     \"Never literary attempt was more unfortunate than my _Treatise of\n     Human Nature_. It fell _deadborn from the press_ without reaching\n     such a distinction as even to excite a murmur among the zealots.\"\n\nAs a matter of fact, it was fully, and, on the whole, respectfully and\nappreciatively, reviewed in the _History of the Works of the Learned_\nfor November, 1739.[7] Whoever the reviewer may have been, he was a man\nof discernment, for he says that the work bears \"incontestable marks of\na great capacity, of a soaring genius, but young, and not yet thoroughly\npractised;\" and he adds, that we shall probably have reason to consider\n\"this, compared with the later productions, in the same light as we view\nthe juvenile works of a Milton, or the first manner of a Raphael or\nother celebrated painter.\" In a letter to Hutcheson, Hume merely speaks\nof this article as \"somewhat abusive;\" so that his vanity, being young\nand callow, seems to have been correspondingly wide-mouthed and hard to\nsatiate.\n\nIt must be confessed that, on this occasion, no less than on that of his\nother publications, Hume exhibits no small share of the craving after\nmere notoriety and vulgar success, as distinct from the pardonable, if\nnot honourable, ambition for solid and enduring fame, which would have\nharmonised better with his philosophy. Indeed, it appears to be by no\nmeans improbable that this peculiarity of Hume's moral constitution was\nthe cause of his gradually forsaking philosophical studies, after the\npublication of the third part (_On Morals_) of the _Treatise_, in 1740,\nand turning to those political and historical topics which were likely\nto yield, and did in fact yield, a much better return of that sort of\nsuccess which his soul loved. The _Philosophical Essays Concerning the\nHuman Understanding_, which afterwards became the _Inquiry_, is not much\nmore than an abridgment and recast, for popular use, of parts of the\n_Treatise_, with the addition of the essays on Miracles and on\nNecessity. In style, it exhibits a great improvement on the _Treatise_;\nbut the substance, if not deteriorated, is certainly not improved. Hume\ndoes not really bring his mature powers to bear upon his early\nspeculations, in the later work. The crude fruits have not been ripened,\nbut they have been ruthlessly pruned away, along with the branches which\nbore them. The result is a pretty shrub enough; but not the tree of\nknowledge, with its roots firmly fixed in fact, its branches perennially\nbudding forth into new truths, which Hume might have reared. Perhaps,\nafter all, worthy Mrs. Hume was, in the highest sense, right. Davie was\n\"wake-minded,\" not to see that the world of philosophy was his to\noverrun and subdue, if he would but persevere in the work he had begun.\nBut no--he must needs turn aside for \"success\": and verily he had his\nreward; but not the crown he might have won.\n\nIn 1740, Hume seems to have made an acquaintance which rapidly ripened\ninto a life long friendship. Adam Smith was, at that time, a boy student\nof seventeen at the University of Glasgow; and Hume sends a copy of the\n_Treatise_ to \"Mr. Smith,\" apparently on the recommendation of the\nwell-known Hutcheson, Professor of Moral Philosophy in the university.\nIt is a remarkable evidence of Adam Smith's early intellectual\ndevelopment, that a youth of his age should be thought worthy of such a\npresent.\n\nIn 1741 Hume published anonymously, at Edinburgh, the first volume of\n_Essays Moral and Political_, which was followed in 1742 by the second\nvolume.\n\nThese pieces are written in an admirable style and, though arranged\nwithout apparent method, a system of political philosophy may be\ngathered from their contents. Thus the third essay, _That Politics may\nbe reduced to a Science_, defends that thesis, and dwells on the\nimportance of forms of government.\n\n     \"So great is the force of laws and of particular forms of\n     government, and so little dependence have they on the humours and\n     tempers of men, that consequences almost as general and certain may\n     sometimes be deduced from them as any which the mathematical\n     sciences afford us.\"--(III. 15.) (_See_ p. 45.)\n\nHume proceeds to exemplify the evils which inevitably flow from\nuniversal suffrage, from aristocratic privilege, and from elective\nmonarchy, by historical examples, and concludes:--\n\n     \"That an hereditary prince, a nobility without vassals, and a\n     people voting by their representatives, form the best monarchy,\n     aristocracy, and democracy.\"--(III. 18.)\n\nIf we reflect that the following passage of the same essay was written\nnearly a century and a half ago, it would seem that whatever other\nchanges may have taken place, political warfare remains _in statu\nquo_:--\n\n     \"Those who either attack or defend a minister in such a government\n     as ours, where the utmost liberty is allowed, always carry matters\n     to an extreme, and exaggerate his merit or demerit with regard to\n     the public. His enemies are sure to charge him with the greatest\n     enormities, both in domestic and foreign management; and there is\n     no meanness or crime, of which, in their judgment, he is not\n     capable. Unnecessary wars, scandalous treaties, profusion of public\n     treasure, oppressive taxes, every kind of maladministration is\n     ascribed to him. To aggravate the charge, his pernicious conduct,\n     it is said, will extend its baneful influence even to posterity, by\n     undermining the best constitution in the world, and disordering\n     that wise system of laws, institutions, and customs, by which our\n     ancestors, during so many centuries, have been so happily governed.\n     He is not only a wicked minister in himself, but has removed every\n     security provided against wicked ministers for the future.\n\n     \"On the other hand, the partisans of the minister make his\n     panegyric rise as high as the accusation against him, and celebrate\n     his wise, steady, and moderate conduct in every part of his\n     administration. The honour and interest of the nation supported\n     abroad, public credit maintained at home, persecution restrained,\n     faction subdued: the merit of all these blessings is ascribed\n     solely to the minister. At the same time, he crowns all his other\n     merits by a religious care of the best government in the world,\n     which he has preserved in all its parts, and has transmitted\n     entire, to be the happiness and security of the latest\n     posterity.\"--(III. 26.)\n\nHume sagely remarks that the panegyric and the accusation cannot both be\ntrue; and, that what truth there may be in either, rather tends to show\nthat our much-vaunted constitution does not fulfil its chief object,\nwhich is to provide a remedy against maladministration. And if it does\nnot--\n\n     \"we are rather beholden to any minister who undermines it and\n     affords us the opportunity of erecting a better in its\n     place.\"--III. 28.\n\nThe fifth Essay discusses the _Origin of Government_:--\n\n     \"Man, born in a family, is compelled to maintain society from\n     necessity, from natural inclination, and from habit. The same\n     creature, in his farther progress, is engaged to establish\n     political society, in order to administer justice, without which\n     there can be no peace among them, nor safety, nor mutual\n     intercourse. We are therefore to look upon all the vast apparatus\n     of our government, as having ultimately no other object or purpose\n     but the distribution of justice, or, in other words, the support of\n     the twelve judges. Kings and parliaments, fleets and armies,\n     officers of the court and revenue, ambassadors, ministers and privy\n     councillors, are all subordinate in the end to this part of\n     administration. Even the clergy, as their duty leads them to\n     inculcate morality, may justly be thought, so far as regards this\n     world, to have no other useful object of their institution.\"--(III.\n     37.)\n\nThe police theory of government has never been stated more tersely:\nand, if there were only one state in the world; and if we could be\ncertain by intuition, or by the aid of revelation, that it is wrong for\nsociety, as a corporate body, to do anything for the improvement of its\nmembers and, thereby, indirectly support the twelve judges, no objection\ncould be raised to it.\n\nUnfortunately the existence of rival or inimical nations furnishes\n\"kings and parliaments, fleets and armies,\" with a good deal of\noccupation beyond the support of the twelve judges; and, though the\nproposition that the State has no business to meddle with anything but\nthe administration of justice, seems sometimes to be regarded as an\naxiom, it can hardly be said to be intuitively certain, inasmuch as a\ngreat many people absolutely repudiate it; while, as yet, the attempt to\ngive it the authority of a revelation has not been made.\n\nAs Hume says with profound truth in the fourth essay, _On the First\nPrinciples of Government_:--\n\n     \"As force is always on the side of the governed, the governors have\n     nothing to support them but opinion. It is, therefore, on opinion\n     only that government is founded; and this maxim extends to the most\n     despotic and most military governments, as well as to the most free\n     and the most popular.\"--(III. 31.)\n\nBut if the whole fabric of social organisation rests on opinion, it may\nsurely be fairly argued that, in the interests of self-preservation, if\nfor no better reason, society has a right to see that the means of\nforming just opinions are placed within the reach of every one of its\nmembers; and, therefore, that due provision for education, at any rate,\nis a right and, indeed, a duty, of the state.\n\nThe three opinions upon which all government, or the authority of the\nfew over the many, is founded, says Hume, are public interest, right to\npower, and right to property. No government can permanently exist,\nunless the majority of the citizens, who are the ultimate depositary of\nForce, are convinced that it serves the general interest, that it has\nlawful authority, and that it respects individual rights:--\n\n     \"A government may endure for several ages, though the balance of\n     power and the balance of property do not coincide.... But where the\n     original constitution allows any share of power, though small, to\n     an order of men who possess a large share of property, it is easy\n     for them gradually to stretch their authority, and bring the\n     balance of power to coincide with that of property. This has been\n     the case with the House of Commons in England.\"--(III. 34.)\n\nHume then points out that, in his time, the authority of the Commons was\nby no means equivalent to the property and power it represented, and\nproceeds:--\n\n     \"Were the members obliged to receive instructions from their\n     constituents, like the Dutch deputies, this would entirely alter\n     the case; and if such immense power and riches as those of all the\n     Commons of Great Britain, were brought into the scale, it is not\n     easy to conceive that the crown could either influence that\n     multitude of people, or withstand that balance of property. It is\n     true, the crown has great influence over the collective body in the\n     elections of members; but were this influence, which at present is\n     only exerted once in seven years, to be employed in bringing over\n     the people to every vote, it would soon be wasted, and no skill,\n     popularity, or revenue could support it. I must, therefore, be of\n     opinion that an alteration in this particular would introduce a\n     total alteration in our government, would soon reduce it to a pure\n     republic; and, perhaps, to a republic of no inconvenient\n     form.\"--(III. 35.)\n\nViewed by the light of subsequent events, this is surely a very\nremarkable example of political sagacity. The members of the House of\nCommons are not yet delegates; but, with the widening of the suffrage\nand the rapidly increasing tendency to drill and organise the\nelectorate, and to exact definite pledges from candidates, they are\nrapidly becoming, if not delegates, at least attorneys for committees of\nelectors. The same causes are constantly tending to exclude men, who\ncombine a keen sense of self-respect with large intellectual capacity,\nfrom a position in which the one is as constantly offended, as the other\nis neutralised. Notwithstanding the attempt of George the Third to\nresuscitate the royal authority, Hume's foresight has been so completely\njustified that no one now dreams of the crown exerting the slightest\ninfluence upon elections.\n\nIn the seventh essay, Hume raises a very interesting discussion as to\nthe probable ultimate result of the forces which were at work in the\nBritish Constitution in the first part of the eighteenth century:--\n\n     \"There has been a sudden and sensible change in the opinions of\n     men, within these last fifty years, by the progress of learning and\n     of liberty. Most people in this island have divested themselves of\n     all superstitious reverence to names and authority; the clergy have\n     much lost their credit; their pretensions and doctrines have been\n     much ridiculed; and even religion can scarcely support itself in\n     the world. The mere name of _king_ commands little respect; and to\n     talk of a king as God's vicegerent on earth, or to give him any of\n     those magnificent titles which formerly dazzled mankind, would but\n     excite laughter in every one.\"--(III. 54.)\n\nIn fact, at the present day, the danger to monarchy in Britain would\nappear to lie, not in increasing love for equality, for which, except as\nregards the law, Englishmen have never cared, but rather entertain an\naversion; nor in any abstract democratic theories, upon which the mass\nof Englishmen pour the contempt with which they view theories in\ngeneral; but in the constantly increasing tendency of monarchy to become\nslightly absurd, from the ever-widening discrepancy between modern\npolitical ideas and the theory of kingship. As Hume observes, even in\nhis time, people had left off making believe that a king was a different\nspecies of man from, other men; and, since his day, more and more such\nmake-believes have become impossible; until the maintenance of kingship\nin coming generations seems likely to depend, entirely, upon whether it\nis the general opinion, that a hereditary president of our virtual\nrepublic will serve the general interest better than an elective one or\nnot. The tendency of public feeling in this direction is patent, but it\ndoes not follow that a republic is to be the final stage of our\ngovernment. In fact, Hume thinks not:--\n\n     \"It is well known, that every government must come to a period, and\n     that death is unavoidable to the political, as well as to the\n     animal body. But, as one kind of death may be preferable to\n     another, it may be inquired, whether it be more desirable for the\n     British constitution to terminate in a popular government, or in an\n     absolute monarchy? Here, I would frankly declare, that though\n     liberty be preferable to slavery, in almost every case; yet I\n     should rather wish to see an absolute monarch than a republic in\n     this island. For let us consider what kind of republic we have\n     reason to expect. The question is not concerning any fine imaginary\n     republic of which a man forms a plan in his closet. There is no\n     doubt but a popular government may be imagined more perfect than\n     an absolute monarchy, or even than our present constitution. But\n     what reason have we to expect that any such government will ever be\n     established in Great Britain, upon the dissolution of our monarchy?\n     If any single person acquire power enough to take our constitution\n     to pieces, and put it up anew, he is really an absolute monarch;\n     and we have already had an instance of this kind, sufficient to\n     convince us, that such a person will never resign his power, or\n     establish any free government. Matters, therefore, must be trusted\n     to their natural progress and operation; and the House of Commons,\n     according to its present constitution, must be the only legislature\n     in such a popular government. The inconveniences attending such a\n     situation of affairs present themselves by thousands. If the House\n     of Commons, in such a case, ever dissolve itself, which is not to\n     be expected, we may look for a civil war every election. If it\n     continue itself, we shall suffer all the tyranny of a faction\n     subdivided into new factions. And, as such a violent government\n     cannot long subsist, we shall at last, after many convulsions and\n     civil wars, find repose in absolute monarchy, which it would have\n     been happier for us to have established peaceably from the\n     beginning. Absolute monarchy, therefore, is the easiest death, the\n     true _Euthanasia_ of the British constitution.\n\n     \"Thus if we have more reason to be jealous of monarchy, because the\n     danger is more imminent from that quarter; we have also reason to\n     be more jealous of popular government, because that danger is more\n     terrible. This may teach us a lesson of moderation in all our\n     political controversies.\"--(III. 55.)\n\nOne may admire the sagacity of these speculations, and the force and\nclearness with which they are expressed, without altogether agreeing\nwith them. That an analogy between the social and bodily organism\nexists, and is, in many respects, clear and full of instructive\nsuggestion, is undeniable. Yet a state answers, not to an individual,\nbut to a generic type; and there is no reason, in the nature of things,\nwhy any generic type should die out. The type of the pearly _Nautilus_,\nhighly organised as it is, has persisted with but little change from the\nSilurian epoch till now; and, so long as terrestrial conditions remain\napproximately similar to what they are at present, there is no more\nreason why it should cease to exist in the next, than in the past,\nhundred million years or so. The true ground for doubting the\npossibility of the establishment of absolute monarchy in Britain is,\nthat opinion seems to have passed through, and left far behind, the\nstage at which such a change would be possible; and the true reason for\ndoubting the permanency of a republic, if it is ever established, lies\nin the fact, that a republic requires for its maintenance a far higher\nstandard of morality and of intelligence in the members of the state\nthan any other form of government. Samuel gave the Israelites a king\nbecause they were not righteous enough to do without one, with a pretty\nplain warning of what they were to expect from the gift. And, up to this\ntime, the progress of such republics as have been established in the\nworld has not been such, as to lead to any confident expectation that\ntheir foundation is laid on a sufficiently secure subsoil of public\nspirit, morality, and intelligence. On the contrary, they exhibit\nexamples of personal corruption and of political profligacy as fine as\nany hotbed of despotism has ever produced; while they fail in the\nprimary duty of the administration of justice, as none but an effete\ndespotism has ever failed.\n\nHume has been accused of departing, in his old age, from the liberal\nprinciples of his youth; and, no doubt, he was careful, in the later\neditions of the _Essays_, to expunge everything that savoured of\ndemocratic tendencies. But the passage just quoted shows that this was\nno recantation, but simply a confirmation, by his experience of one of\nthe most debased periods of English history, of those evil tendencies\nattendant on popular government, of which, from the first, he was fully\naware.\n\nIn the ninth essay, _On the Parties of Great Britain_, there occurs a\npassage which, while it affords evidence of the marvellous change which\nhas taken place in the social condition of Scotland since 1741, contains\nan assertion respecting the state of the Jacobite party at that time,\nwhich at first seems surprising:--\n\n     \"As violent things have not commonly so long a duration as\n     moderate, we actually find that the Jacobite party is almost\n     entirely vanished from among us, and that the distinction of\n     _Court_ and _Country_, which is but creeping in at London, is the\n     only one that is ever mentioned in this kingdom. Beside the\n     violence and openness of the Jacobite party, another reason has\n     perhaps contributed to produce so sudden and so visible an\n     alteration in this part of Britain. There are only two ranks of men\n     among us; gentlemen who have some fortune and education, and the\n     meanest slaving poor; without any considerable number of that\n     middling rank of men, which abound more in England, both in cities\n     and in the country, than in any other part of the world. The\n     slaving poor are incapable of any principles; gentlemen may be\n     converted to true principles, by time and experience. The middling\n     rank of men have curiosity and knowledge enough to form principles,\n     but not enough to form true ones, or correct any prejudices that\n     they may have imbibed. And it is among the middling rank of people\n     that Tory principles do at present prevail most in England.\"--(III.\n     80, _note_.)\n\nConsidering that the Jacobite rebellion of 1745 broke out only four\nyears after this essay was published, the assertion that the Jacobite\nparty had \"almost entirely vanished in 1741\" sounds strange enough: and\nthe passage which contains it is omitted in the third edition of the\n_Essays_, published in 1748. Nevertheless, Hume was probably right, as\nthe outbreak of '45 was little better than a Highland raid, and the\nPretender obtained no important following in the Lowlands.\n\nNo less curious, in comparison with what would be said nowadays, is\nHume's remark in the Essay on the _Rise of the Arts and Sciences_ that--\n\n     \"The English are become sensible of the scandalous licentiousness\n     of their stage from the example of the French decency and\n     morals.\"--(III. 135.)\n\nAnd it is perhaps as surprising to be told, by a man of Hume's literary\npower, that the first polite prose in the English language was written\nby Swift. Locke and Temple (with whom Sprat is astoundingly conjoined)\n\"knew too little of the rules of art to be esteemed elegant writers,\"\nand the prose of Bacon, Harrington, and Milton is \"altogether stiff and\npedantic.\" Hobbes, who whether he should be called a \"polite\" writer or\nnot, is a master of vigorous English; Clarendon, Addison, and Steele\n(the last two, surely, were \"polite\" writers in all conscience) are not\nmentioned.\n\nOn the subject of _National Character_, about which more nonsense, and\noften very mischievous nonsense, has been and is talked than upon any\nother topic, Hume's observations are full of sense and shrewdness. He\ndistinguishes between the _moral_ and the _physical_ causes of national\ncharacter, enumerating under the former--\n\n     \"The nature of the government, the revolutions of public affairs,\n     the plenty or penury in which people live, the situation of the\n     nation with regard to its neighbours, and such like\n     circumstances.\"--(III. 225.)\n\nand under the latter:--\n\n     \"Those qualities of the air and climate, which are supposed to work\n     insensibly on the temper, by altering the tone and habit of the\n     body, and giving a particular complexion, which, though reflexion\n     and reason may sometimes overcome it, will yet prevail among the\n     generality of mankind, and have an influence on their\n     manners.\"--(III. 225.)\n\nWhile admitting and exemplifying the great influence of moral causes,\nHume remarks--\n\n     \"As to physical causes, I am inclined to doubt altogether of their\n     operation in this particular; nor do I think that men owe anything\n     of their temper or genius to the air, food, or climate.\"--(III.\n     227.)\n\nHume certainly would not have accepted the \"rice theory\" in explanation\nof the social state of the Hindoos; and, it may be safely assumed, that\nhe would not have had recourse to the circumambience of the \"melancholy\nmain\" to account for the troublous history of Ireland. He supports his\nviews by a variety of strong arguments, among which, at the present\nconjuncture, it is worth noting that the following occurs--\n\n     \"Where any accident, as a difference in language or religion, keeps\n     two nations, inhabiting the same country, from mixing with one\n     another, they will preserve during several centuries a distinct and\n     even opposite set of manners. The integrity, gravity, and bravery\n     of the Turks, form an exact contrast to the deceit, levity, and\n     cowardice of the modern Greeks.\"--(III. 233.)\n\nThe question of the influence of race, which plays so great a part in\nmodern political speculations, was hardly broached in Hume's time, but\nhe had an inkling of its importance:--\n\n     \"I am apt to suspect the Negroes to be naturally inferior to the\n     Whites. There scarcely ever was a civilised nation of that\n     complexion, nor even any individual, eminent either in action or\n     speculation.... Such a uniform and constant difference [between the\n     negroes and the whites] could not happen in so many countries and\n     ages, if nature had not made an original distinction between these\n     breeds of men.... In Jamaica, indeed, they talk of one Negro as a\n     man of parts and learning; but it is likely he is admired for\n     slender accomplishments, like a parrot who speaks a few words\n     plainly.\"--(III. 236.)\n\nThe _Essays_ met with the success they deserved. Hume wrote to Henry\nHome in June, 1742:--\n\n     \"The Essays are all sold in London, as I am informed by two letters\n     from English gentlemen of my acquaintance. There is a demand for\n     them; and, as one of them tells me, Innys, the great bookseller in\n     Paul's Churchyard, wonders there is not a new edition, for he\n     cannot find copies for his customers. I am also told that Dr.\n     Butler has everywhere recommended them; so that I hope that they\n     will have some success.\"\n\nHume had sent Butler a copy of the _Treatise_ and had called upon him,\nin London, but he was out of town; and being shortly afterwards made\nBishop of Bristol, Hume seems to have thought that further advances on\nhis part might not be well received.\n\nGreatly comforted by this measure of success, Hume remained at\nNinewells, rubbing up his Greek, until 1745; when, at the mature age of\nthirty-four, he made his entry into practical life, by becoming\nbear-leader to the Marquis of Annandale, a young nobleman of feeble\nbody and feebler mind. As might have been predicted, this venture was\nnot more fortunate than his previous ones; and, after a year's\nendurance, diversified latterly with pecuniary squabbles, in which\nHume's tenacity about a somewhat small claim is remarkable, the\nengagement came to an end.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] A picture of the house, taken from Drummond's _History of Noble\nBritish Families_, is to be seen in Chambers's _Book of Days_ (April\n26th); and if, as Drummond says, \"It is a favourable specimen of the\nbest Scotch lairds' houses,\" all that can be said is worst Scotch lairds\nmust have been poorly lodged indeed.\n\n[2] Mr. John Hill Burton, in his valuable _Life of Hume_, on which, I\nneed hardly say, I have drawn freely for the materials of the present\nbiographical sketch.\n\n[3] One cannot but be reminded of young Descartes' renunciation of study\nfor soldiering.\n\n[4] _My Own Life._\n\n[5] Letter to Gilbert Elliot of Minto, 1751. \"So vast an undertaking,\nplanned before I was one-and-twenty, and composed before twenty-five,\nmust necessarily be very defective. I have repented my haste a hundred\nand a hundred times.\"\n\n[6] So says Mr. Burton, and that he is right is proved by a letter of\nHume's, dated February 13, 1739, in which he writes, \"'Tis now a\nfortnight since my book was published.\" But it is a curious illustration\nof the value of testimony, that Hume, in _My Own Life_, states: \"In the\nend of 1738 I published my Treatise, and immediately went down to my\nmother and my brother.\"\n\n[7] Burton, _Life_, vol. i. p. 109.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nLATER YEARS: THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND.\n\n\nIn 1744, Hume's friends had endeavoured to procure his nomination to the\nChair of \"Ethics and pneumatic philosophy\"[8] in the University of\nEdinburgh. About this matter he writes to his friend William Mure:--\n\n     \"The accusation of heresy, deism, scepticism, atheism, &c., &c.,\n     &c. was started against me; but never took, being bore down by the\n     contrary authority of all the good company in town.\"\n\nIf the \"good company in town\" bore down the first three of these\ncharges, it is to be hoped, for the sake of their veracity, that they\nknew their candidate chiefly as the very good company that he always\nwas; and had paid as little attention, as good company usually does, to\nso solid a work as the _Treatise_. Hume expresses a naive surprise, not\nunmixed with indignation, that Hutcheson and Leechman, both clergymen\nand sincere, though liberal, professors of orthodoxy, should have\nexpressed doubts as to his fitness for becoming a professedly\npresbyterian teacher of presbyterian youth. The town council, however,\nwould not have him, and filled up the place with a safe nobody.\n\nIn May, 1746, a new prospect opened. General St. Clair was appointed to\nthe command of an expedition to Canada, and he invited Hume, at a week's\nnotice, to be his secretary; to which office that of judge advocate was\nafterwards added.\n\nHume writes to a friend: \"The office is very genteel, 10_s_. a day,\nperquisites, and no expenses;\" and, to another, he speculates on the\nchance of procuring a company in an American regiment. \"But this I build\nnot on, nor indeed am I very fond of it,\" he adds; and this was\nfortunate, for the expedition, after dawdling away the summer in port,\nwas suddenly diverted to an attack on L'Orient, where it achieved a huge\nfailure and returned ignominiously to England.\n\nA letter to Henry Home, written when this unlucky expedition was\nrecalled, shows that Hume had already seriously turned his attention to\nhistory. Referring to an invitation to go over to Flanders with the\nGeneral, he says:\n\n     \"Had I any fortune which would give me a prospect of leisure and\n     opportunity to prosecute my _historical projects_, nothing could be\n     more useful to me, and I should pick up more literary knowledge in\n     one campaign by being in the General's family, and being introduced\n     frequently to the Duke's, than most officers could do after many\n     years' service. But to what can all this serve? I am a philosopher,\n     and so I suppose must continue.\"\n\nBut this vaticination was shortly to prove erroneous. Hume seems to\nhave made a very favourable impression on General St. Clair, as he did\nupon every one with whom he came into personal contact; for, being\ncharged with a mission to the court of Turin, in 1748, the General\ninsisted upon the appointment of Hume as his secretary. He further made\nhim one of his aides-de-camp; so that the philosopher was obliged to\nencase his more than portly, and by no means elegant, figure in a\nmilitary uniform. Lord Charlemont, who met him at Turin, says he was\n\"disguised in scarlet,\" and that he wore his uniform \"like a grocer of\nthe train-bands.\" Hume, always ready for a joke at his own expense,\ntells of the considerate kindness with which, at a reception at Vienna,\nthe Empress-dowager released him and his friends from the necessity of\nwalking backwards. \"We esteemed ourselves very much obliged to her for\nthis attention, especially my companions, who were desperately afraid of\nmy falling on them and crushing them.\"\n\nNotwithstanding the many attractions of this appointment, Hume writes\nthat he leaves home \"with infinite regret, where I had treasured up\nstores of study and plans of thinking for many years;\" and his only\nconsolation is that the opportunity of becoming conversant with state\naffairs may be profitable:--\n\n     \"I shall have an opportunity of seeing courts and camps: and if I\n     can afterward be so happy as to attain leisure and other\n     opportunities, this knowledge may even turn to account to me as a\n     man of letters, which I confess has always been the sole object of\n     my ambition. I have long had an intention, in my riper years, of\n     composing some history; and I question not but some greater\n     experience in the operations of the field and the intrigues of the\n     cabinet will be requisite, in order to enable me to speak with\n     judgment on these subjects.\"\n\nHume returned to London in 1749, and, during his stay there, his mother\ndied, to his heartfelt sorrow. A curious story in connection with this\nevent is told by Dr. Carlyle, who knew Hume well, and whose authority is\nperfectly trustworthy.\n\n     \"Mr. Boyle hearing of it, soon after went to his apartment, for\n     they lodged in the same house, where he found him in the deepest\n     affliction and in a flood of tears. After the usual topics and\n     condolences Mr. Boyle said to him, 'My friend, you owe this\n     uncommon grief to having thrown off the principles of religion: for\n     if you had not, you would have been consoled with the firm belief\n     that the good lady, who was not only the best of mothers, but the\n     most pious of Christians, was completely happy in the realms of the\n     just. To which David replied, 'Though I throw out my speculations\n     to entertain the learned and metaphysical world, yet in other\n     things I do not think so differently from the rest of the world as\n     you imagine.'\"\n\nIf Hume had told this story to Dr. Carlyle, the latter would have said\nso; it must therefore have come from Mr. Boyle; and one would like to\nhave the opportunity of cross-examining that gentleman as to Hume's\nexact words and their context, before implicitly accepting his version\nof the conversation. Mr. Boyle's experience of mankind must have been\nsmall, if he had not seen the firmest of believers overwhelmed with\ngrief by a like loss, and as completely inconsolable. Hume may have\nthrown off Mr. Boyle's \"principles of religion,\" but he was none the\nless a very honest man, perfectly open and candid, and the last person\nto use ambiguous phraseology, among his friends; unless, indeed, he saw\nno other way of putting a stop to the intrusion of unmannerly twaddle\namongst the bitter-sweet memories stirred in his affectionate nature by\nso heavy a blow.\n\nThe _Philosophical Essays_ or _Inquiry_ was published in 1748, while\nHume was away with General St. Clair, and, on his return to England, he\nhad the mortification to find it overlooked in the hubbub caused by\nMiddleton's _Free Inquiry_, and its bold handling of the topic of the\n_Essay on Miracles_, by which Hume doubtless expected the public to be\nstartled.\n\nBetween 1749 and 1751, Hume resided at Ninewells, with his brother and\nsister, and busied himself with the composition of his most finished, if\nnot his most important works, the _Dialogues on Natural Religion_, the\n_Inquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals_, and the _Political\nDiscourses_.\n\n_The Dialogues on Natural Religion_ were touched and re-touched, at\nintervals, for a quarter of a century, and were not published till after\nHume's death: but the _Inquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals_\nappeared in 1751, and the _Political Discourses_ in 1752. Full reference\nwill be made to the two former in the exposition of Hume's philosophical\nviews. The last has been well said to be the \"cradle of political\neconomy: and much as that science has been investigated and expounded in\nlater times, these earliest, shortest, and simplest developments of its\nprinciples are still read with delight even by those who are masters of\nall the literature of this great subject.\"[9]\n\nThe _Wealth of Nations_, the masterpiece of Hume's close friend, Adam\nSmith, it must be remembered, did not appear before 1776, so that, in\npolitical economy, no less than in philosophy, Hume was an original, a\ndaring, and a fertile innovator.\n\nThe _Political Essays_ had a great and rapid success; translated into\nFrench in 1753, and again in 1754, they conferred a European reputation\nupon their author; and, what was more to the purpose, influenced the\nlater French school of economists of the eighteenth century.\n\nBy this time, Hume had not only attained a high reputation in the world\nof letters, but he considered himself a man of independent fortune. His\nfrugal habits had enabled him to accumulate L1,000, and he tells Michael\nRamsay in 1751:--\n\n     \"While interest remains as at present, I have L50 a year, a hundred\n     pounds worth of books, great store of linens and fine clothes, and\n     near L100 in my pocket; along with order, frugality, a strong\n     spirit of independency, good health, a contented humour, and an\n     unabated love of study. In these circumstances I must esteem myself\n     one of the happy and fortunate; and so far from being willing to\n     draw my ticket over again in the lottery of life, there are very\n     few prizes with which I would make an exchange. After some\n     deliberation, I am resolved to settle in Edinburgh, and hope I\n     shall be able with these revenues to say with Horace:--\n\n\n     'Est bona librorum et provisae frugis in annum\n     Copia.'\"\n\n\nIt would be difficult to find a better example of the honourable\nindependence and cheerful self-reliance which should distinguish a man\nof letters, and which characterised Hume throughout his career. By\nhonourable effort, the boy's noble ideal of life, became the man's\nreality; and, at forty, Hume had the happiness of finding that he had\nnot wasted his youth in the pursuit of illusions, but that \"the solid\ncertainty of waking bliss\" lay before him, in the free play of his\npowers in their appropriate sphere.\n\nIn 1751, Hume removed to Edinburgh and took up his abode on a flat in\none of those prodigious houses in the Lawnmarket, which still excite the\nadmiration of tourists; afterwards moving to a house in the Canongate.\nHis sister joined him, adding L30 a year to the common stock; and, in\none of his charmingly playful letters to Dr. Clephane, he thus describes\nhis establishment, in 1753.\n\n     \"I shall exult and triumph to you a little that I have now at\n     last--being turned of forty, to my own honour, to that of learning,\n     and to that of the present age--arrived at the dignity of being a\n     householder.\n\n     \"About seven months ago, I got a house of my own, and completed a\n     regular family, consisting of a head, viz., myself, and two\n     inferior members, a maid and a cat. My sister has since joined me,\n     and keeps me company. With frugality, I can reach, I find,\n     cleanliness, warmth, light, plenty, and contentment. What would you\n     have more? Independence? I have it in a supreme degree. Honour?\n     That is not altogether wanting. Grace? That will come in time. A\n     wife? That is none of the indispensable requisites of life. Books?\n     That is one of them; and I have more than I can use. In short, I\n     cannot find any pleasure of consequence which I am not possessed of\n     in a greater or less degree; and, without any great effort of\n     philosophy, I may be easy and satisfied.\n\n     \"As there is no happiness without occupation, I have begun a work\n     which will occupy me several years, and which yields me much\n     satisfaction. 'Tis a History of Britain from the Union of the\n     Crowns to the present time. I have already finished the reign of\n     King James. My friends flatter me (by this I mean that they don't\n     flatter me) that I have succeeded.\"\n\nIn 1752, the Faculty of Advocates elected Hume their librarian, an\noffice which, though it yielded little emolument--the salary was only\nforty pounds a year--was valuable as it placed the resources of a large\nlibrary at his disposal. The proposal to give Hume even this paltry\nplace caused a great outcry, on the old score of infidelity. But as Hume\nwrites, in a jubilant letter to Clephane (February 4, 1752):--\n\n     \"I carried the election by a considerable majority.... What is more\n     extraordinary, the cry of religion could not hinder the ladies from\n     being violently my partisans, and I owe my success in a great\n     measure to their solicitations. One has broke off all commerce with\n     her lover because he voted against me! And Mr. Lockhart, in a\n     speech to the Faculty, said there was no walking the streets, nor\n     even enjoying one's own fireside, on account of their importunate\n     zeal. The town says that even his bed was not safe for him, though\n     his wife was cousin-german to my antagonist.\n\n     \"'Twas vulgarly given out that the contest was between Deists and\n     Christians, and when the news of my success came to the playhouse,\n     the whisper rose that the Christians were defeated. Are you not\n     surprised that we could keep our popularity, notwithstanding this\n     imputation, which my friends could not deny to be well founded?\"\n\nIt would seem that the \"good company\" was less enterprising in its\nasseverations in this canvass than in the last.\n\nThe first volume of the _History of Great Britain, containing the reign\nof James I. and Charles I._, was published in 1754. At first, the sale\nwas large, especially in Edinburgh, and if notoriety _per se_ was Hume's\nobject, he attained it. But he liked applause as well as fame and, to\nhis bitter disappointment, he says:--\n\n     \"I was assailed by one cry of reproach, disapprobation, and even\n     detestation: English, Scotch, and Irish, Whig and Tory, Churchman\n     and Sectary, Freethinker and Religionist, Patriot and Courtier,\n     united in their rage against the man who had presumed to shed a\n     generous tear for the fate of Charles I. and the Earl of Strafford;\n     and after the first ebullitions of their fury were over, what was\n     still more mortifying, the book seemed to fall into oblivion. Mr.\n     Millar told me that in a twelvemonth he sold only forty-five copies\n     of it. I scarcely, indeed, heard of one man in the three kingdoms,\n     considerable for rank or letters, that could endure the book. I\n     must only except the primate of England, Dr. Herring, and the\n     primate of Ireland, Dr. Stone, which seem two odd exceptions. These\n     dignified prelates separately sent me messages not to be\n     discouraged.\"\n\nIt certainly is odd to think of David Hume being comforted in his\naffliction by the independent and spontaneous sympathy of a pair of\narchbishops. But the instincts of the dignified prelates guided them\nrightly; for, as the great painter of English history in Whig pigments\nhas been careful to point out,[10] Hume's historical picture, though a\ngreat work, drawn by a master hand, has all the lights Tory, and all the\nshades Whig.\n\nHume's ecclesiastical enemies seem to have thought that their\nopportunity had now arrived; and an attempt was made to get the General\nAssembly of 1756 to appoint a committee to inquire into his writings.\nBut, after a keen debate, the proposal was rejected by fifty votes to\nseventeen. Hume does not appear to have troubled himself about the\nmatter, and does not even think it worth mention in _My Own Life_.\n\nIn 1756 he tells Clephane that he is worth L1,600 sterling, and\nconsequently master of an income which must have been wealth to a man of\nhis frugal habits. In the same year, he published the second volume of\nthe _History_, which met with a much better reception than the first;\nand, in 1757, one of his most remarkable works, the _Natural History of\nReligion_, appeared. In the same year, he resigned his office of\nlibrarian to the Faculty of Advocates, and he projected removal to\nLondon, probably to superintend the publication of the additional volume\nof the _History_.\n\n     \"I shall certainly be in London next summer; and probably to remain\n     there during life: at least, if I can settle myself to my mind,\n     which I beg you to have an eye to. A room in a sober discreet\n     family, who would not be averse to admit a sober, discreet,\n     virtuous, regular, quiet, goodnatured man of a bad character--such\n     a room, I say, would suit me extremely.\"[11]\n\nThe promised visit took place in the latter part of the year 1758, and\nhe remained in the metropolis for the greater part of 1759. The two\nvolumes of the _History of England under the House of Tudor_ were\npublished in London, shortly after Hume's return to Edinburgh; and,\naccording to his own account, they raised almost as great a clamour as\nthe first two had done.