{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_4705/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_4705","id":"gutenberg_4705","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/4705","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Knowledge, Theory of","Philosophy"],"text":"A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE\n\nBy David Hume\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n  VOLUME I\n\n  INTRODUCTION BY THE AUTHOR.\n\n  BOOK I  OF THE UNDERSTANDING\n\n  PART I     OF IDEAS, THEIR ORIGIN, COMPOSITION, CONNEXION,\n               ABSTRACTION, ETC.\n\n  SECT. I     OF THE ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS.\n  SECT. II.   DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT.\n  SECT. III.  OF THE IDEAS OF THE MEMORY AND IMAGINATION.\n  SECT. IV.   OF THE CONNECTION OR ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.\n  SECT. V.    OF RELATIONS.\n  SECT. VI.   OF MODES AND SUBSTANCES\n  SECT. VII.  OF ABSTRACT IDEAS.\n\n  PART II.   OF THE IDEAS OF SPACE AND TIME.\n\n  SECT. I.    OF THE INFINITE DIVISIBILITY OF OUR IDEAS OF SPACE AND TIME.\n  SECT. II.   OF THE INFINITE DIVISIBILITY OF SPACE AND TIME.\n  SECT. III.  OF THE OTHER QUALITIES OF OUR IDEA OF SPACE AND TIME.\n  SECT. IV.   OBJECTIONS ANSWERED.\n  SECT. V.    THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED.\n  SECT. VI.   OF THE IDEA OF EXISTENCE, AND OF EXTERNAL EXISTENCE.\n\n  PART III.  OF KNOWLEDGE AND PROBABILITY.\n\n  SECT. I.    OF KNOWLEDGE.\n  SECT. II.   OF PROBABILITY, AND OF THE IDEA OF CAUSE AND EFFECT.\n  SECT. III.  WHY A CAUSE IS ALWAYS NECESSARY.\n  SECT. IV.   OF THE COMPONENT PARTS OF OUR REASONINGS CONCERNING CAUSE\n               AND EFFECT.\n  SECT. V.    OF THE IMPRESSIONS OF THE SENSES AND MEMORY.\n  SECT. VI.   OF THE INFERENCE FROM THE IMPRESSION TO THE IDEA.\n  SECT. VII.  OF THE NATURE OF THE IDEA OR BELIEF.\n  SECT. VIII. OF THE CAUSES OF BELIEF.\n  SECT. IX.   OF THE EFFECTS OF OTHER RELATIONS AND OTHER HABITS.\n  SECT. X.    OF THE INFLUENCE OF BELIEF.\n  SECT. XI.   OF THE PROBABILITY OF CHANCES.\n  SECT. XII.  OF THE PROBABILITY OF CAUSES.\n  SECT. XIII. OF UNPHILOSOPHICAL PROBABILITY.\n  SECT. XIV.  OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNECTION.\n  SECT. XV.   RULES BY WHICH TO JUDGE OF CAUSES AND EFFECTS.\n  SECT. XVI   OF THE REASON OF ANIMALS\n\n  PART IV.   OF THE SCEPTICAL AND OTHER SYSTEMS OF PHILOSOPHY.\n\n  SECT. I.    OF SCEPTICISM WITH REGARD TO REASON.\n  SECT. II.   OF SCEPTICISM WITH REGARD TO THE SENSES.\n  SECT. III.  OF THE ANTIENT PHILOSOPHY.\n  SECT. IV.   OF THE MODERN PHILOSOPHY.\n  SECT. V.    OF THE IMMATERIALITY OF THE SOUL.\n  SECT. VI.   OF PERSONAL IDENTITY\n  SECT. VII.  CONCLUSION OF THIS BOOK.\n\n  VOLUME II\n\n  BOOK II   OF THE PASSIONS\n\n  PART I     OF PRIDE AND HUMILITY\n\n  SECT. I     DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT\n  SECT. II    OF PRIDE AND HUMILITY, THEIR OBJECTS AND CAUSES\n  SECT. III   WHENCE THESE OBJECTS AND CAUSES ARE DERIVED\n  SECT. IV    OF THE RELATIONS OF IMPRESSIONS AND IDEAS\n  SECT. V     OF THE INFLUENCE OF THESE RELATIONS ON PRIDE AND HUMILITY\n  SECT. VI    LIMITATIONS OF THIS SYSTEM\n  SECT. VII   OF VICE AND VIRTUE\n  SECT. VIII  OF BEAUTY AND DEFORMITY\n  SECT. IX    OF EXTERNAL ADVANTAGES AND DISADVANTAGES\n  SECT. X     OF PROPERTY AND RICHES\n  SECT. XI    OF THE LOVE OF FAME\n  SECT. XII   OF THE PRIDE AND HUMILITY OF ANIMALS\n\n  PART II    OF LOVE AND HATRED\n\n  SECT. I     OF THE OBJECT AND CAUSES OF LOVE AND HATRED\n  SECT. II    EXPERIMENTS TO CONFIRM THIS SYSTEM\n  SECT. III   DIFFICULTIES SOLVED\n  SECT. IV    OF THE LOVE OF RELATIONS\n  SECT. V     OF OUR ESTEEM FOR THE RICH AND POWERFUL\n  SECT. VI    OF BENEVOLENCE AND ANGER\n  SECT. VII   OF COMPASSION\n  SECT. VIII  OF MALICE AND ENVY\n  SECT. IX    OF THE MIXTURE OF BENEVOLENCE AND ANGER WITH COMPASSION\n               AND MALICE\n  SECT. X     OF RESPECT AND CONTEMPT\n  SECT. XI    OF THE AMOROUS PASSION, OR LOVE BETWIXT THE SEXES\n  SECT. XII   OF THE LOVE AND HATRED OF ANIMALS\n\n  PART III   OF THE WILL AND DIRECT PASSIONS\n\n  SECT. I     OF LIBERTY AND NECESSITY\n  SECT. II    THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED\n  SECT. III   OF THE INFLUENCING MOTIVES OF THE WILL\n  SECT. IV    OF THE CAUSES OF THE VIOLENT PASSIONS\n  SECT. V     OF THE EFFECTS OF CUSTOM\n  SECT. VI    OF THE INFLUENCE OF THE IMAGINATION ON THE PASSIONS\n  SECT. VII   OF CONTIGUITY AND DISTANCE IN SPACE AND TIME\n  SECT. VIII  THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED\n  SECT. IX    OF THE DIRECT PASSIONS\n  SECT. X     OF CURIOSITY, OR THE LOVE OF TRUTH\n\n  BOOK III  OF MORALS\n\n  PART I     OF VIRTUE AND VICE IN GENERAL\n\n  SECT. I     MORAL DISTINCTIONS NOT DERIVED FROM REASON\n  SECT. II    MORAL DISTINCTIONS DERIVED FROM A MORAL SENSE\n\n  PART II    OF JUSTICE AND INJUSTICE\n\n  SECT. I     JUSTICE, WHETHER A NATURAL OR ARTIFICIAL VIRTUE?\n  SECT. II    OF THE ORIGIN OF JUSTICE AND PROPERTY\n  SECT. III   OF THE RULES WHICH DETERMINE PROPERTY\n  SECT. IV    OF THE TRANSFERENCE OF PROPERTY BY CONSENT\n  SECT. V     OF THE OBLIGATION OF PROMISES\n  SECT. VI    SOME FARTHER REFLECTIONS CONCERNING JUSTICE AND INJUSTICE\n  SECT. VII   OF THE ORIGIN OF GOVERNMENT\n  SECT. VIII  OF THE SOURCE OF ALLEGIANCE\n  SECT. IX    OF THE MEASURES OF ALLEGIANCE\n  SECT. X     OF THE OBJECTS OF ALLEGIANCE\n  SECT. XI    OF THE LAWS OF NATIONS\n  SECT. XII   OF CHASTITY AND MODESTY\n\n  PART III   OF THE OTHER VIRTUES AND VICES\n\n  SECT. I     OF THE ORIGIN OF THE NATURAL VIRTUES AND VICES\n  SECT. II    OF GREATNESS OF MIND\n  SECT. III   OF GOODNESS AND BENEVOLENCE\n  SECT. IV    OF NATURAL ABILITIES\n  SECT. V     SOME FARTHER REFLECTIONS CONCERNING THE NATURAL VIRTUES\n  SECT. VI    CONCLUSION OF THIS BOOK\n\n  APPENDIX TO THE TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE\n\n\n\n* * * * *\n\n\n\n\n\nVOL. I OF THE UNDERSTANDING.\n\n\n\n\nADVERTISEMENT.\n\n\n\nMy design in the present work is sufficiently explained in the\nIntroduction. The reader must only observe, that all the subjects I have\nthere planned out to myself, are not treated of in these two volumes.\nThe subjects of the Understanding and Passions make a compleat chain\nof reasoning by themselves; and I was willing to take advantage of this\nnatural division, in order to try the taste of the public. If I have the\ngood fortune to meet with success, I shall proceed to the examination\nof Morals, Politics, and Criticism; which will compleat this Treatise of\nHuman Nature. The approbation of the public I consider as the greatest\nreward of my labours; but am determined to regard its judgment, whatever\nit be, as my best instruction.\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\n\nNothing is more usual and more natural for those, who pretend to\ndiscover anything new to the world in philosophy and the sciences, than\nto insinuate the praises of their own systems, by decrying all those,\nwhich have been advanced before them. And indeed were they content with\nlamenting that ignorance, which we still lie under in the most important\nquestions, that can come before the tribunal of human reason, there are\nfew, who have an acquaintance with the sciences, that would not readily\nagree with them. It is easy for one of judgment and learning, to\nperceive the weak foundation even of those systems, which have obtained\nthe greatest credit, and have carried their pretensions highest\nto accurate and profound reasoning. Principles taken upon trust,\nconsequences lamely deduced from them, want of coherence in the parts,\nand of evidence in the whole, these are every where to be met with in\nthe systems of the most eminent philosophers, and seem to have drawn\ndisgrace upon philosophy itself.\n\nNor is there required such profound knowledge to discover the present\nimperfect condition of the sciences, but even the rabble without doors\nmay, judge from the noise and clamour, which they hear, that all goes\nnot well within. There is nothing which is not the subject of debate,\nand in which men of learning are not of contrary opinions. The most\ntrivial question escapes not our controversy, and in the most momentous\nwe are not able to give any certain decision. Disputes are multiplied,\nas if every thing was uncertain; and these disputes are managed with the\ngreatest warmth, as if every thing was certain. Amidst all this bustle\nit is not reason, which carries the prize, but eloquence; and no\nman needs ever despair of gaining proselytes to the most extravagant\nhypothesis, who has art enough to represent it in any favourable\ncolours. The victory is not gained by the men at arms, who manage the\npike and the sword; but by the trumpeters, drummers, and musicians of\nthe army.\n\nFrom hence in my opinion arises that common prejudice against\nmetaphysical reasonings of all kinds, even amongst those, who profess\nthemselves scholars, and have a just value for every other part of\nliterature. By metaphysical reasonings, they do not understand those on\nany particular branch of science, but every kind of argument, which is\nany way abstruse, and requires some attention to be comprehended. We\nhave so often lost our labour in such researches, that we commonly\nreject them without hesitation, and resolve, if we must for ever be a\nprey to errors and delusions, that they shall at least be natural and\nentertaining. And indeed nothing but the most determined scepticism,\nalong with a great degree of indolence, can justify this aversion to\nmetaphysics. For if truth be at all within the reach of human capacity,\nit is certain it must lie very deep and abstruse: and to hope we shall\narrive at it without pains, while the greatest geniuses have failed\nwith the utmost pains, must certainly be esteemed sufficiently vain\nand presumptuous. I pretend to no such advantage in the philosophy I am\ngoing to unfold, and would esteem it a strong presumption against it,\nwere it so very easy and obvious.\n\nIt is evident, that all the sciences have a relation, greater or less,\nto human nature: and that however wide any of them may seem to run from\nit, they still return back by one passage or another. Even. Mathematics,\nNatural Philosophy, and Natural Religion, are in some measure dependent\non the science of MAN; since they lie under the cognizance of men, and\nare judged of by their powers and faculties. It is impossible to tell\nwhat changes and improvements we might make in these sciences were we\nthoroughly acquainted with the extent and force of human understanding,\nand could explain the nature of the ideas we employ, and of the\noperations we perform in our reasonings. And these improvements are\nthe more to be hoped for in natural religion, as it is not content with\ninstructing us in the nature of superior powers, but carries its views\nfarther, to their disposition towards us, and our duties towards them;\nand consequently we ourselves are not only the beings, that reason, but\nalso one of the objects, concerning which we reason.\n\nIf therefore the sciences of Mathematics, Natural Philosophy, and\nNatural Religion, have such a dependence on the knowledge of man, what\nmay be expected in the other sciences, whose connexion with human nature\nis more close and intimate? The sole end of logic is to explain the\nprinciples and operations of our reasoning faculty, and the nature of\nour ideas: morals and criticism regard our tastes and sentiments: and\npolitics consider men as united in society, and dependent on each other.\nIn these four sciences of Logic, Morals, Criticism, and Politics, is\ncomprehended almost everything, which it can any way import us to be\nacquainted with, or which can tend either to the improvement or ornament\nof the human mind.\n\nHere then is the only expedient, from which we can hope for success in\nour philosophical researches, to leave the tedious lingering method,\nwhich we have hitherto followed, and instead of taking now and then a\ncastle or village on the frontier, to march up directly to the capital\nor center of these sciences, to human nature itself; which being once\nmasters of, we may every where else hope for an easy victory. From this\nstation we may extend our conquests over all those sciences, which more\nintimately concern human life, and may afterwards proceed at leisure\nto discover more fully those, which are the objects of pore curiosity.\nThere is no question of importance, whose decision is not comprised in\nthe science of man; and there is none, which can be decided with any\ncertainty, before we become acquainted with that science. In pretending,\ntherefore, to explain the principles of human nature, we in effect\npropose a compleat system of the sciences, built on a foundation almost\nentirely new, and the only one upon which they can stand with any\nsecurity.\n\nAnd as the science of man is the-only solid foundation for the other\nsciences, so the only solid foundation we can give to this science\nitself must be laid on experience and observation. It is no astonishing\nreflection to consider, that the application of experimental philosophy\nto moral subjects should come after that to natural at the distance of\nabove a whole century; since we find in fact, that there was about the\nsame interval betwixt the origins of these sciences; and that reckoning\nfrom THALES to SOCRATES, the space of time is nearly equal to that\nbetwixt, my Lord Bacon and some late philosophers in England,[1]  who\nhave begun to put the science of man on a new footing, and have engaged\nthe attention, and excited the curiosity of the public. So true it is,\nthat however other nations may rival us in poetry, and excel us in some\nother agreeable arts, the improvements in reason and philosophy can\nonly be owing to a land of toleration and of liberty.\n\n    [1] Mr. _Locke_, my Lord _Shaftesbury_, Dr. _Mandeville_, Mr.\n    _Hutchinson_, Dr. _Butler_, etc.\n\nNor ought we to think, that this latter improvement in the science of\nman will do less honour to our native country than the former in natural\nphilosophy, but ought rather to esteem it a greater glory, upon account\nof the greater importance of that science, as well as the necessity it\nlay under of such a reformation. For to me it seems evident, that the\nessence of the mind being equally unknown to us with that of external\nbodies, it must be equally impossible to form any notion of its powers\nand qualities otherwise than from careful and exact experiments, and the\nobservation of those particular effects, which result from its different\ncircumstances and situations. And though we must endeavour to render all\nour principles as universal as possible, by tracing up our experiments\nto the utmost, and explaining all effects from the simplest and fewest\ncauses, it is still certain we cannot go beyond experience; and any\nhypothesis, that pretends to discover the ultimate original qualities\nof human nature, ought at first to be rejected as presumptuous and\nchimerical.\n\nI do not think a philosopher, who would apply himself so earnestly to\nthe explaining the ultimate principles of the soul, would show himself a\ngreat master in that very science of human nature, which he pretends to\nexplain, or very knowing in what is naturally satisfactory to the mind\nof man. For nothing is more certain, than that despair has almost the\nsame effect upon us with enjoyment, and that we are no sooner acquainted\nwith the impossibility of satisfying any desire, than the desire itself\nvanishes. When we see, that we have arrived at the utmost extent of\nhuman reason, we sit down contented, though we be perfectly satisfied in\nthe main of our ignorance, and perceive that we can give no reason for\nour most general and most refined principles, beside our experience\nof their reality; which is the reason of the mere vulgar, and what it\nrequired no study at first to have discovered for the most particular\nand most extraordinary ph\u00e6nomenon. And as this impossibility of making\nany farther progress is enough to satisfy the reader, so the writer\nmay derive a more delicate satisfaction from the free confession of his\nignorance, and from his prudence in avoiding that error, into which so\nmany have fallen, of imposing their conjectures and hypotheses on the\nworld for the most certain principles. When this mutual contentment and\nsatisfaction can be obtained betwixt the master and scholar, I know not\nwhat more we can require of our philosophy.\n\nBut if this impossibility of explaining ultimate principles should be\nesteemed a defect in the science of man, I will venture to affirm, that\nit is a defect common to it with all the sciences, and all the arts, in\nwhich we can employ ourselves, whether they be such as are cultivated\nin the schools of the philosophers, or practised in the shops of the\nmeanest artizans. None of them can go beyond experience, or establish\nany principles which are not founded on that authority. Moral philosophy\nhas, indeed, this peculiar disadvantage, which is not found in natural,\nthat in collecting its experiments, it cannot make them purposely, with\npremeditation, and after such a manner as to satisfy itself concerning\nevery particular difficulty which may be. When I am at a loss to know\nthe effects of one body upon another in any situation, I need only put\nthem in that situation, and observe what results from it. But should\nI endeavour to clear up after the same manner any doubt in moral\nphilosophy, by placing myself in the same case with that which I\nconsider, it is evident this reflection and premeditation would so\ndisturb the operation of my natural principles, as must render it\nimpossible to form any just conclusion from the phenomenon. We must\ntherefore glean up our experiments in this science from a cautious\nobservation of human life, and take them as they appear in the common\ncourse of the world, by men's behaviour in company, in affairs, and\nin their pleasures. Where experiments of this kind are judiciously\ncollected and compared, we may hope to establish on them a science which\nwill not be inferior in certainty, and will be much superior in utility\nto any other of human comprehension.\n\n\n\n\n\nBOOK I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING\n\n\n\n\nPART I. OF IDEAS, THEIR ORIGIN, COMPOSITION, CONNEXION, ABSTRACTION,\nETC.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. I. OF THE ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS.\n\n\nAll the perceptions of the human mind resolve themselves into two\ndistinct kinds, which I shall call IMPRESSIONS and IDEAS. The difference\nbetwixt these consists in the degrees of force and liveliness, with\nwhich they strike upon the mind, and make their way into our thought\nor consciousness. Those perceptions, which enter with most force and\nviolence, we may name impressions: and under this name I comprehend\nall our sensations, passions and emotions, as they make their first\nappearance in the soul. By ideas I mean the faint images of these in\nthinking and reasoning; such as, for instance, are all the perceptions\nexcited by the present discourse, excepting only those which arise from\nthe sight and touch, and excepting the immediate pleasure or uneasiness\nit may occasion. I believe it will not be very necessary to employ many\nwords in explaining this distinction. Every one of himself will readily\nperceive the difference betwixt feeling and thinking. The common degrees\nof these are easily distinguished; though it is not impossible but in\nparticular instances they may very nearly approach to each other. Thus\nin sleep, in a fever, in madness, or in any very violent emotions of\nsoul, our ideas may approach to our impressions, As on the other hand\nit sometimes happens, that our impressions are so faint and low, that\nwe cannot distinguish them from our ideas. But notwithstanding this near\nresemblance in a few instances, they are in general so very different,\nthat no-one can make a scruple to rank them under distinct heads, and\nassign to each a peculiar name to mark the difference.[1]\n\n    [1] I here make use of these terms, _impression and idea_, in a\n    sense different from what is usual, and I hope this liberty will be\n    allowed me. Perhaps I rather restore the word, idea, to its\n    original sense, from which Mr Locke had perverted it, in making it\n    stand for all our perceptions. By the terms of impression I would\n    not be understood to express the manner, in which our lively\n    perceptions are produced in the soul, but merely the perceptions\n    themselves; for which there is no particular name either in the\n    _English_ or any other language, that I know of.\n\nThere is another division of our perceptions, which it will be\nconvenient to observe, and which extends itself both to our impressions\nand ideas. This division is into SIMPLE and COMPLEX. Simple perceptions\nor impressions and ideas are such as admit of no distinction nor\nseparation. The complex are the contrary to these, and may be\ndistinguished into parts. Though a particular colour, taste, and smell,\nare qualities all united together in this apple, it is easy to perceive\nthey are not the same, but are at least distinguishable from each other.\n\nHaving by these divisions given an order and arrangement to our objects,\nwe may now apply ourselves to consider with the more accuracy their\nqualities and relations. The first circumstance, that strikes my eye, is\nthe great resemblance betwixt our impressions and ideas in every other\nparticular, except their degree of force and vivacity. The one seem to\nbe in a manner the reflexion of the other; so that all the perceptions\nof the mind are double, and appear both as impressions and ideas. When\nI shut my eyes and think of my chamber, the ideas I form are exact\nrepresentations of the impressions I felt; nor is there any circumstance\nof the one, which is not to be found in the other. In running over my\nother perceptions, I find still the same resemblance and representation.\nIdeas and impressions appear always to correspond to each other. This\ncircumstance seems to me remarkable, and engages my attention for a\nmoment.\n\nUpon a more accurate survey I find I have been carried away too far by\nthe first appearance, and that I must make use of the distinction of\nperceptions into simple and complex, to limit this general decision,\nthat all our ideas and impressions are resembling. I observe, that many\nof our complex ideas never had impressions, that corresponded to them,\nand that many of our complex impressions never are exactly copied in\nideas. I can imagine to myself such a city as the New Jerusalem, whose\npavement is gold and walls are rubies, though I never saw any such.\nI have seen Paris; but shall I affirm I can form such an idea of that\ncity, as will perfectly represent all its streets and houses in their\nreal and just proportions?\n\nI perceive, therefore, that though there is in general a great,\nresemblance betwixt our complex impressions and ideas, yet the rule is\nnot universally true, that they are exact copies of each other. We may\nnext consider how the case stands with our simple, perceptions. After\nthe most accurate examination, of which I am capable, I venture to\naffirm, that the rule here holds without any exception, and that every\nsimple idea has a simple impression, which resembles it, and every\nsimple impression a correspondent idea. That idea of red, which we form\nin the dark, and that impression which strikes our eyes in sun-shine,\ndiffer only in degree, not in nature. That the case is the same with\nall our simple impressions and ideas, it is impossible to prove by a\nparticular enumeration of them. Every one may satisfy himself in this\npoint by running over as many as he pleases. But if any one should deny\nthis universal resemblance, I know no way of convincing him, but by\ndesiring him to shew a simple impression, that has not a correspondent\nidea, or a simple idea, that has not a correspondent impression. If he\ndoes not answer this challenge, as it is certain he cannot, we may from\nhis silence and our own observation establish our conclusion.\n\nThus we find, that all simple ideas and impressions resemble each other;\nand as the complex are formed from them, we may affirm in general,\nthat these two species of perception are exactly correspondent. Having\ndiscovered this relation, which requires no farther examination, I am\ncurious to find some other of their qualities. Let us consider how they\nstand with regard to their existence, and which of the impressions and\nideas are causes, and which effects.\n\nThe full examination of this question is the subject of the present\ntreatise; and therefore we shall here content ourselves with\nestablishing one general proposition, THAT ALL OUR SIMPLE IDEAS IN\nTHEIR FIRST APPEARANCE ARE DERIVED FROM SIMPLE IMPRESSIONS, WHICH ARE\nCORRESPONDENT TO THEM, AND WHICH THEY EXACTLY REPRESENT.\n\nIn seeking for phenomena to prove this proposition, I find only those\nof two kinds; but in each kind the phenomena are obvious, numerous, and\nconclusive. I first make myself certain, by a new, review, of what I\nhave already asserted, that every simple impression is attended with\na correspondent idea, and every simple idea with a correspondent\nimpression. From this constant conjunction of resembling perceptions\nI immediately conclude, that there is a great connexion betwixt our\ncorrespondent impressions and ideas, and that the existence of the one\nhas a considerable influence upon that of the other. Such a constant\nconjunction, in such an infinite number of instances, can never arise\nfrom chance; but clearly proves a dependence of the impressions on the\nideas, or of the ideas on the impressions. That I may know on which side\nthis dependence lies, I consider the order of their first appearance;\nand find by constant experience, that the simple impressions always take\nthe precedence of their correspondent ideas, but never appear in the\ncontrary order. To give a child an idea of scarlet or orange, of sweet\nor bitter, I present the objects, or in other words, convey to him these\nimpressions; but proceed not so absurdly, as to endeavour to produce\nthe impressions by exciting the ideas. Our ideas upon their appearance\nproduce not their correspondent impressions, nor do we perceive any\ncolour, or feel any sensation merely upon thinking of them. On the\nother hand we find, that any impression either of the mind or body\nis constantly followed by an idea, which resembles it, and is only\ndifferent in the degrees of force and liveliness. The constant\nconjunction of our resembling perceptions, is a convincing proof,\nthat the one are the causes of the other; and this priority of the\nimpressions is an equal proof, that our impressions are the causes of\nour ideas, not our ideas of our impressions.\n\nTo confirm this I consider Another plain and convincing ph\u00e6nomenon;\nwhich is, that, where-ever by any accident the faculties, which give\nrise to any impressions, are obstructed in their operations, as when one\nis born blind or deaf; not only the impressions are lost, but also their\ncorrespondent ideas; so that there never appear in the mind the least\ntraces of either of them. Nor is this only true, where the organs of\nsensation are entirely destroyed, but likewise where they have never\nbeen put in action to produce a particular impression. We cannot form\nto ourselves a just idea of the taste of a pine apple, without having\nactually tasted it.\n\nThere is however one contradictory ph\u00e6nomenon, which may prove, that it\nis not absolutely impossible for ideas to go before their correspondent\nimpressions. I believe it will readily be allowed that the several\ndistinct ideas of colours, which enter by the eyes, or those of sounds,\nwhich are conveyed by the hearing, are really different from each other,\nthough at the same time resembling. Now if this be true of different\ncolours, it must be no less so of the different shades of the same\ncolour, that each of them produces a distinct idea, independent of the\nrest. For if this should be denied, it is possible, by the continual\ngradation of shades, to run a colour insensibly into what is most remote\nfrom it; and if you will not allow any of the means to be different,\nyou cannot without absurdity deny the extremes to be the same. Suppose\ntherefore a person to have enjoyed his sight for thirty years, and\nto have become perfectly well acquainted with colours of all kinds,\nexcepting one particular shade of blue, for instance, which it never\nhas been his fortune to meet with. Let all the different shades of\nthat colour, except that single one, be placed before him, descending\ngradually from the deepest to the lightest; it is plain, that he will\nperceive a blank, where that shade is wanting, said will be sensible,\nthat there is a greater distance in that place betwixt the contiguous\ncolours, than in any other. Now I ask, whether it is possible for him,\nfrom his own imagination, to supply this deficiency, and raise up to\nhimself the idea of that particular shade, though it had never been\nconveyed to him by his senses? I believe there are few but will be\nof opinion that he can; and this may serve as a proof, that the simple\nideas are not always derived from the correspondent impressions; though\nthe instance is so particular and singular, that it is scarce worth\nour observing, and does not merit that for it alone we should alter our\ngeneral maxim.\n\nBut besides this exception, it may not be amiss to remark on this head,\nthat the principle of the priority of impressions to ideas must be\nunderstood with another limitation, viz., that as our ideas are images\nof our impressions, so we can form secondary ideas, which are images of\nthe primary; as appears from this very reasoning concerning them.\nThis is not, properly speaking, an exception to the rule so much as\nan explanation of it. Ideas produce the images of themselves in\nnew ideas; but as the first ideas are supposed to be derived from\nimpressions, it still remains true, that all our simple ideas proceed\neither mediately or immediately, from their correspondent impressions.\n\nThis then is the first principle I establish in the science of human\nnature; nor ought we to despise it because of the simplicity of its\nappearance. For it is remarkable, that the present question concerning\nthe precedency of our impressions or ideas, is the same with what has\nmade so much noise in other terms, when it has been disputed whether\nthere be any INNATE IDEAS, or whether all ideas be derived from\nsensation and reflexion. We may observe, that in order to prove the\nideas of extension and colour not to be innate, philosophers do nothing\nbut shew that they are conveyed by our senses. To prove the ideas\nof passion and desire not to be innate, they observe that we have a\npreceding experience of these emotions in ourselves. Now if we carefully\nexamine these arguments, we shall find that they prove nothing but that\nideas are preceded by other more lively perceptions, from which the\nare derived, and which they represent. I hope this clear stating of the\nquestion will remove all disputes concerning it, and win render this\nprinciple of more use in our reasonings, than it seems hitherto to have\nbeen.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. II. DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT.\n\n\nSince it appears, that our simple impressions are prior to their\ncorrespondent ideas, and that the exceptions are very rare, method seems\nto require we should examine our impressions, before we consider our\nideas. Impressions may be divided into two kinds, those Of SENSATION and\nthose of REFLEXION. The first kind arises in the soul originally, from\nunknown causes. The second is derived in a great measure from our ideas,\nand that in the following order. An impression first strikes upon the\nsenses, and makes us perceive heat or cold, thirst or hunger, pleasure\nor pain of some kind or other. Of this impression there is a copy taken\nby the mind, which remains after the impression ceases; and this we call\nan idea. This idea of pleasure or pain, when it returns upon the soul,\nproduces the new impressions of desire and aversion, hope and fear,\nwhich may properly be called impressions of reflexion, because derived\nfrom it. These again are copied by the memory and imagination, and\nbecome ideas; which perhaps in their turn give rise to other impressions\nand ideas. So that the impressions of reflexion are only antecedent\nto their correspondent ideas; but posterior to those of sensation, and\nderived from them. The examination of our sensations belongs more to\nanatomists and natural philosophers than to moral; and therefore shall\nnot at present be entered upon. And as the impressions of reflexion,\nviz. passions, desires, and emotions, which principally deserve our\nattention, arise mostly from ideas, it will be necessary to reverse that\nmethod, which at first sight seems most natural; and in order to explain\nthe nature and principles of the human mind, give a particular account\nof ideas, before we proceed to impressions. For this reason I have here\nchosen to begin with ideas.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. III. OF THE IDEAS OF THE MEMORY AND IMAGINATION.\n\n\nWe find by experience, that when any impression has been present with\nthe mind, it again makes its appearance there as an idea; and this it\nmay do after two different ways: either when in its new appearance it\nretains a considerable degree of its first vivacity, and is somewhat\nintermediate betwixt an impression and an idea: or when it entirely\nloses that vivacity, and is a perfect idea. The faculty, by which we\nrepeat our impressions in the first manner, is called the MEMORY, and\nthe other the IMAGINATION. It is evident at first sight, that the\nideas of the memory are much more lively and strong than those of the\nimagination, and that the former faculty paints its objects in more\ndistinct colours, than any which are employed by the latter. When we\nremember any past event, the idea of it flows in upon the mind in a\nforcible manner; whereas in the imagination the perception is faint and\nlanguid, and cannot without difficulty be preserved by the mind\nsteddy and uniform for any considerable time. Here then is a sensible\ndifference betwixt one species of ideas and another. But of this more\nfully hereafter.[2]\n\n    [2] Part III, Sect. 5.\n\nThere is another difference betwixt these two kinds of ideas, which is\nno less evident, namely that though neither the ideas, of the memory\nnor imagination, neither the lively nor faint ideas can make their\nappearance in the mind, unless their correspondent impressions have\ngone before to prepare the way for them, yet the imagination is not\nrestrained to the same order and form with the original impressions;\nwhile the memory is in a manner tied down in that respect, without any\npower of variation.\n\nIt is evident, that the memory preserves the original form, in which\nits objects were presented, and that where-ever we depart from it in\nrecollecting any thing, it proceeds from some defect or imperfection\nin that faculty. An historian may, perhaps, for the more convenient\nCarrying on of his narration, relate an event before another, to which\nit was in fact posterior; but then he takes notice of this disorder, if\nhe be exact; and by that means replaces the idea in its due position. It\nis the same case in our recollection of those places and persons, with\nwhich we were formerly acquainted. The chief exercise of the memory\nis not to preserve the simple ideas, but their order and position. In\nshort, this principle is supported by such a number of common and vulgar\nphaenomena, that we may spare ourselves the trouble of insisting on it\nany farther.\n\nThe same evidence follows us in our second principle, OF THE LIBERTY OF\nTHE IMAGINATION TO TRANSPOSE AND CHANGE ITS IDEAS. The fables we meet\nwith in poems and romances put this entirely out of the question. Nature\nthere is totally confounded, and nothing mentioned but winged horses,\nfiery dragons, and monstrous giants. Nor will this liberty of the fancy\nappear strange, when we consider, that all our ideas are copyed from\nour impressions, and that there are not any two impressions which\nare perfectly inseparable. Not to mention, that this is an evident\nconsequence of the division of ideas into simple and complex. Where-ever\nthe imagination perceives a difference among ideas, it can easily\nproduce a separation.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. IV. OF THE CONNEXION OR ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.\n\n\nAs all simple ideas may be separated by the imagination, and may\nbe united again in what form it pleases, nothing would be more\nunaccountable than the operations of that faculty, were it not guided\nby some universal principles, which render it, in some measure, uniform\nwith itself in all times and places. Were ideas entirely loose and\nunconnected, chance alone would join them; and it is impossible the same\nsimple ideas should fall regularly into complex ones (as they Commonly\ndo) without some bond of union among them, some associating quality,\nby which one idea naturally introduces another. This uniting principle\namong ideas is not to be considered as an inseparable connexion; for\nthat has been already excluded from the imagination: Nor yet are we to\nconclude, that without it the mind cannot join two ideas; for nothing\nis more free than that faculty: but we are only to regard it as a\ngentle force, which commonly prevails, and is the cause why, among other\nthings, languages so nearly correspond to each other; nature in a manner\npointing out to every one those simple ideas, which are most proper to\nbe united in a complex one. The qualities, from which this association\narises, and by which the mind is after this manner conveyed from one\nidea to another, are three, viz. RESEMBLANCE, CONTIGUITY in time or\nplace, and CAUSE and EFFECT.\n\nI believe it will not be very necessary to prove, that these qualities\nproduce an association among ideas, and upon the appearance of one idea\nnaturally introduce another. It is plain, that in the course of our\nthinking, and in the constant revolution of our ideas, our imagination\nruns easily from one idea to any other that resembles it, and that this\nquality alone is to the fancy a sufficient bond and association. It\nis likewise evident that as the senses, in changing their objects,\nare necessitated to change them regularly, and take them as they lie\nCONTIGUOUS to each other, the imagination must by long custom acquire\nthe same method of thinking, and run along the parts of space and time\nin conceiving its objects. As to the connexion, that is made by the\nrelation of cause and effect, we shall have occasion afterwards to\nexamine it to the bottom, and therefore shall not at present insist\nupon it. It is sufficient to observe, that there is no relation, which\nproduces a stronger connexion in the fancy, and makes one idea more\nreadily recall another, than the relation of cause and effect betwixt\ntheir objects.\n\nThat we may understand the full extent of these relations, we must\nconsider, that two objects are connected together in the imagination,\nnot only when the one is immediately resembling, contiguous to, or the\ncause of the other, but also when there is interposed betwixt them a\nthird object, which bears to both of them any of these relations. This\nmay be carried on to a great length; though at the same time we may\nobserve, that each remove considerably weakens the relation. Cousins in\nthe fourth degree are connected by causation, if I may be allowed to\nuse that term; but not so closely as brothers, much less as child and\nparent. In general we may observe, that all the relations of blood\ndepend upon cause and effect, and are esteemed near or remote, according\nto the number of connecting causes interposed betwixt the persons.\n\nOf the three relations above-mentioned this of causation is the most\nextensive. Two objects may be considered as placed in this relation,\nas well when one is the cause of any of the actions or motions of the\nother, as when the former is the cause of the existence of the\nlatter. For as that action or motion is nothing but the object itself,\nconsidered in a certain light, and as the object continues the same\nin all its different situations, it is easy to imagine how such\nan influence of objects upon one another may connect them in the\nimagination.\n\nWe may carry this farther, and remark, not only that two objects are\nconnected by the relation of cause and effect, when the one produces\na motion or any action in the other, but also when it has a power\nof producing it. And this we may observe to be the source of all the\nrelation, of interest and duty, by which men influence each other in\nsociety, and are placed in the ties of government and subordination. A\nmaster is such-a-one as by his situation, arising either from force or\nagreement, has a power of directing in certain particulars the actions\nof another, whom we call servant. A judge is one, who in all disputed\ncases can fix by his opinion the possession or property of any thing\nbetwixt any members of the society. When a person is possessed of any\npower, there is no more required to convert it into action, but the\nexertion of the will; and that in every case is considered as possible,\nand in many as probable; especially in the case of authority, where the\nobedience of the subject is a pleasure and advantage to the superior.\n\nThese are therefore the principles of union or cohesion among our simple\nideas, and in the imagination supply the place of that inseparable\nconnexion, by which they are united in our memory. Here is a kind\nof ATTRACTION, which in the mental world will be found to have as\nextraordinary effects as in the natural, and to shew itself in as many\nand as various forms. Its effects are every where conspicuous; but as to\nits causes, they are mostly unknown, and must be resolved into original\nqualities of human nature, which I pretend not to explain. Nothing is\nmore requisite for a true philosopher, than to restrain the intemperate\ndesire of searching into causes, and having established any doctrine\nupon a sufficient number of experiments, rest contented with that, when\nhe sees a farther examination would lead him into obscure and uncertain\nspeculations. In that case his enquiry would be much better employed in\nexamining the effects than the causes of his principle.\n\nAmongst the effects of this union or association of ideas, there are\nnone more remarkable, than those complex ideas, which are the common\nsubjects of our thoughts and reasoning, and generally arise from some\nprinciple of union among our simple ideas. These complex ideas may be\ndivided into Relations, Modes, and Substances. We shall briefly examine\neach of these in order, and shall subjoin some considerations concerning\nour general and particular ideas, before we leave the present subject,\nwhich may be considered as the elements of this philosophy.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. V. OF RELATIONS.\n\n\nThe word RELATION is commonly used in two senses considerably different\nfrom each other. Either for that quality, by which two ideas are\nconnected together in the imagination, and the one naturally introduces\nthe other, after the manner above-explained: or for that particular\ncircumstance, in which, even upon the arbitrary union of two ideas in\nthe fancy, we may think proper to compare them. In common language the\nformer is always the sense, in which we use the word, relation; and it\nis only in philosophy, that we extend it to mean any particular subject\nof comparison, without a connecting principle. Thus distance will be\nallowed by philosophers to be a true relation, because we acquire an\nidea of it by the comparing of objects: But in a common way we say, THAT\nNOTHING CAN BE MORE DISTANT THAN SUCH OR SUCH THINGS FROM EACH OTHER,\nNOTHING CAN HAVE LESS RELATION: as if distance and relation were\nincompatible.