\n\nBusily occupied with the continuation of his historical labours, Hume\nremained in Edinburgh until 1763; when, at the request of Lord Hertford,\nwho was going as ambassador to France, he was appointed to the embassy;\nwith the promise of the secretaryship, and, in the meanwhile,\nperforming the duties of that office. At first, Hume declined the offer;\nbut, as it was particularly honourable to so well abused a man, on\naccount of Lord Hertford's high reputation for virtue and piety,[12] and\nno less advantageous by reason of the increase of fortune which it\nsecured to him, he eventually accepted it.\n\nIn France, Hume's reputation stood far higher than in Britain; several\nof his works had been translated; he had exchanged letters with\nMontesquieu and with Helvetius; Rousseau had appealed to him; and the\ncharming Madame de Boufflers had drawn him into a correspondence, marked\nby almost passionate enthusiasm on her part, and as fair an imitation of\nenthusiasm as Hume was capable of, on his. In the extraordinary mixture\nof learning, wit, humanity, frivolity, and profligacy which then\ncharacterised the highest French society, a new sensation was worth\nanything, and it mattered little whether the cause thereof was a\nphilosopher or a poodle; so Hume had a great success in the Parisian\nworld. Great nobles feted him, and great ladies were not content unless\nthe \"gros David\" was to be seen at their receptions, and in their boxes\nat the theatre. \"At the opera his broad unmeaning face was usually to be\nseen _entre deux jolis minois_,\" says Lord Charlemont.[13] Hume's cool\nhead was by no means turned; but he took the goods the gods provided\nwith much satisfaction; and everywhere won golden opinions by his\nunaffected good sense and thorough kindness of heart.\n\nOver all this part of Hume's career, as over the surprising episode of\nthe quarrel with Rousseau, if that can be called quarrel which was\nlunatic malignity on Rousseau's side and thorough generosity and\npatience on Hume's, I may pass lightly. The story is admirably told by\nMr. Burton, to whose volumes I refer the reader. Nor need I dwell upon\nHume's short tenure of office in London, as Under-Secretary of State,\nbetween 1767 and 1769. Success and wealth are rarely interesting, and\nHume's case is no exception to the rule.\n\nAccording to his own description the cares of official life were not\noverwhelming.\n\n     \"My way of life here is very uniform and by no means disagreeable.\n     I have all the forenoon in the Secretary's house, from ten till\n     three, when there arrive from time to time messengers that bring me\n     all the secrets of the kingdom, and, indeed, of Europe, Asia,\n     Africa, and America. I am seldom hurried; but have leisure at\n     intervals to take up a book, or write a private letter, or converse\n     with a friend that may call for me; and from dinner to bed-time is\n     all my own. If you add to this that the person with whom I have the\n     chief, if not only, transactions, is the most reasonable,\n     equal-tempered, and gentleman-like man imaginable, and Lady\n     Aylesbury the same, you will certainly think I have no reason to\n     complain; and I am far from complaining. I only shall not regret\n     when my duty is over; because to me the situation can lead to\n     nothing, at least in all probability; and reading, and sauntering,\n     and lounging, and dozing, which I call thinking, is my supreme\n     happiness--I mean my full contentment.\"\n\nHume's duty was soon over, and he returned to Edinburgh in 1769, \"very\nopulent\" in the possession of L1,000 a year, and determined to take what\nremained to him of life pleasantly and easily. In October, 1769, he\nwrites to Elliot:--\n\n     \"I have been settled here two months, and am here body and soul,\n     without casting the least thought of regret to London, or even to\n     Paris.... I live still, and must for a twelvemonth, in my old house\n     in James's Court, which is very cheerful and even elegant, but too\n     small to display my great talent for cookery, the science to which\n     I intend to addict the remaining years of my life. I have just now\n     lying on the table before me a receipt for making _soupe a la\n     reine_, copied with my own hand; for beef and cabbage (a charming\n     dish) and old mutton and old claret nobody excels me. I make also\n     sheep's-head broth in a manner that Mr. Keith speaks of for eight\n     days after; and the Duc de Nivernois would bind himself apprentice\n     to my lass to learn it. I have already sent a challenge to David\n     Moncreiff: you will see that in a twelvemonth he will take to the\n     writing of history, the field I have deserted; for as to the giving\n     of dinners, he can now have no further pretensions. I should have\n     made a very bad use of my abode in Paris if I could not get the\n     better of a mere provincial like him. All my friends encourage me\n     in this ambition; as thinking it will redound very much to my\n     honour.\"\n\nIn 1770, Hume built himself a house in the new town of Edinburgh, which\nwas then springing up. It was the first house in the street, and a\nfrolicsome young lady chalked upon the wall \"St. David's Street.\" Hume's\nservant complained to her master, who replied, \"Never mind, lassie, many\na better man has been made a saint of before,\" and the street retains\nits title to this day.\n\nIn the following six years, the house in St. David's Street was the\ncentre of the accomplished and refined society which then distinguished\nEdinburgh. Adam Smith, Blair, and Ferguson were within easy reach; and\nwhat remains of Hume's correspondence with Sir Gilbert Elliot, Colonel\nEdmonstone, and Mrs. Cockburn gives pleasant glimpses of his social\nsurroundings, and enables us to understand his contentment with his\nabsence from the more perturbed, if more brilliant, worlds of Paris and\nLondon.\n\nTowards London, Londoners, and indeed Englishmen in general, Hume\nentertained a dislike, mingled with contempt, which was as nearly\nrancorous as any emotion of his could be. During his residence in Paris,\nin 1764 and 1765, he writes to Blair:--\n\n     \"The taste for literature is neither decayed nor depraved here, as\n     with the barbarians who inhabit the banks of the Thames.\"\n\nAnd he speaks of the \"general regard paid to genius and learning\" in\nFrance as one of the points in which it most differs from England. Ten\nyears later, he cannot even thank Gibbon for his History without the\nleft-handed compliment, that he should never have expected such an\nexcellent work from the pen of an Englishman. Early in 1765, Hume writes\nto Millar:--\n\n     \"The rage and prejudice of parties frighten me, and above all, this\n     rage against the Scots, which is so dishonourable, and indeed so\n     infamous, to the English nation. We hear that it increases every\n     day without the least appearance of provocation on our part. It has\n     frequently made me resolve never in my life to set foot on English\n     ground. I dread, if I should undertake a more modern history, the\n     impertinence and ill-manners to which it would expose me; and I was\n     willing to know from you whether former prejudices had so far\n     subsided as to ensure me of a good reception.\"\n\nHis fears were kindly appeased by Millar's assurance that the English\nwere not prejudiced against the Scots in general, but against the\nparticular Scot, Lord Bute, who was supposed to be the guide,\nphilosopher, and friend, of both Dowager Queen and King.\n\nTo care nothing about literature, to dislike Scotchmen, and to be\ninsensible to the merits of David Hume, was a combination of iniquities\non the part of the English nation, which would have been amply\nsufficient to ruffle the temper of the philosophic historian, who,\nwithout being foolishly vain, had certainly no need of what has been\nsaid to be the one form of prayer in which his countrymen, torn as they\nare by theological differences, agree; \"Lord! gie us a gude conceit o'\noursels.\" But when, to all this, these same Southrons added a passionate\nadmiration for Lord Chatham, who was in Hume's eyes a charlatan; and\nfilled up the cup of their abominations by cheering for \"Wilkes and\nLiberty,\" Hume's wrath knew no bounds, and, between 1768 and 1770, he\npours a perfect Jeremiad into the bosom of his friend Sir Gilbert\nElliot.\n\n     \"Oh! how I long to see America and the East Indies revolted,\n     totally and finally--the revenue reduced to half--public credit\n     fully discredited by bankruptcy--the third of London in ruins, and\n     the rascally mob subdued! I think I am not too old to despair of\n     being witness to all these blessings.\n\n     \"I am delighted to see the daily and hourly progress of madness and\n     folly and wickedness in England. The consummation of these\n     qualities are the true ingredients for making a fine narrative in\n     history, especially if followed by some signal and ruinous\n     convulsion--as I hope will soon be the case with that pernicious\n     people!\"\n\nEven from the secure haven of James's Court, the maledictions continue\nto pour forth:--\n\n     \"Nothing but a rebellion and bloodshed will open the eyes of that\n     deluded people; though were they alone concerned, I think it is no\n     matter what becomes of them.... Our government has become a\n     chimera, and is too perfect, in point of liberty, for so rude a\n     beast as an Englishman; who is a man, a bad animal too, corrupted\n     by above a century of licentiousness. The misfortune is that this\n     liberty can scarcely be retrenched without danger of being entirely\n     lost; at least the fatal effects of licentiousness must first be\n     made palpable by some extreme mischief resulting from it. I may\n     wish that the catastrophe should rather fall on our posterity, but\n     it hastens on with such large strides as to leave little room for\n     hope.\n\n     I am running over again the last edition of my History, in order to\n     correct it still further. I either soften or expunge many\n     villainous seditious Whig strokes which had crept into it. I wish\n     that my indignation at the present madness, encouraged by lies,\n     calumnies, imposture, and every infamous act usual among popular\n     leaders, may not throw me into the opposite extreme.\"\n\nA wise wish, indeed. Posterity respectfully concurs therein; and\nsubjects Hume's estimate of England and things English to such\nmodifications as it would probably have undergone had the wish been\nfulfilled.\n\nIn 1775, Hume's health began to fail; and, in the spring of the\nfollowing year, his disorder, which appears to have been haemorrhage of\nthe bowels, attained such a height that he knew it must be fatal. So he\nmade his will, and wrote _My Own Life_, the conclusion of which is one\nof the most cheerful, simple, and dignified leave-takings of life and\nall its concerns, extant.\n\n     \"I now reckon upon a speedy dissolution. I have suffered very\n     little pain from my disorder; and what is more strange, have,\n     notwithstanding the great decline of my person, never suffered a\n     moment's abatement of spirits; insomuch that were I to name the\n     period of my life which I should most choose to pass over again, I\n     might be tempted to point to this later period. I possess the same\n     ardour as ever in study and the same gaiety in company; I consider,\n     besides, that a man of sixty-five, by dying, cuts off only a few\n     years of infirmities; and though I see many symptoms of my literary\n     reputation's breaking out at last with additional lustre, I know\n     that I could have but few years to enjoy it. It is difficult to be\n     more detached from life than I am at present.\n\n     \"To conclude historically with my own character, I am, or rather\n     was (for that is the style I must now use in speaking of myself,\n     which emboldens me the more to speak my sentiments); I was, I say,\n     a man of mild dispositions, of command of temper, of an open,\n     social, and cheerful humour, capable of attachment, but little\n     susceptible of enmity, and of great moderation in all my passions.\n     Even my love of literary fame, my ruling passion, never soured my\n     temper, notwithstanding my frequent disappointments. My company was\n     not unacceptable to the young and careless, as well as to the\n     studious and literary; and as I took a particular pleasure in the\n     company of modest women, I had no reason to be displeased with the\n     reception I met with from them. In a word, though most men any wise\n     eminent, have found reason to complain of calumny, I never was\n     touched or even attacked by her baleful tooth; and though I\n     wantonly exposed myself to the rage of both civil and religious\n     factions, they seemed to be disarmed in my behalf of their wonted\n     fury. My friends never had occasion to vindicate any one\n     circumstance of my character and conduct; not but that the zealots,\n     we may well suppose, would have been glad to invent and propagate\n     any story to my disadvantage, but they could never find any which\n     they thought would wear the face of probability. I cannot say there\n     is no vanity in making this funeral oration of myself, but I hope\n     it is not a misplaced one; and this is a matter of fact which is\n     easily cleared and ascertained.\"\n\nHume died in Edinburgh on the 25th of August, 1776, and, a few days\nlater, his body, attended by a great concourse of people, who seem to\nhave anticipated for it the fate appropriate to the remains of wizards\nand necromancers, was deposited in a spot selected by himself, in an old\nburial-ground on the eastern slope of the Calton Hill.\n\nFrom the summit of this hill, there is a prospect unequalled by any to\nbe seen from the midst of a great city. Westward lies the Forth, and\nbeyond it, dimly blue, the far away Highland hills; eastward, rise the\nbold contours of Arthur's Seat and the rugged crags of the Castle rock,\nwith the grey Old Town of Edinburgh; while, far below, from a maze of\ncrowded thoroughfares, the hoarse murmur of the toil of a polity of\nenergetic men is borne upon the ear. At times, a man may be as solitary\nhere as in a veritable wilderness; and may meditate undisturbedly upon\nthe epitome of nature and of man--the kingdoms of this world--spread out\nbefore him.\n\nSurely, there is a fitness in the choice of this last resting-place by\nthe philosopher and historian, who saw so clearly that these two\nkingdoms form but one realm, governed by uniform laws and alike based on\nimpenetrable darkness and eternal silence: and faithful to the last to\nthat profound veracity which was the secret of his philosophic\ngreatness, he ordered that the simple Roman tomb which marks his grave\nshould bear no inscription but\n\n\n                               DAVID HUME\n\n                        BORN 1711.     DIED 1776.\n\n                _Leaving it to posterity to add the rest._\n\n\nIt was by the desire and at the suggestion of my friend, the Editor of\nthis Series, that I undertook to attempt to help posterity in the\ndifficult business of knowing what to add to Hume's epitaph; and I\nmight, with justice, throw upon him the responsibility of my apparent\npresumption in occupying a place among the men of letters, who are\nengaged with him, in their proper function of writing about English Men\nof Letters.\n\nThat to which succeeding generations have made, are making, and will\nmake, continual additions, however, is Hume's fame as a philosopher;\nand, though I know that my plea will add to my offence in some quarters,\nI must plead, in extenuation of my audacity, that philosophy lies in the\nprovince of science, and not in that of letters.\n\nIn dealing with Hume's Life, I have endeavoured, as far as possible, to\nmake him speak for himself. If the extracts from his letters and essays\nwhich I have given do not sufficiently show what manner of man he was,\nI am sure that nothing I could say would make the case plainer. In the\nexposition of Hume's philosophy which follows, I have pursued the same\nplan, and I have applied myself to the task of selecting and arranging\nin systematic order, the passages which appeared to me to contain the\nclearest statements of Hume's opinions.\n\nI should have been glad to be able to confine myself to this duty, and\nto limit my own comments to so much as was absolutely necessary to\nconnect my excerpts. Here and there, however, it must be confessed that\nmore is seen of my thread than of Hume's beads. My excuse must be an\nineradicable tendency to try to make things clear; while, I may further\nhope, that there is nothing in what I may have said, which is\ninconsistent with the logical development of Hume's principles.\n\nMy authority for the facts of Hume's life is the admirable biography,\npublished in 1846, by Mr. John Hill Burton. The edition of Hume's works\nfrom which all citations are made is that published by Black and Tait in\nEdinburgh, in 1826. In this edition, the Essays are reprinted from the\nedition of 1777, corrected by the author for the press a short time\nbefore his death. It is well printed in four handy volumes; and as my\ncopy has long been in my possession, and bears marks of much reading, it\nwould have been troublesome for me to refer to any other. But, for the\nconvenience of those who possess some other edition, the following table\nof the contents of the edition of 1826, with the paging of the four\nvolumes, is given:--\n\n\n                              VOLUME I.\n\n                      TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.\n\n       Book I. _Of the Understanding_, p. 5 to the end, p. 347.\n\n\n                              VOLUME II.\n\n                      TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE.\n\n               Book II. _Of the Passions_, p. 3-p. 215.\n\n                 Book III. _Of Morals_, p. 219-p. 415.\n\n         DIALOGUES CONCERNING NATURAL RELIGION, p. 419-p. 548.\n\n               APPENDIX TO THE TREATISE, p. 551-p. 560.\n\n\n                            VOLUME III.\n\n              ESSAYS, MORAL AND POLITICAL, p. 3-p. 282.\n\n                 POLITICAL DISCOURSES, p. 285-p. 579.\n\n\n                            VOLUME IV.\n\n      AN INQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING, p. 3-p. 233.\n\n   AN INQUIRY CONCERNING THE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS, p. 237-p. 431.\n\n           THE NATURAL HISTORY OF RELIGION, p. 435-p. 513.\n\n                  ADDITIONAL ESSAYS, p. 517-p. 577.\n\n\nAs the volume and the page of the volume are given in my references, it\nwill be easy, by the help of this table, to learn where to look for any\npassage cited, in differently arranged editions.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[8] \"Pneumatic philosophy\" must not be confounded with the theory of\nelastic fluids; though, as Scottish chairs have, before now, combined\nnatural with civil history, the mistake would be pardonable.\n\n[9] Burton's _Life of David Hume_, i. p. 354.\n\n[10] Lord Macaulay, Article on History, _Edinburgh Review_, vol. lxvii.\n\n[11] Letter to Clephane, 3rd September, 1757.\n\n[12] \"You must know that Lord Hertford has so high a character for\npiety, that his taking me by the hand is a kind of regeneration to me,\nand all past offences are now wiped off. But all these views are\ntrifling to one of my age and temper.\"--_Hume to Edmonstone_, 9th\nJanuary, 1764. Lord Hertford had procured him a pension of L200 a year\nfor life from the King, and the secretaryship was worth L1000 a year.\n\n[13] Madame d'Epinay gives a ludicrous account of Hume's performance\nwhen pressed into a _tableau_, as a Sultan between two slaves,\npersonated for the occasion by two of the prettiest women in Paris:--\n\n\"Il les regarde attentivement, _il se frappe le ventre_ et les genoux a\nplusieurs reprises et ne trouve jamais autre chose a leur dire que _Eh\nbien! mes demoiselles.--Eh bien! vous voila donc.... Eh bien! vous voila\n... vous voila ici?_ Cette phrase dura un quart d'heure sans qu'il put\nen sortir. Une d'elles se leva d'impatience: Ah, dit-elle, je m'en etois\nbien doutee, cet homme n'est bon qu'a manger du veau!\"--Burton's _Life\nof Hume_, vol. ii. p. 224.\n\n\n\n\nPART II.\n\n_HUME'S PHILOSOPHY._\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTHE OBJECT AND SCOPE OF PHILOSOPHY.\n\n\nKant has said that the business of philosophy is to answer three\nquestions: What can I know? What ought I to do? and For what may I hope?\nBut it is pretty plain that these three resolve themselves, in the long\nrun, into the first. For rational expectation and moral action are alike\nbased upon beliefs; and a belief is void of justification, unless its\nsubject-matter lies within the boundaries of possible knowledge, and\nunless its evidence satisfies the conditions which experience imposes as\nthe guarantee of credibility.\n\nFundamentally, then, philosophy is the answer to the question, What can\nI know? and it is by applying itself to this problem, that philosophy is\nproperly distinguished as a special department of scientific research.\nWhat is commonly called science, whether mathematical, physical, or\nbiological, consists of the answers which mankind have been able to\ngive to the inquiry, What do I know? They furnish us with the results of\nthe mental operations which constitute thinking; while philosophy, in\nthe stricter sense of the term, inquires into the foundation of the\nfirst principles which those operations assume or imply.\n\nBut though, by reason of the special purpose of philosophy, its\ndistinctness from other branches of scientific investigation may be\nproperly vindicated, it is easy to see that, from the nature of its\nsubject-matter, it is intimately and, indeed, inseparably connected with\none branch of science. For it is obviously impossible to answer the\nquestion, What can we know? unless, in the first place, there is a clear\nunderstanding as to what is meant by knowledge; and, having settled this\npoint, the next step is to inquire how we come by that which we allow to\nbe knowledge; for, upon the reply, turns the answer to the further\nquestion, whether, from the nature of the case, there are limits to the\nknowable or not. While, finally, inasmuch as What can I know? not only\nrefers to knowledge of the past or of the present, but to the confident\nexpectation which we call knowledge of the future; it is necessary to\nask, further, what justification can be alleged for trusting to the\nguidance of our expectations in practical conduct.\n\nIt surely needs no argumentation to show, that the first problem cannot\nbe approached without the examination of the contents of the mind; and\nthe determination of how much of these contents may be called knowledge.\nNor can the second problem be dealt with in any other fashion; for it is\nonly by the observation of the growth of knowledge that we can\nrationally hope to discover how knowledge grows. But the solution of\nthe third problem simply involves the discussion of the data obtained\nby the investigation of the foregoing two.\n\nThus, in order to answer three out of the four subordinate questions\ninto which What can I know? breaks up, we must have recourse to that\ninvestigation of mental phenomena, the results of which are embodied in\nthe science of psychology.\n\nPsychology is a part of the science of life or biology, which differs\nfrom the other branches of that science, merely in so far as it deals\nwith the psychical, instead of the physical, phenomena of life.\n\nAs there is an anatomy of the body, so there is an anatomy of the mind;\nthe psychologist dissects mental phenomena into elementary states of\nconsciousness, as the anatomist resolves limbs into tissues, and tissues\ninto cells. The one traces the development of complex organs from simple\nrudiments; the other follows the building up of complex conceptions out\nof simpler constituents of thought. As the physiologist inquires into\nthe way in which the so-called \"functions\" of the body are performed, so\nthe psychologist studies the so-called \"faculties\" of the mind. Even a\ncursory attention to the ways and works of the lower animals suggests a\ncomparative anatomy and physiology of the mind; and the doctrine of\nevolution presses for application as much in the one field as in the\nother.\n\nBut there is more than a parallel, there is a close and intimate\nconnexion between psychology and physiology. No one doubts that, at any\nrate, some mental states are dependent for their existence on the\nperformance of the functions of particular bodily organs. There is no\nseeing without eyes, and no hearing without ears. If the origin of the\ncontents of the mind is truly a philosophical problem, then the\nphilosopher who attempts to deal with that problem, without acquainting\nhimself with the physiology of sensation, has no more intelligent\nconception of his business than the physiologist, who thinks he can\ndiscuss locomotion, without an acquaintance with the principles of\nmechanics; or respiration, without some tincture of chemistry.\n\nOn whatever ground we term physiology, science, psychology is entitled\nto the same appellation; and the method of investigation which\nelucidates the true relations of the one set of phenomena will discover\nthose of the other. Hence, as philosophy is, in great measure, the\nexponent of the logical consequences of certain data established by\npsychology; and as psychology itself differs from physical science only\nin the nature of its subject-matter, and not in its method of\ninvestigation, it would seem to be an obvious conclusion, that\nphilosophers are likely to be successful in their inquiries, in\nproportion as they are familiar with the application of scientific\nmethod to less abstruse subjects; just as it seems to require no\nelaborate demonstration, that an astronomer, who wishes to comprehend\nthe solar system, would do well to acquire a preliminary acquaintance\nwith the elements of physics. And it is accordant with this presumption,\nthat the men who have made the most important positive additions to\nphilosophy, such as Descartes, Spinoza, and Kant, not to mention more\nrecent examples, have been deeply imbued with the spirit of physical\nscience; and, in some cases, such as those of Descartes and Kant, have\nbeen largely acquainted with its details. On the other hand, the founder\nof Positivism no less admirably illustrates the connexion of scientific\nincapacity with philosophical incompetence. In truth, the laboratory is\nthe fore-court of the temple of philosophy; and whoso has not offered\nsacrifices and undergone purification there, has little chance of\nadmission into the sanctuary.\n\nObvious as these considerations may appear to be, it would be wrong to\nignore the fact that their force is by no means universally admitted. On\nthe contrary, the necessity for a proper psychological and physiological\ntraining to the student of philosophy is denied, on the one hand, by the\n\"pure metaphysicians,\" who attempt to base the theory of knowing upon\nsupposed necessary and universal truths, and assert that scientific\nobservation is impossible unless such truths are already known or\nimplied: which, to those who are not \"pure metaphysicians,\" seems very\nmuch as if one should say that the fall of a stone cannot be observed,\nunless the law of gravitation is already in the mind of the observer.\n\nOn the other hand, the Positivists, so far as they accept the teachings\nof their master, roundly assert, at any rate in words, that observation\nof the mind is a thing inherently impossible in itself, and that\npsychology is a chimera--a phantasm generated by the fermentation of the\ndregs of theology. Nevertheless, if M. Comte had been asked what he\nmeant by \"physiologic cerebrale,\" except that which other people call\n\"psychology;\" and how he knew anything about the functions of the brain,\nexcept by that very \"observation interieure,\" which he declares to be an\nabsurdity--it seems probable that he would have found it hard to escape\nthe admission, that, in vilipending psychology, he had been propounding\nsolemn nonsense.\n\nIt is assuredly one of Hume's greatest merits that he clearly recognised\nthe fact that philosophy is based upon psychology; and that the inquiry\ninto the contents and the operations of the mind must be conducted upon\nthe same principles as a physical investigation, if what he calls the\n\"moral philosopher\" would attain results of as firm and definite a\ncharacter as those which reward the \"natural philosopher.\"[14] The title\nof his first work, a \"_Treatise of Human Nature, being an Attempt to\nintroduce the Experimental method of Reasoning into Moral Subjects_,\"\nsufficiently indicates the point of view from which Hume regarded\nphilosophical problems; and he tells us in the preface, that his object\nhas been to promote the construction of a \"science of man.\"\n\n     \"'Tis evident that all the sciences have a relation, greater or\n     less, to human nature; and that, however wide any of them may seem\n     to run from it, they still return back by one passage or another.\n     Even _Mathematics_, _Natural Philosophy_, and _Natural Religion_\n     are in some measure dependent on the science of MAN; since they lie\n     under the cognizance of men, and are judged of by their powers and\n     qualities. 'Tis impossible to tell what changes and improvements we\n     might make in these sciences were we thoroughly acquainted with the\n     extent and force of human understanding, and could explain the\n     nature of the ideas we employ and of the operations we perform in\n     our reasonings.... To me it seems evident that the essence of mind\n     being equally unknown to us with that of external bodies, it must\n     be equally impossible to form any notion of its powers and\n     qualities otherwise than from careful and exact experiments, and\n     the observation of those particular effects which result from its\n     different circumstances and situations. And though we must\n     endeavour to render all our principles as universal as possible, by\n     tracing up our experiments to the utmost, and explaining all\n     effects from the simplest and fewest causes, 'tis still certain we\n     cannot go beyond experience; and any hypothesis that pretends to\n     discover the ultimate original qualities of human nature, ought at\n     first to be rejected as presumptuous and chimerical....\n\n     \"But if this impossibility of explaining ultimate principles should\n     be esteemed a defect in the science of man, I will venture to\n     affirm, that it is a defect common to it with all the sciences, and\n     all the arts, in which we can employ ourselves, whether they be\n     such as are cultivated in the schools of the philosophers, or\n     practised in the shops of the meanest artisans. None of them can go\n     beyond experience, or establish any principles which are not\n     founded on that authority. Moral philosophy has, indeed, this\n     peculiar disadvantage, which is not found in natural, that in\n     collecting its experiments, it cannot make them purposely, with\n     premeditation, and after such a manner as to satisfy itself\n     concerning every particular difficulty which may arise. When I am\n     at a loss to know the effects of one body upon another in any\n     situation, I need only put them in that situation, and observe what\n     results from it. But should I endeavour to clear up in the same\n     manner any[15] doubt in moral philosophy, by placing myself in the\n     same case with that which I consider, 'tis evident this reflection\n     and premeditation would so disturb the operation of my natural\n     principles, as must render it impossible to form any just\n     conclusion from the phenomenon. We must, therefore, glean up our\n     experiments in this science from a cautious observation of human\n     life, and take them as they appear in the common course of the\n     world, by men's behaviour in company, in affairs, and in their\n     pleasures. Where experiments of this kind are judiciously collected\n     and compared, we may hope to establish on them a science which\n     will not be inferior in certainty, and will be much superior in\n     utility, to any other of human comprehension.\"--(I. pp. 7-11.)\n\nAll science starts with hypotheses--in other words, with assumptions\nthat are unproved, while they may be, and often are, erroneous; but\nwhich are better than nothing to the seeker after order in the maze of\nphenomena. And the historical progress of every science depends on the\ncriticism of hypotheses--on the gradual stripping off, that is, of their\nuntrue or superfluous parts--until there remains only that exact verbal\nexpression of as much as we know of the fact, and no more, which\nconstitutes a perfect scientific theory.\n\nPhilosophy has followed the same course as other branches of scientific\ninvestigation. The memorable service rendered to the cause of sound\nthinking by Descartes consisted in this: that he laid the foundation of\nmodern philosophical criticism by his inquiry into the nature of\ncertainty. It is a clear result of the investigation started by\nDescartes, that there is one thing of which no doubt can be entertained,\nfor he who should pretend to doubt it would thereby prove its existence;\nand that is the momentary consciousness we call a present thought or\nfeeling; that is safe, even if all other kinds of certainty are merely\nmore or less probable inferences. Berkeley and Locke, each in his way,\napplied philosophical criticism in other directions; but they always, at\nany rate professedly, followed the Cartesian maxim of admitting no\npropositions to be true but such as are clear, distinct, and evident,\neven while their arguments stripped off many a layer of hypothetical\nassumption which their great predecessor had left untouched. No one has\nmore clearly stated the aims of the critical philosopher than Locke, in\na passage of the famous _Essay concerning Human Understanding_, which,\nperhaps, I ought to assume to be well known to all English readers, but\nwhich so probably is unknown to this full-crammed and much examined\ngeneration that I venture to cite it:\n\n     \"If by this inquiry into the nature of the understanding I can\n     discover the powers thereof, how far they reach, to what things\n     they are in any degree proportionate, and where they fail us, I\n     suppose it may be of use to prevail with the busy mind of man to be\n     more cautious in meddling with things exceeding its comprehension:\n     to stop when it is at the utmost extent of its tether; and to sit\n     down in quiet ignorance of those things which, upon examination,\n     are proved to be beyond the reach of our capacities. We should not\n     then, perhaps, be so forward, out of an affectation of universal\n     knowledge, to raise questions and perplex ourselves and others with\n     disputes about things to which our understandings are not suited,\n     and of which we cannot frame in our minds any clear and distinct\n     perception, or whereof (as it has, perhaps, too often happened) we\n     have not any notion at all.... Men may find matter sufficient to\n     busy their heads and employ their hands with variety, delight, and\n     satisfaction, if they will not boldly quarrel with their own\n     constitution and throw away the blessings their hands are filled\n     with because they are not big enough to grasp everything. We shall\n     not have much reason to complain of the narrowness of our minds, if\n     we will but employ them about what may be of use to us: for of that\n     they are very capable: and it will be an unpardonable, as well as a\n     childish peevishness, if we under-value the advantages of our\n     knowledge, and neglect to improve it to the ends for which it was\n     given us, because there are some things that are set out of the\n     reach of it. It will be no excuse to an idle and untoward servant\n     who would not attend to his business by candlelight, to plead that\n     he had not broad sunshine. The candle that is set up in us shines\n     bright enough for all our purposes.... Our business here is not to\n     know all things, but those which concern our conduct.\"[16]\n\nHume develops the same fundamental conception in a somewhat different\nway, and with a more definite indication of the practical benefits which\nmay be expected from a critical philosophy. The first and second parts\nof the twelfth section of the _Inquiry_ are devoted to a condemnation of\nexcessive scepticism, or Pyrrhonism, with which Hume couples a\ncaricature of the Cartesian doubt; but, in the third part, a certain\n\"mitigated scepticism\" is recommended and adopted, under the title of\n\"academical philosophy.\" After pointing out that a knowledge of the\ninfirmities of the human understanding, even in its most perfect state,\nand when most accurate and cautious in its determinations, is the best\ncheck upon the tendency to dogmatism, Hume continues:--\n\n     \"Another species of _mitigated_ scepticism, which may be of\n     advantage to mankind, and which maybe the natural result of the\n     PYRRHONIAN doubts and scruples, is the limitation of our inquiries\n     to such subjects as are best adapted to the narrow capacity of\n     human understanding. The _imagination_ of man is naturally sublime,\n     delighted with whatever is remote and extraordinary, and running,\n     without control, into the most distant parts of space and time in\n     order to avoid the objects which custom has rendered too familiar\n     to it. A correct _judgment_ observes a contrary method, and,\n     avoiding all distant and high inquiries, confines itself to common\n     life, and to such subjects as fall under daily practice and\n     experience; leaving the more sublime topics to the embellishment of\n     poets and orators, or to the arts of priests and politicians. To\n     bring us to so salutary a determination, nothing can be more\n     serviceable than to be once thoroughly convinced of the force of\n     the PYRRHONIAN doubt, and of the impossibility that anything but\n     the strong power of natural instinct could free us from it. Those\n     who have a propensity to philosophy will still continue their\n     researches; because they reflect, that, besides the immediate\n     pleasure attending such an occupation, philosophical decisions are\n     nothing but the reflections of common life, methodised and\n     corrected. But they will never be tempted to go beyond common life,\n     so long as they consider the imperfection of those faculties which\n     they employ, their narrow reach, and their inaccurate operations.\n     While we cannot give a satisfactory reason why we believe, after a\n     thousand experiments, that a stone will fall or fire burn; can we\n     ever satisfy ourselves concerning any determination which we may\n     form with regard to the origin of worlds and the situation of\n     nature from and to eternity?\"--(IV. pp. 189--90.)\n\nBut further, it is the business of criticism not only to keep watch over\nthe vagaries of philosophy, but to do the duty of police in the whole\nworld of thought. Wherever it espies sophistry or superstition they are\nto be bidden to stand; nay, they are to be followed to their very dens\nand there apprehended and exterminated, as Othello smothered Desdemona,\n\"else she'll betray more men.\"\n\nHume warms into eloquence as he sets forth the labours meet for the\nstrength and the courage of the Hercules of \"mitigated scepticism.\"\n\n     \"Here, indeed, lies the justest and most plausible objection\n     against a considerable part of metaphysics, that they are not\n     properly a science, but arise either from the fruitless efforts of\n     human vanity, which would penetrate into subjects utterly\n     inaccessible to the understanding, or from the craft of popular\n     superstitions, which, being unable to defend themselves on fair\n     ground, raise these entangling brambles to cover and protect their\n     weakness. Chased from the open country, these robbers fly into the\n     forest, and lie in wait to break in upon every unguarded avenue of\n     the mind and overwhelm it with religious fears and prejudices. The\n     stoutest antagonist, if he remits his watch a moment, is oppressed;\n     and many, through cowardice and folly, open the gates to the\n     enemies, and willingly receive them with reverence and submission\n     as their legal sovereigns.\n\n     \"But is this a sufficient reason why philosophers should desist\n     from such researches and leave superstition still in possession of\n     her retreat? Is it not proper to draw an opposite conclusion, and\n     perceive the necessity of carrying the war into the most secret\n     recesses of the enemy?... The only method of freeing learning at\n     once from these abstruse questions, is to inquire seriously into\n     the nature of human understanding, and show, from an exact analysis\n     of its powers and capacity, that it is by no means fitted for such\n     remote and abstruse subjects. We must submit to this fatigue, in\n     order to live at ease ever after; and must cultivate true\n     metaphysics with some care, in order to destroy the false and\n     adulterated.\"--(IV. pp. 10, 11.)\n\nNear a century and a half has elapsed since these brave words were\nshaped by David Hume's pen; and the business of carrying the war into\nthe enemy's camp has gone on but slowly. Like other campaigns, it long\nlanguished for want of a good base of operations. But since physical\nscience, in the course of the last fifty years, has brought to the front\nan inexhaustible supply of heavy artillery of a new pattern, warranted\nto drive solid bolts of fact through the thickest skulls, things are\nlooking better; though hardly more than the first faint flutterings of\nthe dawn of the happy day, when superstition and false metaphysics shall\nbe no more and reasonable folks may \"live at ease,\" are as yet\ndiscernible by the _enfants perdus_ of the outposts.\n\nIf, in thus conceiving the object and the limitations of philosophy,\nHume shows himself the spiritual child and continuator of the work of\nLocke, he appears no less plainly as the parent of Kant and as the\nprotagonist of that more modern way of thinking, which has been called\n\"agnosticism,\" from its profession of an incapacity to discover the\nindispensable conditions of either positive or negative knowledge, in\nmany propositions, respecting which, not only the vulgar, but\nphilosophers of the more sanguine sort, revel in the luxury of\nunqualified assurance.\n\nThe aim of the _Kritik der reinen Vernunft_ is essentially the same as\nthat of the _Treatise of Human Nature_, by which indeed Kant was led to\ndevelop that \"critical philosophy\" with which his name and fame are\nindissolubly bound up: and, if the details of Kant's criticism differ\nfrom those of Hume, they coincide with them in their main result, which\nis the limitation of all knowledge of reality to the world of phenomena\nrevealed to us by experience.\n\nThe philosopher of Koenigsberg epitomises the philosopher of Ninewells\nwhen he thus sums up the uses of philosophy:--\n\n     \"The greatest and perhaps the sole use of all philosophy of pure\n     reason is, after all, merely negative, since it serves, not as an\n     organon for the enlargement [of knowledge], but as a discipline for\n     its delimitation; and instead of discovering truth, has only the\n     modest merit of preventing error.\"[17]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[14] In a letter to Hutcheson (September 17th, 1739) Hume\nremarks:--\"There are different ways of examining the mind as well as the\nbody. One may consider it either as an anatomist or as a painter: either\nto discover its most secret springs and principles, or to describe the\ngrace and beauty of its actions;\" and he proceeds to justify his own\nmode of looking at the moral sentiments from the anatomist's point of\nview.\n\n[15] The manner in which Hume constantly refers to the results of the\nobservation of the contents and the processes of his own mind clearly\nshows that he has here inadvertently overstated the case.\n\n[16] Locke, _An Essay concerning Human Understanding_, Book I, chap. i,\nSec.Sec. 4, 5, 6.\n\n[17] _Kritik der reinen Vernunft._ Ed. Hartenstein, p. 256.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE CONTENTS OF THE MIND.\n\n\nIn the language of common life, the \"mind\" is spoken of as an entity,\nindependent of the body, though resident in and closely connected with\nit, and endowed with numerous \"faculties,\" such as sensibility,\nunderstanding, memory, volition, which stand in the same relation to the\nmind as the organs do to the body, and perform the functions of feeling,\nreasoning, remembering, and willing. Of these functions, some, such as\nsensation, are supposed to be merely passive--that is, they are called\ninto existence by impressions, made upon the sensitive faculty by a\nmaterial world of real objects, of which our sensations are supposed to\ngive us pictures; others, such as the memory and the reasoning faculty,\nare considered to be partly passive and partly active; while volition is\nheld to be potentially, if not always actually, a spontaneous activity.\n\nThe popular classification and terminology of the phenomena of\nconsciousness, however, are by no means the first crude conceptions\nsuggested by common sense, but rather a legacy, and, in many respects, a\nsufficiently _damnosa haereditas_, of ancient philosophy, more or less\nleavened by theology; which has incorporated itself with the common\nthought of later times, as the vices of the aristocracy of one age\nbecome those of the mob in the next. Very little attention to what\npasses in the mind is sufficient to show, that these conceptions involve\nassumptions of an extremely hypothetical character. And the first\nbusiness of the student of psychology is to get rid of such\nprepossessions; to form conceptions of mental phenomena as they are\ngiven us by observation, without any hypothetical admixture, or with\nonly so much as is definitely recognised and held subject to\nconfirmation or otherwise; to classify these phenomena according to\ntheir clearly recognisable characters; and to adopt a nomenclature which\nsuggests nothing beyond the results of observation. Thus chastened,\nobservation of the mind makes us acquainted with nothing but certain\nevents, facts, or phenomena (whichever name be preferred) which pass\nover the inward field of view in rapid and, as it may appear on careless\ninspection, in disorderly succession, like the shifting patterns of a\nkaleidoscope. To all these mental phenomena, or states of our\nconsciousness,[18] Descartes gave the name of \"thoughts,\"[19] while\nLocke and Berkeley termed them \"ideas.\" Hume, regarding this as an\nimproper use of the word \"idea,\" for which he proposes another\nemployment, gives the general name of \"perceptions\" to all states of\nconsciousness. Thus, whatever other signification we may see reason to\nattach to the word \"mind,\" it is certain that it is a name which is\nemployed to denote a series of perceptions; just as the word \"tune,\"\nwhatever else it may mean, denotes, in the first place, a succession of\nmusical notes. Hume, indeed, goes further than others when he says\nthat--\n\n     \"What we call a mind is nothing but a heap or collection of\n     different perceptions, united together by certain relations, and\n     supposed, though falsely, to be endowed with a perfect simplicity\n     and identity.\"--(I. p. 268.)\n\nWith this \"nothing but,\" however, he obviously falls into the primal and\nperennial error of philosophical speculators--dogmatising from negative\narguments. He may be right or wrong; but the most he, or anybody else,\ncan prove in favour of his conclusion is, that we know nothing more of\nthe mind than that it is a series of perceptions. Whether there is\nsomething in the mind that lies beyond the reach of observation; or\nwhether perceptions themselves are the products of something which can\nbe observed and which is not mind; are questions which can in nowise be\nsettled by direct observation. Elsewhere, the objectionable hypothetical\nelement of the definition of mind is less prominent:--\n\n     \"The true idea of the human mind is to consider it as a system of\n     different perceptions, or different existences, which are linked\n     together by the relation of cause and effect, and mutually produce,\n     destroy, influence and modify each other.... In this respect I\n     cannot compare the soul more properly to anything than a republic\n     or commonwealth, in which the several members are united by the\n     reciprocal ties of government and subordination, and give rise to\n     other persons who propagate the same republic in the incessant\n     changes of its parts.\"--(I. p. 331).\n\nBut, leaving the question of the proper definition of mind open for the\npresent, it is further a matter of direct observation, that, when we\ntake a general survey of all our perceptions or states of consciousness,\nthey naturally fall into sundry groups or classes. Of these classes, two\nare distinguished by Hume as of primary importance. All \"perceptions,\"\nhe says, are either \"_Impressions_\" or \"_Ideas_.\"\n\nUnder \"impressions\" he includes \"all our more lively perceptions, when\nwe hear, see, feel, love, or will;\" in other words, \"all our sensations,\npassions, and emotions, as they make their first appearance in the soul\"\n(I. p. 15).\n\n\"Ideas,\" on the other hand, are the faint images of impressions in\nthinking and reasoning, or of antecedent ideas.\n\nBoth impressions and ideas may be either _simple_, when they are\nincapable of further analysis, or _complex_, when they may be resolved\ninto simpler constituents. All simple ideas are exact copies of\nimpressions; but, in complex ideas, the arrangement of simple\nconstituents may be different from that of the impressions of which\nthose simple ideas are copies.\n\nThus the colours red and blue and the odour of a rose, are simple\nimpressions; while the ideas of blue, of red, and of rose-odour are\nsimple copies of these impressions. But a red rose gives us a complex\nimpression, capable of resolution into the simple impressions of red\ncolour, rose-scent, and numerous others; and we may have a complex idea,\nwhich is an accurate, though faint, copy of this complex impression.\nOnce in possession of the ideas of a red rose and of the colour blue, we\nmay, in imagination, substitute blue for red; and thus obtain a complex\nidea of a blue rose, which is not an actual copy of any complex\nimpression, though all its elements are such copies.\n\nHume has been criticised for making the distinction of impressions and\nideas to depend upon their relative strength or vivacity. Yet it would\nbe hard to point out any other character by which the things signified\ncan be distinguished. Any one who has paid attention to the curious\nsubject of what are called \"subjective sensations\" will be familiar with\nexamples of the extreme difficulty which sometimes attends the\ndiscrimination of ideas of sensation from impressions of sensation, when\nthe ideas are very vivid, or the impressions are faint. Who has not\n\"fancied\" he heard a noise; or has not explained inattention to a real\nsound by saying, \"I thought it was nothing but my fancy\"? Even healthy\npersons are much more liable to both visual and auditory spectra--that\nis, ideas of vision and sound so vivid that they are taken for new\nimpressions--than is commonly supposed; and, in some diseased states,\nideas of sensible objects may assume all the vividness of reality.\n\nIf ideas are nothing but copies of impressions, arranged, either in the\nsame order as that of the impressions from which they are derived, or in\na different order, it follows that the ultimate analysis of the contents\nof the mind turns upon that of the impressions. According to Hume,\nthese are of two kinds: either they are impressions of sensation, or\nthey are impressions of reflection. The former are those afforded by the\nfive senses, together with pleasure and pain. The latter are the\npassions or the emotions (which Hume employs as equivalent terms). Thus\nthe elementary states of consciousness, the raw materials of knowledge,\nso to speak, are either sensations or emotions; and whatever we discover\nin the mind, beyond these elementary states of consciousness, results\nfrom the combinations and the metamorphoses which they undergo.\n\nIt is not a little strange that a thinker of Hume's capacity should have\nbeen satisfied with the results of a psychological analysis which\nregards some obvious compounds as elements, while it omits altogether a\nmost important class of elementary states.\n\nWith respect to the former point, Spinoza's masterly examination of the\nPassions in the third part of the _Ethics_ should have been known to\nHume.[20] But, if he had been acquainted with that wonderful piece of\npsychological anatomy, he would have learned that the emotions and\npassions are all complex states, arising from the close association of\nideas of pleasure or pain with other ideas; and, indeed, without going\nto Spinoza, his own acute discussion of the passions leads to the same\nresult,[21] and is wholly inconsistent with his classification of those\nmental states among the primary uncompounded materials of consciousness.\n\nIf Hume's \"impressions of reflection\" are excluded from among the\nprimary elements of consciousness, nothing is left but the impressions\nafforded by the five senses, with pleasure and pain. Putting aside the\nmuscular sense, which had not come into view in Hume's time, the\nquestions arise whether these are all the simple undecomposable\nmaterials of thought? or whether others exist of which Hume takes no\ncognizance.\n\nKant answered the latter question in the affirmative, in the _Kritik der\nreinen Vernunft_, and thereby made one of the greatest advances ever\neffected in philosophy; though it must be confessed that the German\nphilosopher's exposition of his views is so perplexed in style, so\nburdened with the weight of a cumbrous and uncouth scholasticism, that\nit is easy to confound the unessential parts of his system with those\nwhich are of profound importance. His baggage train is bigger than his\narmy, and the student who attacks him is too often led to suspect he has\nwon a position when he has only captured a mob of useless\ncamp-followers.\n\nIn his _Principles of Psychology_, Mr. Herbert Spencer appears to me to\nhave brought out the essential truth which underlies Kant's doctrine in\na far clearer manner than any one else; but, for the purpose of the\npresent summary view of Hume's philosophy, it must suffice if I state\nthe matter in my own way, giving the broad outlines, without entering\ninto the details of a large and difficult discussion.\n\nWhen a red light flashes across the field of vision, there arises in the\nmind an \"impression of sensation\"--which we call red. It appears to me\nthat this sensation, red, is a something which may exist altogether\nindependently of any other impression, or idea, as an individual\nexistence. It is perfectly conceivable that a sentient being should have\nno sense but vision, and that he should have spent his existence in\nabsolute darkness, with the exception of one solitary flash of red\nlight. That momentary illumination would suffice to give him the\nimpression under consideration; and the whole content of his\nconsciousness might be that impression; and, if he were endowed with\nmemory, its idea.\n\nSuch being the state of affairs, suppose a second flash of red light to\nfollow the first. If there were no memory of the latter, the state of\nthe mind on the second occasion would simply be a repetition of that\nwhich occurred before. There would be merely another impression.\n\nBut suppose memory to exist, and that an idea of the first impression is\ngenerated; then, if the supposed sentient being were like ourselves,\nthere might arise in his mind two altogether new impressions. The one is\nthe feeling of the _succession_ of the two impressions, the other is the\nfeeling of their _similarity_.\n\nYet a third case is conceivable. Suppose two flashes of red light to\noccur together, then a third feeling might arise which is neither\nsuccession nor similarity, but that which we call _co-existence_.\n\nThese feelings, or their contraries, are the foundation of everything\nthat we call a relation. They are no more capable of being described\nthan sensations are; and, as it appears to me, they are as little\nsusceptible of analysis into simpler elements. Like simple tastes and\nsmells, or feelings of pleasure and pain, they are ultimate irresolvable\nfacts of conscious experience; and, if we follow the principle of Hume's\nnomenclature, they must be called _impressions of relation_. But it must\nbe remembered, that they differ from the other impressions, in requiring\nthe pre-existence of at least two of the latter. Though devoid of the\nslightest resemblance to the other impressions, they are, in a manner,\ngenerated by them. In fact, we may regard them as a kind of impressions\nof impressions; or as the sensations of an inner sense, which takes\ncognizance of the materials furnished to it by the outer senses.\n\nHume failed as completely as his predecessors had done to recognise the\nelementary character of impressions of relation; and, when he discusses\nrelations, he falls into a chaos of confusion and self-contradiction.\n\nIn the _Treatise_, for example, (Book I., Sec. iv.) resemblance, contiguity\nin time and space, and cause and effect, are said to be the \"uniting\nprinciples among ideas,\" \"the bond of union\" or \"associating quality by\nwhich one idea naturally introduces another.\" Hume affirms that--\n\n     \"These qualities produce an association among ideas, and upon the\n     appearance of one idea naturally introduce another.\" They are \"the\n     principles of union or cohesion among our simple ideas, and, in\n     the imagination, supply the place of that inseparable connection by\n     which they are united in our memory. Here is a kind of\n     _attraction_, which, in the mental world, will be found to have as\n     extraordinary effects as in the natural, and to show itself in as\n     many and as various forms. Its effects are everywhere conspicuous;\n     but, as to its causes they are mostly unknown, and must be resolved\n     into _original_ qualities of human nature, which I pretend not to\n     explain.\"--(I. p. 29.)\n\nAnd at the end of this section Hume goes on to say--\n\n     \"Amongst the effects of this union or association of ideas, there\n     are none more remarkable than those complex ideas which are the\n     common subjects of our thought and reasoning, and generally arise\n     from some principle of union among our simple ideas. These complex\n     ideas may be resolved into _relations_, _modes_, and\n     _substances_.\"--(_Ibid._)\n\nIn the next section, which is devoted to _Relations_, they are spoken of\nas qualities \"by which two ideas are connected together in the\nimagination,\" or \"which make objects admit of comparison,\" and seven\nkinds of relation are enumerated, namely, _resemblance_, _identity_,\n_space and time_, _quantity or number_, _degrees of quality_,\n_contrariety_, and _cause and effect_.\n\nTo the reader of Hume, whose conceptions are usually so clear, definite,\nand consistent, it is as unsatisfactory as it is surprising to meet with\nso much questionable and obscure phraseology in a small space. One and\nthe same thing, for example, resemblance, is first called a \"quality of\nan idea,\" and secondly a \"complex idea.\" Surely it cannot be both. Ideas\nwhich have the qualities of \"resemblance, contiguity, and cause and\neffect,\" are said to \"attract one another\" (save the mark!), and so\nbecome associated; though, in a subsequent part of the _Treatise_,\nHume's great effort is to prove that the relation of cause and effect is\na particular case of the process of association; that is to say, is a\nresult of the process of which it is supposed to be the cause. Moreover,\nsince, as Hume is never weary of reminding his readers, there is nothing\nin ideas save copies of impressions, the qualities of resemblance,\ncontiguity, and so on, in the idea, must have existed in the impression\nof which that idea is a copy; and therefore they must be either\nsensations or emotions--from both of which classes they are excluded.\n\nIn fact, in one place, Hume himself has an insight into the real nature\nof relations. Speaking of equality, in the sense of a relation of\nquantity, he says--\n\n     \"Since equality is a relation, it is not, strictly speaking, a\n     property in the figures themselves, but arises merely from the\n     comparison which the mind makes between them.\"--(I. p. 70.)\n\nThat is to say, when two impressions of equal figures are present, there\narises in the mind a _tertium quid_, which is the perception of\nequality. On his own principles, Hume should therefore have placed this\n\"perception\" among the ideas of reflection. However, as we have seen, he\nexpressly excludes everything but the emotions and the passions from\nthis group.\n\nIt is necessary therefore to amend Hume's primary \"geography of the\nmind\" by the excision of one territory and the addition of another; and\nthe elementary states of consciousness will stand thus:--\n\n\n     A. IMPRESSIONS.\n       A. Sensations of\n           _a._ Smell.\n           _b._ Taste.\n           _c._ Hearing.\n           _d._ Sight.\n           _e._ Touch.\n           _f._ Resistance (the muscular sense).\n       B. Pleasure and Pain.\n       C. Relations.\n           _a._ Co-existence.\n           _b._ Succession.\n           _c._ Similarity and dissimilarity.\n     B. IDEAS.\n     Copies, or reproductions in memory, of the foregoing.\n\n\nAnd now the question arises, whether any, and if so what, portion of\nthese contents of the mind are to be termed \"knowledge.\"\n\nAccording to Locke, \"Knowledge is the perception of the agreement or\ndisagreement of two ideas;\" and Hume, though he does not say so in so\nmany words, tacitly accepts the definition. It follows, that neither\nsimple sensation, nor simple emotion, constitutes knowledge; but that,\nwhen impressions of relation are added to these impressions, or their\nideas, knowledge arises; and that all knowledge is the knowledge of\nlikenesses and unlikenesses, co-existences and successions.\n\nIt really matters very little in what sense terms are used, so long as\nthe same meaning is always rigidly attached to them; and, therefore, it\nis hardly worth while to quarrel with this generally accepted, though\nvery arbitrary, limitation of the signification of \"knowledge.\" But, on\nthe face of the matter, it is not obvious why the impression we call a\nrelation should have a better claim to the title of knowledge, than that\nwhich we call a sensation or an emotion; and the restriction has this\nunfortunate result, that it excludes all the most intense states of\nconsciousness from any claim to the title of \"knowledge.\"\n\nFor example, on this view, pain, so violent and absorbing as to exclude\nall other forms of consciousness, is not knowledge; but becomes a part\nof knowledge the moment we think of it in relation to another pain, or\nto some other mental phenomenon. Surely this is somewhat inconvenient,\nfor there is only a verbal difference between having a sensation and\nknowing one has it: they are simply two phrases for the same mental\nstate.\n\nBut the \"pure metaphysicians\" make great capital out of the ambiguity.\nFor, starting with the assumption that all knowledge is the perception\nof relations, and finding themselves, like mere common-sense folks, very\nmuch disposed to call sensation knowledge, they at once gratify that\ndisposition and save their consistency, by declaring that even the\nsimplest act of sensation contains two terms and a relation--the\nsensitive subject, the sensigenous object, and that masterful entity,\nthe Ego. From which great triad, as from a gnostic Trinity, emanates an\nendless procession of other logical shadows and all the _Fata Morgana_\nof philosophical dreamland.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[18] \"Consciousnesses\" would be a better name, but it is awkward. I have\nelsewhere proposed _psychoses_ as a substantive name for mental\nphenomena.\n\n[19] As this has been denied, it may be as well to give Descartes's\nwords: \"Par le mot de penser, j'entends tout ce que se fait dans nous de\ntelle sorte que nous l'apercevons immediatement par nous-memes: c'est\npourquoi non-seulement entendre, vouloir, imaginer, mais aussi sentir,\nc'est le meme chose ici que penser.\"--_Principes de Philosophie_. Ed.\nCousin. 57.\n\n\"Toutes les proprietes que nous trouvons en la chose qui pense ne sont\nque des facons differentes de penser.\"--_Ibid._ 96.\n\n[20] On the whole, it is pleasant to find satisfactory evidence that\nHume knew nothing of the works of Spinoza; for the invariably abusive\nmanner in which he refers to that type of the philosophic hero is only\nto be excused, if it is to be excused, by sheer ignorance of his life\nand work.\n\n[21] For example, in discussing pride and humility, Hume says:--\n\n\"According as our idea of ourselves is more or less advantageous, we\nfeel either of these opposite affections, and are elated by pride or\ndejected with humility ... when self enters not into the consideration\nthere is no room either for pride or humility.\" That is, pride is\npleasure, and humility is pain, associated with certain conceptions of\none's self; or, as Spinoza puts it:--\"Superbia est de se prae amore sui\nplus justo sentire\" (\"amor\" being \"laetitia concomitante idea causae\nexternae\"); and \"Humilitas est tristitia orta ex eo quod homo suam\nimpotentiam sive imbecillitatem contemplatur.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHE ORIGIN OF THE IMPRESSIONS.\n\n\nAdmitting that the sensations, the feelings of pleasure and pain, and\nthose of relation, are the primary irresolvable states of consciousness,\ntwo further lines of investigation present themselves. The one leads us\nto seek the origin of these \"impressions;\" the other, to inquire into\nthe nature of the steps by which they become metamorphosed into those\ncompound states of consciousness, which so largely enter into our\nordinary trains of thought.\n\nWith respect to the origin of impressions of sensation, Hume is not\nquite consistent with himself. In one place (I. p. 117) he says, that it\nis impossible to decide \"whether they arise immediately from the object,\nor are produced by the creative power of the mind, or are derived from\nthe Author of our being,\" thereby implying that realism and idealism are\nequally probable hypotheses. But, in fact, after the demonstration by\nDescartes, that the immediate antecedents of sensations are changes in\nthe nervous system, with which our feelings have no sort of resemblance,\nthe hypothesis that sensations \"arise immediately from the object\" was\nout of court; and that Hume fully admitted the Cartesian doctrine is\napparent when he says (I. p. 272):--\n\n     \"All our perceptions are dependent on our organs and the\n     disposition of our nerves and animal spirits.\"\n\nAnd again, though in relation to another question, he observes:--\n\n     \"There are three different kinds of impressions conveyed by the\n     senses. The first are those of the figure, bulk, motion, and\n     solidity of bodies. The second those of colours, tastes, smells,\n     sounds, heat, and cold. The third are the pains and pleasures that\n     arise from the application of objects to our bodies, as by the\n     cutting of our flesh with steel, and such like. Both philosophers\n     and the vulgar suppose the first of these to have a distinct\n     continued existence. The vulgar only regard the second as on the\n     same footing. Both philosophers and the vulgar again esteem the\n     third to be merely perceptions, and consequently interrupted and\n     dependent beings.\n\n     \"Now 'tis evident that, whatever may be our philosophical opinion,\n     colour, sounds, heat, and cold, as far as appears to the senses,\n     exist after the same manner with motion and solidity; and that the\n     difference we make between them, in this respect, arises not from\n     the mere perception. So strong is the prejudice for the distinct\n     continued existence of the former qualities, that when the contrary\n     opinion is advanced by modern philosophers, people imagine they can\n     almost refute it from their reason and experience, and that their\n     very senses contradict this philosophy. 'Tis also evident that\n     colours, sounds, &c., are originally on the same footing with the\n     pain that arises from steel, and pleasure that proceeds from a\n     fire; and that the difference betwixt them is founded neither on\n     perception nor reason, but on the imagination. For as they are\n     confessed to be, both of them, nothing but perceptions arising from\n     the particular configurations and motions of the parts of body,\n     wherein possibly can their difference consist? Upon the whole,\n     then, we may conclude that, as far as the senses are judges, all\n     perceptions are the same in the manner of their existence.\"--(I. p.\n     250, 251.)\n\nThe last words of this passage are as much Berkeley's as Hume's. But,\ninstead of following Berkeley in his deductions from the position thus\nlaid down, Hume, as the preceding citation shows, fully adopted the\nconclusion to which all that we know of psychological physiology tends,\nthat the origin of the elements of consciousness, no less than that of\nall its other states, is to be sought in bodily changes, the seat of\nwhich can only be placed in the brain. And, as Locke had already done\nwith less effect, he states and refutes the arguments commonly brought\nagainst the possibility of a causal connexion between the modes of\nmotion of the cerebral substance and states of consciousness, with great\nclearness:--\n\n     \"From these hypotheses concerning the _substance_ and _local\n     conjunction_ of our perceptions we may pass to another, which is\n     more intelligible than the former, and more important than the\n     latter, viz. concerning the _cause_ of our perceptions. Matter and\n     motion, 'tis commonly said in the schools, however varied, are\n     still matter and motion, and produce only a difference in the\n     position and situation of objects. Divide a body as often as you\n     please, 'tis still body. Place it in any figure, nothing ever\n     results but figure, or the relation of parts. Move it in any\n     manner, you still find motion or a change of relation. 'Tis absurd\n     to imagine that motion in a circle, for instance, should be nothing\n     but merely motion in a circle; while motion in another direction,\n     as in an ellipse, should also be a passion or moral reflection;\n     that the shocking of two globular particles should become a\n     sensation of pain, and that the meeting of the triangular ones\n     should afford a pleasure. Now as these different shocks and\n     variations and mixtures are the only changes of which matter is\n     susceptible, and as these never afford us any idea of thought or\n     perception, 'tis concluded to be impossible, that thought can ever\n     be caused by matter.\n\n     \"Few have been able to withstand the seeming evidence of this\n     argument; and yet nothing in the world is more easy than to refute\n     it. We need only reflect upon what has been proved at large, that\n     we are never sensible of any connexion between causes and effects,\n     and that 'tis only by our experience of their constant conjunction\n     we can arrive at any knowledge of this relation. Now, as all\n     objects which are not contrary are susceptible of a constant\n     conjunction, and as no real objects are contrary, I have inferred\n     from these principles (Part III. Sec. 15) that, to consider the matter\n     _a priori_, anything may produce anything, and that we shall never\n     discover a reason why any object may or may not be the cause of any\n     other, however great, or however little, the resemblance may be\n     betwixt them. This evidently destroys the precedent reasoning,\n     concerning the cause of thought or perception. For though there\n     appear no manner of connection betwixt motion and thought, the case\n     is the same with all other causes and effects. Place one body of a\n     pound weight on one end of a lever, and another body of the same\n     weight on the other end; you will never find in these bodies any\n     principle of motion dependent on their distance from the centre,\n     more than of thought and perception. If you pretend, therefore, to\n     prove, _a priori_, that such a position of bodies can never cause\n     thought, because, turn it which way you will, it is nothing but a\n     position of bodies: you must, by the same course of reasoning,\n     conclude that it can never produce motion, since there is no more\n     apparent connection in the one than in the other. But, as this\n     latter conclusion is contrary to evident experience, and as 'tis\n     possible we may have a like experience in the operations of the\n     mind, and may perceive a constant conjunction of thought and\n     motion, you reason too hastily when, from the mere consideration of\n     the ideas, you conclude that 'tis impossible motion can ever\n     produce thought, or a different position of parts give rise to a\n     different passion or reflection. Nay, 'tis not only possible we may\n     have such an experience, but 'tis certain we have it; since every\n     one may perceive that the different dispositions of his body change\n     his thoughts and sentiments. And should it be said that this\n     depends on the union of soul and body, I would answer, that we must\n     separate the question concerning the substance of the mind from\n     that concerning the cause of its thought; and that, confining\n     ourselves to the latter question, we find, by the comparing their\n     ideas, that thought and motion are different from each other and by\n     experience, that they are constantly united; which, being all the\n     circumstances that enter into the idea of cause and effect, when\n     applied to the operations of matter, we may certainly conclude that\n     motion may be, and actually is, the cause of thought and\n     perception.\"--(I. pp. 314-316.)\n\nThe upshot of all this is, that the \"collection of perceptions,\" which\nconstitutes the mind, is really a system of effects, the causes of which\nare to be sought in antecedent changes of the matter of the brain, just\nas the \"collection of motions,\" which we call flying, is a system of\neffects, the causes of which are to be sought in the modes of motion of\nthe matter of the muscles of the wings.\n\nHume, however, treats of this important topic only incidentally. He\nseems to have had very little acquaintance even with such physiology as\nwas current in his time. At least, the only passage of his works,\nbearing on this subject, with which I am acquainted, contains nothing\nbut a very odd version of the physiological views of Descartes:--\n\n     \"When I received the relations of _resemblance_, _contiguity_, and\n     _causation_, as principles of union among ideas, without examining\n     into their causes, 'twas more in prosecution of my first maxim,\n     that we must in the end rest contented with experience, than for\n     want of something specious and plausible which I might have\n     displayed on that subject. 'Twould have been easy to have made an\n     imaginary dissection of the brain, and have shown why, upon our\n     conception of any idea, the animal spirits run into all the\n     contiguous traces and rouse up the other ideas that are related to\n     it. But though I have neglected any advantage which I might have\n     drawn from this topic in explaining the relations of ideas, I am\n     afraid I must here have recourse to it, in order to account for the\n     mistakes that arise from these relations. I shall therefore\n     observe, that as the mind is endowed with the power of exciting any\n     idea it pleases; whenever it despatches the spirits into that\n     region of the brain in which the idea is placed; these spirits\n     always excite the idea, when they run precisely into the proper\n     traces and rummage that cell which belongs to the idea. But as\n     their motion is seldom direct, and naturally turns a little to the\n     one side or to the other; for this reason the animal spirits,\n     falling into the contiguous traces, present other related ideas, in\n     lieu of that which the mind desired at first to survey. This change\n     we are not always sensible of; but continuing still the same train\n     of thought, make use of the related idea which is presented to us\n     and employ it in our reasonings, as if it were the same with what\n     we demanded. This is the cause of many mistakes and sophisms in\n     philosophy; as will naturally be imagined, and as it would be easy\n     to show, if there was occasion.\"--(I. p. 88.)\n\nPerhaps it is as well for Hume's fame that the occasion for further\nphysiological speculations of this sort did not arise. But, while\nadmitting the crudity of his notions and the strangeness of the language\nin which they are couched, it must in justice be remembered, that what\nare now known as the elements of the physiology of the nervous system\nwere hardly dreamed of in the first half of the eighteenth century; and,\nas a further set off to Hume's credit, it must be noted that he grasped\nthe fundamental truth, that the key to the comprehension of mental\noperations lies in the study of the molecular changes of the nervous\napparatus by which they are originated.\n\nSurely no one who is cognisant of the facts of the case, nowadays,\ndoubts that the roots of psychology lie in the physiology of the nervous\nsystem. What we call the operations of the mind are functions of the\nbrain, and the materials of consciousness are products of cerebral\nactivity. Cabanis may have made use of crude and misleading phraseology\nwhen he said that the brain secretes thought as the liver secretes bile;\nbut the conception which that much-abused phrase embodies is,\nnevertheless, far more consistent with fact than the popular notion that\nthe mind is a metaphysical entity seated in the head, but as independent\nof the brain as a telegraph operator is of his instrument.\n\nIt is hardly necessary to point out that the doctrine just laid down is\nwhat is commonly called materialism. In fact, I am not sure that the\nadjective \"crass,\" which appears to have a special charm for rhetorical\nsciolists, would not be applied to it. But it is, nevertheless, true\nthat the doctrine contains nothing inconsistent with the purest\nidealism. For, as Hume remarks (as indeed Descartes had observed long\nbefore):--\n\n     \"'Tis not our body we perceive when we regard our limbs and\n     members, but certain impressions which enter by the senses; so that\n     the ascribing a real and corporeal existence to these impressions,\n     or to their objects, is an act of the mind as difficult to explain\n     as that [the external existence of objects] which we examine at\n     present.\"--(I. p. 249.)\n\nTherefore, if we analyse the proposition that all mental phenomena are\nthe effects or products of material phenomena, all that it means amounts\nto this; that whenever those states of consciousness which we call\nsensation, or emotion, or thought, come into existence, complete\ninvestigation will show good reason for the belief that they are\npreceded by those other phenomena of consciousness to which we give the\nnames of matter and motion. All material changes appear, in the long\nrun, to be modes of motion; but our knowledge of motion is nothing but\nthat of a change in the place and order of our sensations; just as our\nknowledge of matter is restricted to those feelings of which we assume\nit to be the cause.\n\nIt has already been pointed out, that Hume must have admitted, and in\nfact does admit, the possibility that the mind is a Leibnitzian monad,\nor a Fichtean world-generating Ego, the universe of things being merely\nthe picture produced by the evolution of the phenomena of consciousness.\nFor any demonstration that can be given to the contrary effect, the\n\"collection of perceptions\" which makes up our consciousness may be an\norderly phantasmagoria generated by the Ego, unfolding its successive\nscenes on the background of the abyss of nothingness; as a firework,\nwhich is but cunningly arranged combustibles, grows from a spark into a\ncoruscation, and from a coruscation into figures, and words, and\ncascades of devouring fire, and then vanishes into the darkness of the\nnight.\n\nOn the other hand, it must no less readily be allowed that, for anything\nthat can be proved to the contrary, there may be a real something which\nis the cause of all our impressions; that sensations, though not\nlikenesses, are symbols of that something; and that the part of that\nsomething, which we call the nervous system, is an apparatus for\nsupplying us with a sort of algebra of fact, based on those symbols. A\nbrain may be the machinery by which the material universe becomes\nconscious of itself. But it is important to notice that, even if this\nconception of the universe and of the relation of consciousness to its\nother components should be true, we should, nevertheless, be still bound\nby the limits of thought, still unable to refute the arguments of pure\nidealism. The more completely the materialistic position is admitted,\nthe easier is it to show that the idealistic position is unassailable,\nif the idealist confines himself within the limits of positive\nknowledge.\n\n\nHume deals with the questions whether all our ideas are derived from\nexperience, or whether, on the contrary, more or fewer of them are\ninnate, which so much exercised the mind of Locke, after a somewhat\nsummary fashion, in a note to the second section of the _Inquiry_:--\n\n     \"It is probable that no more was meant by those who denied innate\n     ideas, than that all ideas were copies of our impressions; though\n     it must be confessed that the terms which they employed were not\n     chosen with such caution, nor so exactly defined, as to prevent all\n     mistakes about their doctrine. For what is meant by _innate_? If\n     innate be equivalent to natural, then all the perceptions and ideas\n     of the mind must be allowed to be innate or natural, in whatever\n     sense we take the latter word, whether in opposition to what is\n     uncommon, artificial, or miraculous. If by innate be meant\n     contemporary with our birth, the dispute seems to be frivolous; nor\n     is it worth while to inquire at what time thinking begins, whether\n     before, at, or after our birth. Again, the word _idea_ seems to be\n     commonly taken in a very loose sense by Locke and others, as\n     standing for any of our perceptions, our sensations and passions,\n     as well as thoughts. Now in this sense I should desire to know what\n     can be meant by asserting that self-love, or resentment of\n     injuries, or the passion between the sexes is not innate?\n\n     \"But admitting these terms, _impressions_ and _ideas_, in the\n     sense above explained, and understanding by _innate_ what is\n     original or copied from no precedent perception, then we may assert\n     that all our impressions are innate, and our ideas not innate.\"\n\nIt would seem that Hume did not think it worth while to acquire a\ncomprehension of the real points at issue in the controversy which he\nthus carelessly dismisses.\n\nYet Descartes has defined what he means by innate ideas with so much\nprecision, that misconception ought to have been impossible. He says\nthat, when he speaks of an idea being \"innate,\" he means that it exists\npotentially in the mind, before it is actually called into existence by\nwhatever is its appropriate exciting cause.\n\n     \"I have never either thought or said,\" he writes, \"that the mind\n     has any need of innate ideas [_idees naturelles_] which are\n     anything distinct from its faculty of thinking. But it is true that\n     observing that there are certain thoughts which arise neither from\n     external objects nor from the determination of my will, but only\n     from my faculty of thinking; in order to mark the difference\n     between the ideas or the notions which are the forms of these\n     thoughts, and to distinguish them from the others, which may be\n     called extraneous or voluntary, I have called them innate. But I\n     have used this term in the same sense as when we say that\n     generosity is innate in certain families; or that certain maladies,\n     such as gout or gravel, are innate in others; not that children\n     born in these families are troubled with such diseases in their\n     mother's womb; but because they are born with the disposition or\n     the faculty of contracting them.\"[22]\n\nHis troublesome disciple, Regius, having asserted that all our ideas\ncome from observation or tradition, Descartes remarks:--\n\n     \"So thoroughly erroneous is this assertion, that whoever has a\n     proper comprehension of the action of our senses, and understands\n     precisely the nature of that which is transmitted by them to our\n     thinking faculty, will rather affirm that no ideas of things, such\n     as are formed in thought, are brought to us by the senses, so that\n     there is nothing in our ideas which is other than innate in the\n     mind (_naturel a l'esprit_), or in the faculty of thinking, if only\n     certain circumstances are excepted, which belong only to\n     experience. For example, it is experience alone which causes us to\n     judge that such and such ideas, now present in our minds, are\n     related to certain things which are external to us; not in truth,\n     that they have been sent into our mind by these things, such as\n     they are, by the organs of the senses; but because these organs\n     have transmitted something which has occasioned the mind, in virtue\n     of its innate power, to form them at this time rather than at\n     another....\n\n     \"Nothing passes from external objects to the soul except certain\n     motions of matter (_mouvemens corporels_), but neither these\n     motions, nor the figures which they produce, are conceived by us as\n     they exist in the sensory organs, as I have fully explained in my\n     \"Dioptrics\"; whence it follows that even the ideas of motion and of\n     figures are innate (_naturellement en nous_). And, _a fortiori_,\n     the ideas of pain, of colours, of sounds, and of all similar things\n     must be innate, in order that the mind may represent them to\n     itself, on the occasion of certain motions of matter with which\n     they have no resemblance.\"\n\nWhoever denies what is, in fact, an inconceivable proposition, that\nsensations pass, as such, from the external world into the mind, must\nadmit the conclusion here laid down by Descartes, that, strictly\nspeaking, sensations, and _a fortiori_, all the other contents of the\nmind, are innate. Or, to state the matter in accordance with the views\npreviously expounded, that they are products of the inherent properties\nof the thinking organ, in which they lie potentially, before they are\ncalled into existence by their appropriate causes.\n\nBut if all the contents of the mind are innate, what is meant by\nexperience?\n\nIt is the conversion, by unknown causes, of these innate potentialities\ninto actual existences. The organ of thought, prior to experience, may\nbe compared to an untouched piano, in which it may be properly said that\nmusic is innate, inasmuch as its mechanism contains, potentially, so\nmany octaves of musical notes. The unknown cause of sensation which\nDescartes calls the \"je ne sais quoi dans les objets\" or \"choses telles\nqu'elles sont,\" and Kant the \"Noumenon\" or \"Ding an sich,\" is\nrepresented by the musician; who, by touching the keys, converts the\npotentiality of the mechanism into actual sounds. A note so produced is\nthe equivalent of a single experience.\n\nAll the melodies and harmonies that proceed from the piano depend upon\nthe action of the musician upon the keys. There is no internal mechanism\nwhich, when certain keys are struck, gives rise to an accompaniment of\nwhich the musician is only indirectly the cause. According to Descartes,\nhowever--and this is what is generally fixed upon as the essence of his\ndoctrine of innate ideas--the mind possesses such an internal mechanism,\nby which certain classes of thoughts are generated, on the occasion of\ncertain experiences. Such thoughts are innate, just as sensations are\ninnate; they are not copies of sensations, any more than sensations are\ncopies of motions; they are invariably generated in the mind, when\ncertain experiences arise in it, just as sensations are invariably\ngenerated when certain bodily motions take place; they are universal,\ninasmuch as they arise under the same conditions in all men; they are\nnecessary, because their genesis under these conditions is invariable.\nThese innate thoughts are what Descartes terms \"verites\" or truths: that\nis beliefs--and his notions respecting them are plainly set forth in a\npassage of the _Principes_.\n\n     \"Thus far I have discussed that which we know as things: it remains\n     that I should speak of that which we know as truths. For example,\n     when we think that it is impossible to make anything out of\n     nothing, we do not imagine that this proposition is a thing which\n     exists, or a property of something, but we take it for a certain\n     eternal truth, which has its seat in the mind (_pensee_), and is\n     called a common notion or an axiom. Similarly, when we affirm that\n     it is impossible that one and the same thing should exist and not\n     exist at the same time; that that which has been created should not\n     have been created; that he who thinks must exist while he thinks;\n     and a number of other like propositions; these are only truths, and\n     not things which exist outside our thoughts. And there is such a\n     number of these that it would be wearisome to enumerate them: nor\n     is it necessary to do so, because we cannot fail to know them when\n     the occasion of thinking about them presents itself, and we are not\n     blinded by any prejudices.\"\n\nIt would appear that Locke was not more familiar with Descartes'\nwritings than Hume seems to have been; for, viewed in relation to the\npassages just cited, the arguments adduced in his famous polemic against\ninnate ideas are totally irrelevant.