\n\nIt may perhaps be esteemed an endless task to enumerate all those\nqualities, which make objects admit of comparison, and by which the\nideas of philosophical relation are produced. But if we diligently\nconsider them, we shall find that without difficulty they may be\ncomprised under seven general heads, which may be considered as the\nsources of all philosophical relation.\n\n(1) The first is RESEMBLANCE: And this is a relation, without which\nno philosophical relation can exist; since no objects will admit\nof comparison, but what have some degree of resemblance. But though\nresemblance be necessary to all philosophical relation, it does not\nfollow, that it always produces a connexion or association of ideas.\nWhen a quality becomes very general, and is common to a great many\nindividuals, it leads not the mind directly to any one of them; but\nby presenting at once too great a choice, does thereby prevent the\nimagination from fixing on any single object.\n\n(2) IDENTITY may be esteemed a second species of relation. This relation\nI here consider as applied in its strictest sense to constant and\nunchangeable objects; without examining the nature and foundation\nof personal identity, which shall find its place afterwards. Of all\nrelations the most universal is that of identity, being common to every\nbeing whose existence has any duration.\n\n(3) After identity the most universal and comprehensive relations are\nthose of SPACE and TIME, which are the sources of an infinite number of\ncomparisons, such as distant, contiguous, above, below, before, after,\netc.\n\n(4) All those objects, which admit of QUANTITY, or NUMBER, may be\ncompared in that particular; which is another very fertile source of\nrelation.\n\n(5) When any two objects possess the same QUALITY in common, the\nDEGREES, in which they possess it, form a fifth species of relation.\nThus of two objects, which are both heavy, the one may be either of\ngreater, or less weight than the other. Two colours, that are of the\nsame kind, may yet be of different shades, and in that respect admit of\ncomparison.\n\n(6) The relation of CONTRARIETY may at first sight be regarded as an\nexception to the rule, THAT NO RELATION OF ANY KIND CAN SUBSIST WITHOUT\nSOME DEGREE OF RESEMBLANCE. But let us consider, that no two ideas are\nin themselves contrary, except those of existence and non-existence,\nwhich are plainly resembling, as implying both of them an idea of the\nobject; though the latter excludes the object from all times and places,\nin which it is supposed not to exist.\n\n(7) All other objects, such as fire and water, heat and cold, are only\nfound to be contrary from experience, and from the contrariety of their\ncauses or effects; which relation of cause and effect is a seventh\nphilosophical relation, as well as a natural one. The resemblance\nimplied in this relation, shall be explained afterwards.\n\nIt might naturally be expected, that I should join DIFFERENCE to the\nother relations. But that I consider rather as a negation of relation,\nthan as anything real or positive. Difference is of two kinds as opposed\neither to identity or resemblance. The first is called a difference of\nnumber; the other of KIND.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. VI. OF MODES AND SUBSTANCES\n\n\nI would fain ask those philosophers, who found so much of their\nreasonings on the distinction of substance and accident, and imagine we\nhave clear ideas of each, whether the idea of substance be derived from\nthe impressions of sensation or of reflection? If it be conveyed to us\nby our senses, I ask, which of them; and after what manner? If it be\nperceived by the eyes, it must be a colour; if by the ears, a sound; if\nby the palate, a taste; and so of the other senses. But I believe none\nwill assert, that substance is either a colour, or sound, or a taste.\nThe idea, of substance must therefore be derived from an impression\nof reflection, if it really exist. But the impressions of reflection\nresolve themselves into our passions and emotions: none of which can\npossibly represent a substance. We have therefore no idea of substance,\ndistinct from that of a collection of particular qualities, nor have we\nany other meaning when we either talk or reason concerning it.\n\nThe idea of a substance as well as that of a mode, is nothing but a\ncollection of Simple ideas, that are united by the imagination, and have\na particular name assigned them, by which we are able to recall, either\nto ourselves or others, that collection. But the difference betwixt\nthese ideas consists in this, that the particular qualities, which form\na substance, are commonly referred to an unknown something, in which\nthey are supposed to inhere; or granting this fiction should not take\nplace, are at least supposed to be closely and inseparably connected by\nthe relations of contiguity and causation. The effect of this is, that\nwhatever new simple quality we discover to have the same connexion with\nthe rest, we immediately comprehend it among them, even though it did\nnot enter into the first conception of the substance. Thus our idea of\ngold may at first be a yellow colour, weight, malleableness, fusibility;\nbut upon the discovery of its dissolubility in aqua regia, we join that\nto the other qualities, and suppose it to belong to the substance as\nmuch as if its idea had from the beginning made a part of the compound\none. The principal of union being regarded as the chief part of the\ncomplex idea, gives entrance to whatever quality afterwards occurs, and\nis equally comprehended by it, as are the others, which first presented\nthemselves.\n\nThat this cannot take place in modes, is evident from considering their\nnature. The simple ideas of which modes are formed, either represent\nqualities, which are not united by contiguity and causation, but are\ndispersed in different subjects; or if they be all united together, the\nuniting principle is not regarded as the foundation of the complex idea.\nThe idea of a dance is an instance of the first kind of modes; that\nof beauty of the second. The reason is obvious, why such complex\nideas cannot receive any new idea, without changing the name, which\ndistinguishes the mode.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. VII. OF ABSTRACT IDEAS.\n\n\nA very material question has been started concerning ABSTRACT or\nGENERAL ideas, WHETHER THEY BE GENERAL OR PARTICULAR IN THE MIND'S\nCONCEPTION OF THEM. A great philosopher [3] has disputed the received\nopinion in this particular, and has asserted, that all general ideas\nare nothing but particular ones, annexed to a certain term, which gives\nthem a more extensive signification, and makes them recall upon\noccasion other individuals, which are similar to them. As I look upon\nthis to be one of the greatest and most valuable discoveries that has\nbeen made of late years in the republic of letters, I shall here\nendeavour to confirm it by some arguments, which I hope will put it\nbeyond all doubt and controversy.\n\n    [3] Dr. Berkeley. [Introd.: to \u2018Principles of Human Knowledge,\u2019\n    secs. 18 &c. Cf. also Introd. to this volume paragraphs 183 and\n    ff.\u2014Ed.]\n\nIt is evident, that in forming most of our general ideas, if not all of\nthem, we abstract from every particular degree of quantity and quality,\nand that an object ceases not to be of any particular species on\naccount of every small alteration in its extension, duration and other\nproperties. It may therefore be thought, that here is a plain dilemma,\nthat decides concerning the nature of those abstract ideas, which have\nafforded so much speculation to philosophers. The abstract idea of a man\nrepresents men of all sizes and all qualities; which it is concluded it\ncannot do, but either by representing at once all possible sizes and all\npossible qualities, or by, representing no particular one at all. Now\nit having been esteemed absurd to defend the former proposition, as\nimplying an infinite capacity in the mind, it has been commonly inferred\nin favour of the latter: and our abstract ideas have been supposed to\nrepresent no particular degree either of quantity or quality. But that\nthis inference is erroneous, I shall endeavour to make appear, first,\nby proving, that it is utterly impossible to conceive any quantity or\nquality, without forming a precise notion of its degrees: And secondly\nby showing, that though the capacity of the mind be not infinite, yet\nwe can at once form a notion of all possible degrees of quantity and\nquality, in such a manner at least, as, however imperfect, may serve all\nthe purposes of reflection and conversation.\n\nTo begin with the first proposition, THAT THE MIND CANNOT FORM ANY\nNOTION OF QUANTITY OR QUALITY WITHOUT FORMING A PRECISE NOTION OF\nDEGREES OF EACH; we may prove this by the three following arguments.\nFirst, We have observed, that whatever objects are different are\ndistinguishable, and that whatever objects are distinguishable are\nseparable by the thought and imagination. And we may here add, that\nthese propositions are equally true in the inverse, and that whatever\nobjects are separable are also distinguishable, and that whatever\nobjects are distinguishable, are also different. For how is it possible\nwe can separate what is not distinguishable, or distinguish what is not\ndifferent? In order therefore to know, whether abstraction implies a\nseparation, we need only consider it in this view, and examine, whether\nall the circumstances, which we abstract from in our general ideas, be\nsuch as are distinguishable and different from those, which we retain\nas essential parts of them. But it is evident at first sight, that the\nprecise length of a line is not different nor distinguishable from the\nline itself nor the precise degree of any quality from the quality.\nThese ideas, therefore, admit no more of separation than they do of\ndistinction and difference. They are consequently conjoined with\neach other in the conception; and the general idea of a line,\nnotwithstanding all our abstractions and refinements, has in its\nappearance in the mind a precise degree of quantity and quality; however\nit may be made to represent others, which have different degrees of\nboth.\n\nSecondly, it is contest, that no object can appear to the senses; or in\nother words, that no impression can become present to the mind, without\nbeing determined in its degrees both of quantity and quality. The\nconfusion, in which impressions are sometimes involved, proceeds only\nfrom their faintness and unsteadiness, not from any capacity in the mind\nto receive any impression, which in its real existence has no particular\ndegree nor proportion. That is a contradiction in terms; and even\nimplies the flattest of all contradictions, viz. that it is possible for\nthe same thing both to be and not to be.\n\nNow since all ideas are derived from impressions, and are nothing but\ncopies and representations of them, whatever is true of the one must be\nacknowledged concerning the other. Impressions and ideas differ only in\ntheir strength and vivacity. The foregoing conclusion is not founded on\nany particular degree of vivacity. It cannot therefore be affected by\nany variation in that particular. An idea is a weaker impression; and\nas a strong impression must necessarily have a determinate quantity and\nquality, the case must be the same with its copy or representative.\n\nThirdly, it is a principle generally received in philosophy that\neverything in nature is individual, and that it is utterly absurd to\nsuppose a triangle really existent, which has no precise proportion of\nsides and angles. If this therefore be absurd in fact and reality, it\nmust also be absurd in idea; since nothing of which we can form a clear\nand distinct idea is absurd and impossible. But to form the idea of an\nobject, and to form an idea simply, is the same thing; the reference\nof the idea to an object being an extraneous denomination, of which in\nitself it bears no mark or character. Now as it is impossible to form an\nidea of an object, that is possest of quantity and quality, and yet\nis possest of no precise degree of either; it follows that there is an\nequal impossibility of forming an idea, that is not limited and confined\nin both these particulars. Abstract ideas are therefore in themselves\nindividual, however they may become general in their representation.\nThe image in the mind is only that of a particular object, though the\napplication of it in our reasoning be the same, as if it were universal.\n\nThis application of ideas beyond their nature proceeds from our\ncollecting all their possible degrees of quantity and quality in such\nan imperfect manner as may serve the purposes of life, which is the\nsecond proposition I proposed to explain. When we have found a\nresemblance[4] among several objects, that often occur to us, we apply\nthe same name to all of them, whatever differences we may observe in\nthe degrees of their quantity and quality, and whatever other\ndifferences may appear among them. After we have acquired a custom of\nthis kind, the hearing of that name revives the idea of one of these\nobjects, and makes the imagination conceive it with all its particular\ncircumstances and proportions. But as the same word is supposed to have\nbeen frequently applied to other individuals, that are different in\nmany respects from that idea, which is immediately present to the mind;\nthe word not being able to revive the idea of all these individuals,\nbut only touches the soul, if I may be allowed so to speak, and revives\nthat custom, which we have acquired by surveying them. They are not\nreally and in fact present to the mind, but only in power; nor do we\ndraw them all out distinctly in the imagination, but keep ourselves in\na readiness to survey any of them, as we may be prompted by a present\ndesign or necessity. The word raises up an individual idea, along with\na certain custom; and that custom produces any other individual one,\nfor which we may have occasion. But as the production of all the ideas,\nto which the name may be applied, is in most eases impossible, we\nabridge that work by a more partial consideration, and find but few\ninconveniences to arise in our reasoning from that abridgment.\n\n\n     [4] It is evident, that even different simple ideas\n     may have a similarity or resemblance to each other; nor is\n     it necessary, that the point or circumstance of resemblance\n     shoud be distinct or separable from that in which they\n     differ. BLUE and GREEN are different simple ideas, but are\n     more resembling than BLUE and SCARLET; tho their perfect\n     simplicity excludes all possibility of separation or\n     distinction. It is the same case with particular sounds, and\n     tastes and smells. These admit of infinite resemblances upon\n     the general appearance and comparison, without having any\n     common circumstance the same. And of this we may be certain,\n     even from the very abstract terms SIMPLE IDEA. They\n     comprehend all simple ideas under them. These resemble each\n     other in their simplicity. And yet from their very nature,\n     which excludes all composition, this circumstance, In which\n     they resemble, Is not distinguishable nor separable from the\n     rest. It is the same case with all the degrees In any\n     quality. They are all resembling and yet the quality, In any\n     individual, Is not distinct from the degree.\n\nFor this is one of the most extraordinary circumstances in the present\naffair, that after the mind has produced an individual idea, upon which\nwe reason, the attendant custom, revived by the general or abstract\nterm, readily suggests any other individual, if by chance we form any\nreasoning, that agrees not with it. Thus should we mention the\nword triangle, and form the idea of a particular equilateral one to\ncorrespond to it, and should we afterwards assert, that the three\nangles of a triangle are equal to each other, the other individuals of a\nscalenum and isosceles, which we overlooked at first, immediately crowd\nin upon us, and make us perceive the falshood of this proposition,\nthough it be true with relation to that idea, which we had formed. If\nthe mind suggests not always these ideas upon occasion, it proceeds\nfrom some imperfection in its faculties; and such a one as is often the\nsource of false reasoning and sophistry. But this is principally the\ncase with those ideas which are abstruse and compounded. On other\noccasions the custom is more entire, and it is seldom we run into such\nerrors.\n\nNay so entire is the custom, that the very same idea may be annext to\nseveral different words, and may be employed in different reasonings,\nwithout any danger of mistake. Thus the idea of an equilateral triangle\nof an inch perpendicular may serve us in talking of a figure, of a\nrectilinear figure, of a regular figure, of a triangle, and of an\nequilateral triangle. All these terms, therefore, are in this case\nattended with the same idea; but as they are wont to be applied in a\ngreater or lesser compass, they excite their particular habits, and\nthereby keep the mind in a readiness to observe, that no conclusion be\nformed contrary to any ideas, which are usually comprized under them.\n\nBefore those habits have become entirely perfect, perhaps the mind may\nnot be content with forming the idea of only one individual, but may run\nover several, in order to make itself comprehend its own meaning, and\nthe compass of that collection, which it intends to express by the\ngeneral term. That we may fix the meaning of the word, figure, we may\nrevolve in our mind the ideas of circles, squares, parallelograms,\ntriangles of different sizes and proportions, and may not rest on one\nimage or idea. However this may be, it is certain that we form the idea\nof individuals, whenever we use any general term; that we seldom or\nnever can exhaust these individuals; and that those, which remain,\nare only represented by means of that habit, by which we recall them,\nwhenever any present occasion requires it. This then is the nature of\nour abstract ideas and general terms; and it is after this manner we\naccount for the foregoing paradox, THAT SOME IDEAS ARE PARTICULAR IN\nTHEIR NATURE, BUT GENERAL IN THEIR REPRESENTATION. A particular idea\nbecomes general by being annexed to a general term; that is, to a\nterm, which from a customary conjunction has a relation to many other\nparticular ideas, and readily recalls them in the imagination.\n\nThe only difficulty, that can remain on this subject, must be with\nregard to that custom, which so readily recalls every particular idea,\nfor which we may have occasion, and is excited by any word or sound, to\nwhich we commonly annex it. The most proper method, in my opinion,\nof giving a satisfactory explication of this act of the mind, is\nby producing other instances, which are analogous to it, and other\nprinciples, which facilitate its operation. To explain the ultimate\ncauses of our mental actions is impossible. It is sufficient, if we can\ngive any satisfactory account of them from experience and analogy.\n\nFirst then I observe, that when we mention any great number, such as\na thousand, the mind has generally no adequate idea of it, but only a\npower of producing such an idea, by its adequate idea of the decimals,\nunder which the number is comprehended. This imperfection, however,\nin our ideas, is never felt in our reasonings; which seems to be an\ninstance parallel to the present one of universal ideas.\n\nSecondly, we have several instances of habits, which may be revived\nby one single word; as when a person, who has by rote any periods of a\ndiscourse, or any number of verses, will be put in remembrance of\nthe whole, which he is at a loss to recollect, by that single word or\nexpression, with which they begin.\n\nThirdly, I believe every one, who examines the situation of his mind in\nreasoning will agree with me, that we do not annex distinct and compleat\nideas to every term we make use of, and that in talking of government,\nchurch, negotiation, conquest, we seldom spread out in our minds all the\nsimple ideas, of which these complex ones are composed. It is however\nobservable, that notwithstanding this imperfection we may avoid talking\nnonsense on these subjects, and may perceive any repugnance among\nthe ideas, as well as if we had a fall comprehension of them. Thus\nif instead of saying, that in war the weaker have always recourse to\nnegotiation, we should say, that they have always recourse to conquest,\nthe custom, which we have acquired of attributing certain relations to\nideas, still follows the words, and makes us immediately perceive the\nabsurdity of that proposition; in the same manner as one particular idea\nmay serve us in reasoning concerning other ideas, however different from\nit in several circumstances.\n\nFourthly, As the individuals are collected together, said placed under\na general term with a view to that resemblance, which they bear to each\nother, this relation must facilitate their entrance in the imagination,\nand make them be suggested more readily upon occasion. And indeed if\nwe consider the common progress of the thought, either in reflection\nor conversation, we shall find great reason to be satisfyed in this\nparticular. Nothing is more admirable, than the readiness, with which\nthe imagination suggests its ideas, and presents them at the very\ninstant, in which they become necessary or useful. The fancy runs from\none end of the universe to the other in collecting those ideas, which\nbelong to any subject. One would think the whole intellectual world of\nideas was at once subjected to our view, and that we did nothing but\npick out such as were most proper for our purpose. There may not,\nhowever, be any present, beside those very ideas, that are thus\ncollected by a kind of magical faculty in the soul, which, though it be\nalways most perfect in the greatest geniuses, and is properly what we\ncall a genius, is however inexplicable by the utmost efforts of human\nunderstanding.\n\nPerhaps these four reflections may help to remove an difficulties to\nthe hypothesis I have proposed concerning abstract ideas, so contrary to\nthat, which has hitherto prevailed in philosophy, But, to tell the truth\nI place my chief confidence in what I have already proved concerning\nthe impossibility of general ideas, according to the common method of\nexplaining them. We must certainly seek some new system on this head,\nand there plainly is none beside what I have proposed. If ideas be\nparticular in their nature, and at the same time finite in their number,\nit is only by custom they can become general in their representation,\nand contain an infinite number of other ideas under them.\n\nBefore I leave this subject I shall employ the same principles to\nexplain that distinction of reason, which is so much talked of, and is\nso little understood, in the schools. Of this kind is the distinction\nbetwixt figure and the body figured; motion and the body moved. The\ndifficulty of explaining this distinction arises from the principle\nabove explained, that all ideas, which are different, are separable. For\nit follows from thence, that if the figure be different from the body,\ntheir ideas must be separable as well as distinguishable: if they be\nnot different, their ideas can neither be separable nor distinguishable.\nWhat then is meant by a distinction of reason, since it implies neither\na difference nor separation.\n\nTo remove this difficulty we must have recourse to the foregoing\nexplication of abstract ideas. It is certain that the mind would never\nhave dreamed of distinguishing a figure from the body figured, as being\nin reality neither distinguishable, nor different, nor separable; did it\nnot observe, that even in this simplicity there might be contained many\ndifferent resemblances and relations. Thus when a globe of white marble\nis presented, we receive only the impression of a white colour disposed\nin a certain form, nor are we able to separate and distinguish the\ncolour from the form. But observing afterwards a globe of black marble\nand a cube of white, and comparing them with our former object, we\nfind two separate resemblances, in what formerly seemed, and really is,\nperfectly inseparable. After a little more practice of this kind, we\nbegin to distinguish the figure from the colour by a distinction of\nreason; that is, we consider the figure and colour together, since they\nare in effect the same and undistinguishable; but still view them in\ndifferent aspects, according to the resemblances, of which they are\nsusceptible. When we would consider only the figure of the globe of\nwhite marble, we form in reality an idea both of the figure and colour,\nbut tacitly carry our eye to its resemblance with the globe of black\nmarble: And in the same manner, when we would consider its colour only,\nwe turn our view to its resemblance with the cube of white marble. By\nthis means we accompany our ideas with a kind of reflection, of which\ncustom renders us, in a great measure, insensible. A person, who desires\nus to consider the figure of a globe of white marble without thinking on\nits colour, desires an impossibility but his meaning is, that we should\nconsider the figure and colour together, but still keep in our eye the\nresemblance to the globe of black marble, or that to any other globe of\nwhatever colour or substance.\n\n\n\n\n\nPART II. OF THE IDEAS OF SPACE AND TIME.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. I. OF THE INFINITE DIVISIBILITY OF OUR IDEAS OF SPACE AND TIME.\n\n\nWhatever has the air of a paradox, and is contrary to the first and\nmost unprejudiced notions of mankind, is often greedily embraced by\nphilosophers, as shewing the superiority of their science, which could\ndiscover opinions so remote from vulgar conception. On the other hand,\nanything proposed to us, which causes surprize and admiration, gives\nsuch a satisfaction to the mind, that it indulges itself in those\nagreeable emotions, and will never be persuaded that its pleasure is\nentirely without foundation. From these dispositions in philosophers and\ntheir disciples arises that mutual complaisance betwixt them; while the\nformer furnish such plenty of strange and unaccountable opinions, and\nthe latter so readily believe them. Of this mutual complaisance I\ncannot give a more evident instance than in the doctrine of infinite\ndivisibility, with the examination of which I shall begin this subject\nof the ideas of space and time.\n\nIt is universally allowed, that the capacity of the mind is limited, and\ncan never attain a full and adequate conception of infinity: And though\nit were not allowed, it would be sufficiently evident from the plainest\nobservation and experience. It is also obvious, that whatever is capable\nof being divided in infinitum, must consist of an infinite number of\nparts, and that it is impossible to set any bounds to the number of\nparts, without setting bounds at the same time to the division. It\nrequires scarce any, induction to conclude from hence, that the idea,\nwhich we form of any finite quality, is not infinitely divisible, but\nthat by proper distinctions and separations we may run up this idea\nto inferior ones, which will be perfectly simple and indivisible. In\nrejecting the infinite capacity of the mind, we suppose it may arrive at\nan end in the division of its ideas; nor are there any possible means of\nevading the evidence of this conclusion.\n\nIt is therefore certain, that the imagination reaches a minimum, and\nmay raise up to itself an idea, of which it cannot conceive any\nsub-division, and which cannot be diminished without a total\nannihilation. When you tell me of the thousandth and ten thousandth\npart of a grain of sand, I have a distinct idea of these numbers and of\ntheir different proportions; but the images, which I form in my mind to\nrepresent the things themselves, are nothing different from each other,\nnor inferior to that image, by which I represent the grain of sand\nitself, which is supposed so vastly to exceed them. What consists of\nparts is distinguishable into them, and what is distinguishable is\nseparable. But whatever we may imagine of the thing, the idea of a grain\nof sand is not distinguishable, nor separable into twenty, much less\ninto a thousand, ten thousand, or an infinite number of different ideas.\n\nIt is the same case with the impressions of the senses as with the ideas\nof the imagination. Put a spot of ink upon paper, fix your eye upon that\nspot, and retire to such a distance, that, at last you lose sight of it;\nit is plain, that the moment before it vanished the image or impression\nwas perfectly indivisible. It is not for want of rays of light striking\non our eyes, that the minute parts of distant bodies convey not any\nsensible impression; but because they are removed beyond that distance,\nat which their impressions were reduced to a minimum, and were incapable\nof any farther diminution. A microscope or telescope, which renders them\nvisible, produces not any new rays of light, but only spreads those,\nwhich always flowed from them; and by that means both gives parts to\nimpressions, which to the naked eye appear simple and uncompounded, and\nadvances to a minimum, what was formerly imperceptible.\n\nWe may hence discover the error of the common opinion, that the capacity\nof the mind is limited on both sides, and that it is impossible for\nthe imagination to form an adequate idea, of what goes beyond a certain\ndegree of minuteness as well as of greatness. Nothing can be more\nminute, than some ideas, which we form in the fancy; and images, which\nappear to the senses; since there are ideas and images perfectly simple\nand indivisible. The only defect of our senses is, that they give\nus disproportioned images of things, and represent as minute and\nuncompounded what is really great and composed of a vast number of\nparts. This mistake we are not sensible of: but taking the impressions\nof those minute objects, which appear to the senses, to be equal or\nnearly equal to the objects, and finding by reason, that there are other\nobjects vastly more minute, we too hastily conclude, that these are\ninferior to any idea of our imagination or impression of our senses.\nThis however is certain, that we can form ideas, which shall be no\ngreater than the smallest atom of the animal spirits of an insect a\nthousand times less than a mite: And we ought rather to conclude, that\nthe difficulty lies in enlarging our conceptions so much as to form a\njust notion of a mite, or even of an insect a thousand times less than a\nmite. For in order to form a just notion of these animals, we must have\na distinct idea representing every part of them, which, according to the\nsystem of infinite divisibility, is utterly impossible, and, recording\nto that of indivisible parts or atoms, is extremely difficult, by reason\nof the vast number and multiplicity of these parts.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. II. OF THE INFINITE DIVISIBILITY OF SPACE AND TIME.\n\n\nWherever ideas are adequate representations of objects, the relations,\ncontradictions and agreements of the ideas are all applicable to the\nobjects; and this we may in general observe to be the foundation of all\nhuman knowledge. But our ideas are adequate representations of the\nmost minute parts of extension; and through whatever divisions and\nsubdivisions we may suppose these parts to be arrived at, they can never\nbecome inferior to some ideas, which we form. The plain consequence is,\nthat whatever appears impossible and contradictory upon the comparison\nof these ideas, must be really impossible and contradictory, without any\nfarther excuse or evasion.\n\nEvery thing capable of being infinitely divided contains an infinite\nnumber of parts; otherwise the division would be stopt short by the\nindivisible parts, which we should immediately arrive at. If therefore\nany finite extension be infinitely divisible, it can be no contradiction\nto suppose, that a finite extension contains an infinite number of\nparts: And vice versa, if it be a contradiction to suppose, that\na finite extension contains an infinite number of parts, no finite\nextension can be infinitely divisible. But that this latter supposition\nis absurd, I easily convince myself by the consideration of my clear\nideas. I first take the least idea I can form of a part of extension,\nand being certain that there is nothing more minute than this idea, I\nconclude, that whatever I discover by its means must be a real quality\nof extension. I then repeat this idea once, twice, thrice, &c., and find\nthe compound idea of extension, arising from its repetition, always\nto augment, and become double, triple, quadruple, &c., till at last it\nswells up to a considerable bulk, greater or smaller, in proportion as I\nrepeat more or less the same idea. When I stop in the addition of parts,\nthe idea of extension ceases to augment; and were I to carry on the\naddition in infinitum, I clearly perceive, that the idea of extension\nmust also become infinite. Upon the whole, I conclude, that the idea of\nall infinite number of parts is individually the same idea with that of\nan infinite extension; that no finite extension is capable of containing\nan infinite number of parts; and consequently that no finite extension\nis infinitely divisible.[1]\n\n    [1] It has been objected to me, that infinite divisibility supposes\n    only an infinite number of PROPORTIONAL not of ALIQIOT parts, and\n    that an infinite number of proportional parts does not form an\n    infinite extension. But this distinction is entirely frivolous.\n    Whether these parts be calld ALIQUOT or PROPORTIONAL, they cannot\n    be inferior to those minute parts we conceive; and therefore cannot\n    form a less extension by their conjunction.\n\nI may subjoin another argument proposed by a noted author,[2] which\nseems to me very strong and beautiful. It is evident, that existence in\nitself belongs only to unity, and is never applicable to number, but on\naccount of the unites, of which the number is composed. Twenty men may\nbe said to exist; but it is only because one, two, three, four, &c. are\nexistent, and if you deny the existence of the latter, that of the\nformer falls of course. It is therefore utterly absurd to suppose any\nnumber to exist, and yet deny the existence of unites; and as extension\nis always a number, according to the common sentiment of\nmetaphysicians, and never resolves itself into any unite or indivisible\nquantity, it follows, that extension can never at all exist. It is in\nvain to reply, that any determinate quantity of extension is an unite;\nbut such-a-one as admits of an infinite number of fractions, and is\ninexhaustible in its sub-divisions. For by the same rule these twenty\nmen may be considered as a unit. The whole globe of the earth, nay the\nwhole universe, may be considered as a unit. That term of unity is\nmerely a fictitious denomination, which the mind may apply to any\nquantity of objects it collects together; nor can such an unity any\nmore exist alone than number can, as being in reality a true number.\nBut the unity, which can exist alone, and whose existence is necessary\nto that of all number, is of another kind, and must be perfectly\nindivisible, and incapable of being resolved into any lesser unity.\n\n    [2] Mons. MALEZIEU\n\nAll this reasoning takes place with regard to time; along with an\nadditional argument, which it may be proper to take notice of. It is a\nproperty inseparable from time, and which in a manner constitutes its\nessence, that each of its parts succeeds another, and that none of them,\nhowever contiguous, can ever be co-existent. For the same reason, that\nthe year 1737 cannot concur with the present year 1738 every moment must\nbe distinct from, and posterior or antecedent to another. It is certain\nthen, that time, as it exists, must be composed of indivisible moments.\nFor if in time we could never arrive at an end of division, and if\neach moment, as it succeeds another, were not perfectly single and\nindivisible, there would be an infinite number of co-existent moments,\nor parts of time; which I believe will be allowed to be an arrant\ncontradiction.\n\nThe infinite divisibility of space implies that of time, as is evident\nfrom the nature of motion. If the latter, therefore, be impossible, the\nformer must be equally so.\n\nI doubt not but, it will readily be allowed by the most obstinate\ndefender of the doctrine of infinite divisibility, that these arguments\nare difficulties, and that it is impossible to give any answer to them\nwhich will be perfectly clear and satisfactory. But here we may\nobserve, that nothing can be more absurd, than this custom of calling a\ndifficulty what pretends to be a demonstration, and endeavouring by that\nmeans to elude its force and evidence. It is not in demonstrations as\nin probabilities, that difficulties can take place, and one argument\ncounter-ballance another, and diminish its authority. A demonstration,\nif just, admits of no opposite difficulty; and if not just, it is a\nmere sophism, and consequently can never be a difficulty. It is either\nirresistible, or has no manner of force. To talk therefore of objections\nand replies, and ballancing of arguments in such a question as this, is\nto confess, either that human reason is nothing but a play of words, or\nthat the person himself, who talks so, has not a Capacity equal to such\nsubjects. Demonstrations may be difficult to be comprehended, because of\nabstractedness of the subject; but can never have such difficulties as\nwill weaken their authority, when once they are comprehended.\n\nIt is true, mathematicians are wont to say, that there are here equally\nstrong arguments on the other side of the question, and that the\ndoctrine of indivisible points is also liable to unanswerable\nobjections. Before I examine these arguments and objections in detail,\nI will here take them in a body, and endeavour by a short and decisive\nreason to prove at once, that it is utterly impossible they can have any\njust foundation.\n\nIt is an established maxim in metaphysics, That whatever the mind\nclearly conceives, includes the idea of possible existence, or in other\nwords, that nothing we imagine is absolutely impossible. We can form the\nidea of a golden mountain, and from thence conclude that such a mountain\nmay actually exist. We can form no idea of a mountain without a valley,\nand therefore regard it as impossible.\n\nNow it is certain we have an idea of extension; for otherwise why do we\ntalk and reason concerning it? It is likewise certain that this idea,\nas conceived by the imagination, though divisible into parts or inferior\nideas, is not infinitely divisible, nor consists of an infinite number\nof parts: For that exceeds the comprehension of our limited capacities.\nHere then is an idea of extension, which consists of parts or inferior\nideas, that are perfectly, indivisible: consequently this idea implies\nno contradiction: consequently it is possible for extension really to\nexist conformable to it: and consequently all the arguments employed\nagainst the possibility of mathematical points are mere scholastick\nquibbles, and unworthy of our attention.\n\nThese consequences we may carry one step farther, and conclude that all\nthe pretended demonstrations for the infinite divisibility of extension\nare equally sophistical; since it is certain these demonstrations cannot\nbe just without proving the impossibility of mathematical points; which\nit is an evident absurdity to pretend to.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. III. OF THE OTHER QUALITIES OF OUR IDEA OF SPACE AND TIME.\n\n\nNo discovery could have been made more happily for deciding all\ncontroversies concerning ideas, than that abovementioned, that\nimpressions always take the precedency of them, and that every idea,\nwith which the imagination is furnished, first makes its appearance in a\ncorrespondent impression. These latter perceptions are all so clear and\nevident, that they admit of no controversy; though many of our ideas are\nso obscure, that it is almost impossible even for the mind, which forms\nthem, to tell exactly their nature and composition. Let us apply this\nprinciple, in order to discover farther the nature of our ideas of space\nand time.\n\nUpon opening my eyes, and turning them to the surrounding objects,\nI perceive many visible bodies; and upon shutting them again, and\nconsidering the distance betwixt these bodies, I acquire the idea of\nextension. As every idea is derived from some impression, which\nis exactly similar to it, the impressions similar to this idea of\nextension, must either be some sensations derived from the sight, or\nsome internal impressions arising from these sensations.\n\nOur internal impressions are our passions, emotions, desires and\naversions; none of which, I believe, will ever be asserted to be the\nmodel, from which the idea of space is derived. There remains therefore\nnothing but the senses, which can convey to us this original impression.\nNow what impression do oar senses here convey to us? This is the\nprincipal question, and decides without appeal concerning the nature of\nthe idea.\n\nThe table before me is alone sufficient by its view to give me the idea\nof extension. This idea, then, is borrowed from, and represents some\nimpression, which this moment appears to the senses. But my senses\nconvey to me only the impressions of coloured points, disposed in a\ncertain manner. If the eye is sensible of any thing farther, I desire\nit may be pointed out to me. But if it be impossible to shew any thing\nfarther, we may conclude with certainty, that the idea of extension is\nnothing but a copy of these coloured points, and of the manner of their\nappearance.\n\nSuppose that in the extended object, or composition of coloured points,\nfrom which we first received the idea of extension, the points were of\na purple colour; it follows, that in every repetition of that idea we\nwould not only place the points in the same order with respect to each\nother, but also bestow on them that precise colour, with which alone we\nare acquainted. But afterwards having experience of the other colours of\nviolet, green, red, white, black, and of all the different compositions\nof these, and finding a resemblance in the disposition of coloured\npoints, of which they are composed, we omit the peculiarities of\ncolour, as far as possible, and found an abstract idea merely on that\ndisposition of points, or manner of appearance, in which they agree. Nay\neven when the resemblance is carryed beyond the objects of one sense,\nand the impressions of touch are found to be Similar to those of sight\nin the disposition of their parts; this does not hinder the abstract\nidea from representing both, upon account of their resemblance. All\nabstract ideas are really nothing but particular ones, considered in\na certain light; but being annexed to general terms, they are able to\nrepresent a vast variety, and to comprehend objects, which, as they are\nalike in some particulars, are in others vastly wide of each other.\n\nThe idea of time, being derived from the succession of our perceptions\nof every kind, ideas as well as impressions, and impressions of\nreflection as well as of sensations will afford us an instance of an\nabstract idea, which comprehends a still greater variety than that of\nspace, and yet is represented in the fancy by some particular individual\nidea of a determinate quantity and quality.