\n\nIt has been shown that Hume practically, if not in so many words,\nadmits the justice of Descartes' assertion that, strictly speaking,\nsensations are innate; that is to say, that they are the product of the\nreaction of the organ of the mind on the stimulus of an \"unknown cause,\"\nwhich is Descartes' \"je ne sais quoi.\" Therefore, the difference between\nDescartes' opinion and that of Hume resolves itself into this: Given\nsensation-experiences, can all the contents of consciousness be derived\nfrom the collocation and metamorphosis of these experiences? Or, are new\nelements of consciousness, products of an innate potentiality distinct\nfrom sensibility, added to these? Hume affirms the former position,\nDescartes the latter. If the analysis of the phenomena of consciousness\ngiven in the preceding pages is correct, Hume is in error; while the\nfather of modern philosophy had a truer insight, though he overstated\nthe case. For want of sufficiently searching psychological\ninvestigations, Descartes was led to suppose that innumerable ideas, the\nevolution of which in the course of experience can be demonstrated, were\ndirect or innate products of the thinking faculty.\n\nAs has been already pointed out, it is the great merit of Kant that he\nstarted afresh on the track indicated by Descartes, and steadily upheld\nthe doctrine of the existence of elements of consciousness, which are\nneither sense-experiences nor any modifications of them. We may demur to\nthe expression that space and time are forms of sensory intuition; but\nit imperfectly represents the great fact that co-existence and\nsuccession are mental phenomena not given in the mere sense\nexperience.[23]\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[22] Remarques de Rene Descartes sur un certain placard imprime aux Pays\nBas vers la fin de l'annee, 1647.--Descartes, _OEuvres_. Ed. Cousin,\nx. p. 71.\n\n[23] \"Wir koennen uns keinen Gegenstand denken, ohne durch Kategorien;\nwir koennen keinen gedachten Gegenstand erkennen, ohne durch\nAnschauungen, die jenen Begriffen entsprechen. Nun sind alle unsere\nAnschauungen sinnlich, und diese Erkenntniss, so fern der Gegenstand\nderselben gegeben ist, ist empirisch. Empirische Erkenntniss aber ist\nErfahrung. Folglich ist uns keine Erkenntniss _a priori_ moeglich, als\nlediglich von Gegenstaenden moeglicher Erfahrung.\"\n\n\"Aber diese Erkenntniss, die bloss auf Gegenstaende der Erfahrung\neingeschraenkt ist, ist darum nicht alle von der Erfahrung entlehnt,\nsondern was sowohl die reinen Anschauungen, als die reinen\nVerstandesbegriffe betrifft, so sind sie Elemente der Erkenntniss die in\nuns _a priori_ angetroffen werden.\"--_Kritik der reinen Vernunft.\nElementarlehre_, p. 135.\n\nWithout a glossary explanatory of Kant's terminology, this passage would\nbe hardly intelligible in a translation; but it may be paraphrased thus:\nAll knowledge is founded upon experiences of sensation, but it is not\nall derived from those experiences; inasmuch as the impressions of\nrelation (\"reine Anschauungen\"; \"reine Verstandesbegriffe\") have a\npotential or _a priori_ existence in us, and by their addition to\nsense-experiences, constitute knowledge.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTHE CLASSIFICATION AND THE NOMENCLATURE OF MENTAL OPERATIONS.\n\n\nIf, as has been set forth in the preceding chapter, all mental states\nare effects of physical causes, it follows that what are called mental\nfaculties and operations are, properly speaking, cerebral functions,\nallotted to definite, though not yet precisely assignable, parts of the\nbrain.\n\nThese functions appear to be reducible to three groups, namely:\nSensation, Correlation, and Ideation.\n\nThe organs of the functions of sensation and correlation are those\nportions of the cerebral substance, the molecular changes of which give\nrise to impressions of sensation and impressions of relation.\n\nThe changes in the nervous matter which bring about the effects which we\ncall its functions, follow upon some kind of stimulus, and rapidly\nreaching their maximum, as rapidly die away. The effect of the\nirritation of a nerve-fibre on the cerebral substance with which it is\nconnected may be compared to the pulling of a long bell-wire. The\nimpulse takes a little time to reach the bell; the bell rings and then\nbecomes quiescent, until another pull is given. So, in the brain, every\nsensation is the ring of a cerebral particle, the effect of a momentary\nimpulse sent along a nerve-fibre.\n\nIf there were a complete likeness between the two terms of this very\nrough and ready comparison, it is obvious that there could be no such\nthing as memory. A bell records no audible sign of having been rung five\nminutes ago, and the activity of a sensigenous cerebral particle might\nsimilarly leave no trace. Under these circumstances, again, it would\nseem that the only impressions of relation which could arise would be\nthose of co-existence and of similarity. For succession implies memory\nof an antecedent state.[24]\n\nBut the special peculiarity of the cerebral apparatus is, that any given\nfunction which has once been performed is very easily set a-going again,\nby causes more or less different from those to which it owed its origin.\nOf the mechanism of this generation of images of impressions or ideas\n(in Hume's sense), which may be termed _Ideation_, we know nothing at\npresent, though the fact and its results are familiar enough.\n\nDuring our waking, and many of our sleeping, hours, in fact, the\nfunction of ideation is in continual, if not continuous, activity.\nTrains of thought, as we call them, succeed one another without\nintermission, even when the starting of new trains by fresh\nsense-impressions is as far as possible prevented. The rapidity and the\nintensity of this ideational process are obviously dependent upon\nphysiological conditions. The widest differences in these respects are\nconstitutional in men of different temperaments; and are observable in\noneself, under varying conditions of hunger and repletion, fatigue and\nfreshness, calmness and emotional excitement. The influence of diet on\ndreams; of stimulants upon the fulness and the velocity of the stream of\nthought; the delirious phantasms generated by disease, by hashish, or by\nalcohol; will occur to every one as examples of the marvellous\nsensitiveness of the apparatus of ideation to purely physical\ninfluences.\n\nThe succession of mental states in ideation is not fortuitous, but\nfollows the law of association, which may be stated thus: that every\nidea tends to be followed by some other idea which is associated with\nthe first, or its impression, by a relation of succession, of\ncontiguity, or of likeness.\n\nThus the idea of the word horse just now presented itself to my mind,\nand was followed in quick succession by the ideas of four legs, hoofs,\nteeth, rider, saddle, racing, cheating; all of which ideas are connected\nin my experience with the impression, or the idea, of a horse and with\none another, by the relations of contiguity and succession. No great\nattention to what passes in the mind is needful to prove that our trains\nof thought are neither to be arrested, nor even permanently controlled,\nby our desires or emotions. Nevertheless they are largely influenced by\nthem. In the presence of a strong desire, or emotion, the stream of\nthought no longer flows on in a straight course, but seems, as it were,\nto eddy round the idea of that which is the object of the emotion. Every\none who has \"eaten his bread in sorrow\" knows how strangely the current\nof ideas whirls about the conception of the object of regret or remorse\nas a centre; every now and then, indeed, breaking away into the new\ntracks suggested by passing associations, but still returning to the\ncentral thought. Few can have been so happy as to have escaped the\nsocial bore, whose pet notion is certain to crop up whatever topic is\nstarted; while the fixed idea of the monomaniac is but the extreme form\nof the same phenomenon.\n\nAnd as, on the one hand, it is so hard to drive away the thought we\nwould fain be rid of; so, upon the other, the pleasant imaginations\nwhich we would so gladly retain are, sooner or later, jostled away by\nthe crowd of claimants for birth into the world of consciousness; which\nhover as a sort of psychical possibilities, or inverse ghosts, the\nbodily presentments of spiritual phenomena to be, in the limbo of the\nbrain. In that form of desire which is called \"attention,\" the train of\nthought, held fast, for a time, in the desired direction, seems ever\nstriving to get on to another line--and the junctions and sidings are so\nmultitudinous!\n\n\nThe constituents of trains of ideas may be grouped in various ways.\n\nHume says:--\n\n     \"We find, by experience, that when any impression has been present\n     in the mind, it again makes its appearance there as an idea, and\n     this it may do in two different ways: either when, on its new\n     appearance, it retains a considerable degree of its first vivacity,\n     and is somewhat intermediate between an impression and an idea; or\n     when it entirely loses that vivacity, and is a perfect idea. The\n     faculty by which we repeat our impressions in the first manner, is\n     called the _memory_, and the other the _imagination_.\"--(I. pp. 23,\n     24.)\n\nAnd he considers that the only difference between ideas of imagination\nand those of memory, except the superior vivacity of the latter, lies\nin the fact that those of memory preserve the original order of the\nimpressions from which they are derived, while the imagination \"is free\nto transpose and change its ideas.\"\n\nThe latter statement of the difference between memory and imagination is\nless open to cavil than the former, though by no means unassailable.\n\nThe special characteristic of a memory surely is not its vividness; but\nthat it is a complex idea, in which the idea of that which is remembered\nis related by co-existence with other ideas, and by antecedence with\npresent impressions.\n\nIf I say I remember A. B., the chance acquaintance of ten years ago, it\nis not because my idea of A. B. is very vivid--on the contrary, it is\nextremely faint--but because that idea is associated with ideas of\nimpressions co-existent with those which I call A. B.; and that all\nthese are at the end of the long series of ideas, which represent that\nmuch past time. In truth I have a much more vivid idea of Mr. Pickwick,\nor of Colonel Newcome, than I have of A. B.; but, associated with the\nideas of these persons, I have no idea of their having ever been derived\nfrom the world of impressions; and so they are relegated to the world of\nimagination. On the other hand, the characteristic of an imagination may\nproperly be said to lie not in its intensity, but in the fact that, as\nHume puts it, \"the arrangement,\" or the relations, of the ideas are\ndifferent from those in which the impressions, whence these ideas are\nderived, occurred; or in other words, that the thing imagined has not\nhappened. In popular usage, however, imagination is frequently employed\nfor simple memory--\"In imagination I was back in the old times.\"\n\nIt is a curious omission on Hume's part that, while thus dwelling on two\nclasses of ideas, _Memories_ and _Imaginations_, he has not, at the same\ntime, taken notice of a third group, of no small importance, which are\nas different from imaginations as memories are; though, like the latter,\nthey are often confounded with pure imaginations in general speech.\nThese are the ideas of expectation, or as they may be called for the\nsake of brevity, _Expectations_; which differ from simple imaginations\nin being associated with the idea of the existence of corresponding\nimpressions, in the future, just as memories contain the idea of the\nexistence of the corresponding impressions in the past.\n\nThe ideas belonging to two of the three groups enumerated: namely,\nmemories and expectations, present some features, of particular\ninterest. And first, with respect to memories.\n\nIn Hume's words, all simple ideas are copies of simple impressions. The\nidea of a single sensation is a faint, but accurate, image of that\nsensation; the idea of a relation is a reproduction of the feeling of\nco-existence, of succession, or of similarity. But, when complex\nimpressions or complex ideas are reproduced as memories, it is probable\nthat the copies never give all the details of the originals with perfect\naccuracy, and it is certain that they rarely do so. No one possesses a\nmemory so good, that if he has only once observed a natural object, a\nsecond inspection does not show him something that he has forgotten.\nAlmost all, if not all, our memories are therefore sketches, rather than\nportraits, of the originals--the salient features are obvious, while the\nsubordinate characters are obscure or unrepresented.\n\nNow, when several complex impressions which are more or less different\nfrom one another--let us say that out of ten impressions in each, six\nare the same in all, and four are different from all the rest--are\nsuccessively presented to the mind, it is easy to see what must be the\nnature of the result. The repetition of the six similar impressions will\nstrengthen the six corresponding elements of the complex idea, which\nwill therefore acquire greater vividness; while the four differing\nimpressions of each will not only acquire no greater strength than they\nhad at first, but, in accordance with the law of association, they will\nall tend to appear at once, and will thus neutralise one another.\n\nThis mental operation may be rendered comprehensible by considering what\ntakes place in the formation of compound photographs--when the images of\nthe faces of six sitters, for example, are each received on the same\nphotographic plate, for a sixth of the time requisite to take one\nportrait. The final result is that all those points in which the six\nfaces agree are brought out strongly, while all those in which they\ndiffer are left vague; and thus what may be termed a _generic_ portrait\nof the six, in contradistinction to a _specific_ portrait of any one, is\nproduced.\n\nThus our ideas of single complex impressions are incomplete in one way,\nand those of numerous, more or less similar, complex impressions are\nincomplete in another way; that is to say, they are _generic_, not\n_specific_. And hence it follows, that our ideas of the impressions in\nquestion are not, in the strict sense of the word, copies of those\nimpressions; while, at the same time, they may exist in the mind\nindependently of language.\n\nThe generic ideas which are formed from several similar, but not\nidentical, complex experiences are what are commonly called _abstract_\nor _general_ ideas; and Berkeley endeavoured to prove that all general\nideas are nothing but particular ideas annexed to a certain term, which\ngives them a more extensive signification, and makes them recall, upon\noccasion, other individuals which are similar to them. Hume says that he\nregards this as \"one of the greatest and the most valuable discoveries\nthat has been made of late years in the republic of letters,\" and\nendeavours to confirm it in such a manner that it shall be \"put beyond\nall doubt and controversy.\"\n\nI may venture to express a doubt whether he has succeeded in his object;\nbut the subject is an abstruse one; and I must content myself with the\nremark, that though Berkeley's view appears to be largely applicable to\nsuch general ideas as are formed after language has been acquired, and\nto all the more abstract sort of conceptions, yet that general ideas of\nsensible objects may nevertheless be produced in the way indicated, and\nmay exist independently of language. In dreams, one sees houses, trees\nand other objects, which are perfectly recognisable as such, but which\nremind one of the actual objects as seen \"out of the corner of the eye,\"\nor of the pictures thrown by a badly-focussed magic lantern. A man\naddresses us who is like a figure seen by twilight; or we travel through\ncountries where every feature of the scenery is vague; the outlines of\nthe hills are ill-marked, and the rivers have no defined banks. They\nare, in short, generic ideas of many past impressions of men, hills, and\nrivers. An anatomist who occupies himself intently with the examination\nof several specimens of some new kind of animal, in course of time\nacquires so vivid a conception of its form and structure, that the idea\nmay take visible shape and become a sort of waking dream. But the figure\nwhich thus presents itself is generic, not specific. It is no copy of\nany one specimen, but, more or less, a mean of the series; and there\nseems no reason to doubt that the minds of children before they learn to\nspeak, and of deaf mutes, are peopled with similarly generated generic\nideas of sensible objects.\n\n\nIt has been seen that a memory is a complex idea made up of at least two\nconstituents. In the first place there is the idea of an object; and\nsecondly, there is the idea of the relation of antecedence between that\nobject and some present objects.\n\nTo say that one has a recollection of a given event and to express the\nbelief that it happened, are two ways of giving an account of one and\nthe same mental fact. But the former mode of stating the fact of memory\nis preferable, at present, because it certainly does not presuppose the\nexistence of language in the mind of the rememberer; while it may be\nsaid that the latter does. It is perfectly possible to have the idea of\nan event A, and of the events B, C, D, which came between it and the\npresent state E, as mere mental pictures. It is hardly to be doubted\nthat children have very distinct memories long before they can speak;\nand we believe that such is the case because they act upon their\nmemories. But, if they act upon their memories, they to all intents and\npurposes believe their memories. In other words, though, being devoid of\nlanguage, the child cannot frame a proposition expressive of belief;\ncannot say \"sugar-plum was sweet;\" yet the psychical operation of which\nthat proposition is merely the verbal expression, is perfectly\neffected. The experience of the co-existence of sweetness with sugar has\nproduced a state of mind which bears the same relation to a verbal\nproposition, as the natural disposition to produce a given idea, assumed\nto exist by Descartes as an \"innate idea\" would bear to that idea put\ninto words.\n\nThe fact that the beliefs of memory precede the use of language, and\ntherefore are originally purely instinctive, and independent of any\nrational justification, should have been of great importance to Hume,\nfrom its bearing upon his theory of causation; and it is curious that he\nhas not adverted to it, but always takes the trustworthiness of memories\nfor granted. It may be worth while briefly to make good the omission.\n\nThat I was in pain, yesterday, is as certain to me as any matter of fact\ncan be; by no effort of the imagination is it possible for me really to\nentertain the contrary belief. At the same time, I am bound to admit,\nthat the whole foundation for my belief is the fact, that the idea of\npain is indissolubly associated in my mind with the idea of that much\npast time. Any one who will be at the trouble may provide himself with\nhundreds of examples to the same effect.\n\nThis and similar observations are important under another aspect. They\nprove that the idea of even a single strong impression may be so\npowerfully associated with that of a certain time, as to originate a\nbelief of which the contrary is inconceivable, and which may therefore\nbe properly said to be necessary. A single weak, or moderately strong,\nimpression may not be represented by any memory. But this defect of weak\nexperiences may be compensated by their repetition; and what Hume means\nby \"custom\" or \"habit\" is simply the repetition of experiences.\n\n     \"wherever the repetition of any particular act or operation\n     produces a propensity to renew the same act or operation, without\n     being impelled by any reasoning or process of the understanding, we\n     always say that this propensity is the effect of _Custom_. By\n     employing that word, we pretend not to have given the ultimate\n     reason of such a propensity. We only point out a principle of human\n     nature which is universally acknowledged, and which is well known\n     by its effects.\"--(IV. p. 52.)\n\nIt has been shown that an expectation is a complex idea which, like a\nmemory, is made up of two constituents. The one is the idea of an\nobject, the other is the idea of a relation of sequence between that\nobject and some present object; and the reasoning which applied to\nmemories applies to expectations. To have an expectation[25] of a given\nevent, and to believe that it will happen, are only two modes of stating\nthe same fact. Again, just in the same way as we call a memory, put into\nwords, a belief, so we give the same name to an expectation in like\nclothing. And the fact already cited, that a child before it can speak\nacts upon its memories, is good evidence that it forms expectations. The\ninfant who knows the meaning neither of \"sugar-plum\" nor of \"sweet,\"\nnevertheless is in full possession of that complex idea, which, when he\nhas learned to employ language, will take the form of the verbal\nproposition, \"A sugar-plum will be sweet.\"\n\nThus, beliefs of expectation, or at any rate their potentialities, are,\nas much as those of memory, antecedent to speech, and are as incapable\nof justification by any logical process. In fact, expectations are but\nmemories inverted. The association which is the foundation of\nexpectation must exist as a memory before it can play its part. As Hume\nsays,--\n\n     \" ... it is certain we here advance a very intelligible proposition\n     at least, if not a true one, when we assert that after the constant\n     conjunction of two objects, heat and flame, for instance, weight\n     and solidity, we are determined by custom alone to expect the one\n     from the appearance of the other. This hypothesis seems even the\n     only one which explains the difficulty why we draw from a thousand\n     instances, an inference which we are not able to draw from one\n     instance, that is in no respect different from them.\"...\n\n     \"Custom, then, is the great guide of human life. It is that\n     principle alone which renders our experience useful to us, and\n     makes us expect, for the future, a similar train of events with\n     those which have appeared in the past.\"...\n\n     \"All belief of matter-of-fact or real existence is derived merely\n     from some object present to the memory or senses, and a customary\n     conjunction between that and some other object; or in other words,\n     having found, in many instances, that any two kinds of objects,\n     flame and heat, snow and cold, have always been conjoined together:\n     if flame or snow be presented anew to the senses, the mind is\n     carried by custom to expect heat or cold, and to _believe_ that\n     such a quality does exist, and will discover itself upon a nearer\n     approach. This belief is the necessary result of placing the mind\n     in such circumstances. It is an operation of the soul, when we are\n     so situated, as unavoidable as to feel the passion of love, when we\n     receive benefits, or hatred, when we meet with injuries. All these\n     operations are a species of natural instincts, which no reasoning\n     or process of the thought and understanding is able either to\n     produce or to prevent.\"--(IV. pp. 52-56.)\n\nThe only comment that appears needful here is, that Hume has attached\nsomewhat too exclusive a weight to that repetition of experiences to\nwhich alone the term \"custom\" can be properly applied. The proverb says\nthat \"a burnt child dreads the fire\"; and any one who will make the\nexperiment will find, that one burning is quite sufficient to establish\nan indissoluble belief that contact with fire and pain go together.\n\nAs a sort of inverted memory, expectation follows the same laws; hence,\nwhile a belief of expectation is, in most cases, as Hume truly says,\nestablished by custom, or the repetition of weak impressions, it may\nquite well be based upon a single strong experience. In the absence of\nlanguage, a specific memory cannot be strengthened by repetition. It is\nobvious that that which has happened cannot happen again, with the same\ncollateral associations of co-existence and succession. But, memories of\nthe co-existence and succession of impressions are capable of being\nindefinitely strengthened by the recurrence of similar impressions, in\nthe same order, even though the collateral associations are totally\ndifferent; in fact, the ideas of these impressions become generic.\n\nIf I recollect that a piece of ice was cold yesterday, nothing can\nstrengthen the recollection of that particular fact; on the contrary, it\nmay grow weaker, in the absence of any record of it. But if I touch ice\nto-day and again find it cold, the association is repeated, and the\nmemory of it becomes stronger. And, by this very simple process of\nrepetition of experience, it has become utterly impossible for us to\nthink of having handled ice without thinking of its coldness. But, that\nwhich is, under the one aspect, the strengthening of a memory, is,\nunder the other, the intensification of an expectation. Not only can we\nnot think of having touched ice, without feeling cold, but we cannot\nthink of touching ice, in the future, without expecting to feel cold. An\nexpectation so strong that it cannot be changed, or abolished, may thus\nbe generated out of repeated experiences. And it is important to note\nthat such expectations may be formed quite unconsciously. In my dressing\nroom, a certain can is usually kept full of water, and I am in the habit\nof lifting it to pour out water for washing. Sometimes the servant has\nforgotten to fill it, and then I find that, when I take hold of the\nhandle, the can goes up with a jerk. Long association has, in fact, led\nme to expect the can to have a considerable weight; and, quite unawares,\nmy muscular effort is adjusted to the expectation.\n\nThe process of strengthening generic memories of succession, and, at the\nsame time, intensifying expectations of succession, is what is commonly\ncalled _verification_. The impression B has frequently been observed to\nfollow the impression A. The association thus produced is represented as\nthe memory, A -> B. When the impression A appears again, the idea of B\nfollows, associated with that of the immediate appearance of the\nimpression B. If the impression B does appear, the expectation is said\nto be verified; while the memory A -> B is strengthened, and gives rise\nin turn to a stronger expectation. And repeated verification may render\nthat expectation so strong that its non-verification is inconceivable.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[24] It is not worth while, for the present purpose, to consider\nwhether, as all nervous action occupies a sensible time, the duration of\none impression might not overlap that of the impression which follows\nit, in the case supposed.\n\n[25] We give no name to faint memories; but expectations of like\ncharacter play so large a part in human affairs that they, together with\nthe associated emotions of pleasure and pain, are distinguished as\n\"hopes\" or \"fears.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nTHE MENTAL PHENOMENA OF ANIMALS.\n\n\nIn the course of the preceding chapters, attention has been more than\nonce called to the fact, that the elements of consciousness and the\noperations of the mental faculties, under discussion, exist\nindependently of and antecedent to, the existence of language.\n\nIf any weight is to be attached to arguments from analogy, there is\noverwhelming evidence in favour of the belief that children, before they\ncan speak, and deaf mutes, possess the feelings to which those who have\nacquired the faculty of speech apply the name of sensations; that they\nhave the feelings of relation; that trains of ideas pass through their\nminds; that generic ideas are formed from specific ones; and, that among\nthese, ideas of memory and expectation occupy a most important place,\ninasmuch as, in their quality of potential beliefs, they furnish the\ngrounds of action. This conclusion, in truth, is one of those which,\nthough they cannot be demonstrated, are never doubted; and, since it is\nhighly probable and cannot be disproved, we are quite safe in accepting\nit, as, at any rate, a good working hypothesis.\n\nBut, if we accept it, we must extend it to a much wider assemblage of\nliving beings. Whatever cogency is attached to the arguments in favour\nof the occurrence of all the fundamental phenomena of mind in young\nchildren and deaf mutes, an equal force must be allowed to appertain to\nthose which may be adduced to prove that the higher animals have minds.\nWe must admit that Hume does not express himself too strongly when he\nsays--\n\n     \"no truth appears to me more evident, than that the beasts are\n     endowed with thought and reason as well as men. The arguments are\n     in this case so obvious, that they never escape the most stupid and\n     ignorant.\"--(I. p. 232.)\n\nIn fact, this is one of the few cases in which the conviction which\nforces itself upon the stupid and the ignorant, is fortified by the\nreasonings of the intelligent, and has its foundation deepened by every\nincrease of knowledge. It is not merely that the observation of the\nactions of animals almost irresistibly suggests the attribution to them\nof mental states, such as those which accompany corresponding actions in\nmen. The minute comparison which has been instituted by anatomists and\nphysiologists between the organs which we know to constitute the\napparatus of thought in man, and the corresponding organs in brutes, has\ndemonstrated the existence of the closest similarity between the two,\nnot only in structure, as far as the microscope will carry us, but in\nfunction, as far as functions are determinable by experiment. There is\nno question in the mind of any one acquainted with the facts that, so\nfar as observation and experiment can take us, the structure and the\nfunctions of the nervous system are fundamentally the same in an ape, or\nin a dog, and in a man. And the suggestion that we must stop at the\nexact point at which direct proof fails us; and refuse to believe that\nthe similarity which extends so far stretches yet further, is no better\nthan a quibble. Robinson Crusoe did not feel bound to conclude, from the\nsingle human footprint which he saw in the sand, that the maker of the\nimpression had only one leg.\n\nStructure for structure, down to the minutest microscopical details, the\neye, the ear, the olfactory organs, the nerves, the spinal cord, the\nbrain of an ape, or of a dog, correspond with the same organs in the\nhuman subject. Cut a nerve, and the evidence of paralysis, or of\ninsensibility, is the same in the two cases; apply pressure to the\nbrain, or administer a narcotic, and the signs of intelligence disappear\nin the one as in the other. Whatever reason we have for believing that\nthe changes which take place in the normal cerebral substance of man\ngive rise to states of consciousness, the same reason exists for the\nbelief that the modes of motion of the cerebral substance of an ape, or\nof a dog, produce like effects.\n\nA dog acts as if he had all the different kinds of impressions of\nsensation of which each of us is cognisant. Moreover, he governs his\nmovements exactly as if he had the feelings of distance, form,\nsuccession, likeness, and unlikeness, with which we are familiar, or as\nif the impressions of relation were generated in his mind as they are in\nour own. Sleeping dogs frequently appear to dream. If they do, it must\nbe admitted that ideation goes on in them while they are asleep; and, in\nthat case, there is no reason to doubt that they are conscious of trains\nof ideas in their waking state. Further, that dogs, if they possess\nideas at all, have memories and expectations, and those potential\nbeliefs of which these states are the foundation, can hardly be doubted\nby any one who is conversant with their ways. Finally, there would\nappear to be no valid argument against the supposition that dogs form\ngeneric ideas of sensible objects. One of the most curious peculiarities\nof the dog mind is its inherent snobbishness, shown by the regard paid\nto external respectability. The dog who barks furiously at a beggar will\nlet a well-dressed man pass him without opposition. Has he not then a\n\"generic idea\" of rags and dirt associated with the idea of aversion,\nand that of sleek broadcloth associated with the idea of liking?\n\nIn short, it seems hard to assign any good reason for denying to the\nhigher animals any mental state, or process, in which the employment of\nthe vocal or visual symbols of which language is composed is not\ninvolved; and comparative psychology confirms the position in relation\nto the rest of the animal world assigned to man by comparative anatomy.\nAs comparative anatomy is easily able to show that, physically, man is\nbut the last term of a long series of forms, which lead, by slow\ngradations, from the highest mammal to the almost formless speck of\nliving protoplasm, which lies on the shadowy boundary between animal and\nvegetable life; so, comparative psychology, though but a young science,\nand far short of her elder sister's growth, points to the same\nconclusion.\n\nIn the absence of a distinct nervous system, we have no right to look\nfor its product, consciousness; and, even in those forms of animal life\nin which the nervous apparatus has reached no higher degree of\ndevelopment, than that exhibited by the system of the spinal cord and\nthe foundation of the brain in ourselves, the argument from analogy\nleaves the assumption of the existence of any form of consciousness\nunsupported. With the super-addition of a nervous apparatus\ncorresponding with the cerebrum in ourselves, it is allowable to suppose\nthe appearance of the simplest states of consciousness, or the\nsensations; and it is conceivable that these may at first exist, without\nany power of reproducing them, as memories; and, consequently, without\nideation. Still higher, an apparatus of correlation may be superadded,\nuntil, as all these organs become more developed, the condition of the\nhighest speechless animals is attained.\n\nIt is a remarkable example of Hume's sagacity that he perceived the\nimportance of a branch of science which, even now, can hardly be said to\nexist; and that, in a remarkable passage, he sketches in bold outlines\nthe chief features of comparative psychology.\n\n     \" ... any theory, by which we explain the operations of the\n     understanding, or the origin and connexion of the passions in man,\n     will acquire additional authority if we find that the same theory\n     is requisite to explain the same phenomena in all other animals. We\n     shall make trial of this with regard to the hypothesis by which we\n     have, in the foregoing discourse, endeavoured to account for all\n     experimental reasonings; and it is hoped that this new point of\n     view will serve to confirm all our former observations.\n\n     \"_First_, it seems evident that animals, as well as men, learn many\n     things from experience, and infer that the same events will always\n     follow from the same causes. By this principle they become\n     acquainted with the more obvious properties of external objects,\n     and gradually, from their birth, treasure up a knowledge of the\n     nature of fire, water, earth, stones, heights, depths, &c., and of\n     the effects which result from their operation. The ignorance and\n     inexperience of the young are here plainly distinguishable from the\n     cunning and sagacity of the old, who have learned, by long\n     observation, to avoid what hurt them, and pursue what gave ease or\n     pleasure. A horse that has been accustomed to the field, becomes\n     acquainted with the proper height which he can leap, and will never\n     attempt what exceeds his force and ability. An old greyhound will\n     trust the more fatiguing part of the chase to the younger, and will\n     place himself so as to meet the hare in her doubles; nor are the\n     conjectures which he forms on this occasion founded on anything but\n     his observation and experience.\n\n     \"This is still more evident from the effects of discipline and\n     education on animals, who, by the proper application of rewards and\n     punishments, may be taught any course of action, the most contrary\n     to their natural instincts and propensities. Is it not experience\n     which renders a dog apprehensive of pain when you menace him, or\n     lift up the whip to beat him? Is it not even experience which makes\n     him answer to his name, and infer from such an arbitrary sound that\n     you mean him rather than any of his fellows, and intend to call\n     him, when you pronounce it in a certain manner and with a certain\n     tone and accent?\n\n     \"In all these cases we may observe that the animal infers some fact\n     beyond what immediately strikes his senses; and that this inference\n     is altogether founded on past experience, while the creature\n     expects from the present object the same consequences which it has\n     always found in its observation to result from similar objects.\n\n     \"_Secondly_, it is impossible that this inference of the animal can\n     be founded on any process of argument or reasoning, by which he\n     concludes that like events must follow like objects, and that the\n     course of nature will always be regular in its operations. For if\n     there be in reality any arguments of this nature they surely lie\n     too abstruse for the observation of such imperfect understandings;\n     since it may well employ the utmost care and attention of a\n     philosophic genius to discover and observe them. Animals therefore\n     are not guided in these inferences by reasoning; neither are\n     children; neither are the generality of mankind in their ordinary\n     actions and conclusions; neither are philosophers themselves, who,\n     in all the active parts of life, are in the main the same as the\n     vulgar, and are governed by the same maxims. Nature must have\n     provided some other principle, of more ready and more general use\n     and application; nor can an operation of such immense consequence\n     in life as that of inferring effects from causes, be trusted to the\n     uncertain process of reasoning and argumentation. Were this\n     doubtful with regard to men, it seems to admit of no question with\n     regard to the brute creation; and the conclusion being once firmly\n     established in the one, we have a strong presumption, from all the\n     rules of analogy, that it ought to be universally admitted, without\n     any exception or reserve. It is custom alone which engages animals,\n     from every object that strikes their senses, to infer its usual\n     attendant, and carries their imagination from the appearance of the\n     one to conceive the other, in that particular manner which we\n     denominate _belief_. No other explication can be given of this\n     operation in all the higher as well as lower classes of sensitive\n     beings which fall under our notice and observation.\"--(IV. pp.\n     122-4.)\n\nIt will be observed that Hume appears to contrast the \"inference of the\nanimal\" with the \"process of argument or reasoning in man.\" But it would\nbe a complete misapprehension of his intention, if we were to suppose,\nthat he thereby means to imply that there is any real difference between\nthe two processes. The \"inference of the animal\" is a potential belief\nof expectation; the process of argument, or reasoning, in man is based\nupon potential beliefs of expectation, which are formed in the man\nexactly in the same way as in the animal. But, in men endowed with\nspeech, the mental state which constitutes the potential belief is\nrepresented by a verbal proposition, and thus becomes what all the world\nrecognises as a belief. The fallacy which Hume combats is, that the\nproposition, or verbal representative of a belief, has come to be\nregarded as a reality, instead of as the mere symbol which it really is;\nand that reasoning, or logic, which deals with nothing but propositions,\nis supposed to be necessary in order to validate the natural fact\nsymbolised by those propositions. It is a fallacy similar to that of\nsupposing that money is the foundation of wealth, whereas it is only the\nwholly unessential symbol of property.\n\nIn the passage which immediately follows that just quoted, Hume makes\nadmissions which might be turned to serious account against some of his\nown doctrines.\n\n     \"But though animals learn many parts of their knowledge from\n     observation, there are also many parts of it which they derive from\n     the original hand of Nature, which much exceed the share of\n     capacity they possess on ordinary occasions, and in which they\n     improve, little or nothing, by the longest practice and experience.\n     These we denominate INSTINCTS, and are so apt to admire as\n     something very extraordinary and inexplicable by all the\n     disquisitions of human understanding. But our wonder will perhaps\n     cease or diminish when we consider that the experimental reasoning\n     itself, which we possess in common with beasts, and on which the\n     whole conduct of life depends, is nothing but a species of instinct\n     or mechanical power, that acts in us unknown to ourselves, and in\n     its chief operations is not directed by any such relations or\n     comparison of ideas as are the proper objects of our intellectual\n     faculties.\n\n     \"Though the instinct be different, yet still it is an instinct\n     which teaches a man to avoid the fire, as much as that which\n     teaches a bird, with such exactness, the art of incubation and the\n     whole economy and order of its nursery.\"--(IV. pp. 125, 126.)\n\nThe parallel here drawn between the \"avoidance of a fire\" by a man and\nthe incubatory instinct of a bird is inexact. The man avoids fire when\nhe has had experience of the pain produced by burning; but the bird\nincubates the first time it lays eggs, and therefore before it has had\nany experience of incubation. For the comparison to be admissible, it\nwould be necessary that a man should avoid fire the first time he saw\nit, which is notoriously not the case.\n\nThe term \"instinct\" is very vague and ill-defined. It is commonly\nemployed to denote any action, or even feeling, which is not dictated by\nconscious reasoning, whether it is, or is not, the result of previous\nexperience. It is \"instinct\" which leads a chicken just hatched to pick\nup a grain of corn; parental love is said to be \"instinctive\"; the\ndrowning man who catches at a straw does it \"instinctively\"; and the\nhand that accidentally touches something hot is drawn back by\n\"instinct.\" Thus \"instinct\" is made to cover everything from a simple\nreflex movement, in which the organ of consciousness need not be at all\nimplicated, up to a complex combination of acts directed towards a\ndefinite end and accompanied by intense consciousness.\n\nBut this loose employment of the term \"instinct\" really accords with the\nnature of the thing; for it is wholly impossible to draw any line of\ndemarcation between reflex actions and instincts. If a frog, on the\nflank of which a little drop of acid has been placed, rubs it off with\nthe foot of the same side; and, if that foot be held, performs the same\noperation, at the cost of much effort, with the other foot, it certainly\ndisplays a curious instinct. But it is no less true that the whole\noperation is a reflex operation of the spinal cord, which can be\nperformed quite as well when the brain is destroyed; and between which\nand simple reflex actions there is a complete series of gradations. In\nlike manner, when an infant takes the breast, it is impossible to say\nwhether the action should be rather termed instinctive or reflex.\n\nWhat are usually called the instincts of animals are, however, acts of\nsuch a nature that, if they were performed by men, they would involve\nthe generation of a series of ideas and of inferences from them; and it\nis a curious, and apparently an insoluble, problem whether they are, or\nare not, accompanied by cerebral changes of the same nature as those\nwhich give rise to ideas and inferences in ourselves. When a chicken\npicks up a grain, for example, are there, firstly, certain sensations,\naccompanied by the feeling of relation between the grain and its own\nbody; secondly, a desire of the grain; thirdly, a volition to seize it?\nOr, are only the sensational terms of the series actually represented in\nconsciousness?\n\nThe latter seems the more probable opinion, though it must be admitted\nthat the other alternative is possible. But, in this case, the series of\nmental states which occurs is such as would be represented in language\nby a series of propositions, and would afford proof positive of the\nexistence of innate ideas, in the Cartesian sense. Indeed, a\nmetaphysical fowl, brooding over the mental operations of his\nfully-fledged consciousness, might appeal to the fact as proof that, in\nthe very first action of his life, he assumed the existence of the Ego\nand the non-Ego, and of a relation between the two.