\n\nAs it is from the disposition of visible and tangible objects we receive\nthe idea of space, so from the succession of ideas and impressions we\nform the idea of time, nor is it possible for time alone ever to make\nits appearance, or be taken notice of by the mind. A man in a sound\nsleep, or strongly occupyed with one thought, is insensible of time;\nand according as his perceptions succeed each other with greater or\nless rapidity, the same duration appears longer or shorter to his\nimagination. It has been remarked by a great philosopher, that our\nperceptions have certain bounds in this particular, which are fixed by\nthe original nature and constitution of the mind, and beyond which no\ninfluence of external objects on the senses is ever able to hasten or\nretard our thought. If you wheel about a burning coal with rapidity, it\nwill present to the senses an image of a circle of fire; nor will there\nseem to be any interval of time betwixt its revolutions; meerly because\nit is impossible for our perceptions to succeed each other with the same\nrapidity, that motion may be communicated to external objects. Wherever\nwe have no successive perceptions, we have no notion of time, even\nthough there be a real succession in the objects. From these phenomena,\nas well as from many others, we may conclude, that time cannot make\nits appearance to the mind, either alone, or attended with a steady\nunchangeable object, but is always discovered some PERCEIVABLE\nsuccession of changeable objects.\n\nTo confirm this we may add the following argument, which to me seems\nperfectly decisive and convincing. It is evident, that time or duration\nconsists of different parts: For otherwise we could not conceive a\nlonger or shorter duration. It is also evident, that these parts are not\nco-existent: For that quality of the co-existence of parts belongs to\nextension, and is what distinguishes it from duration. Now as time is\ncomposed of parts, that are not coexistent: an unchangeable object,\nsince it produces none but coexistent impressions, produces none that\ncan give us the idea of time; and consequently that idea must be\nderived from a succession of changeable objects, and time in its first\nappearance can never be severed from such a succession.\n\nHaving therefore found, that time in its first appearance to the mind\nis always conjoined with a succession of changeable objects, and that\notherwise it can never fall under our notice, we must now examine\nwhether it can be conceived without our conceiving any succession\nof objects, and whether it can alone form a distinct idea in the\nimagination.\n\nIn order to know whether any objects, which are joined in impression,\nbe inseparable in idea, we need only consider, if they be different\nfrom each other; in which case, it is plain they may be conceived apart.\nEvery thing, that is different is distinguishable: and everything,\nthat is distinguishable, may be separated, according to the maxims\nabove-explained. If on the contrary they be not different, they are\nnot distinguishable: and if they be not distinguishable, they cannot be\nseparated. But this is precisely the case with respect to time, compared\nwith our successive perceptions. The idea of time is not derived from a\nparticular impression mixed up with others, and plainly distinguishable\nfrom them; but arises altogether from the manner, in which impressions\nappear to the mind, without making one of the number. Five notes played\non a flute give us the impression and idea of time; though time be not\na sixth impression, which presents itself to the hearing or any other of\nthe senses. Nor is it a sixth impression, which the mind by reflection\nfinds in itself. These five sounds making their appearance in this\nparticular manner, excite no emotion in the mind, nor produce an\naffection of any kind, which being observed by it can give rise to a new\nidea. For that is necessary to produce a new idea of reflection, nor can\nthe mind, by revolving over a thousand times all its ideas of sensation,\never extract from them any new original idea, unless nature has so\nframed its faculties, that it feels some new original impression arise\nfrom such a contemplation. But here it only takes notice of the manner,\nin which the different sounds make their appearance; and that it may\nafterwards consider without considering these particular sounds, but\nmay conjoin it with any other objects. The ideas of some objects it\ncertainly must have, nor is it possible for it without these ideas ever\nto arrive at any conception of time; which since it, appears not as any\nprimary distinct impression, can plainly be nothing but different\nideas, or impressions, or objects disposed in a certain manner, that is,\nsucceeding each other.\n\nI know there are some who pretend, that the idea of duration\nis applicable in a proper sense to objects, which are perfectly\nunchangeable; and this I take to be the common opinion of philosophers\nas well as of the vulgar. But to be convinced of its falsehood we need\nbut reflect on the foregoing conclusion, that the idea of duration is\nalways derived from a succession of changeable objects, and can never\nbe conveyed to the mind by any thing stedfast and unchangeable. For it\ninevitably follows from thence, that since the idea of duration cannot\nbe derived from such an object, it can never-in any propriety or\nexactness be applied to it, nor can any thing unchangeable be ever said\nto have duration. Ideas always represent the Objects or impressions,\nfrom which they are derived, and can never without a fiction represent\nor be applied to any other. By what fiction we apply the idea of time,\neven to what is unchangeable, and suppose, as is common, that duration\nis a measure of rest as well as of motion, we shall consider\nafterwards.[3]\n\n    [3] Sect 5.\n\nThere is another very decisive argument, which establishes the present\ndoctrine concerning our ideas of space and time, and is founded only on\nthat simple principle, that our ideas of them are compounded of parts,\nwhich are indivisible. This argument may be worth the examining.\n\nEvery idea, that is distinguishable, being also separable, let us take\none of those simple indivisible ideas, of which the compound one of\nextension is formed, and separating it from all others, and considering\nit apart, let us form a judgment of its nature and qualities.\n\nIt is plain it is not the idea of extension. For the idea of extension\nconsists of parts; and this idea, according to the supposition, is\nperfectly simple and indivisible. Is it therefore nothing? That is\nabsolutely impossible. For as the compound idea of extension, which is\nreal, is composed of such ideas; were these so many non-entities, there\nwould be a real existence composed of non-entities; which is absurd.\nHere therefore I must ask, What is our idea of a simple and indivisible\npoint? No wonder if my answer appear somewhat new, since the question\nitself has scarce ever yet been thought of. We are wont to dispute\nconcerning the nature of mathematical points, but seldom concerning the\nnature of their ideas.\n\nThe idea of space is conveyed to the mind by two senses, the sight\nand touch; nor does anything ever appear extended, that is not either\nvisible or tangible. That compound impression, which represents\nextension, consists of several lesser impressions, that are indivisible\nto the eye or feeling, and may be called impressions of atoms or\ncorpuscles endowed with colour and solidity. But this is not all. It is\nnot only requisite, that these atoms should be coloured or tangible,\nin order to discover themselves to our senses; it is also necessary\nwe should preserve the idea of their colour or tangibility in order to\ncomprehend them by our imagination. There is nothing but the idea of\ntheir colour or tangibility, which can render them conceivable by the\nmind. Upon the removal of the ideas of these sensible qualities, they\nare utterly annihilated to the thought or imagination.\n\nNow such as the parts are, such is the whole. If a point be not\nconsidered as coloured or tangible, it can convey to us no idea; and\nconsequently the idea of extension, which is composed of the ideas of\nthese points, can never possibly exist. But if the idea of extension\nreally can exist, as we are conscious it does, its parts must also\nexist; and in order to that, must be considered as coloured or tangible.\nWe have therefore no idea of space or extension, but when we regard it\nas an object either of our sight or feeling.\n\nThe same reasoning will prove, that the indivisible moments of time must\nbe filled with some real object or existence, whose succession forms the\nduration, and makes it be conceivable by the mind.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. IV. OBJECTIONS ANSWERED.\n\n\nOur system concerning space and time consists of two parts, which\nare intimately connected together. The first depends on this chain of\nreasoning. The capacity of the mind is not infinite; consequently no\nidea of extension or duration consists of an infinite number of parts\nor inferior ideas, but of a finite number, and these simple and\nindivisible: It is therefore possible for space and time to exist\nconformable to this idea: And if it be possible, it is certain they\nactually do exist conformable to it; since their infinite divisibility\nis utterly impossible and contradictory.\n\nThe other part of our system is a consequence of this. The parts, into\nwhich the ideas of space and time resolve themselves, become at last\nindivisible; and these indivisible parts, being nothing in themselves,\nare inconceivable when not filled with something real and existent. The\nideas of space and time are therefore no separate or distinct ideas, but\nmerely those of the manner or order, in which objects exist: Or in\nother words, it is impossible to conceive either a vacuum and extension\nwithout matter, or a time, when there was no succession or change in any\nreal existence. The intimate connexion betwixt these parts of our system\nis the reason why we shall examine together the objections, which have\nbeen urged against both of them, beginning with those against the finite\ndivisibility of extension.\n\nI. The first of these objections, which I shall take notice of, is more\nproper to prove this connexion and dependence of the one part upon the\nother, than to destroy either of them. It has often been maintained in\nthe schools, that extension must be divisible, in infinitum, because\nthe system of mathematical points is absurd; and that system is absurd,\nbecause a mathematical point is a non-entity, and consequently can never\nby its conjunction with others form a real existence. This would\nbe perfectly decisive, were there no medium betwixt the infinite\ndivisibility of matter, and the non-entity of mathematical points. But\nthere is evidently a medium, viz. the bestowing a colour or solidity on\nthese points; and the absurdity of both the extremes is a demonstration\nof the truth and reality of this medium. The system of physical points,\nwhich is another medium, is too absurd to need a refutation. A real\nextension, such as a physical point is supposed to be, can never exist\nwithout parts, different from each other; and wherever objects are\ndifferent, they are distinguishable and separable by the imagination.\n\nII. The second objection is derived from the necessity there would be of\nPENETRATION, if extension consisted of mathematical points. A simple and\nindivisible atom, that touches another, must necessarily penetrate it;\nfor it is impossible it can touch it by its external parts, from the\nvery supposition of its perfect simplicity, which excludes all parts. It\nmust therefore touch it intimately, and in its whole essence, SECUNDUM\nSE, TOTA, ET TOTALITER; which is the very definition of penetration.\nBut penetration is impossible: Mathematical points are of consequence\nequally impossible.\n\nI answer this objection by substituting a juster idea of penetration.\nSuppose two bodies containing no void within their circumference, to\napproach each other, and to unite in such a manner that the body, which\nresults from their union, is no more extended than either of them; it\nis this we must mean when we talk of penetration. But it is evident this\npenetration is nothing but the annihilation of one of these bodies, and\nthe preservation of the other, without our being able to distinguish\nparticularly which is preserved and which annihilated. Before the\napproach we have the idea of two bodies. After it we have the idea\nonly of one. It is impossible for the mind to preserve any notion of\ndifference betwixt two bodies of the same nature existing in the same\nplace at the same time.\n\nTaking then penetration in this sense, for the annihilation of one body\nupon its approach to another, I ask any one, if he sees a necessity,\nthat a coloured or tangible point should be annihilated upon the\napproach of another coloured or tangible point? On the contrary, does\nhe not evidently perceive, that from the union of these points there\nresults an object, which is compounded and divisible, and may be\ndistinguished into two parts, of which each preserves its existence\ndistinct and separate, notwithstanding its contiguity to the other? Let\nhim aid his fancy by conceiving these points to be of different colours,\nthe better to prevent their coalition and confusion. A blue and a red\npoint may surely lie contiguous without any penetration or annihilation.\nFor if they cannot, what possibly can become of them? Whether shall the\nred or the blue be annihilated? Or if these colours unite into one, what\nnew colour will they produce by their union?\n\nWhat chiefly gives rise to these objections, and at the same time\nrenders it so difficult to give a satisfactory answer to them, is the\nnatural infirmity and unsteadiness both of our imagination and senses,\nwhen employed on such minute objects. Put a spot of ink upon paper, and\nretire to such a distance, that the spot becomes altogether invisible;\nyou will find, that upon your return and nearer approach the spot\nfirst becomes visible by short intervals; and afterwards becomes always\nvisible; and afterwards acquires only a new force in its colouring\nwithout augmenting its bulk; and afterwards, when it has encreased to\nsuch a degree as to be really extended, it is still difficult for\nthe imagination to break it into its component parts, because of the\nuneasiness it finds in the conception of such a minute object as a\nsingle point. This infirmity affects most of our reasonings on the\npresent subject, and makes it almost impossible to answer in an\nintelligible manner, and in proper expressions, many questions which may\narise concerning it.\n\nIII. There have been many objections drawn from the mathematics against\nthe indivisibility of the parts of extension: though at first sight that\nscience seems rather favourable to the present doctrine; and if it\nbe contrary in its DEMONSTRATIONS, it is perfectly conformable in its\ndefinitions. My present business then must be to defend the definitions,\nand refute the demonstrations.\n\nA surface is DEFINed to be length and breadth without depth: A line\nto be length without breadth or depth: A point to be what has neither\nlength, breadth nor depth. It is evident that all this is perfectly\nunintelligible upon any other supposition than that of the composition\nof extension by indivisible points or atoms. How else could any thing\nexist without length, without breadth, or without depth?\n\nTwo different answers, I find, have been made to this argument; neither\nof which is in my opinion satisfactory. The first is, that the objects\nof geometry, those surfaces, lines and points, whose proportions and\npositions it examines, are mere ideas in the mind; and not only never\ndid, but never can exist in nature. They never did exist; for no one\nwill pretend to draw a line or make a surface entirely conformable to\nthe definition: They never can exist; for we may produce demonstrations\nfrom these very ideas to prove, that they are impossible.\n\nBut can anything be imagined more absurd and contradictory than this\nreasoning? Whatever can be conceived by a clear and distinct idea\nnecessarily implies the possibility of existence; and he who pretends\nto prove the impossibility of its existence by any argument derived from\nthe clear idea, in reality asserts, that we have no clear idea of\nit, because we have a clear idea. It is in vain to search for a\ncontradiction in any thing that is distinctly conceived by the mind. Did\nit imply any contradiction, it is impossible it could ever be conceived.\n\nThere is therefore no medium betwixt allowing at least the possibility\nof indivisible points, and denying their idea; and it is on this latter\nprinciple, that the second answer to the foregoing argument is founded.\nIt has been[4] pretended, that though it be impossible to conceive a\nlength without any breadth, yet by an abstraction without a separation,\nwe can consider the one without regarding the other; in the same manner\nas we may think of the length of the way betwixt two towns, and\noverlook its breadth. The length is inseparable from the breadth both\nin nature and in our minds; but this excludes not a partial\nconsideration, and a distinction of reason, after the manner above\nexplained.\n\n    [4] L'Art de penser.\n\nIn refuting this answer I shall not insist on the argument, which I have\nalready sufficiently explained, that if it be impossible for the mind\nto arrive at a minimum in its ideas, its capacity must be infinite, in\norder to comprehend the infinite number of parts, of which its idea of\nany extension would be composed. I shall here endeavour to find some new\nabsurdities in this reasoning.\n\nA surface terminates a solid; a line terminates a surface; a point\nterminates a line; but I assert, that if the ideas of a point, line or\nsurface were not indivisible, it is impossible we should ever conceive\nthese terminations: For let these ideas be supposed infinitely\ndivisible; and then let the fancy endeavour to fix itself on the idea of\nthe last surface, line or point; it immediately finds this idea to break\ninto parts; and upon its seizing the last of these parts, it loses its\nhold by a new division, and so on in infinitum, without any possibility\nof its arriving at a concluding idea. The number of fractions bring\nit no nearer the last division, than the first idea it formed. Every\nparticle eludes the grasp by a new fraction; like quicksilver, when we\nendeavour to seize it. But as in fact there must be something, which\nterminates the idea of every finite quantity; and as this terminating\nidea cannot itself consist of parts or inferior ideas; otherwise it\nwould be the last of its parts, which finished the idea, and so on; this\nis a clear proof, that the ideas of surfaces, lines and points admit\nnot of any division; those of surfaces in depth; of lines in breadth and\ndepth; and of points in any dimension.\n\nThe school were so sensible of the force of this argument, that some of\nthem maintained, that nature has mixed among those particles of matter,\nwhich are divisible in infinitum, a number of mathematical points, in\norder to give a termination to bodies; and others eluded the force of\nthis reasoning by a heap of unintelligible cavils and distinctions. Both\nthese adversaries equally yield the victory. A man who hides himself,\nconfesses as evidently the superiority of his enemy, as another, who\nfairly delivers his arms.\n\nThus it appears, that the definitions of mathematics destroy the\npretended demonstrations; and that if we have the idea of indivisible\npoints, lines and surfaces conformable to the definition, their\nexistence is certainly possible: but if we have no such idea, it is\nimpossible we can ever conceive the termination of any figure; without\nwhich conception there can be no geometrical demonstration.\n\nBut I go farther, and maintain, that none of these demonstrations\ncan have sufficient weight to establish such a principle, as this of\ninfinite divisibility; and that because with regard to such minute\nobjects, they are not properly demonstrations, being built on ideas,\nwhich are not exact, and maxims, which are not precisely true. When\ngeometry decides anything concerning the proportions of quantity, we\nought not to look for the utmost precision and exactness. None of its\nproofs extend so far. It takes the dimensions and proportions of\nfigures justly; but roughly, and with some liberty. Its errors are never\nconsiderable; nor would it err at all, did it not aspire to such an\nabsolute perfection.\n\nI first ask mathematicians, what they mean when they say one line or\nsurface is EQUAL to, or GREATER or LESS than another? Let any of them\ngive an answer, to whatever sect he belongs, and whether he maintains\nthe composition of extension by indivisible points, or by quantities\ndivisible in infinitum. This question will embarrass both of them.\n\nThere are few or no mathematicians, who defend the hypothesis of\nindivisible points; and yet these have the readiest and justest answer\nto the present question. They need only reply, that lines or surfaces\nare equal, when the numbers of points in each are equal; and that as\nthe proportion of the numbers varies, the proportion of the lines and\nsurfaces is also varyed. But though this answer be just, as well as\nobvious; yet I may affirm, that this standard of equality is entirely\nuseless, and that it never is from such a comparison we determine\nobjects to be equal or unequal with respect to each other. For as the\npoints, which enter into the composition of any line or surface, whether\nperceived by the sight or touch, are so minute and so confounded with\neach other, that it is utterly impossible for the mind to compute their\nnumber, such a computation will Never afford us a standard by which we\nmay judge of proportions. No one will ever be able to determine by an\nexact numeration, that an inch has fewer points than a foot, or a foot\nfewer than an ell or any greater measure: for which reason we seldom or\nnever consider this as the standard of equality or inequality.