\n\nIn all seriousness, if the existence of instincts be granted, the\npossibility of the existence of innate ideas, in the most extended sense\never imagined by Descartes, must also be admitted. In fact, Descartes,\nas we have soon, illustrates what he means by an innate idea, by the\nanalogy of hereditary diseases or hereditary mental peculiarities, such\nas generosity. On the other hand, hereditary mental tendencies may\njustly be termed instincts; and still more appropriately might those\nspecial proclivities, which constitute what we call genius, come into\nthe same category.\n\nThe child who is impelled to draw as soon as it can hold a pencil; the\nMozart who breaks out into music as early; the boy Bidder who worked out\nthe most complicated sums without learning arithmetic; the boy Pascal\nwho evolved Euclid out of his own consciousness: all these may be said\nto have been impelled by instinct, as much as are the beaver and the\nbee. And the man of genius, is distinct in kind from the man of\ncleverness, by reason of the working within him of strong innate\ntendencies--which cultivation may improve, but which it can no more\ncreate, than horticulture can make thistles bear figs. The analogy\nbetween a musical instrument and the mind holds good here also. Art and\nindustry may get much music, of a sort, out of a penny whistle; but,\nwhen all is done, it has no chance against an organ. The innate musical\npotentialities of the two are infinitely different.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nLANGUAGE--PROPOSITIONS CONCERNING NECESSARY TRUTHS.\n\n\nThough we may accept Hume's conclusion that speechless animals think,\nbelieve, and reason; yet, it must be borne in mind, that there is an\nimportant difference between the signification of the terms when applied\nto them and when applied to those animals which possess language. The\nthoughts of the former are trains of mere feelings; those of the latter\nare, in addition, trains of the ideas of the signs which represent\nfeelings, and which are called \"words.\"\n\nA word, in fact, is a spoken or written sign, the idea of which is, by\nrepetition, so closely associated with the idea of the simple or complex\nfeeling which it represents, that the association becomes indissoluble.\nNo Englishman, for example, can think of the word \"dog\" without\nimmediately having the idea of the group of impressions to which that\nname is given; and conversely, the group of impressions immediately\ncalls up the idea of the word \"dog.\"\n\nThe association of words with impressions and ideas is the process of\nnaming; and language approaches perfection, in proportion as the shades\nof difference between various ideas and impressions are represented by\ndifferences in their names.\n\nThe names of simple impressions and ideas, or of groups of co-existent\nor successive complex impressions and ideas, considered _per se_, are\nsubstantives; as redness, dog, silver, mouth; while the names of\nimpressions or ideas considered as parts or attributes of a complex\nwhole, are adjectives. Thus redness, considered as part of the complex\nidea of a rose, becomes the adjective red; flesh-eater, as part of the\nidea of a dog, is represented by carnivorous; whiteness, as part of the\nidea of silver, is white; and so on.\n\nThe linguistic machinery for the expression of belief is called\n_predication_; and, as all beliefs express ideas of relation, we may say\nthat the sign of predication is the verbal symbol of a feeling of\nrelation. The words which serve to indicate predication are verbs. If I\nsay \"silver\" and then \"white,\" I merely utter two names; but if I\ninterpose between them the verb \"is,\" I express a belief in the\nco-existence of the feeling of whiteness with the other feelings which\nconstitute the totality of the complex idea of silver; in other words, I\npredicate \"whiteness\" of silver.\n\nIn such a case as this, the verb expresses predication and nothing else,\nand is called a copula. But, in the great majority of verbs, the word is\nthe sign of a complex idea, and the predication is expressed only by its\nform. Thus in \"silver shines,\" the verb \"to shine\" is the sign for the\nfeeling of brightness, and the mark of predication lies in the form\n\"shine-_s_.\"\n\nAnother result is brought about by the forms of verbs. By slight\nmodifications they are made to indicate that a belief, or predication,\nis a memory, or is an expectation. Thus \"silver _shone_\" expresses a\nmemory; \"silver _will_ shine\" an expectation.\n\nThe form of words which expresses a predication is a proposition.\nHence, every predication is the verbal equivalent of a belief; and, as\nevery belief is either an immediate consciousness, a memory, or an\nexpectation, and as every expectation is traceable to a memory, it\nfollows that, in the long run, all propositions express either immediate\nstates of consciousness, or memories. The proposition which predicates A\nof X must mean either, that the fact is testified by my present\nconsciousness, as when I say that two colours, visible at this moment,\nresemble one another; or that A is indissolubly associated with X in\nmemory; or that A is indissolubly associated with X in expectation. But\nit has already been shown that expectation is only an expression of\nmemory.\n\nHume does not discuss the nature of language, but so much of what\nremains to be said, concerning his philosophical tenets, turns upon the\nvalue and the origin of verbal propositions, that this summary sketch of\nthe relations of language to the thinking process will probably not be\ndeemed superfluous.\n\nSo large an extent of the field of thought is traversed by Hume, in his\ndiscussion of the verbal propositions in which mankind enshrine their\nbeliefs, that it would be impossible to follow him throughout all the\nwindings of his long journey, within the limits of this essay. I\npurpose, therefore, to limit myself to those propositions which\nconcern--1. Necessary Truths; 2. The Order of Nature; 3. The Soul; 4.\nTheism; 5. The Passions and Volition; 6. The Principle of Morals.\n\n\nHume's views respecting necessary truths, and more particularly\nconcerning causation, have, more than any other part of his teaching,\ncontributed to give him a prominent place in the history of philosophy.\n\n     \"All the objects of human reason and inquiry may naturally be\n     divided into two kinds, to wit, _relations of ideas_ and _matters\n     of fact_. Of the first kind are the sciences of geometry, algebra,\n     and arithmetic, and, in short, every affirmation which is either\n     intuitively or demonstratively certain. _That the square of the\n     hypothenuse is equal to the square of the two sides_, is a\n     proposition which expresses a relation between these two figures.\n     _That three times five is equal to the half of thirty_, expresses a\n     relation between these numbers. Propositions of this kind are\n     discoverable by the mere operation of thought without dependence on\n     whatever is anywhere existent in the universe. Though there never\n     were a circle or a triangle in nature, the truths demonstrated by\n     Euclid would for ever retain their certainty and evidence.\n\n     \"Matters of fact, which are the second objects of human reason, are\n     not ascertained in the same manner, nor is an evidence of their\n     truth, however great, of a like nature with the foregoing. The\n     contrary of every matter of fact is still possible, because it can\n     never imply a contradiction, and is conceived by the mind with the\n     same facility and distinctness, as if ever so conformable to\n     reality. _That the sun will not rise to-morrow_, is no less\n     intelligible a proposition, and implies no more contradiction, than\n     the affirmation, _that it will rise_. We should in vain, therefore,\n     attempt to demonstrate its falsehood. Were it demonstratively\n     false, it would imply a contradiction, and could never be\n     distinctly conceived by the mind.\"--(IV. pp. 32, 33.)\n\nThe distinction here drawn between the truths of geometry and other\nkinds of truth is far less sharply indicated in the _Treatise_, but as\nHume expressly disowns any opinions on these matters but such as are\nexpressed in the _Inquiry_, we may confine ourselves to the latter; and\nit is needful to look narrowly into the propositions here laid down, as\nmuch stress has been laid upon Hume's admission that the truths of\nmathematics are intuitively and demonstratively certain; in other\nwords, that they are necessary and, in that respect, differ from all\nother kinds of belief.\n\nWhat is meant by the assertion that \"propositions of this kind are\ndiscoverable by the mere operation of thought without dependence on what\nis anywhere existent in the universe\"?\n\nSuppose that there were no such things as impressions of sight and touch\nanywhere in the universe, what idea could we have even of a straight\nline, much less of a triangle and of the relations between its sides?\nThe fundamental proposition of all Hume's philosophy is that ideas are\ncopied from impressions; and, therefore, if there were no impressions of\nstraight lines and triangles there could be no ideas of straight lines\nand triangles. But what we mean by the universe is the sum of our actual\nand possible impressions.\n\nSo, again, whether our conception of number is derived from relations of\nimpressions in space or in time, the impressions must exist in nature,\nthat is, in experience, before their relations can be perceived. Form\nand number are mere names for certain relations between matters of fact;\nunless a man had seen or felt the difference between a straight line and\na crooked one, straight and crooked would have no more meaning to him,\nthan red and blue to the blind.\n\nThe axiom, that things which are equal to the same are equal to one\nanother, is only a particular case of the predication of similarity; if\nthere were no impressions, it is obvious that there could be no\npredicates. But what is an existence in the universe but an impression?\n\nIf what are called necessary truths are rigidly analysed, they will be\nfound to be of two kinds. Either they depend on the convention which\nunderlies the possibility of intelligible speech, that terms shall\nalways have the same meaning; or they are propositions the negation of\nwhich implies the dissolution of some association in memory or\nexpectation, which is in fact indissoluble; or the denial of some fact\nof immediate consciousness.\n\nThe \"necessary truth\" A = A means that the perception which is called A\nshall always be called A. The \"necessary truth\" that \"two straight lines\ncannot inclose a space,\" means that we have no memory, and can form no\nexpectation of their so doing. The denial of the \"necessary truth\" that\nthe thought now in my mind exists, involves the denial of consciousness.\n\nTo the assertion that the evidence of matter of fact, is not so strong\nas that of relations of ideas, it may be justly replied, that a great\nnumber of matters of fact are nothing but relations of ideas. If I say\nthat red is unlike blue, I make an assertion concerning a relation of\nideas; but it is also matter of fact, and the contrary proposition is\ninconceivable. If I remember[26] something that happened five minutes\nago, that is matter of fact; and, at the same time, it expresses a\nrelation between the event remembered and the present time. It is wholly\ninconceivable to me that the event did not happen, so that my assurance\nrespecting it is as strong as that which I have respecting any other\nnecessary truth. In fact, the man is either very wise or very virtuous,\nor very lucky, perhaps all three, who has gone through life without\naccumulating a store of such necessary beliefs which he would give a\ngood deal to be able to disbelieve.\n\nIt would be beside the mark to discuss the matter further on the present\noccasion. It is sufficient to point out that, whatever may be the\ndifferences, between mathematical and other truths, they do not justify\nHume's statement. And it is, at any rate, impossible to prove, that the\ncogency of mathematical first principles is due to anything more than\nthese circumstances; that the experiences with which they are concerned\nare among the first which arise in the mind; that they are so\nincessantly repeated as to justify us, according to the ordinary laws of\nideation, in expecting that the associations which they form will be of\nextreme tenacity; while the fact, that the expectations based upon them\nare always verified, finishes the process of welding them together.\n\nThus, if the axioms of mathematics are innate, nature would seem to have\ntaken unnecessary trouble; since the ordinary process of association\nappears to be amply sufficient to confer upon them all the universality\nand necessity which they actually possess.\n\n\nWhatever needless admissions Hume may have made respecting other\nnecessary truths he is quite clear about the axiom of causation, \"That\nwhatever event has a beginning must have a cause;\" whether and in what\nsense it is a necessary truth; and, that question being decided, whence\nit is derived.\n\nWith respect to the first question, Hume denies that it is a necessary\ntruth, in the sense that we are unable to conceive the contrary. The\nevidence by which he supports this conclusion in the _Inquiry_, however,\nis not strictly relevant to the issue.\n\n     \"No object ever discovers, by the qualities which appear to the\n     senses, either the cause which produced it, or the effects which\n     will arise from it; nor can our reason, unassisted by experience,\n     ever draw any inference concerning real existence and matter of\n     fact.\"--(IV. p. 35.)\n\nAbundant illustrations are given of this assertion, which indeed cannot\nbe seriously doubted; but it does not follow that, because we are\ntotally unable to say what cause preceded, or what effect will succeed,\nany event, we do not necessarily suppose that the event had a cause and\nwill be succeeded by an effect. The scientific investigator who notes a\nnew phenomenon may be utterly ignorant of its cause, but he will,\nwithout hesitation, seek for that cause. If you ask him why he does so,\nhe will probably say that it must have had a cause; and thereby imply\nthat his belief in causation is a necessary belief.\n\nIn the _Treatise_ Hume indeed takes the bull by the horns:\n\n     \" ... as all distinct ideas are separable from each other, and as\n     the ideas of cause and effect are evidently distinct, 'twill be\n     easy for us to conceive any object to be non-existent this moment\n     find existent the next, without conjoining to it the distinct idea\n     of a cause or productive principle.\"--(I. p. 111.)\n\nIf Hume had been content to state what he believed to be matter of fact,\nand had abstained from giving superfluous reasons for that which is\nsusceptible of being proved or disproved only by personal experience,\nhis position would have been stronger. For it seems clear that, on the\nground of observation, he is quite right. Any man who lets his fancy run\nriot in a waking dream, may experience the existence at one moment, and\nthe non-existence at the next, of phenomena which suggest no connexion\nof cause and effect. Not only so, but it is notorious that, to the\nunthinking mass of mankind, nine-tenths of the facts of life do not\nsuggest the relation of cause and effect; and they practically deny the\nexistence of any such relation by attributing them to chance. Few\ngamblers but would stare if they were told that the falling of a die on\na particular face is as much the effect of a definite cause as the fact\nof its falling; it is a proverb that \"the wind bloweth where it\nlisteth;\" and even thoughtful men usually receive with surprise the\nsuggestion, that the form of the crest of every wave that breaks,\nwind-driven, on the sea-shore, and the direction of every particle of\nfoam that flies before the gale, are the exact effects of definite\ncauses; and, as such, must be capable of being determined, deductively,\nfrom the laws of motion and the properties of air and water. So again,\nthere are large numbers of highly intelligent persons who rather pride\nthemselves on their fixed belief that our volitions have no cause; or\nthat the will causes itself, which is either the same thing, or a\ncontradiction in terms.\n\nHume's argument in support of what appears to be a true proposition,\nhowever, is of the circular sort, for the major premiss, that all\ndistinct ideas are separable in thought, assumes the question at issue.\n\nBut the question whether the idea of causation is necessary, or not, is\nreally of very little importance. For, to say that an idea is necessary\nis simply to affirm that we cannot conceive the contrary; and the fact\nthat we cannot conceive the contrary of any belief may be a presumption,\nbut is certainly no proof, of its truth.\n\nIn the well-known experiment of touching a single round object, such as\na marble, with crossed fingers, it is utterly impossible to conceive\nthat we have not two round objects under them; and, though light is\nundoubtedly a mere sensation arising in the brain, it is utterly\nimpossible to conceive that it is not outside the retina. In the same\nway, he who touches anything with a rod, not only is irresistibly led to\nbelieve that the sensation of contact is at the end of the rod, but is\nutterly incapable of conceiving that this sensation is really in his\nhead. Yet that which is inconceivable is manifestly true in all these\ncases. The beliefs and the unbeliefs are alike necessary, and alike\nerroneous.\n\nIt is commonly urged that the axiom of causation cannot be derived from\nexperience, because experience only proves that many things have causes,\nwhereas the axiom declares that all things have causes. The syllogism,\n\"many things which come into existence have causes, A has come into\nexistence: therefore A had a cause,\" is obviously fallacious, if A is\nnot previously shown to be one of the \"many things.\" And this objection\nis perfectly sound so far as it goes. The axiom of causation cannot\npossibly be deduced from any general proposition which simply embodies\nexperience. But it does not follow that the belief, or expectation,\nexpressed by the axiom, is not a product of experience, generated\nantecedently to, and altogether independently of, the logically\nunjustifiable language in which we express it.\n\nIn fact, the axiom of causation resembles all other beliefs of\nexpectation in being the verbal symbol of a purely automatic act of the\nmind, which is altogether extra-logical, and would be illogical, if it\nwere not constantly verified by experience. Experience, as we have seen,\nstores up memories; memories generate expectations or beliefs--why they\ndo so may be explained hereafter by proper investigation of cerebral\nphysiology. But, to seek for the reason of the facts in the verbal\nsymbols by which they are expressed, and to be astonished that it is not\nto be found there, is surely singular; and what Hume did was to turn\nattention from the verbal proposition to the psychical fact of which it\nis the symbol.\n\n     \"When any natural object or event is presented, it is impossible\n     for us, by any sagacity or penetration, to discover, or even\n     conjecture, without experience, what event will result from it, or\n     to carry our foresight beyond that object, which is immediately\n     present to the memory and senses. Even after one instance or\n     experiment, where we have observed a particular event to follow\n     upon another, we are not entitled to form a general rule, or\n     foretell what will happen in like cases; it being justly esteemed\n     an unpardonable temerity to judge of the whole course of nature\n     from one single experiment, however accurate or certain. But when\n     one particular species of events has always, in all instances, been\n     conjoined with another, we make no longer any scruple of\n     foretelling one upon the appearance of the other, and of employing\n     that reasoning which can alone assure us of any matter of fact or\n     existence. We then call the one object _Cause_, the other _Effect_.\n     We suppose that there is some connexion between them: some power in\n     the one, by which it infallibly produces the other, and operates\n     with the greatest certainty and strongest necessity.... But there\n     is nothing in a number of instances, different from every single\n     instance, which is supposed to be exactly similar; except only,\n     that after a repetition of similar instances, the mind is carried\n     by habit, upon the appearance of one event, to expect its usual\n     attendant, and to believe that it will exist.... The first time a\n     man saw the communication of motion by impulse, as by the shock of\n     two billiard balls, he could not pronounce that the one event was\n     _connected_, but only that it was _conjoined_, with the other.\n     After he has observed several instances of this nature, he then\n     pronounces them to be _connected_. What alteration has happened to\n     give rise to this new idea of _connexion_? Nothing but that he now\n     _feels_ those events to be _connected_ in his imagination, and can\n     readily foresee the existence of the one from the appearance of the\n     other. When we say, therefore, that one object is connected with\n     another we mean only that they have acquired a connexion in our\n     thought, and give rise to this inference, by which they become\n     proofs of each other's existence; a conclusion which is somewhat\n     extraordinary, but which seems founded on sufficient\n     evidence.\"--(IV. pp. 87-89.)\n\nIn the fifteenth section of the third part of the _Treatise_, under the\nhead of the _Rules by which to Judge of Causes and Effects_, Hume gives\na sketch of the method of allocating effects to their causes, upon\nwhich, so far as I am aware, no improvement was made down to the time of\nthe publication of Mill's _Logic_. Of Mill's four methods, that of\n_agreement_ is indicated in the following passage:--\n\n     \" ... where several different objects produce the same effect, it\n     must be by means of some quality which we discover to be common\n     amongst them. For as like effects imply like causes, we must always\n     ascribe the causation to the circumstance wherein we discover the\n     resemblance.\"--(I. p. 229.)\n\nNext, the foundation of the _method of difference_ is stated:--\n\n     \"The difference in the effects of two resembling objects must\n     proceed from that particular in which they differ. For, as like\n     causes always produce like effects, when in any instance we find\n     our expectation to be disappointed, we must conclude that this\n     irregularity proceeds from some difference in the causes.\"--(I. p.\n     230.)\n\nIn the succeeding paragraph the _method of concomitant variations_ is\nforeshadowed.\n\n     \"When any object increases or diminishes with the increase or\n     diminution of the cause, 'tis to be regarded as a compounded\n     effect, derived from the union of the several different effects\n     which arise from the several different parts of the cause. The\n     absence or presence of one part of the cause is here supposed to be\n     always attended with the absence or presence of a proportionable\n     part of the effect. This constant conjunction sufficiently proves\n     that the one part is the cause of the other. We must, however,\n     beware not to draw such a conclusion from a few experiments.\"--(I.\n     p. 230.)\n\nLastly, the following rule, though awkwardly stated, contains a\nsuggestion of the _method of residues_:--\n\n     \" ... an object which exists for any time in its full perfection\n     without any effect, is not the sole cause of that effect, but\n     requires to be assisted by some other principle, which may forward\n     its influence and operation. For as like effects necessarily follow\n     from like causes, and in a contiguous time and place, their\n     separation for a moment shows that these causes are not complete\n     ones.\"--(I. p. 230.)\n\nIn addition to the bare notion of necessary connexion between the cause\nand its effect, we undoubtedly find in our minds the idea of something\nresident in the cause which, as we say, produces the effect, and we call\nthis something Force, Power, or Energy. Hume explains Force and Power as\nthe results of the association with inanimate causes of the feelings of\nendeavour or resistance which we experience, when our bodies give rise\nto, or resist, motion.\n\nIf I throw a ball, I have a sense of effort which ends when the ball\nleaves my hand; and if I catch a ball, I have a sense of resistance\nwhich comes to an end with the quiescence of the ball. In the former\ncase, there is a strong suggestion of something having gone from myself\ninto the ball; in the latter, of something having been received from the\nball. Let any one hold a piece of iron near a strong magnet, and the\nfeeling that the magnet endeavours to pull the iron one way in the same\nmanner as he endeavours to pull it in the opposite direction, is very\nstrong.\n\nAs Hume says:--\n\n     \"No animal can put external bodies in motion without the sentiment\n     of a _nisus_, or endeavour; and every animal has a sentiment or\n     feeling from the stroke or blow of an external object that is in\n     motion. These sensations, which are merely animal, and from which\n     we can, _a priori_, draw no inference, we are apt to transfer to\n     inanimate objects, and to suppose that they have some such feelings\n     whenever they transfer or receive motion.\"--(IV. p. 91, _note_.)\n\nIt is obviously, however, an absurdity not less gross than that of\nsupposing the sensation of warmth to exist in a fire, to imagine that\nthe subjective sensation of effort or resistance in ourselves can be\npresent in external objects, when they stand in the relation of causes\nto other objects.\n\nTo the argument, that we have a right to suppose the relation of cause\nand effect to contain something more than invariable succession,\nbecause, when we ourselves act as causes, or in volition, we are\nconscious of exerting power; Hume replies, that we know nothing of the\nfeeling we call power except as effort or resistance; and that we have\nnot the slightest means of knowing whether it has anything to do with\nthe production of bodily motion or mental changes. And he points out, as\nDescartes and Spinoza had done before him, that when voluntary motion\ntakes place, that which we will is not the immediate consequence of the\nact of volition, but something which is separated from it by a long\nchain of causes and effects. If the will is the cause of the movement of\na limb, it can be so only in the sense that the guard who gives the\norder to go on, is the cause of the transport of a train from one\nstation to another.\n\n     \"We learn from anatomy, that the immediate object of power in\n     voluntary motion is not the member itself which is moved, but\n     certain muscles and nerves and animal spirits, and perhaps\n     something still more minute and unknown, through which the motion\n     is successively propagated, ere it reach the member itself, whose\n     motion is the immediate object of volition. Can there be a more\n     certain proof that the power by which the whole operation is\n     performed, so far from being directly and fully known by an inward\n     sentiment or consciousness, is to the last degree mysterious and\n     unintelligible? Here the mind wills a certain event: Immediately\n     another event, unknown to ourselves, and totally different from the\n     one intended, is produced: This event produces another equally\n     unknown: Till at last, through a long succession, the desired event\n     is produced.\"--(IV. p. 78.)\n\nA still stronger argument against ascribing an objective existence to\nforce or power, on the strength of our supposed direct intuition of\npower in voluntary acts, may be urged from the unquestionable fact, that\nwe do not know, and cannot know, that volition does cause corporeal\nmotion; while there is a great deal to be said in favour of the view\nthat it is no cause, but merely a concomitant of that motion. But the\nnature of volition will be more fitly considered hereafter.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[26] Hume, however, expressly includes the \"records of our memory\" among\nhis matters of fact.--(IV. p. 33.)\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nTHE ORDER OF NATURE: MIRACLES.\n\n\nIf our beliefs of expectation are based on our beliefs of memory, and\nanticipation is only inverted recollection, it necessarily follows that\nevery belief of expectation implies the belief that the future will have\na certain resemblance to the past. From the first hour of experience,\nonwards, this belief is constantly being verified, until old age is\ninclined to suspect that experience has nothing new to offer. And when\nthe experience of generation after generation is recorded, and a single\nbook tells us more than Methuselah could have learned, had he spent\nevery waking hour of his thousand years in learning; when apparent\ndisorders are found to be only the recurrent pulses of a slow working\norder, and the wonder of a year becomes the commonplace of a century;\nwhen repeated and minute examination never reveals a break in the chain\nof causes and effects; and the whole edifice of practical life is built\nupon our faith in its continuity; the belief that that chain has never\nbeen broken and will never be broken, becomes one of the strongest and\nmost justifiable of human convictions. And it must be admitted to be a\nreasonable request, if we ask those who would have us put faith in the\nactual occurrence of interruptions of that order, to produce evidence\nin favour of their view, not only equal, but superior, in weight to that\nwhich leads us to adopt ours.\n\nThis is the essential argument of Hume's famous disquisition upon\nmiracles; and it may safely be declared to be irrefragable. But it must\nbe admitted that Hume has surrounded the kernel of his essay with a\nshell of very doubtful value.\n\nThe first step in this, as in all other discussions, is to come to a\nclear understanding as to the meaning of the terms employed.\nArgumentation whether miracles are possible, and, if possible, credible,\nis mere beating the air until the arguers have agreed what they mean by\nthe word \"miracles.\"\n\nHume, with less than his usual perspicuity, but in accordance with a\ncommon practice of believers in the miraculous, defines a miracle as a\n\"violation of the laws of nature,\" or as \"a transgression of a law of\nnature by a particular volition of the Deity, or by the interposition of\nsome invisible agent.\"\n\nThere must, he says,--\n\n     \"be an uniform experience against every miraculous event, otherwise\n     the event would not merit that appellation. And as an uniform\n     experience amounts to a proof, there is here a direct and full\n     proof, from the nature of the fact, against the existence of any\n     miracle; nor can such a proof be destroyed or the miracle rendered\n     credible but by an opposite proof which is superior.\"--(IV. p.\n     134.)\n\nEvery one of these dicta appears to be open to serious objection.\n\nThe word \"miracle\"--_miraculum_,--in its primitive and legitimate sense,\nsimply means something wonderful.\n\nCicero applies it as readily to the fancies of philosophers, \"Portenta\net miracula philosophorum somniantium,\" as we do to the prodigies of\npriests. And the source of the wonder which a miracle excites is the\nbelief, on the part of those who witness it, that it transcends or\ncontradicts ordinary experience.\n\nThe definition of a miracle as a \"violation of the laws of nature\" is,\nin reality, an employment of language which, on the face of the matter,\ncannot be justified. For \"nature\" means neither more nor less than that\nwhich is; the sum of phenomena presented to our experience; the totality\nof events past, present, and to come. Every event must be taken to be a\npart of nature, until proof to the contrary is supplied. And such proof\nis, from the nature of the case, impossible.\n\nHume asks:--\n\n     \"Why is it more than probable that all men must die: that lead\n     cannot of itself remain suspended in the air: that fire consumes\n     wood and is extinguished by water; unless it be that these events\n     are found agreeable to the laws of nature, and there is required a\n     violation of those laws, or in other words, a miracle, to prevent\n     them?\"--(IV. p. 133.)\n\nBut the reply is obvious; not one of these events is \"more than\nprobable\"; though the probability may reach such a very high degree\nthat, in ordinary language, we are justified in saying that the opposite\nevents are impossible. Calling our often verified experience a \"law of\nnature\" adds nothing to its value, nor in the slightest degree increases\nany probability that it will be verified again, which may arise out of\nthe fact of its frequent verification.\n\nIf a piece of lead were to remain suspended of itself, in the air, the\noccurrence would be a \"miracle,\" in the sense of a wonderful event,\nindeed; but no one trained in the methods of science would imagine that\nany law of nature was really violated thereby. He would simply set to\nwork to investigate the conditions under which so highly unexpected an\noccurrence took place, and thereby enlarge his experience and modify his\nhitherto unduly narrow conception of the laws of nature.\n\nThe alternative definition, that a miracle is \"a transgression of a law\nof nature by a particular volition of the Deity, or by the interposition\nof some invisible agent,\" (IV. p. 134, _note_) is still less defensible.\nFor a vast number of miracles have professedly been worked, neither by\nthe Deity, nor by any invisible agent; but by Beelzebub and his\ncompeers, or by very visible men.\n\nMoreover, not to repeat what has been said respecting the absurdity of\nsupposing that something which occurs is a transgression of laws, our\nonly knowledge of which is derived from the observation of that which\noccurs; upon what sort of evidence can we be justified in concluding\nthat a given event is the effect of a particular volition of the Deity,\nor of the interposition of some invisible (that is unperceivable) agent?\nIt may be so, but how is the assertion, that it is so, to be tested? If\nit be said that the event exceeds the power of natural causes, what can\njustify such a saying? The day-fly has better grounds for calling a\nthunderstorm supernatural, than has man, with his experience of an\ninfinitesimal fraction of duration, to say that the most astonishing\nevent that can be imagined is beyond the scope of natural causes.\n\n     \"Whatever is intelligible and can be distinctly conceived, implies\n     no contradiction, and can never be proved false by any\n     demonstration, argument, or abstract reasoning _a priori_.\"--(IV.\n     p. 44.)\n\nSo wrote Hume, with perfect justice, in his _Sceptical Doubts_. But a\nmiracle, in the sense of a sudden and complete change in the customary\norder of nature, is intelligible, can be distinctly conceived, implies\nno contradiction; and, therefore, according to Hume's own showing,\ncannot be proved false by any demonstrative argument.\n\nNevertheless, in diametrical contradiction to his own principles, Hume\nsays elsewhere:--\n\n     \"It is a miracle that a dead man should come to life: because that\n     has never been observed in any age or country.\"--(IV. p. 134.)\n\nThat is to say, there is an uniform experience against such an event,\nand therefore, if it occurs, it is a violation of the laws of nature.\nOr, to put the argument in its naked absurdity, that which never has\nhappened never can happen, without a violation of the laws of nature. In\ntruth, if a dead man did come to life, the fact would be evidence, not\nthat any law of nature had been violated, but that those laws, even when\nthey express the results of a very long and uniform experience, are\nnecessarily based on incomplete knowledge, and are to be held only as\ngrounds of more or less justifiable expectation.\n\nTo sum up, the definition of a miracle as a suspension or a\ncontravention of the order of Nature is self-contradictory, because all\nwe know of the order of nature is derived from our observation of the\ncourse of events of which the so-called miracle is a part. On the other\nhand, no event is too extraordinary to be impossible; and, therefore, if\nby the term miracles we mean only \"extremely wonderful events,\" there\ncan be no just ground for denying the possibility of their occurrence.\n\n\nBut when we turn from the question of the possibility of miracles,\nhowever they may be defined, in the abstract, to that respecting the\ngrounds upon which we are justified in believing any particular miracle,\nHume's arguments have a very different value, for they resolve\nthemselves into a simple statement of the dictates of common\nsense--which may be expressed in this canon: the more a statement of\nfact conflicts with previous experience, the more complete must be the\nevidence which is to justify us in believing it. It is upon this\nprinciple that every one carries on the business of common life. If a\nman tells me he saw a piebald horse in Piccadilly, I believe him without\nhesitation. The thing itself is likely enough, and there is no\nimaginable motive for his deceiving me. But if the same person tells me\nhe observed a zebra there, I might hesitate a little about accepting his\ntestimony, unless I were well satisfied, not only as to his previous\nacquaintance with zebras, but as to his powers and opportunities of\nobservation in the present case. If, however, my informant assured me\nthat he beheld a centaur trotting down that famous thoroughfare, I\nshould emphatically decline to credit his statement; and this even if he\nwere the most saintly of men and ready to suffer martyrdom in support of\nhis belief. In such a case, I could, of course, entertain no doubt of\nthe good faith of the witness; it would be only his competency, which\nunfortunately has very little to do with good faith or intensity of\nconviction, which I should presume to call in question.\n\nIndeed, I hardly know what testimony would satisfy me of the existence\nof a live centaur. To put an extreme case, suppose the late Johannes\nMueller, of Berlin, the greatest anatomist and physiologist among my\ncontemporaries, had barely affirmed he had seen a live centaur, I should\ncertainly have been staggered by the weight of an assertion coming from\nsuch an authority. But I could have got no further than a suspension of\njudgment. For, on the whole, it would have been more probable that even\nhe had fallen into some error of interpretation of the facts which came\nunder his observation, than that such an animal as a centaur really\nexisted. And nothing short of a careful monograph, by a highly competent\ninvestigator, accompanied by figures and measurements of all the most\nimportant parts of a centaur, put forth under circumstances which could\nleave no doubt that falsification or misinterpretation would meet with\nimmediate exposure, could possibly enable a man of science to feel that\nhe acted conscientiously, in expressing his belief in the existence of a\ncentaur on the evidence of testimony.\n\nThis hesitation about admitting the existence of such an animal as a\ncentaur, be it observed, does not deserve reproach, as scepticism, but\nmoderate praise, as mere scientific good faith. It need not imply, and\nit does not, so far as I am concerned, any _a priori_ hypothesis that a\ncentaur is an impossible animal; or, that his existence, if he did\nexist, would violate the laws of nature. Indubitably, the organisation\nof a centaur presents a variety of practical difficulties to an\nanatomist and physiologist; and a good many of those generalisations of\nour present experience, which we are pleased to call laws of nature,\nwould be upset by the appearance of such an animal, so that we should\nhave to frame new laws to cover our extended experience. Every wise man\nwill admit that the possibilities of nature are infinite, and include\ncentaurs; but he will not the less feel it his duty to hold fast, for\nthe present, by the dictum of Lucretius, \"Nam certe ex vivo Centauri non\nfit imago,\" and to cast the entire burthen of proof, that centaurs\nexist, on the shoulders of those who ask him to believe the statement.\n\nJudged by the canons either of common sense, or of science, which are\nindeed one and the same, all \"miracles\" are centaurs, or they would not\nbe miracles; and men of sense and science will deal with them on the\nsame principles. No one who wishes to keep well within the limits of\nthat which he has a right to assert will affirm that it is impossible\nthat the sun and moon should ever have been made to appear to stand\nstill in the valley of Ajalon; or that the walls of a city should have\nfallen down at a trumpet blast; or that water was turned into wine;\nbecause such events are contrary to uniform experience and violate laws\nof nature. For aught he can prove to the contrary, such events may\nappear in the order of nature to-morrow. But common sense and common\nhonesty alike oblige him to demand from those who would have him believe\nin the actual occurrence of such events, evidence of a cogency\nproportionate to their departure from probability; evidence at least as\nstrong as that, which the man who says he has seen a centaur is bound to\nproduce, unless he is content to be thought either more than credulous\nor less than honest.\n\nBut are there any miracles on record, the evidence for which fulfils the\nplain and simple requirements alike of elementary logic and of\nelementary morality?\n\nHume answers this question without the smallest hesitation, and with all\nthe authority of a historical specialist:--\n\n     \"There is not to be found, in all history, any miracle attested by\n     a sufficient number of men, of such unquestioned goodness,\n     education, and learning, as to secure us against all delusion in\n     themselves; of such undoubted integrity, as to place them beyond\n     all suspicion of any design to deceive others; of such credit and\n     reputation in the eyes of mankind, as to have a great deal to lose\n     in case of their being detected in any falsehood; and at the same\n     time attesting facts, performed in such a public manner, and in so\n     celebrated a part of the world, as to render the detection\n     unavoidable: All which circumstances are requisite to give us a\n     full assurance of the testimony of men.\"--(IV. p. 135.)\n\nThese are grave assertions, but they are least likely to be challenged\nby those who have made it their business to weigh evidence and to give\ntheir decision under a due sense of the moral responsibility which they\nincur in so doing.\n\nIt is probable that few persons who proclaim their belief in miracles\nhave considered what would be necessary to justify that belief in the\ncase of a professed modern miracle-worker. Suppose, for example, it is\naffirmed that A.B. died and that C.D. brought him to life again. Let it\nbe granted that A.B. and C.D. are persons of unimpeachable honour and\nveracity; that C.D. is the next heir to A.B.'s estate, and therefore had\na strong motive for not bringing him to life again; and that all A.B.'s\nrelations, respectable persons who bore him a strong affection, or had\notherwise an interest in his being alive, declared that they saw him\ndie. Furthermore, let A.B. be seen after his recovery by all his friends\nand neighbours, and let his and their depositions, that he is now alive,\nbe taken down before a magistrate of known integrity and acuteness:\nwould all this constitute even presumptive evidence that C.D. had worked\na miracle? Unquestionably not. For the most important link in the whole\nchain of evidence is wanting, and that is the proof that A.B. was really\ndead. The evidence of ordinary observers on such a point as this is\nabsolutely worthless. And, even medical evidence, unless the physician\nis a person of unusual knowledge and skill, may have little more value.\nUnless careful thermometric observation proves that the temperature has\nsunk below a certain point; unless the cadaveric stiffening of the\nmuscles has become well established; all the ordinary signs of death may\nbe fallacious, and the intervention of C.D. may have had no more to do\nwith A.B.'s restoration to life than any other fortuitously coincident\nevent.\n\nIt may be said that such a coincidence would be more wonderful than the\nmiracle itself. Nevertheless history acquaints us with coincidences as\nmarvellous.\n\nOn the 19th of February, 1842, Sir Robert Sale held Jellalabad with a\nsmall English force and, daily expecting attack from an overwhelming\nforce of Afghans, had spent three months in incessantly labouring to\nimprove the fortifications of the town. Akbar Khan had approached within\na few miles, and an onslaught of his army was supposed to be imminent.