\n\nAs to those, who imagine, that extension is divisible in infinitum, it\nis impossible they can make use of this answer, or fix the equality of\nany line or surface by a numeration of its component parts. For since,\naccording to their hypothesis, the least as well as greatest figures\ncontain an infinite number of parts; and since infinite numbers,\nproperly speaking, can neither be equal nor unequal with respect to each\nother; the equality or inequality of any portions of space can never\ndepend on any proportion in the number of their parts. It is true, it\nmay be said, that the inequality of an ell and a yard consists in the\ndifferent numbers of the feet, of which they are composed; and that of\na foot and a yard in the number of the inches. But as that quantity we\ncall an inch in the one is supposed equal to what we call an inch in\nthe other, and as it is impossible for the mind to find this equality by\nproceeding in infinitum with these references to inferior quantities: it\nis evident, that at last we must fix some standard of equality different\nfrom an enumeration of the parts.\n\nThere are some[5], who pretend, that equality is best defined by\ncongruity, and that any two figures are equal, when upon the placing of\none upon the other, all their parts correspond to and touch each other.\nIn order to judge of this definition let us consider, that since\nequality is a relation, it is not, strictly speaking, a property in the\nfigures themselves, but arises merely from the comparison, which the\nmind makes betwixt them. If it consists, therefore, in this imaginary\napplication and mutual contact of parts, we must at least have a\ndistinct notion of these parts, and must conceive their contact. Now it\nis plain, that in this conception we would run up these parts to the\ngreatest minuteness, which can possibly be conceived; since the contact\nof large parts would never render the figures equal. But the minutest\nparts we can conceive are mathematical points; and consequently this\nstandard of equality is the same with that derived from the equality of\nthe number of points; which we have already determined to be a just but\nan useless standard. We must therefore look to some other quarter for a\nsolution of the present difficulty.\n\n    [5] See Dr. Barrow's mathematical lectures.\n\nThere are many philosophers, who refuse to assign any standard of\nequality, but assert, that it is sufficient to present two objects, that\nare equal, in order to give us a just notion of this proportion. All\ndefinitions, say they, are fruitless, without the perception of such\nobjects; and where we perceive such objects, we no longer stand in need\nof any definition. To this reasoning, I entirely agree; and assert, that\nthe only useful notion of equality, or inequality, is derived from the\nwhole united appearance and the comparison of particular objects.\n\nIt is evident, that the eye, or rather the mind is often able at one\nview to determine the proportions of bodies, and pronounce them equal\nto, or greater or less than each other, without examining or comparing\nthe number of their minute parts. Such judgments are not only common,\nbut in many cases certain and infallible. When the measure of a yard and\nthat of a foot are presented, the mind can no more question, that the\nfirst is longer than the second, than it can doubt of those principles,\nwhich are the most clear and self-evident.\n\nThere are therefore three proportions, which the mind distinguishes\nin the general appearance of its objects, and calls by the names of\ngreater, less and equal. But though its decisions concerning these\nproportions be sometimes infallible, they are not always so; nor are our\njudgments of this kind more exempt from doubt and error than those on\nany other subject. We frequently correct our first opinion by a review\nand reflection; and pronounce those objects to be equal, which at first\nwe esteemed unequal; and regard an object as less, though before it\nappeared greater than another. Nor is this the only correction, which\nthese judgments of our senses undergo; but we often discover our error\nby a juxtaposition of the objects; or where that is impracticable, by\nthe use of some common and invariable measure, which being successively\napplied to each, informs us of their different proportions. And even\nthis correction is susceptible of a new correction, and of different\ndegrees of exactness, according to the nature of the instrument,\nby which we measure the bodies, and the care which we employ in the\ncomparison.\n\nWhen therefore the mind is accustomed to these judgments and their\ncorrections, and finds that the same proportion which makes two figures\nhave in the eye that appearance, which we call equality, makes them also\ncorrespond to each other, and to any common measure, with which they\nare compared, we form a mixed notion of equality derived both from the\nlooser and stricter methods of comparison. But we are not content with\nthis. For as sound reason convinces us that there are bodies vastly more\nminute than those, which appear to the senses; and as a false reason\nwould perswade us, that there are bodies infinitely more minute; we\nclearly perceive, that we are not possessed of any instrument or art of\nmeasuring, which can secure us from ill error and uncertainty. We are\nsensible, that the addition or removal of one of these minute parts,\nis not discernible either in the appearance or measuring; and as we\nimagine, that two figures, which were equal before, cannot be equal\nafter this removal or addition, we therefore suppose some imaginary\nstandard of equality, by which the appearances and measuring are exactly\ncorrected, and the figures reduced entirely to that proportion. This\nstandard is plainly imaginary. For as the very idea of equality is that\nof such a particular appearance corrected by juxtaposition or a common\nmeasure. The notion of any correction beyond what we have instruments\nand art to make, is a mere fiction of the mind, and useless as well\nas incomprehensible. But though this standard be only imaginary, the\nfiction however is very natural; nor is anything more usual, than for\nthe mind to proceed after this manner with any action, even after the\nreason has ceased, which first determined it to begin. This appears very\nconspicuously with regard to time; where though it is evident we have no\nexact method of determining the proportions of parts, not even so exact\nas in extension, yet the various corrections of our measures, and their\ndifferent degrees of exactness, have given as an obscure and implicit\nnotion of a perfect and entire equality. The case is the same in many\nother subjects. A musician finding his ear becoming every day more\ndelicate, and correcting himself by reflection and attention, proceeds\nwith the same act of the mind, even when the subject fails him, and\nentertains a notion of a compleat TIERCE or OCTAVE, without being able\nto tell whence he derives his standard. A painter forms the same fiction\nwith regard to colours. A mechanic with regard to motion. To the one\nlight and shade; to the other swift and slow are imagined to be capable\nof an exact comparison and equality beyond the judgments of the senses.\n\nWe may apply the same reasoning to CURVE and RIGHT lines. Nothing is\nmore apparent to the senses, than the distinction betwixt a curve and a\nright line; nor are there any ideas we more easily form than the ideas\nof these objects. But however easily we may form these ideas, it is\nimpossible to produce any definition of them, which will fix the precise\nboundaries betwixt them. When we draw lines upon paper, or any continued\nsurface, there is a certain order, by which the lines run along from one\npoint to another, that they may produce the entire impression of a\ncurve or right line; but this order is perfectly unknown, and nothing\nis observed but the united appearance. Thus even upon the system of\nindivisible points, we can only form a distant notion of some unknown\nstandard to these objects. Upon that of infinite divisibility we cannot\ngo even this length; but are reduced meerly to the general appearance,\nas the rule by which we determine lines to be either curve or right\nones. But though we can give no perfect definition of these lines, nor\nproduce any very exact method of distinguishing the one from the other;\nyet this hinders us not from correcting the first appearance by a more\naccurate consideration, and by a comparison with some rule, of whose\nrectitude from repeated trials we have a greater assurance. And it is\nfrom these corrections, and by carrying on the same action of the mind,\neven when its reason fails us, that we form the loose idea of a perfect\nstandard to these figures, without being able to explain or comprehend\nit.\n\nIt is true, mathematicians pretend they give an exact definition of a\nright line, when they say, it is the shortest way betwixt two points.\nBut in the first place I observe, that this is more properly the\ndiscovery of one of the properties of a right line, than a just\ndeflation of it. For I ask any one, if upon mention of a right line he\nthinks not immediately on such a particular appearance, and if it is not\nby accident only that he considers this property? A right line can be\ncomprehended alone; but this definition is unintelligible without a\ncomparison with other lines, which we conceive to be more extended. In\ncommon life it is established as a maxim, that the straightest way is\nalways the shortest; which would be as absurd as to say, the shortest\nway is always the shortest, if our idea of a right line was not\ndifferent from that of the shortest way betwixt two points.\n\nSecondly, I repeat what I have already established, that we have no\nprecise idea of equality and inequality, shorter and longer, more than\nof a right line or a curve; and consequently that the one can never\nafford us a perfect standard for the other. An exact idea can never be\nbuilt on such as are loose and undetermined.\n\nThe idea of a plain surface is as little susceptible of a precise\nstandard as that of a right line; nor have we any other means of\ndistinguishing such a surface, than its general appearance. It is in\nvain, that mathematicians represent a plain surface as produced by the\nflowing of a right line. It will immediately be objected, that our idea\nof a surface is as independent of this method of forming a surface, as\nour idea of an ellipse is of that of a cone; that the idea of a right\nline is no more precise than that of a plain surface; that a right line\nmay flow irregularly, and by that means form a figure quite different\nfrom a plane; and that therefore we must suppose it to flow along two\nright lines, parallel to each other, and on the same plane; which is a\ndescription, that explains a thing by itself, and returns in a circle.\n\nIt appears, then, that the ideas which are most essential to geometry,\nviz. those of equality and inequality, of a right line and a plain\nsurface, are far from being exact and determinate, according to our\ncommon method of conceiving them. Not only we are incapable of telling,\nif the case be in any degree doubtful, when such particular figures are\nequal; when such a line is a right one, and such a surface a plain one;\nbut we can form no idea of that proportion, or of these figures, which\nis firm and invariable. Our appeal is still to the weak and fallible\njudgment, which we make from the appearance of the objects, and correct\nby a compass or common measure; and if we join the supposition of\nany farther correction, it is of such-a-one as is either useless or\nimaginary. In vain should we have recourse to the common topic, and\nemploy the supposition of a deity, whose omnipotence may enable him to\nform a perfect geometrical figure, and describe a right line without any\ncurve or inflexion. As the ultimate standard of these figures is derived\nfrom nothing but the senses and imagination, it is absurd to talk of\nany perfection beyond what these faculties can judge of; since the true\nperfection of any thing consists in its conformity to its standard.\n\nNow since these ideas are so loose and uncertain, I would fain ask any\nmathematician what infallible assurance he has, not only of the more\nintricate, and obscure propositions of his science, but of the most\nvulgar and obvious principles? How can he prove to me, for instance,\nthat two right lines cannot have one common segment? Or that it is\nimpossible to draw more than one right line betwixt any two points?\nshould he tell me, that these opinions are obviously absurd, and\nrepugnant to our clear ideas; I would answer, that I do not deny, where\ntwo right lines incline upon each other with a sensible angle, but it is\nabsurd to imagine them to have a common segment. But supposing these two\nlines to approach at the rate of an inch in twenty leagues, I perceive\nno absurdity in asserting, that upon their contact they become one. For,\nI beseech you, by what rule or standard do you judge, when you assert,\nthat the line, in which I have supposed them to concur, cannot make\nthe same right line with those two, that form so small an angle betwixt\nthem? You must surely have some idea of a right line, to which this line\ndoes not agree. Do you therefore mean that it takes not the points in\nthe same order and by the same rule, as is peculiar and essential to a\nright line? If so, I must inform you, that besides that in judging after\nthis manner you allow, that extension is composed of indivisible points\n(which, perhaps, is more than you intend) besides this, I say, I must\ninform you, that neither is this the standard from which we form the\nidea of a right line; nor, if it were, is there any such firmness in our\nsenses or imagination, as to determine when such an order is violated or\npreserved. The original standard of a right line is in reality nothing\nbut a certain general appearance; and it is evident right lines may be\nmade to concur with each other, and yet correspond to this standard,\nthough corrected by all the means either practicable or imaginable.\n\nTo whatever side mathematicians turn, this dilemma still meets them.\nIf they judge of equality, or any other proportion, by the accurate and\nexact standard, viz. the enumeration of the minute indivisible parts,\nthey both employ a standard, which is useless in practice, and actually\nestablish the indivisibility of extension, which they endeavour to\nexplode. Or if they employ, as is usual, the inaccurate standard,\nderived from a comparison of objects, upon their general appearance,\ncorrected by measuring and juxtaposition; their first principles,\nthough certain and infallible, are too coarse to afford any such subtile\ninferences as they commonly draw from them. The first principles are\nfounded on the imagination and senses: The conclusion, therefore, can\nnever go beyond, much less contradict these faculties.\n\nThis may open our eyes a little, and let us see, that no geometrical\ndemonstration for the infinite divisibility of extension can have so\nmuch force as what we naturally attribute to every argument, which is\nsupported by such magnificent pretensions. At the same time we may learn\nthe reason, why geometry falls of evidence in this single point, while\nall its other reasonings command our fullest assent and approbation.\nAnd indeed it seems more requisite to give the reason of this exception,\nthan to shew, that we really must make such an exception, and regard\nall the mathematical arguments for infinite divisibility as utterly\nsophistical. For it is evident, that as no idea of quantity is\ninfinitely divisible, there cannot be imagined a more glaring absurdity,\nthan to endeavour to prove, that quantity itself admits of such a\ndivision; and to prove this by means of ideas, which are directly\nopposite in that particular. And as this absurdity is very glaring in\nitself, so there is no argument founded on it which is not attended\nwith a new absurdity, and involves not an evident contradiction.\n\nI might give as instances those arguments for infinite divisibility,\nwhich are derived from the point of contact. I know there is no\nmathematician, who will not refuse to be judged by the diagrams he\ndescribes upon paper, these being loose draughts, as he will tell us,\nand serving only to convey with greater facility certain ideas, which\nare the true foundation of all our reasoning. This I am satisfyed with,\nand am willing to rest the controversy merely upon these ideas. I desire\ntherefore our mathematician to form, as accurately as possible,\nthe ideas of a circle and a right line; and I then ask, if upon the\nconception of their contact he can conceive them as touching in a\nmathematical point, or if he must necessarily imagine them to concur\nfor some space. Whichever side he chuses, he runs himself into equal\ndifficulties. If he affirms, that in tracing these figures in his\nimagination, he can imagine them to touch only in a point, he allows\nthe possibility of that idea, and consequently of the thing. If he says,\nthat in his conception of the contact of those lines he must make\nthem concur, he thereby acknowledges the fallacy of geometrical\ndemonstrations, when carryed beyond a certain degree of minuteness;\nsince it is certain he has such demonstrations against the concurrence\nof a circle and a right line; that is, in other words, he can prove an\nidea, viz. that of concurrence, to be INCOMPATIBLE with two other\nideas, those of a circle and right line; though at the same time he\nacknowledges these ideas to be inseparable.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. V. THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED.\n\n\nIf the second part of my system be true, that the idea of space\nor extension is nothing but the idea of visible or tangible points\ndistributed in a certain order; it follows, that we can form no idea\nof a vacuum, or space, where there is nothing visible or tangible. This\ngives rise to three objections, which I shall examine together, because\nthe answer I shall give to one is a consequence of that which I shall\nmake use of for the others.\n\nFirst, It may be said, that men have disputed for many ages concerning\na vacuum and a plenum, without being able to bring the affair to a\nfinal decision; and philosophers, even at this day, think themselves\nat liberty to take part on either side, as their fancy leads them. But\nwhatever foundation there may be for a controversy concerning the things\nthemselves, it may be pretended, that the very dispute is decisive\nconcerning the idea, and that it is impossible men could so long reason\nabout a vacuum, and either refute or defend it, without having a notion\nof what they refuted or defended.\n\nSecondly, If this argument should be contested, the reality or at least\nthe possibility of the idea of a vacuum may be proved by the following\nreasoning. Every idea is possible, which is a necessary and infallible\nconsequence of such as are possible. Now though we allow the world to be\nat present a plenum, we may easily conceive it to be deprived of motion;\nand this idea will certainly be allowed possible. It must also be\nallowed possible, to conceive the annihilation of any part of matter by\nthe omnipotence of the deity, while the other parts remain at rest. For\nas every idea, that is distinguishable, is separable by the imagination;\nand as every idea, that is separable by the imagination, may be\nconceived to be separately existent; it is evident, that the existence\nof one particle of matter, no more implies the existence of another,\nthan a square figure in one body implies a square figure in every one.\nThis being granted, I now demand what results from the concurrence of\nthese two possible ideas of rest and annihilation, and what must we\nconceive to follow upon the annihilation of all the air and subtile\nmatter in the chamber, supposing the walls to remain the same, without\nany motion or alteration? There are some metaphysicians, who answer,\nthat since matter and extension are the same, the annihilation of one\nnecessarily implies that of the other; and there being now no distance\nbetwixt the walls of the chamber, they touch each other; in the same\nmanner as my hand touches the paper, which is immediately before me.\nBut though this answer be very common, I defy these metaphysicians to\nconceive the matter according to their hypothesis, or imagine the floor\nand roof, with all the opposite sides of the chamber, to touch each\nother, while they continue in rest, and preserve the same position. For\nhow can the two walls, that run from south to north, touch each other,\nwhile they touch the opposite ends of two walls, that run from east\nto west? And how can the floor and roof ever meet, while they are\nseparated by the four walls, that lie in a contrary position? If you\nchange their position, you suppose a motion. If you conceive any thing\nbetwixt them, you suppose a new creation. But keeping strictly to the\ntwo ideas of rest and annihilation, it is evident, that the idea, which\nresults from them, is not that of a contact of parts, but something\nelse; which is concluded to be the idea of a vacuum.\n\nThe third objection carries the matter still farther, and not only\nasserts, that the idea of a vacuum is real and possible, but also\nnecessary and unavoidable. This assertion is founded on the motion we\nobserve in bodies, which, it is maintained, would be impossible and\ninconceivable without a vacuum, into which one body must move in order\nto make way for another.. I shall not enlarge upon this objection,\nbecause it principally belongs to natural philosophy, which lies without\nour present sphere.\n\nIn order to answer these objections, we must take the matter pretty\ndeep, and consider the nature and origin of several ideas, lest we\ndispute without understanding perfectly the subject of the controversy.\nIt is evident the idea of darkness is no positive idea, but merely the\nnegation of light, or more properly speaking, of coloured and visible\nobjects. A man, who enjoys his sight, receives no other perception from\nturning his eyes on every side, when entirely deprived of light, than\nwhat is common to him with one born blind; and it is certain such-a-one\nhas no idea either of light or darkness. The consequence of this is,\nthat it is not from the mere removal of visible objects we receive\nthe impression of extension without matter; and that the idea of utter\ndarkness can never be the same with that of vacuum.\n\nSuppose again a man to be supported in the air, and to be softly\nconveyed along by some invisible power; it is evident he is sensible of\nnothing, and never receives the idea of extension, nor indeed any idea,\nfrom this invariable motion. Even supposing he moves his limbs to\nand fro, this cannot convey to him that idea. He feels in that case a\ncertain sensation or impression, the parts of which are successive to\neach other, and may give him the idea of time: But certainly are not\ndisposed in such a manner, as is necessary to convey the idea of space\nor the idea of space or extension.\n\nSince then it appears, that darkness and motion, with the utter removal\nof every thing visible and tangible, can never give us the idea of\nextension without matter, or of a vacuum; the next question is, whether\nthey can convey this idea, when mixed with something visible and\ntangible?\n\nIt is commonly allowed by philosophers, that all bodies, which discover\nthemselves to the eye, appear as if painted on a plain surface, and that\ntheir different degrees of remoteness from ourselves are discovered\nmore by reason than by the senses. When I hold up my hand before me, and\nspread my fingers, they are separated as perfectly by the blue colour\nof the firmament, as they could be by any visible object, which I could\nplace betwixt them. In order, therefore, to know whether the sight can\nconvey the impression and idea of a vacuum, we must suppose, that amidst\nan entire darkness, there are luminous bodies presented to us, whose\nlight discovers only these bodies themselves, without giving us any\nimpression of the surrounding objects.\n\nWe must form a parallel supposition concerning the objects of our\nfeeling. It is not proper to suppose a perfect removal of all tangible\nobjects: we must allow something to be perceived by the feeling; and\nafter an interval and motion of the hand or other organ of sensation,\nanother object of the touch to be met with; and upon leaving that,\nanother; and so on, as often as we please. The question is, whether\nthese intervals do not afford us the idea of extension without body?\n\nTo begin with the first case; it is evident, that when only two luminous\nbodies appear to the eye, we can perceive, whether they be conjoined or\nseparate: whether they be separated by a great or small distance; and if\nthis distance varies, we can perceive its increase or diminution, with\nthe motion of the bodies. But as the distance is not in this case any\nthing coloured or visible, it may be thought that there is here a vacuum\nor pure extension, not only intelligible to the mind, but obvious to the\nvery senses.\n\nThis is our natural and most familiar way of thinking; but which we\nshall learn to correct by a little reflection. We may observe, that\nwhen two bodies present themselves, where there was formerly an entire\ndarkness, the only change, that is discoverable, is in the appearance\nof these two objects, and that all the rest continues to be as before, a\nperfect negation of light, and of every coloured or visible object. This\nis not only true of what may be said to be remote from these bodies, but\nalso of the very distance; which is interposed betwixt them; that being\nnothing but darkness, or the negation of light; without parts, without\ncomposition, invariable and indivisible. Now since this distance causes\nno perception different from what a blind man receives from his eyes, or\nwhat is conveyed to us in the darkest night, it must partake of the\nsame properties: And as blindness and darkness afford us no ideas of\nextension, it is impossible that the dark and undistinguishable distance\nbetwixt two bodies can ever produce that idea.\n\nThe sole difference betwixt an absolute darkness and the appearance of\ntwo or more visible luminous objects consists, as I said, in the objects\nthemselves, and in the manner they affect our senses. The angles, which\nthe rays of light flowing from them, form with each other; the motion\nthat is required in the eye, in its passage from one to the other; and\nthe different parts of the organs, which are affected by them; these\nproduce the only perceptions, from which we can judge of the distance.\nBut as these perceptions are each of them simple and indivisible, they\ncan never give us the idea of extension.\n\nWe may illustrate this by considering the sense of feeling, and the\nimaginary distance or interval interposed betwixt tangible or solid\nobjects. I suppose two cases, viz. that of a man supported in the air,\nand moving his limbs to and fro, without meeting any thing tangible; and\nthat of a man, who feeling something tangible, leaves it, and after a\nmotion, of which he is sensible, perceives another tangible object; and\nI then ask, wherein consists the difference betwixt these two cases?\nNo one will make any scruple to affirm, that it consists meerly in the\nperceiving those objects, and that the sensation, which arises from the\nmotion, is in both cases the same: And as that sensation is not capable\nof conveying to us an idea of extension, when unaccompanyed with some\nother perception, it can no more give us that idea, when mixed with\nthe impressions of tangible objects; since that mixture produces no\nalteration upon it.\n\nBut though motion and darkness, either alone, or attended with tangible\nand visible objects, convey no idea of a vacuum or extension without\nmatter, yet they are the causes why we falsly imagine we can form such\nan idea. For there is a close relation betwixt that motion and darkness,\nand a real extension, or composition of visible and tangible objects.\n\nFirst, We may observe, that two visible objects appearing in the midst\nof utter darkness, affect the senses in the same manner, and form the\nsame angle by the rays, which flow from them, and meet in the eye, as if\nthe distance betwixt them were find with visible objects, that give us\na true idea of extension. The sensation of motion is likewise the same,\nwhen there is nothing tangible interposed betwixt two bodies, as when\nwe feel a compounded body, whose different parts are placed beyond each\nother.\n\nSecondly, We find by experience, that two bodies, which are so placed\nas to affect the senses in the same manner with two others, that have a\ncertain extent of visible objects interposed betwixt them, are\ncapable of receiving the same extent, without any sensible impulse or\npenetration, and without any change on that angle, under which they\nappear to the senses. In like manner, where there is one object, which\nwe cannot feel after another without an interval, and the perceiving\nof that sensation we call motion in our hand or organ of sensation;\nexperience shews us, that it is possible the same object may be felt\nwith the same sensation of motion, along with the interposed impression\nof solid and tangible objects, attending the sensation. That is, in\nother words, an invisible and intangible distance may be converted into\na visible and tangible one, without any change on the distant objects.\n\nThirdly, We may observe, as another relation betwixt these two kinds\nof distance, that they have nearly the same effects on every natural\nph\u00e6nomenon. For as all qualities, such as heat, cold, light,\nattraction, &c. diminish in proportion to the distance; there is but\nlittle difference observed, whether this distance be marled out by\ncompounded and sensible objects, or be known only by the manner, in\nwhich the distant objects affect the senses.\n\nHere then are three relations betwixt that distance, which conveys the\nidea of extension, and that other, which is not filled with any coloured\nor solid object. The distant objects affect the senses in the same\nmanner, whether separated by the one distance or the other; the second\nspecies of distance is found capable of receiving the first; and they\nboth equally diminish the force of every quality.\n\nThese relations betwixt the two kinds of distance will afford us an easy\nreason, why the one has so often been taken for the other, and why we\nimagine we have an idea of extension without the idea of any object\neither of the sight or feeling. For we may establish it as a general\nmaxim in this science of human nature, that wherever there is a close\nrelation betwixt two ideas, the mind is very apt to mistake them, and\nin all its discourses and reasonings to use the one for the other. This\nph\u00e6nomenon occurs on so many occasions, and is of such consequence,\nthat I cannot forbear stopping a moment to examine its causes. I shall\nonly premise, that we must distinguish exactly betwixt the ph\u00e6nomenon\nitself, and the causes, which I shall assign for it; and must not\nimagine from any uncertainty in the latter, that the former is also\nuncertain. The ph\u00e6nomenon may be real, though my explication be\nchimerical. The falshood of the one is no consequence of that of the\nother; though at the same time we may observe, that it is very natural\nfor us to draw such a consequence; which is an evident instance of that\nvery principle, which I endeavour to explain.\n\nWhen I received the relations of resemblance, contiguity and causation,\nas principles of union among ideas, without examining into their causes,\nit was more in prosecution of my first maxim, that we must in the end\nrest contented with experience, than for want of something specious and\nplausible, which I might have displayed on that subject. It would have\nbeen easy to have made an imaginary dissection of the brain, and have\nshewn, why upon our conception of any idea, the animal spirits run\ninto all the contiguous traces, and rouze up the other ideas, that are\nrelated to it. But though I have neglected any advantage, which I might\nhave drawn from this topic in explaining the relations of ideas, I am\nafraid I must here have recourse to it, in order to account for the\nmistakes that arise from these relations. I shall therefore observe,\nthat as the mind is endowed with a power of exciting any idea it\npleases; whenever it dispatches the spirits into that region of the\nbrain, in which the idea is placed; these spirits always excite the\nidea, when they run precisely into the proper traces, and rummage that\ncell, which belongs to the idea. But as their motion is seldom direct,\nand naturally turns a little to the one side or the other; for this\nreason the animal spirits, falling into the contiguous traces, present\nother related ideas in lieu of that, which the mind desired at first to\nsurvey. This change we are not always sensible of; but continuing\nstill the same train of thought, make use of the related idea, which is\npresented to us, and employ it in our reasoning, as if it were the same\nwith what we demanded. This is the cause of many mistakes and sophisms\nin philosophy; as will naturally be imagined, and as it would be easy to\nshow, if there was occasion.\n\nOf the three relations above-mentioned that of resemblance is the most\nfertile source of error; and indeed there are few mistakes in reasoning,\nwhich do not borrow largely from that origin. Resembling ideas are not\nonly related together, but the actions of the mind, which we employ\nin considering them, are so little different, that we are not able to\ndistinguish them. This last circumstance is of great consequence, and we\nmay in general observe, that wherever the actions of the mind in forming\nany two ideas are the same or resembling, we are very apt to confound\nthese ideas, and take the one for the other. Of this we shall see many\ninstances in the progress of this treatise. But though resemblance be\nthe relation, which most readily produces a mistake in ideas, yet\nthe others of causation and contiguity may also concur in the same\ninfluence. We might produce the figures of poets and orators, as\nsufficient proofs of this, were it as usual, as it is reasonable, in\nmetaphysical subjects to draw our arguments from that quarter. But lest\nmetaphysicians should esteem this below their dignity, I shall borrow\na proof from an observation, which may be made on most of their own\ndiscourses, viz. that it is usual for men to use words for ideas, and\nto talk instead of thinking in their reasonings. We use words for ideas,\nbecause they are commonly so closely connected that the mind easily\nmistakes them. And this likewise is the reason, why we substitute\nthe idea of a distance, which is not considered either as visible or\ntangible, in the room of extension, which is nothing but a composition\nof visible or tangible points disposed in a certain order. In\ncausing this mistake there concur both the relations of causation and\nresemblance. As the first species of distance is found to be convertible\ninto the second, it is in this respect a kind of cause; and the\nsimilarity of their manner of affecting the senses, and diminishing\nevery quality, forms the relation of resemblance.\n\nAfter this chain of reasoning and explication of my principles, I am now\nprepared to answer all the objections that have been offered, whether\nderived from metaphysics or mechanics. The frequent disputes concerning\na vacuum, or extension without matter prove not the reality of the idea,\nupon which the dispute turns; there being nothing more common, than to\nsee men deceive themselves in this particular; especially when by means\nof any close relation, there is another idea presented, which may be the\noccasion of their mistake.\n\nWe may make almost the same answer to the second objection, derived from\nthe conjunction of the ideas of rest and annihilation. When every thing\nis annihilated in the chamber, and the walls continue immoveable, the\nchamber must be conceived much in the same manner as at present, when\nthe air that fills it, is not an object of the senses. This annihilation\nleaves to the eye, that fictitious distance, which is discovered by the\ndifferent parts of the organ, that are affected, and by the degrees of\nlight and shade;--and to the feeling, that which consists in a sensation\nof motion in the hand, or other member of the body. In vain should we.\nsearch any farther. On whichever side we turn this subject, we shall\nfind that these are the only impressions such an object can produce\nafter the supposed annihilation; and it has already been remarked, that\nimpressions can give rise to no ideas, but to such as resemble them.\n\nSince a body interposed betwixt two others may be supposed to be\nannihilated, without producing any change upon such as lie on each\nhand of it, it is easily conceived, how it may be created anew, and yet\nproduce as little alteration. Now the motion of a body has much the same\neffect as its creation. The distant bodies are no more affected in the\none case, than in the other. This suffices to satisfy the imagination,\nand proves there is no repugnance in such a motion. Afterwards\nexperience comes in play to persuade us that two bodies, situated in the\nmanner above-described, have really such a capacity of receiving body\nbetwixt them, and that there is no obstacle to the conversion of the\ninvisible and intangible distance into one that is visible and tangible.\nHowever natural that conversion may seem, we cannot be sure it is\npracticable, before we have had experience of it.\n\nThus I seem to have answered the three objections above-mentioned;\nthough at the same time I am sensible, that few will be satisfyed\nwith these answers, but will immediately propose new objections and\ndifficulties. It will probably be said, that my reasoning makes nothing\nto the matter in hands and that I explain only the manner in which\nobjects affect the senses, without endeavouring to account for their\nreal nature and operations. Though there be nothing visible or tangible\ninterposed betwixt two bodies, yet we find BY EXPERIENCE, that the\nbodies may be placed in the same manner, with regard to the eye, and\nrequire the same motion of the hand in passing from one to the other,\nas if divided by something visible and tangible. This invisible and\nintangible distance is also found by experience to contain a capacity of\nreceiving body, or of becoming visible and tangible. Here is the whole\nof my system; and in no part of it have I endeavoured to explain the\ncause, which separates bodies after this manner, and gives them a\ncapacity of receiving others betwixt them, without any impulse or\npenetration.\n\nI answer this objection, by pleading guilty, and by confessing that my\nintention never was to penetrate into the nature of bodies, or explain\nthe secret causes of their operations. For besides that this belongs not\nto my present purpose, I am afraid, that such an enterprise is beyond\nthe reach of human understanding, and that we can never pretend to\nknow body otherwise than by those external properties, which discover\nthemselves to the senses. As to those who attempt any thing farther, I\ncannot approve of their ambition, till I see, in some one instance at\nleast, that they have met with success. But at present I content myself\nwith knowing perfectly the manner in which objects affect my senses, and\ntheir connections with each other, as far as experience informs me of\nthem. This suffices for the conduct of life; and this also suffices for\nmy philosophy, which pretends only to explain the nature and causes of\nour perceptions, or impressions and ideas.[6]\n\n    [6] As long as we confine our speculations to the appearances of\n    objects to our senses, without entering into disquisitions\n    concerning their real nature and operations, we are safe from all\n    difficulties, and can never be embarrassed by any question. Thus,\n    if it be asked, if the invisible and intangible distance,\n    interposed betwixt two objects, be something or nothing: It is easy\n    to answer, that it is SOMETHING, VIZ. a property of the objects,\n    which affect the SENSES after such a particular manner. If it be\n    asked whether two objects, having such a distance betwixt them,\n    touch or not: it may be answered, that this depends upon the\n    definition of the word, TOUCH. If objects be said to touch, when\n    there is nothing SENSIBLE interposed betwixt them, these objects\n    touch: it objects be said to touch, when their IMAGES strike\n    contiguous parts of the eye, and when the hand FEELS both objects\n    successively, without any interposed motion, these objects do not\n    touch. The appearances of objects to our senses are all consistent;\n    and no difficulties can ever arise, but from the obscurity of the\n    terms we make use of.\n\n    If we carry our enquiry beyond the appearances of objects to the\n    senses, I am afraid, that most of our conclusions will be full of\n    scepticism and uncertainty. Thus if it be asked, whether or not the\n    invisible and intangible distance be always full of body, or of\n    something that by an improvement of our organs might become visible\n    or tangible, I must acknowledge, that I find no very decisive\n    arguments on either side; though I am inclined to the contrary\n    opinion, as being more suitable to vulgar and popular notions. If\n    THE NEWTONIAN philosophy be rightly understood, it will be found to\n    mean no more. A vacuum is asserted: That is, bodies are said to be\n    placed after such a manner, is to receive bodies betwixt them,\n    without impulsion or penetration. The real nature of this position\n    of bodies is unknown. We are only acquainted with its effects on\n    the senses, and its power of receiving body. Nothing is more\n    suitable to that philosophy, than a modest scepticism to a certain\n    degree, and a fair confession of ignorance in subjects, that exceed\n    all human capacity.\n\nI shall conclude this subject of extension with a paradox, which will\neasily be explained from the foregoing reasoning. This paradox is, that\nif you are pleased to give to the in-visible and intangible distance,\nor in other words, to the capacity of becoming a visible and tangible\ndistance, the name of a vacuum, extension and matter are the same, and\nyet there is a vacuum. If you will not give it that name, motion\nis possible in a plenum, without any impulse in infinitum, without\nreturning in a circle, and without penetration. But however we may\nexpress ourselves, we must always confess, that we have no idea of any\nreal extension without filling it with sensible objects, and conceiving\nits parts as visible or tangible.\n\nAs to the doctrine, that time is nothing but the manner, in which\nsome real objects exist; we may observe, that it is liable to the same\nobjections as the similar doctrine with regard to extension. If it be a\nsufficient proof, that we have the idea of a vacuum, because we dispute\nand reason concerning it; we must for the same reason have the idea\nof time without any changeable existence; since there is no subject of\ndispute more frequent and common. But that we really have no such idea,\nis certain. For whence should it be derived? Does it arise from an\nimpression of sensation or of reflection? Point it out distinctly to us,\nthat we may know its nature and qualities. But if you cannot point\nout any such impression, you may be certain you are mistaken, when you\nimagine you have any such idea.\n\nBut though it be impossible to shew the impression, from which the idea\nof time without a changeable existence is derived; yet we can easily\npoint out those appearances, which make us fancy we have that idea. For\nwe may observe, that there is a continual succession of perceptions in\nour mind; so that the idea of time being for ever present with us; when\nwe consider a stedfast object at five-a-clock, and regard the same at\nsix; we are apt to apply to it that idea in the same manner as if every\nmoment were distinguished by a different position, or an alteration\nof the object. The first and second appearances of the object, being\ncompared with the succession of our perceptions, seem equally removed as\nif the object had really changed. To which we may add, what experience\nshews us, that the object was susceptible of such a number of changes\nbetwixt these appearances; as also that the unchangeable or rather\nfictitious duration has the same effect upon every quality, by\nencreasing or diminishing it, as that succession, which is obvious to\nthe senses. From these three relations we are apt to confound our ideas,\nand imagine we can form the idea of a time and duration, without any\nchange or succession.