\nThat morning an earthquake--\n\n     \"nearly destroyed the town, threw down the greater part of the\n     parapets, the central gate with the adjoining bastions, and a part\n     of the new bastion which flanked it. Three other bastions were also\n     nearly destroyed, whilst several large breaches were made in the\n     curtains, and the Peshawur side, eighty feet long, was quite\n     practicable, the ditch being filled, and the descent easy. Thus in\n     one moment the labours of three months were in a great measure\n     destroyed.\"[27]\n\nIf Akbar Khan had happened to give orders for an assault in the early\nmorning of the 19th of February, what good follower of the Prophet could\nhave doubted that Allah had lent his aid? As it chanced, however,\nMahometan faith in the miraculous took another turn; for the energetic\ndefenders of the post had repaired the damage by the end of the month;\nand the enemy, finding no signs of the earthquake when they invested the\nplace, ascribed the supposed immunity of Jellalabad to English\nwitchcraft.\n\n\nBut the conditions of belief do not vary with time or place; and, if it\nis undeniable that evidence of so complete and weighty a character is\nneeded, at the present time, for the establishment of the occurrence of\nsuch a wonder as that supposed, it has always been needful. Those who\nstudy the extant records of miracles with due attention will judge for\nthemselves how far it has ever been supplied.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[27] Report of Captain Broadfoot, garrison engineer, quoted in Kaye's\n_Afghanistan_.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nTHEISM; EVOLUTION OF THEOLOGY.\n\n\nHume seems to have had but two hearty dislikes: the one to the English\nnation, and the other to all the professors of dogmatic theology. The\none aversion he vented only privately to his friends; but, if he is ever\nbitter in his public utterances, it is against priests[28] in general\nand theological enthusiasts and fanatics in particular; if he ever seems\ninsincere, it is when he wishes to insult theologians by a parade of\nsarcastic respect. One need go no further than the peroration of the\n_Essay on Miracles_ for a characteristic illustration.\n\n     \"I am the better pleased with the method of reasoning here\n     delivered, as I think it may serve to confound those dangerous\n     friends and disguised enemies to the _Christian religion_ who have\n     undertaken to defend it by the principles of human reason. Our\n     most holy religion is founded on _Faith_, not on reason, and it is\n     a sure method of exposing it to put it to such a trial as it is by\n     no means fitted to endure. ... the Christian religion not only was\n     at first attended with miracles, but even at this day cannot be\n     believed by any reasonable person without one. Mere reason is\n     insufficient to convince us of its veracity: And whoever is moved\n     by _Faith_ to assent to it, is conscious of a continual miracle in\n     his own person, which subverts all the principles of his\n     understanding, and gives him a determination to believe what is\n     most contrary to custom and experience.\"--(IV. pp. 153, 154.)\n\nIt is obvious that, here and elsewhere, Hume, adopting a popular\nconfusion of ideas, uses religion as the equivalent of dogmatic\ntheology; and, therefore, he says, with perfect justice, that \"religion\nis nothing but a species of philosophy\" (iv. p. 171). Here no doubt lies\nthe root of his antagonism. The quarrels of theologians and philosophers\nhave not been about religion, but about philosophy; and philosophers not\nunfrequently seem to entertain the same feeling towards theologians that\nsportsmen cherish towards poachers. \"There cannot be two passions more\nnearly resembling each other than hunting and philosophy,\" says Hume.\nAnd philosophic hunters are given to think, that, while they pursue\ntruth for its own sake, out of pure love for the chase (perhaps mingled\nwith a little human weakness to be thought good shots), and by open and\nlegitimate methods; their theological competitors too often care merely\nto supply the market of establishments; and disdain neither the aid of\nthe snares of superstition, nor the cover of the darkness of ignorance.\n\nUnless some foundation was given for this impression by the theological\nwriters whose works had fallen in Hume's way, it is difficult to account\nfor the depth of feeling which so good natured a man manifests on the\nsubject.\n\nThus he writes in the _Natural History of Religion_, with quite unusual\nacerbity:--\n\n     \"The chief objection to it [the ancient heathen mythology] with\n     regard to this planet is, that it is not ascertained by any just\n     reason or authority. The ancient tradition insisted on by heathen\n     priests and theologers is but a weak foundation: and transmitted\n     also such a number of contradictory reports, supported all of them\n     by equal authority, that it became absolutely impossible to fix a\n     preference among them. A few volumes, therefore, must contain all\n     the polemical writings of pagan priests: And their whole theology\n     must consist more of traditional stories and superstitious\n     practices than of philosophical argument and controversy.\n\n     \"But where theism forms the fundamental principle of any popular\n     religion, that tenet is so conformable to sound reason, that\n     philosophy is apt to incorporate itself with such a system of\n     theology. And if the other dogmas of that system be contained in a\n     sacred book, such as the Alcoran, or be determined by any visible\n     authority, like that of the Roman pontiff, speculative reasoners\n     naturally carry on their assent, and embrace a theory, which has\n     been instilled into them by their earliest education, and which\n     also possesses some degree of consistence and uniformity. But as\n     these appearances are sure, all of them, to prove deceitful,\n     philosophy will very soon find herself very unequally yoked with\n     her new associate; and instead of regulating each principle, as\n     they advance together, she is at every turn perverted to serve the\n     purposes of superstition. For besides the unavoidable incoherences,\n     which must be reconciled and adjusted, one may safely affirm, that\n     all popular theology, especially the scholastic, has a kind of\n     appetite for absurdity and contradiction. If that theology went not\n     beyond reason and common sense, her doctrines would appear too easy\n     and familiar. Amazement must of necessity be raised: Mystery\n     affected: Darkness and obscurity sought after: And a foundation of\n     merit afforded to the devout votaries, who desire an opportunity\n     of subduing their rebellious reason by the belief of the most\n     unintelligible sophisms.\n\n     \"Ecclesiastical history sufficiently confirms these reflections.\n     When a controversy is started, some people always pretend with\n     certainty to foretell the issue. Whichever opinion, say they, is\n     most contrary to plain reason is sure to prevail; even when the\n     general interest of the system requires not that decision. Though\n     the reproach of heresy may, for some time, be bandied about among\n     the disputants, it always rests at last on the side of reason. Any\n     one, it is pretended, that has but learning enough of this kind to\n     know the definition of _Arian_, _Pelagian_, _Erastian_, _Socinian_,\n     _Sabellian_, _Eutychian_, _Nestorian_, _Monothelite_, &c., not to\n     mention _Protestant_, whose fate is yet uncertain, will be\n     convinced of the truth of this observation. It is thus a system\n     becomes absurd in the end, merely from its being reasonable and\n     philosophical in the beginning.\n\n     \"To oppose the torrent of scholastic religion by such feeble maxims\n     as these, that _it is impossible for the same thing to be and not\n     to be_, that _the whole is greater than a part_, that _two and\n     three make five_, is pretending to stop the ocean with a bulrush.\n     Will you set up profane reason against sacred mystery? No\n     punishment is great enough for your impiety. And the same fires\n     which were kindled for heretics will serve also for the destruction\n     of philosophers.\"--(IV. pp. 481-3.)\n\nHolding these opinions respecting the recognised systems of theology and\ntheir professors, Hume, nevertheless, seems to have had a theology of\nhis own; that is to say, he seems to have thought (though, as will\nappear, it is needful for an expositor of his opinions to speak very\nguardedly on this point) that the problem of theism is susceptible of\nscientific treatment, with something more than a negative result. His\nopinions are to be gathered from the eleventh section of the _Inquiry_\n(1748); from the _Dialogues concerning Natural Religion_, which were\nwritten at least as early as 1751, though not published till after his\ndeath; and from the _Natural History of Religion_, published in 1757.\n\nIn the first two pieces, the reader is left to judge for himself which\ninterlocutor in the dialogue represents the thoughts of the author; but,\nfor the views put forward in the last, Hume accepts the responsibility.\nUnfortunately, this essay deals almost wholly with the historical\ndevelopment of theological ideas; and, on the question of the\nphilosophical foundation of theology, does little more than express the\nwriter's contentment with the argument from design.\n\n     \"The whole frame of nature bespeaks an Intelligent Author; and no\n     rational inquirer can, after serious reflection, suspend his belief\n     a moment with regard to the primary principles of genuine Theism\n     and Religion.--(IV. p. 435.)\n\n     \"Were men led into the apprehension of invisible, intelligent\n     power, by a contemplation of the works of nature, they could never\n     possibly entertain any conception but of one single being, who\n     bestowed existence and order on this vast machine, and adjusted all\n     its parts according to one regular plan or connected system. For\n     though, to persons of a certain turn of mind, it may not appear\n     altogether absurd, that several independent beings, endowed with\n     superior wisdom, might conspire in the contrivance and execution of\n     one regular plan, yet is this a merely arbitrary supposition,\n     which, even if allowed possible, must be confessed neither to be\n     supported by probability nor necessity. All things in the universe\n     are evidently of a piece. Everything is adjusted to everything. One\n     design prevails throughout the whole. And this uniformity leads the\n     mind to acknowledge one author; because the conception of different\n     authors, without any distinction of attributes or operations,\n     serves only to give perplexity to the imagination, without\n     bestowing any satisfaction on the understanding.\"--(IV. p. 442.)\n\nThus Hume appears to have sincerely accepted the two fundamental\nconclusions of the argument from design; firstly, that a Deity exists;\nand, secondly, that He possesses attributes more or less allied to those\nof human intelligence. But, at this embryonic stage of theology, Hume's\nprogress is arrested; and, after a survey of the development of dogma,\nhis \"general corollary\" is, that--\n\n     \"The whole is a riddle, an enigma, an inexplicable mystery. Doubt,\n     uncertainty, suspense of judgment, appear the only result of our\n     most accurate scrutiny concerning this subject. But such is the\n     frailty of human reason, and such the irresistible contagion of\n     opinion, that even this deliberate doubt could scarcely be upheld;\n     did we not enlarge our view, and opposing one species of\n     superstition to another, set them a quarrelling; while we\n     ourselves, during their fury and contention, happily make our\n     escape into the calm, though obscure, regions of philosophy.\"--(IV.\n     p. 513.)\n\nThus it may be fairly presumed that Hume expresses his own sentiments in\nthe words of the speech with which Philo concludes the _Dialogues_.\n\n     \"If the whole of natural theology, as some people seem to maintain,\n     resolves itself into one simple, though somewhat ambiguous, at\n     least undefined proposition, _That the cause or causes of order in\n     the universe probably bear some remote analogy to human\n     intelligence_: If this proposition be not capable of extension,\n     variation, or more particular explication: If it affords no\n     inference that affects human life or can be the source of any\n     action or forbearance: And if the analogy, imperfect as it is, can\n     be carried no further than to the human intelligence, and cannot be\n     transferred, with any appearance of probability, to the other\n     qualities of the mind; if this really be the case, what can the\n     most inquisitive, contemplative, and religious man do more than\n     give a plain, philosophical assent to the proposition, as often as\n     it occurs, and believe that the arguments on which it is\n     established exceed the objections which lie against it? Some\n     astonishment indeed will naturally arise from the greatness of the\n     object; some melancholy from its obscurity; some contempt of human\n     reason, that it can give no solution more satisfactory with regard\n     to so extraordinary and magnificent a question. But believe me,\n     Cleanthes, the most natural sentiment which a well-disposed mind\n     will feel on this occasion, is a longing desire and expectation\n     that Heaven would be pleased to dissipate, at least alleviate, this\n     profound ignorance, by affording some more particular revelation to\n     mankind, and making discoveries of the nature, attributes, and\n     operations of the Divine object of our faith.\"[29]--(II. pp.\n     547-8.)\n\nSuch being the sum total of Hume's conclusions, it cannot be said that\nhis theological burden is a heavy one. But, if we turn from the _Natural\nHistory of Religion_, to the _Treatise_, the _Inquiry_, and the\n_Dialogues_, the story of what happened to the ass laden with salt, who\ntook to the water, irresistibly suggests itself. Hume's theism, such as\nit is, dissolves away in the dialectic river, until nothing is left but\nthe verbal sack in which it was contained.\n\nOf the two theistic propositions to which Hume is committed, the first\nis the affirmation of the existence of a God, supported by the argument\nfrom the nature of causation. In the _Dialogues_, Philo, while pushing\nscepticism to its utmost limit, is nevertheless made to say that--\n\n     \" ... where reasonable men treat these subjects, the question can\n     never be concerning the _Being_, but only the _Nature_, of the\n     Deity. The former truth, as you will observe, is unquestionable and\n     self-evident. Nothing exists without a cause, and the original\n     cause of this universe (whatever it be) we call God, and piously\n     ascribe to him every species of perfection.\"--(II. p. 439.)\n\nThe expositor of Hume, who wishes to do his work thoroughly, as far as\nit goes, cannot but fall into perplexity[30] when he contrasts this\nlanguage with that of the sections of the third part of the _Treatise_,\nentitled, _Why a Cause is Always Necessary_, and _Of the Idea of\nNecessary Connexion_.\n\nIt is there shown, at large, that \"every demonstration which has been\nproduced for the necessity of a cause is fallacious and sophistical\" (I.\np. 111); it is affirmed, that \"there is no absolute nor metaphysical\nnecessity that every beginning of existence should be attended with such\nan object\" [as a cause] (I. p. 227); and it is roundly asserted, that it\nis \"easy for us to conceive any object to be non-existent this moment\nand existent the next, without conjoining to it the distinct idea of a\ncause or productive principle\" (I. p. 111). So far from the axiom, that\nwhatever begins to exist must have a cause of existence, being\n\"self-evident,\" as Philo calls it, Hume spends the greatest care in\nshowing that it is nothing but the product of custom, or experience.\n\nAnd the doubt thus forced upon one, whether Philo ought to be taken as\neven, so far, Hume's mouth-piece, is increased when we reflect that we\nare dealing with an acute reasoner; and that there is no difficulty in\ndrawing the deduction from Hume's own definition of a cause, that the\nvery phrase, a \"first cause,\" involves a contradiction in terms. He lays\ndown that,--\n\n     \"'Tis an established axiom both in natural and moral philosophy,\n     that an object, which exists for any time in its full perfection\n     without producing another, is not its sole cause; but is assisted\n     by some other principle which pushes it from its state of\n     inactivity, and makes it exert that energy, of which it was\n     secretly possessed.\"--(I. p. 106.)\n\nNow the \"first cause\" is assumed to have existed from all eternity, up\nto the moment at which the universe came into existence. Hence it cannot\nbe the sole cause of the universe; in fact, it was no cause at all until\nit was \"assisted by some other principle\"; consequently the so-called\n\"first cause,\" so far as it produces the universe, is in reality an\neffect of that other principle. Moreover, though, in the person of\nPhilo, Hume assumes the axiom \"that whatever begins to exist must have a\ncause,\" which he denies in the _Treatise_, he must have seen, for a\nchild may see, that the assumption is of no real service.\n\nSuppose Y to be the imagined first cause and Z to be its effect. Let the\nletters of the alphabet, _a_, _b_, _c_, _d_, _e_, _f_, _g_, in their\norder, represent successive moments of time, and let _g_ represent the\nparticular moment at which the effect Z makes its appearance. It follows\nthat the cause Y could not have existed \"in its full perfection\" during\nthe time _a_--_e_, for if it had, then the effect Z would have come into\nexistence during that time, which, by the hypothesis, it did not do. The\ncause Y, therefore, must have come into existence at _f_, and if\n\"everything that comes into existence has a cause,\" Y must have had a\ncause X operating at _e_; X, a cause W operating at _d_; and, so on, _ad\ninfinitum_.[31]\n\nIf the only demonstrative argument for the existence of a Deity, which\nHume advances, thus, literally, \"goes to water\" in the solvent of his\nphilosophy, the reasoning from the evidence of design does not fare much\nbetter. If Hume really knew of any valid reply to Philo's arguments in\nthe following passages of the _Dialogues_, he has dealt unfairly by the\nleader in concealing it:--\n\n     \"But because I know you are not much swayed by names and\n     authorities, I shall endeavour to show you, a little more\n     distinctly, the inconveniences of that Anthropomorphism, which you\n     have embraced; and shall prove, that there is no ground to suppose\n     a plan of the world to be formed in the Divine mind, consisting of\n     distinct ideas, differently arranged, in the same manner as an\n     architect forms in his head the plan of a house which he intends to\n     execute.\n\n     \"It is not easy, I own, to see what is gained by this supposition,\n     whether we judge the matter by _Reason_ or by _Experience_. We are\n     still obliged to mount higher, in order to find the cause of this\n     cause, which you had assigned as satisfactory and conclusive.\n\n     \"If _Reason_ (I mean abstract reason, derived from inquiries _a\n     priori_) be not alike mute with regard to all questions concerning\n     cause and effect, this sentence at least it will venture to\n     pronounce: That a mental world, or universe of ideas, requires a\n     cause as much as does a material world, or universe of objects;\n     and, if similar in its arrangement, must require a similar cause.\n     For what is there in this subject, which should occasion a\n     different conclusion or inference? In an abstract view, they are\n     entirely alike; and no difficulty attends the one supposition,\n     which is not common to both of them.\n\n     \"Again, when we will needs force _Experience_ to pronounce some\n     sentence, even on those subjects which lie beyond her sphere,\n     neither can she perceive any material difference in this\n     particular, between these two kinds of worlds; but finds them to be\n     governed by similar principles, and to depend upon an equal variety\n     of causes in their operations. We have specimens in miniature of\n     both of them. Our own mind resembles the one; a vegetable or animal\n     body the other. Let experience, therefore, judge from these\n     samples. Nothing seems more delicate, with regard to its causes,\n     than thought: and as these causes never operate in two persons\n     after the same manner, so we never find two persons who think\n     exactly alike. Nor indeed does the same person think exactly alike\n     at any two different periods of time. A difference of age, of the\n     disposition of his body, of weather, of food, of company, of books,\n     of passions; any of these particulars, or others more minute, are\n     sufficient to alter the curious machinery of thought, and\n     communicate to it very different movements and operations. As far\n     as we can judge, vegetables and animal bodies are not more delicate\n     in their motions, nor depend upon a greater variety or more curious\n     adjustment of springs and principles.\n\n     \"How, therefore, shall we satisfy ourselves concerning the cause of\n     that Being whom you suppose the Author of Nature, or, according to\n     your system of anthropomorphism, the ideal world in which you trace\n     the material? Have we not the same reason to trace the ideal world\n     into another ideal world, or new intelligent principle? But if we\n     stop and go no farther; why go so far? Why not stop at the material\n     world? How can we satisfy ourselves without going on _in\n     infinitum_? And after all, what satisfaction is there in that\n     infinite progression? Let us remember the story of the Indian\n     philosopher and his elephant. It was never more applicable than to\n     the present subject. If the material world rests upon a similar\n     ideal world, this ideal world must rest upon some other; and so on\n     without end. It were better, therefore, never to look beyond the\n     present material world. By supposing it to contain the principle of\n     its order within itself, we really assert it to be God; and the\n     sooner we arrive at that Divine Being, so much the better. When you\n     go one step beyond the mundane system you only excite an\n     inquisitive humour, which it is impossible ever to satisfy.\n\n     \"To say, that the different ideas which compose the reason of the\n     Supreme Being, fall into order of themselves and by their own\n     natures, is really to talk without any precise meaning. If it has a\n     meaning, I would fain know why it is not as good sense to say,\n     that the parts of the material world fall into order of themselves,\n     and by their own nature. Can the one opinion be intelligible while\n     the other is not so?\"--(II. pp. 461-4.)\n\nCleanthes, in replying to Philo's discourse, says that it is very easy\nto answer his arguments; but, as not unfrequently happens with\ncontroversialists, he mistakes a reply for an answer, when he declares\nthat--\n\n     \"The order and arrangement of nature, the curious adjustment of\n     final causes, the plain use and intention of every part and organ;\n     all these bespeak in the clearest language one intelligent cause or\n     author. The heavens and the earth join in the same testimony. The\n     whole chorus of nature raises one hymn to the praises of its\n     Creator.\"--(II. p. 465.)\n\nThough the rhetoric of Cleanthes may be admired, its irrelevancy to the\npoint at issue must be admitted. Wandering still further into the region\nof declamation, he works himself into a passion:\n\n     \"You alone, or almost alone, disturb this general harmony. You\n     start abstruse doubts, cavils, and objections: You ask me what is\n     the cause of this cause? I know not: I care not: that concerns not\n     me. I have found a Deity; and here I stop my inquiry. Let those go\n     further who are wiser or more enterprising.\"--(II. p. 466.)\n\nIn other words, O Cleanthes, reasoning having taken you as far as you\nwant to go, you decline to advance any further; even though you fully\nadmit that the very same reasoning forbids you to stop where you are\npleased to cry halt! But this is simply forcing your reason to abdicate\nin favour of your caprice. It is impossible to imagine that Hume, of all\nmen in the world, could have rested satisfied with such an act of\nhigh-treason against the sovereignty of philosophy. We may rather\nconclude that the last word of the discussion, which he gives to Philo,\nis also his own.\n\n     \"If I am still to remain in utter ignorance of causes, and can\n     absolutely give an explication of nothing, I shall never esteem it\n     any advantage to shove off for a moment a difficulty, which, you\n     acknowledge, must immediately, in its full force, recur upon me.\n     Naturalists[32] indeed very justly explain particular effects by\n     more general causes, though these general causes should remain in\n     the end totally inexplicable; but they never surely thought it\n     satisfactory to explain a particular effect by a particular cause,\n     which was no more to be accounted for than the effect itself. An\n     ideal system, arranged of itself, without a precedent design, is\n     not a whit more explicable than a material one, which attains its\n     order in a like manner; nor is there any more difficulty in the\n     latter supposition than in the former.\"--(II. p. 466.)\n\nIt is obvious that, if Hume had been pushed, he must have admitted that\nhis opinion concerning the existence of a God, and of a certain remote\nresemblance of his intellectual nature to that of man, was an hypothesis\nwhich might possess more or less probability, but was incapable on his\nown principles of any approach to demonstration. And to all attempts to\nmake any practical use of his theism; or to prove the existence of the\nattributes of infinite wisdom, benevolence, justice, and the like, which\nare usually ascribed to the Deity, by reason, he opposes a searching\ncritical negation.[33]\n\nThe object of the speech of the imaginary Epicurean in the eleventh\nsection of the _Inquiry_, entitled _Of a Particular Providence and of a\nFuture State_, is to invert the argument of Bishop Butler's _Analogy_.\n\nThat famous defence of theology against the _a priori_ scepticism of\nFreethinkers of the eighteenth century, who based their arguments on the\ninconsistency of the revealed scheme of salvation with the attributes of\nthe Deity, consists, essentially, in conclusively proving that, from a\nmoral point of view, Nature is at least as reprehensible as orthodoxy.\nIf you tell me, says Butler, in effect, that any part of revealed\nreligion must be false because it is inconsistent with the divine\nattributes of justice and mercy; I beg leave to point out to you, that\nthere are undeniable natural facts which are fully open to the same\nobjection. Since you admit that nature is the work of God, you are\nforced to allow that such facts are consistent with his attributes.\nTherefore, you must also admit, that the parallel facts in the scheme of\northodoxy are also consistent with them, and all your arguments to the\ncontrary fall to the ground. Q.E.D. In fact, the solid sense of Butler\nleft the Deism of the Freethinkers not a leg to stand upon. Perhaps,\nhowever, he did not remember the wise saying that \"A man seemeth right\nin his own cause, but another cometh after and judgeth him.\" Hume's\nEpicurean philosopher adopts the main arguments of the _Analogy_, but\nunfortunately drives them home to a conclusion of which the good Bishop\nwould hardly have approved.\n\n     \"I deny a Providence, you say, and supreme governor of the world,\n     who guides the course of events, and punishes the vicious with\n     infamy and disappointment, and rewards the virtuous with honour and\n     success in all their undertakings. But surely I deny not the course\n     itself of events, which lies open to every one's inquiry and\n     examination. I acknowledge that, in the present order of things,\n     virtue is attended with more peace of mind than vice, and meets\n     with a more favourable reception from the world. I am sensible\n     that, according to the past experience of mankind, friendship is\n     the chief joy of human life, and moderation the only source of\n     tranquillity and happiness. I never balance between the virtuous\n     and the vicious course of life; but am sensible that, to a\n     well-disposed mind, every advantage is on the side of the former.\n     And what can you say more, allowing all your suppositions and\n     reasonings? You tell me, indeed, that this disposition of things\n     proceeds from intelligence and design. But, whatever it proceeds\n     from, the disposition itself, on which depends our happiness and\n     misery, and consequently our conduct and deportment in life, is\n     still the same. It is still open for me, as well as you, to\n     regulate my behaviour by my experience of past events. And if you\n     affirm that, while a divine providence is allowed, and a supreme\n     distributive justice in the universe, I ought to expect some more\n     particular reward of the good, and punishment of the bad, beyond\n     the ordinary course of events, I here find the same fallacy which I\n     have before endeavoured to detect. You persist in imagining, that\n     if we grant that divine existence for which you so earnestly\n     contend, you may safely infer consequences from it, and add\n     something to the experienced order of nature, by arguing from the\n     attributes which you ascribe to your gods. You seem not to remember\n     that all your reasonings on this subject can only be drawn from\n     effects to causes; and that every argument, deduced from causes to\n     effects, must of necessity be a gross sophism, since it is\n     impossible for you to know anything of the cause, but what you have\n     antecedently not inferred, but discovered to the full, in the\n     effect.\n\n     \"But what must a philosopher think of those vain reasoners who,\n     instead of regarding the present scene of things as the sole object\n     of their contemplation, so far reverse the whole course of nature,\n     as to render this life merely a passage to something further; a\n     porch, which leads to a greater and vastly different building; a\n     prologue which serves only to introduce the piece, and give it more\n     grace and propriety? Whence, do you think, can such philosophers\n     derive their idea of the gods? From their own conceit and\n     imagination surely. For if they derive it from the present\n     phenomena, it would never point to anything further, but must be\n     exactly adjusted to them. That the divinity may _possibly_ be\n     endowed with attributes which we have never seen exerted; may be\n     governed by principles of action which we cannot discover to be\n     satisfied; all this will freely be allowed. But still this is mere\n     _possibility_ and hypothesis. We never can have reason to _infer_\n     any attributes or any principles of action in him, but so far as we\n     know them to have been exerted and satisfied.\n\n     \"_Are there any marks of a distributive justice in the world?_ If\n     you answer in the affirmative, I conclude that, since justice here\n     exerts itself, it is satisfied. If you reply in the negative, I\n     conclude that you have then no reason to ascribe justice, in our\n     sense of it, to the gods. If you hold a medium between affirmation\n     and negation, by saying that the justice of the gods at present\n     exerts itself in part, but not in its full extent, I answer that\n     you have no reason to give it any particular extent, but only so\n     far as you see it, _at present_, exert itself.\"--(IV. pp. 164-6.)\n\nThus, the Freethinkers said, the attributes of the Deity being what they\nare, the scheme of orthodoxy is inconsistent with them; whereupon Butler\ngave the crushing reply: Agreeing with you as to the attributes of the\nDeity, nature, by its existence, proves that the things to which you\nobject are quite consistent with them. To whom enters Hume's Epicurean\nwith the remark: Then, as nature is our only measure of the attributes\nof the Deity in their practical manifestation, what warranty is there\nfor supposing that such measure is anywhere transcended? That the \"other\nside\" of nature, if there be one, is governed on different principles\nfrom this side?\n\nTruly on this topic silence is golden; while speech reaches not even\nthe dignity of sounding brass or tinkling cymbal, and is but the weary\nclatter of an endless logomachy. One can but suspect that Hume also had\nreached this conviction; and that his shadowy and inconsistent theism\nwas the expression of his desire to rest in a state of mind, which\ndistinctly excluded negation, while it included as little as possible of\naffirmation, respecting a problem which he felt to be hopelessly\ninsoluble.\n\nBut, whatever might be the views of the philosopher as to the arguments\nfor theism, the historian could have no doubt respecting its many-shaped\nexistence, and the great part which it has played in the world. Here,\nthen, was a body of natural facts to be investigated scientifically, and\nthe result of Hume's inquiries is embodied in the remarkable essay on\nthe _Natural History of Religion_. Hume anticipated the results of\nmodern investigation in declaring fetishism and polytheism to be the\nform in which savage and ignorant men naturally clothe their ideas of\nthe unknown influences which govern their destiny; and they are\npolytheists rather than monotheists because,--\n\n     \" ... the first ideas of religion arose, not from a contemplation\n     of the works of nature, but from a concern with regard to the\n     events of life, and from the incessant hopes and fears which\n     actuate the human mind ... in order to carry men's attention beyond\n     the present course of things, or lead them into any inference\n     concerning invisible intelligent power, they must be actuated by\n     some passion which prompts their thought and reflection, some\n     motive which urges their first inquiry. But what passion shall we\n     have recourse to, for explaining an effect of such mighty\n     consequence? Not speculative curiosity merely, or the pure love of\n     truth. That motive is too refined for such gross apprehensions,\n     and would lead men into inquiries concerning the frame of nature, a\n     subject too large and comprehensive for their narrow capacities. No\n     passions, therefore, can be supposed to work on such barbarians,\n     but the ordinary affections of human life; the anxious concern for\n     happiness, the dread of future misery, the terror of death, the\n     thirst of revenge, the appetite for food and other necessaries.\n     Agitated by hopes and fears of this nature, especially the latter,\n     men scrutinize, with a trembling curiosity, the course of future\n     causes, and examine the various and contrary events of human life.\n     And in this disordered scene, with eyes still more disordered and\n     astonished, they see the first obscure traces of divinity.\"--(IV.\n     pp. 443, 4.)\n\nThe shape assumed by these first traces of divinity is that of the\nshadows of men's own minds, projected out of themselves by their\nimaginations:--\n\n     \"There is an universal tendency among mankind to conceive all\n     beings like themselves, and to transfer to every object those\n     qualities with which they are familiarly acquainted, and of which\n     they are intimately conscious.... The _unknown causes_ which\n     continually employ their thought, appearing always in the same\n     aspect, are all apprehended to be of the same kind or species. Nor\n     is it long before we ascribe to them thought, and reason, and\n     passion, and sometimes even the limbs and figures of men, in order\n     to bring them nearer to a resemblance with ourselves.\"--(IV. pp.\n     446-7.)\n\nHume asks whether polytheism really deserves the name of theism.\n\n     \"Our ancestors in Europe, before the revival of letters, believed\n     as we do at present, that there was one supreme God, the author of\n     nature, whose power, though in itself uncontrollable, was yet often\n     exerted by the interposition of his angels and subordinate\n     ministers, who executed his sacred purposes. But they also\n     believed, that all nature was full of other invisible powers:\n     fairies, goblins, elves, sprights; beings stronger and mightier\n     than men, but much inferior to the celestial natures who surround\n     the throne of God. Now, suppose that any one, in these ages, had\n     denied the existence of God and of his angels, would not his\n     impiety justly have deserved the appellation of atheism, even\n     though he had still allowed, by some odd capricious reasoning, that\n     the popular stories of elves and fairies were just and well\n     grounded? The difference, on the one hand, between such a person\n     and a genuine theist, is infinitely greater than that, on the\n     other, between him and one that absolutely excludes all invisible\n     intelligent power. And it is a fallacy, merely from the casual\n     resemblance of names, without any conformity of meaning, to rank\n     such opposite opinions under the same denomination.\n\n     \"To any one who considers justly of the matter, it will appear that\n     the gods of the polytheists are no better than the elves and\n     fairies of our ancestors, and merit as little as any pious worship\n     and veneration. These pretended religionists are really a kind of\n     superstitious atheists, and acknowledge no being that corresponds\n     to our idea of a Deity. No first principle of mind or thought; no\n     supreme government and administration; no divine contrivance or\n     intention in the fabric of the world.\"--(IV. pp. 450-51.)\n\nThe doctrine that you may call an atheist anybody whose ideas about the\nDeity do not correspond with your own, is so largely acted upon by\npersons who are certainly not of Hume's way of thinking and, probably,\nso far from having read him, would shudder to open any book bearing his\nname, except the _History of England_, that it is surprising to trace\nthe theory of their practice to such a source.\n\nBut on thinking the matter over, this theory seems so consonant with\nreason, that one feels ashamed of having suspected many excellent\npersons of being moved by mere malice and viciousness of temper to call\nother folks atheists, when, after all, they have been obeying a purely\nintellectual sense of fitness. As Hume says, truly enough, it is a mere\nfallacy, because two people use the same names for things, the ideas of\nwhich are mutually exclusive, to rank such opposite opinions under the\nsame denomination. If the Jew says, that the Deity is absolute unity,\nand that it is sheer blasphemy to say that He ever became incarnate in\nthe person of a man; and, if the Trinitarian says, that the Deity is\nnumerically three as well as numerically one, and that it is sheer\nblasphemy to say that He did not so become incarnate, it is obvious\nenough that each must be logically held to deny the existence of the\nother's Deity. Therefore; that each has a scientific right to call the\nother an atheist; and that, if he refrains, it is only on the ground of\ndecency and good manners, which should restrain an honourable man from\nemploying even scientifically justifiable language, if custom has given\nit an abusive connotation. While one must agree with Hume, then, it is,\nnevertheless, to be wished that he had not set the bad example of\ncalling polytheists \"superstitious atheists.\" It probably did not occur\nto him that, by a parity of reasoning, the Unitarians might justify the\napplication of the same language to the Ultramontanes, and _vice versa_.\nBut, to return from a digression which may not be wholly unprofitable,\nHume proceeds to show in what manner polytheism incorporated physical\nand moral allegories, and naturally accepted hero-worship; and he sums\nup his views of the first stages of the evolution of theology as\nfollows:--\n\n     \"These then are the general principles of polytheism, founded in\n     human nature, and little or nothing dependent on caprice or\n     accident. As the _causes_ which bestow happiness or misery, are in\n     general very little known and very uncertain, our anxious concern\n     endeavours to attain a determinate idea of them: and finds no\n     better expedient than to represent them as intelligent, voluntary\n     agents, like ourselves, only somewhat superior in power and wisdom.\n     The limited influence of these agents, and their proximity to human\n     weakness, introduce the various distribution and division of their\n     authority, and thereby give rise to allegory. The same principles\n     naturally deify mortals, superior in power, courage, or\n     understanding, and produce hero-worship; together with fabulous\n     history and mythological tradition, in all its wild and\n     unaccountable forms. And as an invisible spiritual intelligence is\n     an object too refined for vulgar apprehension, men naturally affix\n     it to some sensible representation; such as either the more\n     conspicuous parts of nature, or the statues, images, and pictures,\n     which a more refined age forms of its divinities.\"--(IV. p. 461.)\n\nHow did the further stage of theology, monotheism, arise out of\npolytheism? Hume replies, certainly not by reasonings from first causes\nor any sort of fine-drawn logic:--\n\n     \"Even at this day, and in Europe, ask any of the vulgar why he\n     believes in an Omnipotent Creator of the world, he will never\n     mention the beauty of final causes, of which he is wholly ignorant:\n     He will not hold out his hand and bid you contemplate the\n     suppleness and variety of joints in his fingers, their bending all\n     one way, the counterpoise which they receive from the thumb, the\n     softness and fleshy parts of the inside of the hand, with all the\n     other circumstances which render that member fit for the use to\n     which it was destined. To these he has been long accustomed; and he\n     beholds them with listlessness and unconcern. He will tell you of\n     the sudden and unexpected death of such-a-one; the fall and bruise\n     of such another; the excessive drought of this season; the cold and\n     rains of another. These he ascribes to the immediate operation of\n     Providence: And such events as, with good reasoners, are the chief\n     difficulties in admitting a Supreme Intelligence, are with him the\n     sole arguments for it....\n\n     \"We may conclude therefore, upon the whole, that since the vulgar,\n     in nations which have embraced the doctrine of theism, still build\n     it upon irrational and superstitious grounds, they are never led\n     into that opinion by any process of argument, but by a certain\n     train of thinking, more suitable to their genius and capacity.\n\n     \"It may readily happen, in an idolatrous nation, that though men\n     admit the existence of several limited deities, yet there is some\n     one God, whom, in a particular manner, they make the object of\n     their worship and adoration. They may either suppose, that, in the\n     distribution of power and territory among the Gods, their nation\n     was subjected to the jurisdiction of that particular deity; or,\n     reducing heavenly objects to the model of things below, they may\n     represent one god as the prince or supreme magistrate of the rest,\n     who, though of the same nature, rules them with an authority like\n     that which an earthly sovereign exerts over his subjects and\n     vassals. Whether this god, therefore, be considered as their\n     peculiar patron, or as the general sovereign of heaven, his\n     votaries will endeavour, by every art, to insinuate themselves into\n     his favour; and supposing him to be pleased, like themselves, with\n     praise and flattery, there is no eulogy or exaggeration which will\n     be spared in their addresses to him. In proportion as men's fears\n     or distresses become more urgent, they still invent new strains of\n     adulation; and even he who outdoes his predecessor in swelling the\n     titles of his divinity, is sure to be outdone by his successor in\n     newer and more pompous epithets of praise. Thus they proceed, till\n     at last they arrive at infinity itself, beyond which there is no\n     further progress; And it is well if, in striving to get further,\n     and to represent a magnificent simplicity, they run not into\n     inexplicable mystery, and destroy the intelligent nature of their\n     deity, on which alone any rational worship or adoration can be\n     founded. While they confine themselves to the notion of a perfect\n     being, the Creator of the world, they coincide, by chance, with the\n     principles of reason and true philosophy; though they are guided to\n     that notion, not by reason, of which they are in a great measure\n     incapable, but by the adulation and fears of the most vulgar\n     superstition.\"--(IV. pp. 463-6.)\n\n     \"Nay, if we should suppose, what never happens, that a popular\n     religion were found, in which it was expressly declared, that\n     nothing but morality could gain the divine favour; if an order of\n     priests were instituted to inculcate this opinion, in daily\n     sermons, and with all the arts of persuasion; yet so inveterate are\n     the people's prejudices, that, for want of some other superstition,\n     they would make the very attendance on these sermons the essentials\n     of religion, rather than place them in virtue and good morals. The\n     sublime prologue of Zaleucus' laws inspired not the Locrians, so\n     far as we can learn, with any sounder notions of the measures of\n     acceptance with the deity, than were familiar to the other\n     Greeks.\"--(IV. p. 505.)\n\nIt has been remarked that Hume's writings are singularly devoid of local\ncolour; of allusions to the scenes with which, he was familiar, and to\nthe people from whom he sprang. Yet, surely, the Lowlands of Scotland\nwere more in his thoughts than the Zephyrean promontory, and the hard\nvisage of John Knox peered from behind the mask of Zaleucus, when this\npassage left his pen. Nay, might not an acute German critic discern\ntherein a reminiscence of that eminently Scottish institution, a \"Holy\nFair\"? where as Hume's young contemporary sings:--\n\n\n     \"... opens out his cauld harangues\n       On practice and on morals;\n     An' aff the godly pour in thrangs\n       To gie the jars and barrels\n                   A lift that day.\n\n     \"What signifies his barren shine\n       Of moral powers and reason?\n     His English style and gesture line\n       Are a' clean out of season.\n     Like Socrates or Antonine,\n       Or some auld pagan heathen,\n     The moral man he does define,\n       But ne'er a word o' faith in\n                   That's right that day.\"[34]\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[28] In a note to the Essay on Superstition and Enthusiasm, Hume is\ncareful to define what he means by this term. \"By priests I understand\nonly the pretenders to power and dominion, and to a superior sanctity of\ncharacter, distinct from virtue and good morals. These are very\ndifferent from _clergymen_, who are set apart to the care of sacred\nmatters, and the conducting our public devotions with greater decency\nand order. There is no rank of men more to be respected than the\nlatter.\"--(III. p. 83.)\n\n[29] It is needless to quote the rest of the passage, though I cannot\nrefrain from observing that the recommendation which it contains, that a\n\"man of letters\" should become a philosophical sceptic as \"the first and\nmost essential step towards being a sound believing Christian,\" though\nadopted and largely acted upon by many a champion of orthodoxy in these\ndays, is questionable in taste, if it be meant as a jest, and more than\nquestionable in morality, if it is to be taken in earnest. To pretend\nthat you believe any doctrine for no better reason than that you doubt\neverything else, would be dishonest, if it were not preposterous.\n\n[30] A perplexity which is increased rather than diminished by some\npassages in a letter to Gilbert Elliot of Minto (March 10, 1751). Hume\nsays, \"You would perceive by the sample I have given you that I make\nCleanthes the hero of the dialogue; whatever you can think of, to\nstrengthen that side of the argument, will be most acceptable to me. Any\npropensity you imagine I have to the other side crept in upon me against\nmy will; and 'tis not long ago that I burned an old manuscript book,\nwrote before I was twenty, which contained, page after page, the gradual\nprogress of my thoughts on this head. It began with an anxious scent\nafter arguments to confirm the common opinion; doubts stole in,\ndissipated, returned; were again dissipated, returned again; and it was\na perpetual struggle of a restless imagination against\ninclination--perhaps against reason.... I could wish Cleanthes' argument\ncould be so analysed as to be rendered quite formal and regular. The\npropensity of the mind towards it--unless that propensity were as strong\nand universal as that to believe in our senses and experience--will\nstill, I am afraid, be esteemed a suspicious foundation. 'Tis here I\nwish for your assistance. We must endeavour to prove that this\npropensity is somewhat different from our inclination to find our own\nfigures in the clouds, our faces in the moon, our passions and\nsentiments even in inanimate matter. Such an inclination may and ought\nto be controlled, and can never be a legitimate ground of assent.\"\n(Burton, _Life_, I. pp. 331-3.) The picture of Hume here drawn\nunconsciously by his own hand, is unlike enough to the popular\nconception of him as a careless sceptic loving doubt for doubt's sake.\n\n[31] Kant employs substantially the same argument:--\"Wuerde das hoechste\nWesen in dieser Kette der Bedingungen stehen, so wuerde es selbst ein\nGlied der Reihe derselben sein, und eben so wie die niederen Glieder,\ndenen es vorgesetzt ist, noch fernere Untersuchungen wegen seines noch\nhoeheren Grundes erfahren.\"--_Kritik._ Ed. Hartenstein, p. 422.\n\n[32] _I.e._ Natural philosophers.\n\n[33] Hume's letter to Mure of Caldwell, containing a criticism of\nLeechman's sermon (Burton, I. p. 163), bears strongly on this point.\n\n[34] Burns published the _Holy Fair_ only ten years after Hume's death.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nTHE SOUL: THE DOCTRINE OF IMMORTALITY.\n\n\nDescartes taught that an absolute difference of kind separates matter,\nas that which possesses extension, from spirit, as that which thinks.\nThey not only have no character in common, but it is inconceivable that\nthey should have any. On the assumption, that the attributes of the two\nwere wholly different, it appeared to be a necessary consequence that\nthe hypothetical causes of these attributes--their respective\nsubstances--must be totally different. Notably, in the matter of\ndivisibility, since that which has no extension cannot be divisible, it\nseemed that the _chose pensante_, the soul, must be an indivisible\nentity.\n\nLater philosophers, accepting this notion of the soul, were naturally\nmuch perplexed to understand how, if matter and spirit had nothing in\ncommon, they could act and react on one another. All the changes of\nmatter being modes of motion, the difficulty of understanding how a\nmoving extended material body was to affect a thinking thing which had\nno dimension, was as great as that involved in solving the problem of\nhow to hit a nominative case with a stick. Hence, the successors of\nDescartes either found themselves obliged, with the Occasionalists, to\ncall in the aid of the Deity, who was supposed to be a sort of\ngo-between betwixt matter and spirit; or they had recourse, with\nLeibnitz, to the doctrine of pre-established harmony, which denied any\ninfluence of the body on the soul, or _vice versa_, and compared matter\nand spirit to two clocks so accurately regulated to keep time with one\nanother, that the one struck when ever the other pointed to the hour;\nor, with Berkeley, they abolished the \"substance\" of matter altogether,\nas a superfluity, though they failed to see that the same arguments\nequally justified the abolition of soul as another superfluity, and the\nreduction of the universe to a series of events or phenomena; or,\nfinally, with Spinoza, to whom Berkeley makes a perilously close\napproach, they asserted the existence of only one substance, with two\nchief attributes, the one, thought, and the other, extension.\n\nThere remained only one possible position, which, had it been taken up\nearlier, might have saved an immensity of trouble; and that was to\naffirm that we do not, and cannot, know anything about the \"substance\"\neither of the thinking thing, or of the extended thing. And Hume's sound\ncommon sense led him to defend this thesis, which Locke had already\nforeshadowed, with respect to the question of the substance of the soul.\nHume enunciates two opinions. The first is that the question itself is\nunintelligible, and therefore cannot receive any answer; the second is\nthat the popular doctrine respecting the immateriality, simplicity, and\nindivisibility of a thinking substance is a \"true atheism, and will\nserve to justify all those sentiments for which Spinoza is so\nuniversally infamous.\"\n\nIn support of the first opinion, Hume points out that it is impossible\nto attach any definite meaning to the word \"substance\" when employed for\nthe hypothetical substratum of soul and matter. For if we define\nsubstance as that which may exist by itself, the definition does not\ndistinguish the soul from perceptions. It is perfectly easy to conceive\nthat states of consciousness are self-subsistent. And, if the substance\nof the soul is defined as that in which perceptions inhere, what is\nmeant by the inherence? Is such inherence conceivable? If conceivable,\nwhat evidence is there of it? And what is the use of a substratum to\nthings which, for anything we know to the contrary, are capable of\nexisting by themselves?\n\nMoreover, it may be added, supposing the soul has a substance, how do we\nknow that it is different from the substance, which, on like grounds,\nmust be supposed to underlie the qualities of matter?\n\nAgain, if it be said that our personal identity requires the assumption\nof a substance which remains the same while the accidents of perception\nshift and change, the question arises what is meant by personal\nidentity?\n\n     \"For my part,\" says Hume, \"when I enter most intimately into what I\n     call _myself_, I always stumble on some particular perception or\n     other, of heat or cold, light or shade, love or hatred, pain or\n     pleasure. I never can catch _myself_ at any time without a\n     perception, and never can observe anything but the perception. When\n     my perceptions are removed for any time, as by sound sleep, so long\n     am I insensible of _myself_, and may be truly said not to exist.\n     And were all my perceptions removed by death, and I could neither\n     think, nor feel, nor see, nor love, nor hate, after the dissolution\n     of my body, I should be entirely annihilated, nor do I conceive\n     what is further requisite to make me a perfect nonentity. If any\n     one, upon serious and unprejudiced reflection, thinks he has a\n     different notion of _himself_, I must confess I can reason no\n     longer with him. All I can allow him is, that he may be in the\n     right as well as I, and that we are essentially different in this\n     particular. He may perhaps perceive something simple and continued\n     which he calls _himself_, though I am certain there is no such\n     principle in me.\n\n     \"But setting aside some metaphysicians of this kind, I may venture\n     to affirm of the rest of mankind, that they are nothing but a\n     bundle or collection of different perceptions, which succeed one\n     another with an inconceivable rapidity, and are in a perpetual flux\n     and movement.... The mind is a kind of theatre, where several\n     perceptions successively make their appearance, pass, repass, glide\n     away, and mingle in an infinite variety of postures and situations.\n     There is properly no _simplicity_ in it at one time, nor _identity_\n     in different, whatever natural propension we may have to imagine\n     that simplicity and identity. The comparison of the theatre must\n     not mislead us. They are the successive perceptions only that\n     constitute the mind; nor have we the most distant notion of the\n     place where these scenes are represented, or of the materials of\n     which it is composed.\n\n     \"What then gives so great a propension to ascribe an identity to\n     these successive perceptions, and to suppose ourselves possessed of\n     an invariable and uninterrupted existence through the whole course\n     of our lives? In order to answer this question, we must distinguish\n     between personal identity as it regards our thought and\n     imagination, and as it regards our passions, or the concern we take\n     in ourselves. The first is our present subject; and to explain it\n     perfectly we must take the matter pretty deep, and account for that\n     identity which we attribute to plants and animals; there being a\n     great analogy betwixt it and the identity of a self or\n     person.\"--(I. pp. 321, 322.)\n\nPerfect identity is exhibited by an object which remains unchanged\nthroughout a certain time; perfect diversity is seen in two or more\nobjects which are separated by intervals of space and periods of time.\nBut, in both these cases, there is no sharp line of demarcation between\nidentity and diversity, and it is impossible to say when an object\nceases to be one and becomes two.\n\nWhen a sea-anemone multiplies by division, there is a time during which\nit is said to be one animal partially divided; but, after a while, it\nbecomes two animals adherent together, and the limit between these\nconditions is purely arbitrary. So in mineralogy, a crystal of a\ndefinite chemical composition may have its substance replaced, particle\nby particle, by another chemical compound. When does it lose its\nprimitive identity and become a new thing?\n\nAgain, a plant or an animal, in the course of its existence, from the\ncondition of an egg or seed to the end of life, remains the same neither\nin form, nor in structure, nor in the matter of which it is composed:\nevery attribute it possesses is constantly changing, and yet we say that\nit is always one and the same individual. And if, in this case, we\nattribute identity without supposing an indivisible immaterial something\nto underlie and condition that identity, why should we need the\nsupposition in the case of that succession of changeful phenomena we\ncall the mind?\n\nIn fact, we ascribe identity to an individual plant or animal, simply\nbecause there has been no moment of time at which we could observe any\ndivision of it into parts separated by time or space. Every experience\nwe have of it is as one thing and not as two; and we sum up our\nexperiences in the ascription of identity, although we know quite well\nthat, strictly speaking, it has not been the same for any two moments.\n\nSo with the mind. Our perceptions flow in even succession; the\nimpressions of the present moment are inextricably mixed up with the\nmemories of yesterday and the expectations of to-morrow, and all are\nconnected by the links of cause and effect.\n\n     \" ... as the same individual republic may not only change its\n     members, but also its laws and constitutions; in like manner the\n     same person may vary his character and disposition, as well as his\n     impressions and ideas, without losing his identity. Whatever\n     changes he endures, his several parts are still connected by the\n     relation of causation. And in this view our identity with regard to\n     the passions serves to corroborate that with regard to the\n     imagination, by the making our distant perceptions influence each\n     other, and by giving us a present concern for our past or future\n     pains or pleasures.\n\n     \"As memory alone acquaints us with the continuance and extent of\n     this succession of perceptions, 'tis to be considered, upon that\n     account chiefly, as the source of personal identity. Had we no\n     memory we never should have any notion of causation, nor\n     consequently of that chain of causes and effects which constitute\n     our self or person. But having once acquired this notion of\n     causation from the memory, we can extend the same chain of causes,\n     and consequently the identity of our persons, beyond our memory,\n     and can comprehend times, and circumstances, and actions, which we\n     have entirely forgot, but suppose in general to have existed. For\n     how few of our past actions are there of which we have any memory?\n     Who can tell me, for instance, what were his thoughts and actions\n     on the first of January, 1715, the eleventh of March, 1719, and the\n     third of August, 1733? Or will he affirm, because he has entirely\n     forgot the incidents of those days, that the present self is not\n     the same person with the self of that time, and by that means\n     overturn all the most established notions of personal identity? In\n     this view, therefore, memory does not so much _produce_ as\n     _discover_ personal identity, by showing us the relation of cause\n     and effect among our different perceptions. 'Twill be incumbent on\n     those who affirm that memory produces entirely our personal\n     identity, to give a reason why we can thus extend our identity\n     beyond our memory.\n\n     \"The whole of this doctrine leads us to a conclusion which is of\n     great importance in the present affair, viz. that all the nice and\n     subtle questions concerning personal identity can never possibly be\n     decided, and are to be regarded rather as grammatical than as\n     philosophical difficulties. Identity depends on the relations of\n     ideas, and these relations produce identity by means of that easy\n     transition they occasion. But as the relations, and the easiness of\n     the transition may diminish by insensible degrees, we have no just\n     standard by which we can decide any dispute concerning the time\n     when they acquire or lose a title to the name of identity. All the\n     disputes concerning the identity of connected objects are merely\n     verbal, except so far as the relation of parts gives rise to some\n     fiction or imaginary principle of union, as we have already\n     observed.\n\n     \"What I have said concerning the first origin and uncertainty of\n     our notion of identity, as applied to the human mind may be\n     extended, with little or no variation, to that of _simplicity_. An\n     object, whose different co-existent parts are bound together by a\n     close relation, operates upon the imagination after much the same\n     manner as one perfectly simple and undivisible, and requires not a\n     much greater stretch of thought in order to its conception. From\n     this similarity of operation we attribute a simplicity to it, and\n     feign a principle of union as the support of this simplicity, and\n     the centre of all the different parts and qualities of the\n     object.\"--(I. pp. 331-3.)\n\nThe final result of Hume's reasoning comes to this: As we use the name\nof body for the sum of the phenomena which make up our corporeal\nexistence, so we employ the name of soul for the sum of the phenomena\nwhich constitute our mental existence; and we have no more reason, in\nthe latter case, than in the former, to suppose that there is anything\nbeyond the phenomena which answers to the name. In the case of the soul,\nas in that of the body, the idea of substance is a mere fiction of the\nimagination. This conclusion is nothing but a rigorous application of\nBerkeley's reasoning concerning matter to mind, and it is fully adopted\nby Kant.[35]\n\nHaving arrived at the conclusion that the conception of a soul, as a\nsubstantive thing, is a mere figment of the imagination; and that,\nwhether it exists or not, we can by no possibility know anything about\nit, the inquiry as to the durability of the soul may seem superfluous.\n\nNevertheless, there is still a sense in which, even under these\nconditions, such an inquiry is justifiable. Leaving aside the problem of\nthe substance of the soul, and taking the word \"soul\" simply as a name\nfor the series of mental phenomena which make up an individual mind; it\nremains open to us to ask, whether that series commenced with, or\nbefore, the series of phenomena which constitute the corresponding\nindividual body; and whether it terminates with the end of the corporeal\nseries, or goes on after the existence of the body has ended. And, in\nboth cases, there arises the further question, whether the excess of\nduration of the mental series over that of the body, is finite or\ninfinite.\n\nHume has discussed some of these questions in the remarkable essay _On\nthe Immortality of the Soul_, which was not published till after his\ndeath, and which seems long to have remained but little known.\nNevertheless, indeed, possibly, for that reason, its influence has been\nmanifested in unexpected quarters, and its main arguments have been\nadduced by archiepiscopal and episcopal authority in evidence of the\nvalue of revelation. Dr. Whately,[36] sometime Archbishop of Dublin,\nparaphrases Hume, though he forgets to cite him; and Bishop Courtenay's\nelaborate work,[37] dedicated to the Archbishop, is a development of\nthat prelate's version of Hume's essay.\n\nThis little paper occupies only some ten pages, but it is not wonderful\nthat it attracted an acute logician like Whately, for it is a model of\nclear and vigorous statement. The argument hardly admits of\ncondensation, so that I must let Hume speak for himself:--\n\n     \"By the mere light of reason it seems difficult to prove the\n     immortality of the soul: the arguments for it are commonly derived\n     either from metaphysical topics, or moral, or physical. But in\n     reality it is the gospel, and the gospel alone, that has brought\n     _life and immortality_ to light.[38]\n\n     \"1. Metaphysical topics suppose that the soul is immaterial, and\n     that 'tis impossible for thought to belong to a material\n     substance.[39] But just metaphysics teach us that the notion of\n     substance is wholly confused and imperfect; and that we have no\n     other idea of any substance, than as an aggregate of particular\n     qualities inhering in an unknown something. Matter, therefore, and\n     spirit, are at bottom equally unknown, and we cannot determine what\n     qualities inhere in the one or in the other.[40] They likewise\n     teach us, that nothing can be decided _a priori_ concerning any\n     cause or effect; and that experience, being the only source of our\n     judgments of this nature, we cannot know from any other principle,\n     whether matter, by its structure or arrangement, may not be the\n     cause of thought. Abstract reasonings cannot decide any question of\n     fact or existence. But admitting a spiritual substance to be\n     dispersed throughout the universe, like the ethereal fire of the\n     Stoics, and to be the only inherent subject of thought, we have\n     reason to conclude from _analogy_, that nature uses it after the\n     manner she does the other substance, _matter_. She employs it as a\n     kind of paste or clay; modifies it into a variety of forms or\n     existences; dissolves after a time each modification, and from its\n     substance erects a new form. As the same material substance may\n     successively compose the bodies of all animals, the same spiritual\n     substance may compose their minds: Their consciousness, or that\n     system of thought which they formed during life, may be continually\n     dissolved by death, and nothing interests them in the new\n     modification. The most positive assertors of the mortality of the\n     soul never denied the immortality of its substance; and that an\n     immaterial substance, as well as a material, may lose its memory\n     or consciousness, appears in part from experience, if the soul be\n     immaterial. Seasoning from the common course of nature, and without\n     supposing any new interposition of the Supreme Cause, which ought\n     always to be excluded from philosophy, _what is incorruptible must\n     also be ingenerable_. The soul, therefore, if immortal, existed\n     before our birth, and if the former existence noways concerned us,\n     neither will the latter. Animals undoubtedly feel, think, love,\n     hate, will, and even reason, though in a more imperfect manner than\n     men: Are their souls also immaterial and immortal?\"[41]\n\nHume next proceeds to consider the moral arguments, and chiefly\n\n     \" ... those derived from the justice of God, which is supposed to\n     be further interested in the future punishment of the vicious and\n     reward of the virtuous.\"\n\nBut if by the justice of God we moan the same attribute which we call\njustice in ourselves, then why should either reward or punishment be\nextended beyond this life?[42] Our sole means of knowing anything is\nthe reasoning faculty which God has given us; and that reasoning\nfaculty not only denies us any conception of a future state, but fails\nto furnish a single valid argument in favour of the belief that the mind\nwill endure after the dissolution of the body.\n\n     \" ... If any purpose of nature be clear, we may affirm that the\n     whole scope and intention of man's creation, so far as we can judge\n     by natural reason, is limited to the present life.\"\n\nTo the argument that the powers of man are so much greater than the\nneeds of this life require, that they suggest a future scene in which\nthey can be employed, Hume replies:--\n\n     \"If the reason of man gives him great superiority above other\n     animals, his necessities are proportionably multiplied upon him;\n     his whole time, his whole capacity, activity, courage, and passion,\n     find sufficient employment in fencing against the miseries of his\n     present condition; and frequently, nay, almost always, are too\n     slender for the business assigned them. A pair of shoes, perhaps,\n     was never yet wrought to the highest degree of perfection that\n     commodity is capable of attaining; yet it is necessary, at least\n     very useful, that there should be some politicians and moralists,\n     even some geometers, poets and philosophers, among mankind. The\n     powers of men are no more superior to their wants, considered\n     merely in this life, than those of foxes and hares are, compared to\n     _their_ wants and to their period of existence. The inference from\n     parity of reason is therefore obvious.\"\n\nIn short, Hume argues that, if the faculties with which we are endowed\nare unable to discover a future state, and if the most attentive\nconsideration of their nature serves to show that they are adapted to\nthis life and nothing more, it is surely inconsistent with any\nconception of justice that we should be dealt with, as if we had all\nalong had a clear knowledge of the fact thus carefully concealed from\nus. What should we think of the justice of a father, who gave his son\nevery reason to suppose that a trivial fault would only be visited by a\nbox on the ear; and then, years afterwards, put him on the rack for a\nweek for the same fault?\n\nAgain, the suggestion arises, if God is the cause of all things, he is\nresponsible for evil as well as for good; and it appears utterly\nirreconcilable with our notions of justice that he should punish another\nfor that which he has, in fact, done himself. Moreover, just punishment\nbears a proportion to the offence, while suffering which is infinite is\n_ipso facto_ disproportionate to any finite deed.\n\n     \"Why then eternal punishment for the temporary offences of so frail\n     a creature as man? Can any one approve of Alexander's rage, who\n     intended to exterminate a whole nation because they had seized his\n     favourite horse Bucephalus?\n\n     \"Heaven and hell suppose two distinct species of men, the good and\n     the bad; but the greatest part of mankind float betwixt vice and\n     virtue. Were one to go round the world with the intention of giving\n     a good supper to the righteous and a sound drubbing to the wicked,\n     he would frequently be embarrassed in his choice, and would find\n     the merits and demerits of most men and women scarcely amount to\n     the value of either.\"[43]\n\nOne can but admire the broad humanity and the insight into the springs\nof action manifest in this passage. _Comprendre est a moitie pardonner_.\nThe more one knows of the real conditions which determine men's acts the\nless one finds either to praise or blame. For kindly David Hume, \"the\ndamnation of one man is an infinitely greater evil in the universe than\nthe subversion of a thousand million of kingdoms.\" And he would have\nfelt with his countryman Burns, that even \"auld Nickie Ben\" should \"hae\na chance.\"\n\nAs against those who reason for the necessity of a future state, in\norder that the justice of the Deity may be satisfied, Hume's\nargumentation appears unanswerable. For if the justice of God resembles\nwhat we mean by justice, the bestowal of infinite happiness for finite\nwell-doing and infinite misery for finite ill-doing, it is in no sense\njust. And, if the justice of God does not resemble what we mean by\njustice, it is an abuse of language to employ the name of justice for\nthe attribute described by it. But, as against those who choose to argue\nthat there is nothing in what is known to us of the attributes of the\nDeity inconsistent with a future state of rewards and punishments,\nHume's pleadings have no force. Bishop Butler's argument that, inasmuch\nas the visitation of our acts by rewards and punishments takes place in\nthis life, rewards and punishments must be consistent with the\nattributes of the Deity, and therefore may go on as long as the mind\nendures, is unanswerable. Whatever exists is, by the hypothesis,\nexistent by the will of God; and, therefore, the pains and pleasures\nwhich exist now may go on existing for all eternity, either increasing,\ndiminishing, or being endlessly varied in their intensity, as they are\nnow.\n\nIt is remarkable that Hume does not refer to the sentimental arguments\nfor the immortality of the soul which are so much in vogue at the\npresent day; and which are based upon our desire for a longer conscious\nexistence than that which nature appears to have allotted to us. Perhaps\nhe did not think them worth notice. For indeed it is not a little\nstrange, that our strong desire that a certain occurrence should happen\nshould be put forward as evidence that it will happen. If my intense\ndesire to see the friend, from whom I have parted, does not bring him\nfrom the other side of the world, or take me thither; if the mother's\nagonised prayer that her child should live has not prevented him from\ndying; experience certainly affords no presumption that the strong\ndesire to be alive after death, which we call the aspiration after\nimmortality, is any more likely to be gratified. As Hume truly says,\n\"All doctrines are to be suspected which are favoured by our passions;\"\nand the doctrine, that we are immortal because we should extremely like\nto be so, contains the quintessence of suspiciousness.\n\nIn respect of the existence and attributes of the soul, as of those of\nthe Deity, then, logic is powerless and reason silent. At the most we\ncan get no further than the conclusion of Kant:--\n\n     \"After we have satisfied ourselves of the vanity of all the\n     ambitious attempts of reason to fly beyond the bounds of\n     experience, enough remains of practical value to content us. It is\n     true that no one may boast that he _knows_ that God and a future\n     life exist; for, if he possesses such knowledge, he is just the\n     man for whom I have long been seeking. All knowledge (touching an\n     object of mere reason) can be communicated, and therefore I might\n     hope to see my own knowledge increased to this prodigious extent,\n     by his instruction. No; our conviction in these matters is not\n     _logical_, but _moral_ certainty; and, inasmuch as it rests upon\n     subjective grounds, (of moral disposition) I must not even say: _it\n     is_ morally certain that there is a God, and so on; but, _I am_\n     morally certain, and so on. That is to say: the belief in a God and\n     in another world is so interwoven with my moral nature, that the\n     former can no more vanish, than the latter can ever be torn from\n     me.\n\n     \"The only point to be remarked here is that this act of faith of\n     the intellect (_Vernunftglaube_) assumes the existence of moral\n     dispositions. If we leave them aside, and suppose a mind quite\n     indifferent to moral laws, the inquiry started by reason becomes\n     merely a subject for speculation; and [the conclusion attained] may\n     then indeed be supported by strong arguments from analogy, but not\n     by such as are competent to overcome persistent scepticism.\n\n     \"There is no one, however, who can fail to be interested in these\n     questions. For, although he may be excluded from moral influences\n     by the want of a good disposition, yet, even in this case, enough\n     remains to lead him to fear a divine existence and a future state.\n     To this end, no more is necessary than that he can at least have no\n     certainty that there is no such being, and no future life; for, to\n     make this conclusion demonstratively certain, he must be able to\n     prove the impossibility of both; and this assuredly no rational man\n     can undertake to do. This negative belief, indeed, cannot produce\n     either morality or good dispositions, but can operate in an\n     analogous fashion, by powerfully repressing the outbreak of evil\n     tendencies.\n\n     \"But it will be said, is this all that Pure Reason can do when it\n     gazes out beyond the bounds of experience? Nothing more than two\n     articles of faith? Common sense could achieve as much without\n     calling the philosophers to its counsels!\n\n     \"I will not here speak of the service which philosophy has rendered\n     to human reason by the laborious efforts of its criticism, granting\n     that the outcome proves to be merely negative: about that matter\n     something is to be said in the following section. But do you then\n     ask, that the knowledge which interests all men shall transcend the\n     common understanding and be discovered for you only by\n     philosophers? The very thing which you make a reproach, is the best\n     confirmation of the justice of the previous conclusions, since it\n     shows that which could not, at first, have been anticipated:\n     namely, that in those matters which concern all men alike, nature\n     is not guilty of distributing her gifts with partiality; and that\n     the highest philosophy, in dealing with the most important concerns\n     of humanity, is able to take us no further than the guidance which\n     she affords to the commonest understanding.\"[44]\n\nIn short, nothing can be proved or disproved, respecting either the\ndistinct existence, the substance, or the durability of the soul. So\nfar, Kant is at one with Hume. But Kant adds, as you cannot disprove the\nimmortality of the soul, and as the belief therein is very useful for\nmoral purposes, you may assume it. To which, had Hume lived half a\ncentury later, he would probably have replied, that, if morality has no\nbetter foundation than an assumption, it is not likely to bear much\nstrain; and, if it has a better foundation, the assumption rather\nweakens than strengthens it.\n\nAs has been already said, Hume is not content with denying that we know\nanything about the existence or the nature of the soul; but he carries\nthe war into the enemy's camp, and accuses those who affirm the\nimmateriality, simplicity, and indivisibility of the thinking substance,\nof atheism and Spinozism, which are assumed to be convertible terms.\n\nThe method of attack is ingenious. Observation appears to acquaint us\nwith two different systems of beings, and both Spinoza and orthodox\nphilosophers agree, that the necessary substratum of each of these is a\nsubstance, in which the phenomena adhere, or of which they are\nattributes or modes.\n\n     \"I observe first the universe of objects or of body; the sun, moon,\n     and stars; the earth, seas, plants, animals, men, ships, houses,\n     and other productions either of art or of nature. Here Spinoza\n     appears, and tells me that these are only modifications and that\n     the subject in which they inhere is simple, uncompounded, and\n     indivisible. After this I consider the other system of beings, viz.\n     the universe of thought, or my impressions and ideas. Then I\n     observe another sun, moon, and stars; an earth and seas, covered\n     and inhabited by plants and animals, towns, houses, mountains,\n     rivers; and, in short, everything I can discover or conceive in the\n     first system. Upon my inquiring concerning these, theologians\n     present themselves, and tell me that these also are modifications,\n     and modifications of one simple, uncompounded, and indivisible\n     substance. Immediately upon which I am deafened with the noise of a\n     hundred voices, that treat the first hypothesis with detestation\n     and scorn, and the second with applause and veneration. I turn my\n     attention to these hypotheses to see what may be the reason of so\n     great a partiality; and find that they have the same fault of being\n     unintelligible, and that, as far as we can understand them, they\n     are so much alike, that 'tis impossible to discover any absurdity\n     in one, which is not common to both of them.\"--(I. p. 309.)\n\nFor the manner in which Hume makes his case good, I must refer to the\noriginal. Plain people may rest satisfied that both hypotheses are\nunintelligible, without plunging any further among syllogisms, the\npremisses of which convey no meaning, while the conclusions carry no\nconviction.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[35] \"Our internal intuition shows no permanent existence, for the Ego\nis only the consciousness of my thinking.\" \"There is no means whatever\nby which we can learn anything respecting the constitution of the soul,\nso far as regards the possibility of its separate existence.\"--_Kritik\nvon den Paralogismen der reinen Vernunft_.\n\n[36] _Essays on Some of the Peculiarities of the Christian Religion_,\n(Essay I. Revelation of a Future State), by Richard Whately, D.D.,\nArchbishop of Dublin. Fifth Edition, revised, 1846.\n\n[37] _The Future States: their Evidences and Nature; considered on\nPrinciples Physical, Moral, and Scriptural, with the Design of showing\nthe Value of the Gospel Revelation_ by the Right Rev. Reginald\nCourtenay, D.D., Lord Bishop of Kingston (Jamaica), 1857.\n\n[38] \"Now that 'Jesus Christ brought life and immortality to light\nthrough the Gospel,' and that in the most literal sense, which implies\nthat the revelation of the doctrine is _peculiar_ to His Gospel, seems\nto be at least the most obvious meaning of the Scriptures of the New\nTestament.\"--Whately, _l.c._ p. 27.\n\n[39] Compare, _Of the Immateriality of the Soul_, Section V. of Part\nIV., Book I., of the _Treatise_, in which Hume concludes (I. p. 319)\nthat, whether it be material or immaterial, \"in both cases the\nmetaphysical arguments for the immortality of the soul are equally\ninconclusive; and in both cases the moral arguments and those derived\nfrom the analogy of nature are equally strong and convincing.\"\n\n[40] \"The question again respecting the materiality of the soul is one\nwhich I am at a loss to understand clearly, till it shall have been\nclearly determined _what matter is_. We know nothing of it, any more\nthan of mind, except its attributes.\"--Whately, _l.c._ p. 66.\n\n[41] \"None of those who contend for the natural immortality of the soul\n... have been able to extricate themselves from one difficulty, viz.\nthat all their arguments apply, with exactly the same force, to prove an\nimmortality, not only of _brutes_, but even of _plants_; though in such\na conclusion as this they are never willing to acquiesce.\"--Whately,\n_l.c._ p. 67.\n\n[42] \"Nor are we therefore authorised to infer _a priori_, independent\nof Revelation, a future state of retribution, from the irregularities\nprevailing in the present life, since that future state does not account\nfully for these irregularities. It may explain, indeed, how present evil\nmay be conducive to future good, but not why the good could not be\nattained without the evil; it may reconcile with our notions of the\ndivine justice the present prosperity of the wicked, but it does not\naccount for the existence of the wicked.\"--Whately, _l.c._ pp. 69, 70.\n\n[43] \"So reason also shows, that for man to expect to earn for himself\nby the practice of virtue, and claim, as his just right, an immortality\nof exalted happiness, is a most extravagant and groundless\npretension.\"--Whately, _l.c._ p. 101. On the other hand, however, the\nArchbishop sees no unreasonableness in a man's earning for himself an\nimmortality of intense unhappiness by the practice of vice. So that life\nis, naturally, a venture in which you may lose all, but can earn\nnothing. It may be thought somewhat hard upon mankind if they are pushed\ninto a speculation of this sort, willy-nilly.\n\n[44] _Kritik der reinen Vernunft_. Ed. Hartenstein, p. 547.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nVOLITION: LIBERTY AND NECESSITY.\n\n\nIn the opening paragraphs of the third part of the second book of the\n_Treatise_, Hume gives a description of the will.\n\n     \"Of all the immediate effects of pain and pleasure there is none\n     more remarkable than the _will_; and though, properly speaking, it\n     be not comprehended among the passions, yet as the full\n     understanding of its nature and properties is necessary to the\n     explanation of them, we shall here make it the subject of our\n     inquiry. I desire it may be observed, that, by the _will_, I mean\n     nothing but _the internal impression we feel, and are conscious of,\n     when we knowingly give rise to any new motion of our body, or new\n     perception of our mind_. This impression, like the preceding ones\n     of pride and humility, love and hatred, 'tis impossible to define,\n     and needless to describe any further.\"--(II. p. 150.)\n\nThis description of volition may be criticised on various grounds. More\nespecially does it seem defective in restricting the term \"will\" to that\nfeeling which arises when we act, or appear to act, as causes: for one\nmay will to strike, without striking; or to think of something which we\nhave forgotten.\n\nEvery volition is a complex idea composed of two elements: the one is\nthe idea of an action; the other is a desire for the occurrence of that\naction. If I will to strike, I have an idea of a certain movement, and a\ndesire that that movement should take place; if I will to think of any\nsubject, or, in other words, to attend to that subject, I have an idea\nof the subject and a strong desire that it should remain present to my\nconsciousness. And so far as I can discover, this combination of an idea\nof an object with an emotion, is everything that can be directly\nobserved in an act of volition. So that Hume's definition may be amended\nthus: Volition is the impression which arises when the idea of a bodily\nor mental action is accompanied by the desire that the action should be\naccomplished. It differs from other desires simply in the fact, that we\nregard ourselves as possible causes of the action desired.\n\nTwo questions arise, in connexion with the observation of the phenomenon\nof volition, as they arise out of the contemplation of all other natural\nphenomena. Firstly, has it a cause; and, if so, what is its cause?\nSecondly, is it followed by any effect, and if so, what effect does it\nproduce?\n\nHume points out, that the nature of the phenomena we consider can have\nnothing to do with the origin of the conception that they are connected\nby the relation of cause and effect. For that relation is nothing but an\norder of succession, which, so far as our experience goes, is\ninvariable; and it is obvious that the nature of phenomena has nothing\nto do with their order. Whatever it is that leads us to seek for a cause\nfor every event, in the case of the phenomena of the external world,\ncompels us, with equal cogency, to seek it in that of the mind.\n\nThe only meaning of the law of causation, in the physical world, is,\nthat it generalises universal experience of the order of that world;\nand, if experience shows a similar order to obtain among states of\nconsciousness, the law of causation will properly express that order.\n\nThat such an order exists, however, is acknowledged by every sane man:\n\n     \"Our idea, therefore, of necessity and causation, arises entirely\n     from the uniformity observable in the operations of nature, where\n     similar objects are constantly conjoined together, and the mind is\n     determined by custom to infer the one from the appearance of the\n     other. These two circumstances form the whole of that necessity\n     which we ascribe to matter. Beyond the constant _conjunction_ of\n     similar objects and the consequent _inference_ from one to the\n     other, we have no notion of any necessity of connexion.\n\n     \"If it appear, therefore, what all mankind have ever allowed,\n     without any doubt or hesitation, that these two circumstances take\n     place in the voluntary actions of men, and in the operations of\n     mind, it must follow that all mankind have ever agreed in the\n     doctrine of necessity, and that they have hitherto disputed merely\n     from not understanding each other.\"--(IV. p. 97.)\n\nBut is this constant conjunction observable in human actions? A student\nof history could give but one answer to this question:\n\n     \"Ambition, avarice, self-love, vanity, friendship, generosity,\n     public spirit: these passions, mixed in various degrees, and\n     distributed through society, have been, from the beginning of the\n     world, and still are, the source of all the actions and enterprizes\n     which have ever been observed among mankind. Would you know the\n     sentiments, inclinations, and course of life of the Greeks and\n     Romans? Study well the temper and actions of the French and\n     English. You cannot be much mistaken in transferring to the former\n     _most_ of the observations which you have made with regard to the\n     latter. Mankind are so much the same, in all times and places, that\n     history informs us of nothing new or strange in this particular.\n     Its chief use is only to discover the constant and universal\n     principles of human nature, by showing men in all varieties of\n     circumstances and situations, and furnishing us with materials from\n     which we may form our observations, and become acquainted with the\n     regular springs of human action and behaviour. These records of\n     wars, intrigues, factions, and revolutions are so many collections\n     of experiments, by which the politician or moral philosopher fixes\n     the principles of his science, in the same manner as the physician\n     or natural philosopher becomes acquainted with the nature of\n     plants, minerals, and other external objects, by the experiments\n     which he forms concerning them. Nor are the earth, air, water, and\n     other elements examined by Aristotle and Hippocrates more like to\n     those which at present lie under our observation, than the men\n     described by Polybius and Tacitus are to those who now govern the\n     world.\"--(IV. pp. 97-8.)\n\nHume proceeds to point out that the value set upon experience in the\nconduct of affairs, whether of business or of politics, involves the\nacknowledgment that we base our expectation of what men will do, upon\nour observation of what they have done; and, that we are as firmly\nconvinced of the fixed order of thoughts as we are of that of things.\nAnd, if it be urged that human actions not unfrequently appear\nunaccountable and capricious, his reply is prompt:--\n\n     \"I grant it possible to find some actions which seem to have no\n     regular connexion with any known motives, and are exceptions to all\n     the measures of conduct which have ever been established for the\n     government of men. But if one could willingly know what judgment\n     should be formed of such irregular and extraordinary actions, we\n     may consider the sentiments commonly entertained with regard to\n     those irregular events which appear in the course of nature, and\n     the operations of external objects. All causes are not conjoined to\n     their usual effects with like uniformity. An artificer, who handles\n     only dead matter, may be disappointed in his aim, as well as the\n     politician who directs the conduct of sensible and intelligent\n     agents.\n\n     \"The vulgar, who take things according to their first appearance,\n     attribute the uncertainty of events to such an uncertainty in the\n     causes as make the latter often fail of their usual influence,\n     though they meet with no impediment to their operation. But\n     philosophers, observing that, almost in every part of nature, there\n     is contained a vast variety of springs and principles, which are\n     hid, by reason of their minuteness or remoteness, find that it is\n     at least possible the contrariety of events may not proceed from\n     any contingency in the cause, but from the secret operation of\n     contrary causes. This possibility is converted into certainty by\n     further observation, when they remark that, upon an exact scrutiny,\n     a contrariety of effects always betrays a contrariety of causes,\n     and proceeds from their mutual opposition. A peasant can give no\n     better reason for the stopping of any clock or watch, than to say\n     that it does not commonly go right. But an artist easily perceives\n     that the same force in the spring or pendulum has always the same\n     influence on the wheels; but fails of its usual effect, perhaps by\n     reason of a grain of dust, which puts a stop to the whole movement.\n     From the observation of several parallel instances, philosophers\n     form a maxim, that the connexion between all causes and effects is\n     equally necessary, and that its seeming uncertainty in some\n     instances proceeds from the secret opposition of contrary\n     causes.\"--(IV. pp. 101-2.)\n\nSo with regard to human actions:--\n\n     \"The internal principles and motives may operate in a uniform\n     manner, notwithstanding these seeming irregularities; in the same\n     manner as the winds, rains, clouds, and other variations of the\n     weather are supposed to be governed by steady principles; though\n     not easily discoverable by human sagacity and inquiry.\"--(IV. p.\n     103.)\n\nMeteorology, as a science, was not in existence in Hume's time, or he\nwould have left out the \"supposed to be.\" In practice, again, what\ndifference does any one make between natural and moral evidence?\n\n     \"A prisoner who has neither money nor interest, discovers the\n     impossibility of his escape, as well when he considers the\n     obstinacy of the gaoler, as the walls and bars with which he is\n     surrounded; and, in all attempts for his freedom, chooses rather to\n     work upon the stone and iron of the one, than upon the inflexible\n     nature of the other. The same prisoner, when conducted to the\n     scaffold, foresees his death as certainly from the constancy and\n     fidelity of his guards, as from the operation of the axe or wheel.\n     His mind runs along a certain train of ideas: The refusal of the\n     soldiers to consent to his escape; the action of the executioner;\n     the separation of the head and body; bleeding, convulsive motions,\n     and death. Here is a connected chain of natural causes and\n     voluntary actions; but the mind feels no difference between them,\n     in passing from one link to another, nor is less certain of the\n     future event, than if it were connected with the objects presented\n     to the memory or senses, by a train of causes cemented together by\n     what we are pleased to call a _physical_ necessity. The same\n     experienced union has the same effect on the mind, whether the\n     united objects be motives, volition, and actions; or figure and\n     motion. We may change the names of things, but their nature and\n     their operation on the understanding never change.\"--(IV. pp.\n     105-6.)\n\nBut, if the necessary connexion of our acts with our ideas has always\nbeen acknowledged in practice, why the proclivity of mankind to deny it\nwords?\n\n     \"If we examine the operations of body, and the production of\n     effects from their causes, we shall find that all our faculties can\n     never carry us further in our knowledge of this relation, than\n     barely to observe, that particular objects are _constantly\n     conjoined_ together, and that the mind is carried, by a _customary\n     transition_, from the appearance of the one to the belief of the\n     other. But though this conclusion concerning human ignorance be the\n     result of the strictest scrutiny of this subject, men still\n     entertain a strong propensity to believe, that they penetrate\n     further into the province of nature, and perceive something like a\n     necessary connexion between cause and effect. When, again, they\n     turn their reflections towards the operations of their own minds,\n     and _feel_ no such connexion between the motive and the action;\n     they are thence apt to suppose, that there is a difference between\n     the effects which result from material force, and those which arise\n     from thought and intelligence. But, being once convinced, that we\n     know nothing of causation of any kind, than merely the _constant\n     conjunction_ of objects, and the consequent _inference_ of the mind\n     from one to another, and finding that these two circumstances are\n     universally allowed to have place in voluntary actions; we may be\n     more easily led to own the same necessity common to all\n     causes.\"--(IV. pp. 107, 8.)\n\nThe last asylum of the hard-pressed advocate of the doctrine of uncaused\nvolition is usually, that, argue as you like, he has a profound and\nineradicable consciousness of what he calls the freedom of his will. But\nHume follows him even here, though only in a note, as if he thought the\nextinction of so transparent a sophism hardly worthy of the dignity of\nhis text.\n\n     \"The prevalence of the doctrine of liberty may be accounted for\n     from another cause, viz. a false sensation, or seeming experience,\n     which we have, or may have, of liberty or indifference in many of\n     our actions. The necessity of any action, whether of matter or of\n     mind, is not, properly speaking, a quality in the agent, but in any\n     thinking or intelligent being who may consider the action; and it\n     consists chiefly in the determination of his thoughts to infer the\n     existence of that action from some preceding objects; as liberty,\n     when opposed to necessity, is nothing but the want of that\n     determination, and a certain looseness or indifference which we\n     feel, in passing or not passing, from the idea of any object to the\n     idea of any succeeding one. Now we may observe that though, in\n     _reflecting_ on human actions, we seldom feel such looseness or\n     indifference, but are commonly able to infer them with considerable\n     certainty from their motives, and from the dispositions of the\n     agent; yet it frequently happens, that in _performing_ the actions\n     themselves, we are sensible of something like it: And as all\n     resembling objects are taken for each other, this has been employed\n     as demonstrative and even intuitive proof of human liberty. We feel\n     that our actions are subject to our will on most occasions; and\n     imagine we feel, that the will itself is subject to nothing,\n     because, when by a denial of it we are provoked to try, we feel\n     that it moves easily every way, and produces an image of itself (or\n     a _Velleity_ as it is called in the schools), even on that side on\n     which it did not settle. This image or faint notion, we persuade\n     ourselves, could at that time have been completed into the thing\n     itself; because, should that be denied, we find upon a second trial\n     that at present it can. We consider not that the fantastical desire\n     of showing liberty is here the motive of our actions.\"--(IV. p.\n     110, _note_.)\n\nMoreover, the moment the attempt is made to give a definite meaning to\nthe words, the supposed opposition between free will and necessity turns\nout to be a mere verbal dispute.\n\n     \"For what is meant by liberty, when applied to voluntary actions?\n     We cannot surely mean, that actions have so little connexion with\n     motive, inclinations, and circumstances, that one does not follow\n     with a certain degree of uniformity from the other, and that one\n     affords no inference by which we can conclude the existence of the\n     other. For these are plain and acknowledged matters of fact. By\n     liberty, then, we can only mean _a power of acting or not acting\n     according to the determinations of the will_; that is, if we choose\n     to remain at rest, we may; if we choose to move, we also may. Now\n     this hypothetical liberty is universally allowed to belong to every\n     one who is not a prisoner and in chains. Here then is no subject of\n     dispute.\"--(IV. p. 111.)\n\nHalf the controversies about the freedom of the will would have had no\nexistence, if this pithy paragraph had been well pondered by those who\noppose the doctrine of necessity. For they rest upon the absurd\npresumption that the proposition, \"I can do as I like,\" is contradictory\nto the doctrine of necessity. The answer is; nobody doubts that, at any\nrate within certain limits, you can do as you like. But what determines\nyour likings and dislikings? Did you make your own constitution? Is it\nyour contrivance that one thing is pleasant and another is painful? And\neven if it were, why did you prefer to make it after the one fashion\nrather than the other? The passionate assertion of the consciousness of\ntheir freedom, which is the favourite refuge of the opponents of the\ndoctrine of necessity, is mere futility, for nobody denies it. What they\nreally have to do, if they would upset the necessarian argument, is to\nprove that they are free to associate any emotion whatever with any idea\nwhatever; to like pain as much as pleasure; vice as much as virtue; in\nshort, to prove, that, whatever may be the fixity of order of the\nuniverse of things, that of thought is given over to chance.\n\nIn the second part of this remarkable essay, Hume considers the real, or\nsupposed, immoral consequences of the doctrine of necessity, premising\nthe weighty observation that\n\n     \"When any opinion leads to absurdity, it is certainly false; but it\n     is not certain that an opinion is false because it is of dangerous\n     consequence.\"--(IV. p. 112.)\n\nAnd, therefore, that the attempt to refute an opinion by a picture of\nits dangerous consequences to religion and morality, is as illogical as\nit is reprehensible.\n\nIt is said, in the first place, that necessity destroys responsibility;\nthat, as it is usually put, we have no right to praise or blame actions\nthat cannot be helped. Hume's reply amounts to this, that the very idea\nof responsibility implies the belief in the necessary connexion of\ncertain actions with certain states of the mind. A person is held\nresponsible only for those acts which are preceded by a certain\nintention; and, as we cannot see, or hear, or feel, an intention, we can\nonly reason out its existence on the principle that like effects have\nlike causes.\n\nIf a man is found by the police busy with \"jemmy\" and dark lantern at a\njeweller's shop door over night, the magistrate before whom he is\nbrought the next morning, reasons from those effects to their causes in\nthe fellow's \"burglarious\" ideas and volitions, with perfect confidence,\nand punishes him accordingly. And it is quite clear that such a\nproceeding would be grossly unjust, if the links of the logical process\nwere other than necessarily connected together. The advocate who should\nattempt to get the man off on the plea that his client need not\nnecessarily have had a felonious intent, would hardly waste his time\nmore, if he tried to prove that the sum of all the angles of a triangle\nis not two right angles, but three.\n\nA man's moral responsibility for his acts has, in fact, nothing to do\nwith the causation of these acts, but depends on the frame of mind which\naccompanies them. Common language tells us this, when it uses\n\"well-disposed\" as the equivalent of \"good,\" and \"evil-minded\" as that\nof \"wicked.\" If A does something which puts B in a violent passion, it\nis quite possible to admit that B's passion is the necessary consequence\nof A's act, and yet to believe that B's fury is morally wrong, or that\nhe ought to control it. In fact, a calm bystander would reason with both\non the assumption of moral necessity. He would say to A, \"You were wrong\nin doing a thing which you knew (that is, of the necessity of which you\nwere convinced) would irritate B.\" And he would say to B, \"You are wrong\nto give way to passion, for you know its evil effects\"--that is the\nnecessary connection between yielding to passion and evil.\n\nSo far, therefore, from necessity destroying moral responsibility, it is\nthe foundation of all praise and blame; and moral admiration reaches its\nclimax in the ascription of necessary goodness to the Deity.\n\nTo the statement of another consequence of the necessarian doctrine,\nthat, if there be a God, he must be the cause of all evil as well as of\nall good, Hume gives no real reply--probably because none is possible.\nBut then, if this conclusion is distinctly and unquestionably deducible\nfrom the doctrine of necessity, it is no less unquestionably a direct\nconsequence of every known form of monotheism. If God is the cause of\nall things, he must be the cause of evil among the rest; if he is\nomniscient, he must have the fore-knowledge of evil; if he is almighty,\nhe must possess the power of preventing, or of extinguishing evil. And\nto say that an all-knowing and all-powerful being is not responsible for\nwhat happens, because he only permits it, is, under its intellectual\naspect, a piece of childish sophistry; while, as to the moral look of\nit, one has only to ask any decently honourable man, whether, under like\ncircumstances, he would try to get rid of his responsibility by such a\nplea.\n\nHume's _Inquiry_ appeared in 1748. He does not refer to Anthony Collins'\nessay on Liberty, published thirty-three years before, in which the same\nquestion is treated to the same effect, with singular force and\nlucidity. It may be said, perhaps, that it is not wonderful that the two\nfreethinkers should follow the same line of reasoning; but no such\ntheory will account for the fact that in 1754, the famous Calvinistic\ndivine, Jonathan Edwards, President of the College of New Jersey,\nproduced, in the interests of the straitest orthodoxy, a demonstration\nof the necessarian thesis, which has never been equalled in power, and\ncertainly has never been refuted.\n\nIn the ninth section of the fourth part of Edwards' _Inquiry_, he has to\ndeal with the Arminian objection to the Calvinistic doctrine that \"it\nmakes God the author of sin\"; and it is curious to watch the struggle\nbetween the theological controversialist, striving to ward off an\nadmission which he knows will be employed to damage his side, and the\nacute logician, conscious that, in some shape or other, the admission\nmust be made. Beginning with a _tu quoque_, that the Arminian doctrine\ninvolves consequences as bad as the Calvinistic view, he proceeds to\nobject to the term \"author of sin,\" though he ends by admitting that, in\na certain sense, it is applicable; he proves from Scripture, that God is\nthe disposer and orderer of sin; and then, by an elaborate false analogy\nwith the darkness resulting from the absence of the sun, endeavours to\nsuggest that he is only the author of it in a negative sense; and,\nfinally, he takes refuge in the conclusion that, though God is the\norderer and disposer of those deeds which, considered in relation to\ntheir agents, are morally evil, yet, inasmuch as His purpose has all\nalong been infinitely good, they are not evil relatively to him.\n\nAnd this, of course, may be perfectly true; but if true, it is\ninconsistent with the attribute of omnipotence. It is conceivable that\nthere should be no evil in the world; that which is conceivable is\ncertainly possible; if it were possible for evil to be non-existent, the\nmaker of the world, who, though foreknowing the existence of evil in\nthat world, did not prevent it, either did not really desire it should\nnot exist, or could not prevent its existence. It might be well for\nthose who inveigh against the logical consequences of necessarianism to\nbethink them of the logical consequences of theism; which are not only\nthe same, when the attribute of Omniscience is ascribed to the Deity,\nbut which bring out, from the existence of moral evil, a hopeless\nconflict between the attributes of Infinite Benevolence and Infinite\nPower, which, with no less assurance, are affirmed to appertain to the\nDivine Being.\n\nKant's mode of dealing with the doctrine of necessity is very singular.\nThat the phenomena of the mind follow fixed relations of cause and\neffect is, to him, as unquestionable as it is to Hume. But then there is\nthe _Ding an sich_, the _Noumenon_, or Kantian equivalent for the\nsubstance of the soul. This, being out of the phenomenal world, is\nsubject to none of the laws of phenomena, and is consequently as\nabsolutely free, and as completely powerless, as a mathematical point,\n_in vacua_, would be. Hence volition is uncaused, so far as it belongs\nto the noumenon; but, necessary, so far as it takes effect in the\nphenomenal world.\n\nSince Kant is never weary of telling us that we know nothing whatever,\nand can know nothing, about the noumenon, except as the hypothetical\nsubject of any number of negative predicates; the information that it is\nfree, in the sense of being out of reach of the law of causation, is\nabout as valuable as the assertion that it is neither grey, nor blue,\nnor square. For practical purposes, it must be admitted that the inward\npossession of such a noumenal libertine does not amount to much for\npeople whose actual existence is made up of nothing but definitely\nregulated phenomena. When the good and evil angels fought for the dead\nbody of Moses, its presence must have been of about the same value to\neither of the contending parties, as that of Kant's noumenon, in the\nbattle of impulses which rages in the breast of man. Metaphysicians, as\na rule, are sadly deficient in the sense of humour; or they would surely\nabstain from advancing propositions which, when stripped of the verbiage\nin which they are disguised, appear to the profane eye to be bare shams,\nnaked but not ashamed.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nTHE PRINCIPLES OF MORALS.\n\n\nIn his autobiography, Hume writes:--\n\n     \"In the same year [1752] was published at London my _Inquiry\n     Concerning the Principles of Morals_; which in my own opinion (who\n     ought not to judge on that subject) is of all my writings,\n     historical, philosophical, and literary, incomparably the best. It\n     came unnoticed and unobserved into the world.\"\n\nIt may commonly be noticed that the relative value which an author\nascribes to his own works rarely agrees with the estimate formed of them\nby his readers; who criticise the products, without either the power or\nthe wish to take into account the pains which they may have cost the\nproducer. Moreover, the clear and dispassionate common sense of the\n_Inquiry concerning the Principles of Morals_ may have tasted flat after\nthe highly-seasoned _Inquiry concerning the Human Understanding_.\nWhether the public like to be deceived, or not, may be open to question;\nbut it is beyond a doubt that they love to be shocked in a pleasant and\nmannerly way. Now Hume's speculations on moral questions are not so\nremote from those of respectable professors, like Hutcheson, or saintly\nprelates, such as Butler, as to present any striking novelty. And they\nsupport the cause of righteousness in a cool, reasonable, indeed\nslightly patronising fashion, eminently in harmony with the mind of the\neighteenth century; which admired virtue very much, if she would only\navoid the rigour which the age called fanaticism, and the fervour which\nit called enthusiasm.\n\nHaving applied the ordinary methods of scientific inquiry to the\nintellectual phenomena of the mind, it was natural that Hume should\nextend the same mode of investigation to its moral phenomena; and, in\nthe true spirit of a natural philosopher, he commences by selecting a\ngroup of those states of consciousness with which every one's personal\nexperience must have made him familiar: in the expectation that the\ndiscovery of the sources of moral approbation and disapprobation, in\nthis comparatively easy case, may furnish the means of detecting them\nwhere they are more recondite.\n\n     \"We shall analyse that complication of mental qualities which form\n     what, in common life, we call PERSONAL MERIT: We shall consider\n     every attribute of the mind, which renders a man an object either\n     of esteem and affection, or of hatred and contempt; every habit or\n     sentiment or faculty, which if ascribed to any person, implies\n     either praise or blame, and may enter into any panegyric or satire\n     of his character and manners. The quick sensibility which, on this\n     head, is so universal among mankind, gives a philosopher sufficient\n     assurance that he can never be considerably mistaken in framing the\n     catalogue, or incurs any danger of misplacing the objects of his\n     contemplation: He needs only enter into his own breast for a\n     moment, and consider whether he should or should not desire to have\n     this or that quality assigned to him, and whether such or such an\n     imputation would proceed from a friend or an enemy. The very nature\n     of language guides us almost infallibly in forming a judgment of\n     this nature; and as every tongue possesses one set of words which\n     are taken in a good sense, and another in the opposite, the least\n     acquaintance with the idiom suffices, without any reasoning, to\n     direct us in collecting and arranging the estimable or blamable\n     qualities of men. The only object of reasoning is to discover the\n     circumstances on both sides, which are common to these qualities;\n     to observe that particular in which the estimable qualities agree\n     on the one hand, and the blamable on the other, and thence to reach\n     the foundation of ethics, and find their universal principles, from\n     which all censure or approbation is ultimately derived. As this is\n     a question of fact, not of abstract science, we can only expect\n     success by following the experimental method, and deducing general\n     maxims from a comparison of particular instances. The other\n     scientifical method, where a general abstract principle is first\n     established, and is afterwards branched out into a variety of\n     inferences and conclusions, may be more perfect in itself, but\n     suits less the imperfection of human nature, and is a common source\n     of illusion and mistake, in this as well as in other subjects. Men\n     are now cured of their passion for hypotheses and systems in\n     natural philosophy, and will hearken to no arguments but those\n     which are derived from experience. It is full time they should\n     attempt a like reformation in all moral disquisitions; and reject\n     every system of ethics, however subtile or ingenious, which is not\n     founded on fact and observation.\"--(IV. pp. 242-4.)\n\nNo qualities give a man a greater claim to personal merit than\nbenevolence and justice; but if we inquire why benevolence deserves so\nmuch praise, the answer will certainly contain a large reference to the\nutility of that virtue to society; and as for justice, the very\nexistence of the virtue implies that of society; public utility is its\nsole origin; and the measure of its usefulness is also the standard of\nits merit. If every man possessed everything he wanted, and no one had\nthe power to interfere with such possession; or if no man desired that\nwhich could damage his fellow-man, justice would have no part to play\nin the universe. But as Hume observes:--\n\n     \"In the present disposition of the human heart, it would perhaps be\n     difficult to find complete instances of such enlarged affections;\n     but still we may observe that the case of families approaches\n     towards it; and the stronger the mutual benevolence is among the\n     individuals, the nearer it approaches, till all distinction of\n     property be in a great measure lost and confounded among them.\n     Between married persons, the cement of friendship is by the laws\n     supposed so strong, as to abolish all division of possessions, and\n     has often, in reality, the force assigned to it.[45] And it is\n     observable that, during the ardour of new enthusiasms, when every\n     principle is inflamed into extravagance, the community of goods has\n     frequently been attempted; and nothing but experience of its\n     inconveniences, from the returning or disguised selfishness of men,\n     could make the imprudent fanatics adopt anew the ideas of justice\n     and separate property. So true is it that this virtue derives its\n     existence entirely from its necessary _use_ to the intercourse and\n     social state of mankind.\"--(IV. p. 256.)\n\n     \"Were the human species so framed by nature as that each individual\n     possessed within himself every faculty requisite both for his own\n     preservation and for the propagation of his kind: Were all society\n     and intercourse cut off between man and man by the primary\n     intention of the Supreme Creator: It seems evident that so solitary\n     a being would be as much incapable of justice as of social\n     discourse and conversation. Where mutual regard and forbearance\n     serve to no manner of purpose, they would never direct the conduct\n     of any reasonable man. The headlong course of the passions would be\n     checked by no reflection on future consequences. And as each man\n     is here supposed to love himself alone, and to depend only on\n     himself and his own activity for safety and happiness, he would, on\n     every occasion, to the utmost of his power, challenge the\n     preference above every other being, to none of which he is bound by\n     any ties, either of nature or of interest.\n\n     \"But suppose the conjunction of the sexes to be established in\n     nature, a family immediately arises; and particular rules being\n     found requisite for its subsistence, these are immediately\n     embraced, though without comprehending the rest of mankind within\n     their prescriptions. Suppose that several families unite together\n     in one society, which is totally disjoined from all others, the\n     rules which preserve peace and order enlarge themselves to the\n     utmost extent of that society; but becoming then entirely useless,\n     lose their force when carried one step further. But again, suppose\n     that several distinct societies maintain a kind of intercourse for\n     mutual convenience and advantage, the boundaries of justice still\n     grow larger, in proportion to the largeness of men's views and the\n     force of their mutual connexion. History, experience, reason,\n     sufficiently instruct us in this natural progress of human\n     sentiments, and in the gradual enlargement of our regard to justice\n     in proportion as we become acquainted with the extensive utility of\n     that virtue.\"--(IV. pp. 262-4.)\n\nThe moral obligation of justice and the rights of property are by no\nmeans diminished by this exposure of the purely utilitarian basis on\nwhich they rest:--\n\n     \"For what stronger foundation can be desired or conceived for any\n     duty, than to observe that human society, or even human nature,\n     could not subsist without the establishment of it, and will still\n     arrive at greater degrees of happiness and perfection, the more\n     inviolable the regard is which is paid to that duty?\n\n     \"The dilemma seems obvious: As justice evidently tends to promote\n     public utility, and to support civil society, the sentiment of\n     justice is either derived from our reflecting on that tendency, or,\n     like hunger, thirst, and other appetites, resentment, love of life,\n     attachment to offspring, and other passions, arises from a simple\n     original instinct in the human heart, which nature has implanted\n     for like salutary purposes. If the latter be the case, it follows\n     that property, which is the object of justice, is also\n     distinguished by a simple original instinct, and is not ascertained\n     by any argument or reflection. But who is there that ever heard of\n     such an instinct? Or is this a subject in which new discoveries can\n     be made? We may as well expect to discover in the body new senses\n     which had before escaped the observation of all mankind.\"--(IV. pp.\n     273, 4.)\n\nThe restriction of the object of justice to property, in this passage,\nis singular. Pleasure and pain can hardly be included under the term\nproperty, and yet justice surely deals largely with the withholding of\nthe former, or the infliction of the latter, by men on one another. If a\nman bars another from a pleasure which he would otherwise enjoy, or\nactively hurts him without good reason, the latter is said to be injured\nas much as if his property had been interfered with. Here, indeed, it\nmay be readily shown, that it is as much the interest of society that\nmen should not interfere with one another's freedom, or mutually inflict\npositive or negative pain, as that they should not meddle with one\nanother's property; and hence the obligation of justice in such matters\nmay be deduced. But, if a man merely thinks ill of another, or feels\nmaliciously towards him without due cause, he is properly said to be\nunjust. In this case it would be hard to prove that any injury is done\nto society by the evil thought; but there is no question that it will be\nstigmatised as an injustice; and the offender himself, in another frame\nof mind, is often ready enough to admit that he has failed to be just\ntowards his neighbour. However, it may plausibly be said, that so slight\na barrier lies between thought and speech, that any moral quality\nattached to the latter is easily transferred to the former; and that,\nsince open slander is obviously opposed to the interests of society,\ninjustice of thought, which is silent slander, must become inextricably\nassociated with the same blame.\n\nBut, granting the utility to society of all kinds of benevolence and\njustice, why should the quality of those virtues involve the sense of\nmoral obligation?\n\nHume answers this question in the fifth section, entitled, _Why Utility\nPleases_. He repudiates the deduction of moral approbation from\nself-love, and utterly denies that we approve of benevolent or just\nactions because we think of the benefits which they are likely to confer\nindirectly on ourselves. The source of the approbation with which we\nview an act useful to society must be sought elsewhere; and, in fact, is\nto be found in that feeling which is called sympathy.\n\n     \"No man is absolutely indifferent to the happiness and misery of\n     others. The first has a natural tendency to give pleasure, the\n     second pain. This every one may find in himself. It is not probable\n     that these principles can be resolved into principles more simple\n     and universal, whatever attempts may have been made for that\n     purpose.\"--(IV. p. 294, _Note_.)\n\nOther men's joys and sorrows are not spectacles at which we remain\nunmoved:--\n\n     \" ... The view of the former, whether in its causes or effects,\n     like sunshine, or the prospect of well-cultivated plains (to carry\n     our pretensions no higher) communicates a secret joy and\n     satisfaction; the appearance of the latter, like a lowering cloud\n     or barren landscape, throws a melancholy damp over the imagination.\n     And this concession being once made, the difficulty is over; and a\n     natural unforced interpretation of the phenomena of human life will\n     afterwards, we hope, prevail among all speculative\n     inquirers.\"--(IV. p. 320.)\n\nThe moral approbation, therefore, with which we regard acts of justice\nor benevolence rests upon their utility to society, because the\nperception of that utility or, in other words, of the pleasure which\nthey give to other men, arouses a feeling of sympathetic pleasure in\nourselves. The feeling of obligation to be just, or of the duty of\njustice, arises out of that association of moral approbation or\ndisapprobation with one's own actions, which is what we call conscience.\nTo fail in justice, or in benevolence, is to be displeased with oneself.\nBut happiness is impossible without inward self-approval; and, hence,\nevery man who has any regard to his own happiness and welfare, will find\nhis best reward in the practice of every moral duty. On this topic Hume\nexpends much eloquence.\n\n     \"But what philosophical truths can be more advantageous to society\n     than these here delivered, which represent virtue in all her\n     genuine and most engaging charms, and make us approach her with\n     ease, familiarity, and affection? The dismal dress falls off, with\n     which many divines and some philosophers have covered her; and\n     nothing appears but gentleness, humanity, beneficence, affability;\n     nay, even at proper intervals, play, frolic, and gaiety. She talks\n     not of useless austerities and rigours, suffering and self-denial.\n     She declares that her sole purpose is to make her votaries, and all\n     mankind, during every period of their existence, if possible,\n     cheerful and happy; nor does she ever willingly part with any\n     pleasure but in hopes of ample compensation in some other period of\n     their lives. The sole trouble which she demands is that of just\n     calculation, and a steady preference of the greater happiness. And\n     if any austere pretenders approach her, enemies to joy and\n     pleasure, she either rejects them as hypocrites and deceivers, or\n     if she admit them in her train, they are ranked, however, among the\n     least favoured of her votaries.\n\n     \"And, indeed, to drop all figurative expression, what hopes can we\n     ever have of engaging mankind to a practice which we confess full\n     of austerity and rigour? Or what theory of morals can ever serve\n     any useful purpose, unless it can show, by a particular detail,\n     that all the duties which it recommends are also the true interest\n     of each individual? The peculiar advantage of the foregoing system\n     seem to be, that it furnishes proper mediums for that\n     purpose.\"--(IV. p. 360.)\n\nIn this paean to virtue, there is more of the dance measure than will\nsound appropriate in the ears of most of the pilgrims who toil\npainfully, not without many a stumble and many a bruise, along the rough\nand steep roads which lead to the higher life.\n\nVirtue is undoubtedly beneficent; but the man is to be envied to whom\nher ways seem in anywise playful. And, though she may not talk much\nabout suffering and self-denial, her silence on that topic may be\naccounted for on the principle _ca va sans dire_. The calculation of the\ngreatest happiness is not performed quite so easily as a rule of three\nsum; while, in the hour of temptation, the question will crop up,\nwhether, as something has to be sacrificed, a bird in the hand is not\nworth two in the bush; whether it may not be as well to give up the\nproblematical greater happiness in the future, for a certain great\nhappiness in the present, and\n\n\n             \"Buy the merry madness of one hour\n     With the long irksomeness of following time.\"[46]\n\n\nIf mankind cannot be engaged in practices \"full of austerity and\nrigour,\" by the love of righteousness and the fear of evil, without\nseeking for other compensation than that which flows from the\ngratification of such love and the consciousness of escape from\ndebasement, they are in a bad case. For they will assuredly find that\nvirtue presents no very close likeness to the sportive leader of the\njoyous hours in Hume's rosy picture; but that she is an awful Goddess,\nwhose ministers are the Furies, and whose highest reward is peace.\n\nIt is not improbable that Hume would have qualified all this as\nenthusiasm or fanaticism, or both; but he virtually admits it:--\n\n     \"Now, as virtue is an end, and is desirable on its own account,\n     without fee or reward, merely for the immediate satisfaction which\n     it conveys, it is requisite that there should be some sentiment\n     which it touches; some internal taste or feeling, or whatever you\n     please to call it, which distinguishes moral good and evil, and\n     which embraces the one and rejects the other.\n\n     \"Thus the distinct boundaries and offices of _reason_ and of\n     _taste_ are easily ascertained. The former conveys the knowledge of\n     truth and falsehood: The latter gives the sentiment of beauty and\n     deformity, vice and virtue. The one discovers objects as they\n     really stand in nature, without addition or diminution: The other\n     has a productive faculty, and gilding and staining all natural\n     objects with the colours borrowed from internal sentiment, raises\n     in a manner a new creation. Reason being cool and disengaged, is no\n     motive to action, and directs only the impulse received from\n     appetite or inclination, by showing us the means of attaining\n     happiness or avoiding misery. Taste, as it gives pleasure or pain,\n     and thereby constitutes happiness or misery, becomes a motive to\n     action, and is the first spring or impulse to desire and volition.\n     From circumstances and relations known or supposed, the former\n     leads us to the discovery of the concealed and unknown. After all\n     circumstances and relations are laid before us, the latter makes us\n     feel from the whole a new sentiment of blame or approbation. The\n     standard of the one, being founded on the nature of things, is\n     external and inflexible, even by the will of the Supreme Being: The\n     standard of the other, arising from the internal frame and\n     constitution of animals, is ultimately derived from the Supreme\n     Will, which bestowed on each being its peculiar nature, and\n     arranged the several classes and orders of existence.\"--(IV. pp.\n     376-7.)\n\nHume has not discussed the theological theory of the obligations of\nmorality, but it is obviously in accordance with his view of the nature\nof those obligations. Under its theological aspect, morality is\nobedience to the will of God; and the ground for such obedience is\ntwo-fold; either we ought to obey God because He will punish us if we\ndisobey Him, which is an argument based on the utility of obedience; or\nour obedience ought to flow from our love towards God, which is an\nargument based on pure feeling and for which no reason can be given.\nFor, if any man should say that he takes no pleasure in the\ncontemplation of the ideal of perfect holiness, or, in other words, that\nhe does not love God, the attempt to argue him into acquiring that\npleasure would be as hopeless as the endeavour to persuade Peter Bell of\nthe \"witchery of the soft blue sky.\"\n\nIn whichever way we look at the matter, morality is based on feeling,\nnot on reason; though reason alone is competent to trace out the effects\nof our actions and thereby dictate conduct. Justice is founded on the\nlove of one's neighbour; and goodness is a kind of beauty. The moral\nlaw, like the laws of physical nature, rests in the long run upon\ninstinctive intuitions, and is neither more nor less \"innate\" and\n\"necessary\" than they are. Some people cannot by any means be got to\nunderstand the first book of Euclid; but the truths of mathematics are\nno less necessary and binding on the great mass of mankind. Some there\nare who cannot feel the difference between the _Sonata Appassionata_,\nand _Cherry Ripe_; or between a gravestone-cutter's cherub and the\nApollo Belvidere; but the canons of art are none the less acknowledged.\nWhile some there may be, who, devoid of sympathy are incapable of a\nsense of duty; but neither does their existence affect the foundations\nof morality. Such pathological deviations from true manhood are merely\nthe halt, the lame, and the blind of the world of consciousness; and the\nanatomist of the mind leaves them aside, as the anatomist of the body\nwould ignore abnormal specimens.\n\nAnd as there are Pascals and Mozarts, Newtons and Raffaelles, in whom\nthe innate faculty for science or art seems to need but a touch to\nspring into full vigour, and through whom the human race obtains new\npossibilities of knowledge and new conceptions of beauty: so there have\nbeen men of moral genius, to whom we owe ideals of duty and visions of\nmoral perfection, which ordinary mankind could never have attained;\nthough, happily for them, they can feel the beauty of a vision, which\nlay beyond the reach of their dull imaginations, and count life well\nspent in shaping some faint image of it in the actual world.\n\nTHE END\n\nLONDON: R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, BREAD STREET HILL.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[45] Family affection in the eighteenth century may have been stronger\nthan in the nineteenth; but Hume's bachelor inexperience can surely\nalone explain his strange account of the suppositions of the marriage\nlaw of that day, and their effects. The law certainly abolished all\ndivision of possessions, but it did so by making the husband sole\nproprietor.\n\n[46] Ben Jonson's _Cynthia's Revels_, act i.\n\n\n\n\nADVERTISEMENTS\n\n\nENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS.\n\nEDITED BY JOHN MORLEY.\n\n\n_These Short Books are addressed to the general public with a view both\nto stirring and satisfying an interest in literature and its great\ntopics in the minds of those who have to run as they read. An immense\nclass is growing up, and must every year increase, whose education will\nhave made them alive to the importance of the masters of our literature,\nand capable of intelligent curiosity as to their performances. 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