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. VI. OF THE IDEA OF EXISTENCE, AND OF EXTERNAL EXISTENCE.\n\n\nIt may not be amiss, before we leave this subject, to explain the ideas\nof existence and of external existence; which have their difficulties,\nas well as the ideas of space and time. By this means we shall be the\nbetter prepared for the examination of knowledge and probability, when\nwe understand perfectly all those particular ideas, which may enter into\nour reasoning.\n\nThere is no impression nor idea of any kind, of which we have any\nconsciousness or memory, that is not conceived as existent; and it\nis evident, that from this consciousness the most perfect idea and\nassurance of being is derived. From hence we may form a dilemma, the\nmost clear and conclusive that can be imagined, viz. that since we never\nremember any idea or impression without attributing existence to it,\nthe idea of existence must either be derived from a distinct impression,\nconjoined with every perception or object of our thought, or must be the\nvery same with the idea of the perception or object.\n\nAs this dilemma is an evident consequence of the principle, that every\nidea arises from a similar impression, so our decision betwixt the\npropositions of the dilemma is no more doubtful. So far from there being\nany distinct impression, attending every impression and every idea,\nthat I do not think there are any two distinct impressions, which are\ninseparably conjoined. Though certain sensations may at one time be\nunited, we quickly find they admit of a separation, and may be presented\napart. And thus, though every impression and idea we remember be\nconsidered as existent, the idea of existence is not derived from any\nparticular impression.\n\nThe idea of existence, then, is the very same with the idea of what we\nconceive to be existent. To reflect on any thing simply, and to reflect\non it as existent, are nothing different from each other. That idea,\nwhen conjoined with the idea of any object, makes no addition to it.\nWhatever we conceive, we conceive to be existent. Any idea we please\nto form is the idea of a being; and the idea of a being is any idea we\nplease to form.\n\nWhoever opposes this, must necessarily point out that distinct\nimpression, from which the idea of entity is derived, and must prove,\nthat this impression is inseparable from every perception we believe to\nbe existent. This we may without hesitation conclude to be impossible.\n\nOur foregoing reasoning[7] concerning the distinction of ideas without\nany real difference will not here serve us in any stead. That kind of\ndistinction is founded on the different resemblances, which the same\nsimple idea may have to several different ideas. But no object can be\npresented resembling some object with respect to its existence, and\ndifferent from others in the same particular; since every object, that\nis presented, must necessarily be existent.\n\n    [7] Part I. Sect. 7.\n\nA like reasoning will account for the idea of external existence. We may\nobserve, that it is universally allowed by philosophers, and is besides\npretty obvious of itself, that nothing is ever really present with the\nmind but its perceptions or impressions and ideas, and that external\nobjects become known to us only by those perceptions they occasion. To\nhate, to love, to think, to feel, to see; all this is nothing but to\nperceive.\n\nNow since nothing is ever present to the mind but perceptions, and since\nall ideas are derived from something antecedently present to the mind;\nit follows, that it is impossible for us so much as to conceive or form\nan idea of any thing specifically different from ideas and impressions.\nLet us fix our attention out of ourselves as much as possible: Let us\nchase our imagination to the heavens, or to the utmost limits of the\nuniverse; we never really advance a step beyond ourselves, nor can\nconceive any kind of existence, but those perceptions, which\nhave appeared in that narrow compass. This is the universe of the\nimagination, nor have we any idea but what is there produced.\n\nThe farthest we can go towards a conception of external objects, when\nsupposed SPECIFICALLY different from our perceptions, is to form a\nrelative idea of them, without pretending to comprehend the related\nobjects. Generally speaking we do not suppose them specifically\ndifferent; but only attribute to them different relations, connections\nand durations. But of this more fully hereafter.[8]\n\n    [8] Part IV, Sect. 2.\n\n\n\n\nPART III. OF KNOWLEDGE AND PROBABILITY.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. I. OF KNOWLEDGE.\n\n\nThere are seven[1] different kinds of philosophical relation, viz.\nRESEMBLANCE, IDENTITY, RELATIONS OF TIME AND PLACE, PROPORTION IN\nQUANTITY OR NUMBER, DEGREES IN ANY QUALITY, CONTRARIETY and CAUSATION.\nThese relations may be divided into two classes; into such as depend\nentirely on the ideas, which we compare together, and such as may be\nchanged without any change in the ideas. It is from the idea of a\ntriangle, that we discover the relation of equality, which its three\nangles bear to two right ones; and this relation is invariable, as long\nas our idea remains the same. On the contrary, the relations of\ncontiguity and distance betwixt two objects may be changed merely by an\nalteration of their place, without any change on the objects themselves\nor on their ideas; and the place depends on a hundred different\naccidents, which cannot be foreseen by the mind. It is the same case\nwith identity and causation. Two objects, though perfectly resembling\neach other, and even appearing in the same place at different times,\nmay be numerically different: And as the power, by which one object\nproduces another, is never discoverable merely from their idea, it is\nevident cause and effect are relations, of which we receive information\nfrom experience, and not from any abstract reasoning or reflection.\nThere is no single ph\u00e6nomenon, even the most simple, which can be\naccounted for from the qualities of the objects, as they appear to us;\nor which we could foresee without the help of our memory and\nexperience.\n\n    [1] Part I. Sect. 5.\n\nIt appears, therefore, that of these seven philosophical relations,\nthere remain only four, which depending solely upon ideas, can be\nthe objects of knowledge and certainty. These four are RESEMBLANCE,\nCONTRARIETY, DEGREES IN QUALITY, and PROPORTIONS IN QUANTITY OR NUMBER.\nThree of these relations are discoverable at first sight, and fall more\nproperly under the province of intuition than demonstration. When any\nobjects resemble each other, the resemblance will at first strike the\neye, or rather the mind; and seldom requires a second examination. The\ncase is the same with contrariety, and with the degrees of any quality.\nNo one can once doubt but existence and non-existence destroy each\nother, and are perfectly incompatible and contrary. And though it be\nimpossible to judge exactly of the degrees of any quality, such as\ncolour, taste, heat, cold, when the difference betwixt them is very\nsmall: yet it is easy to decide, that any of them is superior or\ninferior to another, when their difference is considerable. And this\ndecision we always pronounce at first sight, without any enquiry or\nreasoning.\n\nWe might proceed, after the same manner, in fixing the proportions\nof quantity or number, and might at one view observe a superiority\nor inferiority betwixt any numbers, or figures; especially where the\ndifference is very great and remarkable. As to equality or any exact\nproportion, we can only guess at it from a single consideration; except\nin very short numbers, or very limited portions of extension; which are\ncomprehended in an instant, and where we perceive an impossibility of\nfalling into any considerable error. In all other cases we must settle\nthe proportions with some liberty, or proceed in a more artificial\nmanner.\n\nI have already observed, that geometry, or the art, by which we fix\nthe proportions of figures; though it much excels both in universality\nand exactness, the loose judgments of the senses and imagination; yet\nnever attains a perfect precision and exactness. It's first principles\nare still drawn from the general appearance of the objects; and that\nappearance can never afford us any security, when we examine, the\nprodigious minuteness of which nature is susceptible. Our ideas seem\nto give a perfect assurance, that no two right lines can have a common\nsegment; but if we consider these ideas, we shall find, that they always\nsuppose a sensible inclination of the two lines, and that where the\nangle they form is extremely small, we have no standard of a I @ right\nline so precise as to assure us of the truth of this proposition. It is\nthe same case with most of the primary decisions of the mathematics.\n\nThere remain, therefore, algebra and arithmetic as the only sciences, in\nwhich we can carry on a chain of reasoning to any degree of intricacy,\nand yet preserve a perfect exactness and certainty. We are possest of a\nprecise standard, by which we can judge of the equality and proportion\nof numbers; and according as they correspond or not to that standard,\nwe determine their relations, without any possibility of error. When two\nnumbers are so combined, as that the one has always an unite answering\nto every unite of the other, we pronounce them equal; and it is for want\nof such a standard of equality in extension, that geometry can scarce be\nesteemed a perfect and infallible science.\n\nBut here it may not be amiss to obviate a difficulty, which may arise\nfrom my asserting, that though geometry falls short of that perfect\nprecision and certainty, which are peculiar to arithmetic and algebra,\nyet it excels the imperfect judgments of our senses and imagination. The\nreason why I impute any defect to geometry, is, because its original and\nfundamental principles are derived merely from appearances; and it may\nperhaps be imagined, that this defect must always attend it, and keep it\nfrom ever reaching a greater exactness in the comparison of objects or\nideas, than what our eye or imagination alone is able to attain. I own\nthat this defect so far attends it, as to keep it from ever aspiring to\na full certainty: But since these fundamental principles depend on\nthe easiest and least deceitful appearances, they bestow on their\nconsequences a degree of exactness, of which these consequences are\nsingly incapable. It is impossible for the eye to determine the angles\nof a chiliagon to be equal to 1996 right angles, or make any conjecture,\nthat approaches this proportion; but when it determines, that right\nlines cannot concur; that we cannot draw more than one right line\nbetween two given points; it's mistakes can never be of any consequence.\nAnd this is the nature and use of geometry, to run us up to such\nappearances, as, by reason of their simplicity, cannot lead us into any\nconsiderable error.\n\nI shall here take occasion to propose a second observation concerning\nour demonstrative reasonings, which is suggested by the same subject of\nthe mathematics. It is usual with mathematicians, to pretend, that\nthose ideas, which are their objects, are of so refined and spiritual a\nnature, that they fall not under the conception of the fancy, but must\nbe comprehended by a pure and intellectual view, of which the superior\nfaculties of the soul are alone capable. The same notion runs through\nmost parts of philosophy, and is principally made use of to explain oar\nabstract ideas, and to shew how we can form an idea of a triangle,\nfor instance, which shall neither be an isoceles nor scalenum, nor be\nconfined to any particular length and proportion of sides. It is easy to\nsee, why philosophers are so fond of this notion of some spiritual\nand refined perceptions; since by that means they cover many of their\nabsurdities, and may refuse to submit to the decisions of clear ideas,\nby appealing to such as are obscure and uncertain. But to destroy this\nartifice, we need but reflect on that principle so oft insisted on, that\nall our ideas are copyed from our impressions. For from thence we may\nimmediately conclude, that since all impressions are clear and precise,\nthe ideas, which are copyed from them, must be of the same nature, and\ncan never, but from our fault, contain any thing so dark and intricate.\nAn idea is by its very nature weaker and fainter than an impression;\nbut being in every other respect the same, cannot imply any very great\nmystery. If its weakness render it obscure, it is our business to\nremedy that defect, as much as possible, by keeping the idea steady and\nprecise; and till we have done so, it is in vain to pretend to reasoning\nand philosophy.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. II. OF PROBABILITY, AND OF THE IDEA OF CAUSE AND EFFECT.\n\n\nThis is all I think necessary to observe concerning those four\nrelations, which are the foundation of science; but as to the other\nthree, which depend not upon the idea, and may be absent or present\neven while that remains the same, it will be proper to explain them more\nparticularly. These three relations are identity, the situations in time\nand place, and causation.\n\nAll kinds of reasoning consist in nothing but a comparison, and a\ndiscovery of those relations, either constant or inconstant, which two\nor more objects bear to each other. This comparison we may make, either\nwhen both the objects are present to the senses, or when neither of them\nis present, or when only one. When both the objects are present to the\nsenses along with the relation, we call this perception rather than\nreasoning; nor is there in this case any exercise of the thought, or\nany action, properly speaking, but a mere passive admission of the\nimpressions through the organs of sensation. According to this way of\nthinking, we ought not to receive as reasoning any of the observations\nwe may make concerning identity, and the relations of time and place;\nsince in none of them the mind can go beyond what is immediately present\nto the senses, either to discover the real existence or the relations\nof objects. It is only causation, which produces such a connexion, as\nto give us assurance from the existence or action of one object, that it\nwas followed or preceded by any other existence or action; nor can the\nother two relations be ever made use of in reasoning, except so far\nas they either affect or are affected by it. There is nothing in any\nobjects to perswade us, that they are either always remote or always\ncontiguous; and when from experience and observation we discover, that\ntheir relation in this particular is invariable, we, always conclude\nthere is some secret cause, which separates or unites them. The same\nreasoning extends to identity. We readily suppose an object may continue\nindividually the same, though several times absent from and present\nto the senses; and ascribe to it an identity, notwithstanding the\ninterruption of the perception, whenever we conclude, that if we had\nkept our eye or hand constantly upon it, it would have conveyed an\ninvariable and uninterrupted perception. But this conclusion beyond the\nimpressions of our senses can be founded only on the connexion of cause\nand effect; nor can we otherwise have any security, that the object is\nnot changed upon us, however much the new object may resemble that which\nwas formerly present to the senses. Whenever we discover such a perfect\nresemblance, we consider, whether it be common in that species of\nobjects; whether possibly or probably any cause could operate in\nproducing the change and resemblance; and according as we determine\nconcerning these causes and effects, we form our judgment concerning the\nidentity of the object.\n\nHere then it appears, that of those three relations, which depend not\nupon the mere ideas, the only one, that can be traced beyond our senses\nand informs us of existences and objects, which we do not see or feel,\nis causation. This relation, therefore, we shall endeavour to explain\nfully before we leave the subject of the understanding.\n\nTo begin regularly, we must consider the idea of causation, and see from\nwhat origin it is derived. It is impossible to reason justly, without\nunderstanding perfectly the idea concerning which we reason; and it is\nimpossible perfectly to understand any idea, without tracing it up to\nits origin, and examining that primary impression, from which it arises.\nThe examination of the impression bestows a clearness on the idea;\nand the examination of the idea bestows a like clearness on all our\nreasoning.\n\nLet us therefore cast our eye on any two objects, which we call\ncause and effect, and turn them on all sides, in order to find that\nimpression, which produces an idea, of such prodigious consequence.\nAt first sight I perceive, that I must not search for it in any of\nthe particular qualities of the objects; since which-ever of these\nqualities I pitch on, I find some object, that is not possessed of it,\nand yet falls under the denomination of cause or effect. And indeed\nthere is nothing existent, either externally or internally, which is\nnot to be considered either as a cause or an effect; though it is plain\nthere is no one quality, which universally belongs to all beings, and\ngives them a title to that denomination.\n\nThe idea, then, of causation must be derived from some relation among\nobjects; and that relation we must now endeavour to discover. I find in\nthe first place, that whatever objects are considered as causes or\neffects, are contiguous; and that nothing can operate in a time or\nplace, which is ever so little removed from those of its existence.\nThough distant objects may sometimes seem productive of each other,\nthey are commonly found upon examination to be linked by a chain of\ncauses, which are contiguous among themselves, and to the distant\nobjects; and when in any particular instance we cannot discover this\nconnexion, we still presume it to exist. We may therefore consider the\nrelation of CONTIGUITY as essential to that of causation; at least may\nsuppose it such, according to the general opinion, till we can find a\nmore[2] proper occasion to clear up this matter, by examining what\nobjects are or are not susceptible of juxtaposition and conjunction.\n\n    [2] Part IV. Sect. 5.\n\nThe second relation I shall observe as essential to causes and effects,\nis not so universally acknowledged, but is liable to some controversy.\nIt is that of PRIORITY Of time in the cause before the effect. Some\npretend that it is not absolutely necessary a cause should precede its\neffect; but that any object or action, in the very first moment of its\nexistence, may exert its productive quality, and give rise to another\nobject or action, perfectly co-temporary with itself. But beside that\nexperience in most instances seems to contradict this opinion, we may\nestablish the relation of priority by a kind of inference or reasoning.\nIt is an established maxim both in natural and moral philosophy, that\nan object, which exists for any time in its full perfection without\nproducing another, is not its sole cause; but is assisted by some other\nprinciple, which pushes it from its state of inactivity, and makes it\nexert that energy, of which it was secretly possest. Now if any cause\nmay be perfectly co-temporary with its effect, it is certain, according\nto this maxim, that they must all of them be so; since any one of them,\nwhich retards its operation for a single moment, exerts not itself\nat that very individual time, in which it might have operated; and\ntherefore is no proper cause. The consequence of this would be no less\nthan the destruction of that succession of causes, which we observe in\nthe world; and indeed, the utter annihilation of time. For if one cause\nwere co-temporary with its effect, and this effect with its effect, and\nso on, it is plain there would be no such thing as succession, and all\nobjects must be co-existent.\n\nIf this argument appear satisfactory, it is well. If not, I beg the\nreader to allow me the same liberty, which I have used in the preceding\ncase, of supposing it such. For he shall find, that the affair is of no\ngreat importance.\n\nHaving thus discovered or supposed the two relations of contiguity and\nsuccession to be essential to causes and effects, I find I am stopt\nshort, and can proceed no farther in considering any single instance\nof cause and effect. Motion in one body is regarded upon impulse as the\ncause of motion in another. When we consider these objects with utmost\nattention, we find only that the one body approaches the other; and that\nthe motion of it precedes that of the other, but without any, sensible\ninterval. It is in vain to rack ourselves with farther thought and\nreflection upon this subject. We can go no farther in considering this\nparticular instance.\n\nShould any one leave this instance, and pretend to define a cause, by\nsaying it is something productive of another, it is evident he would say\nnothing. For what does he mean by production? Can he give any definition\nof it, that will not be the same with that of causation? If he can; I\ndesire it may be produced. If he cannot; he here runs in a circle, and\ngives a synonimous term instead of a definition.\n\nShall we then rest contented with these two relations of contiguity and\nsuccession, as affording a complete idea of causation? By, no means. An\nobject may be contiguous and prior to another, without being considered\nas its cause. There is a NECESSARY CONNEXION to be taken into\nconsideration; and that relation is of much greater importance, than any\nof the other two above-mentioned.\n\nHere again I turn the object on all sides, in order to discover\nthe nature of this necessary connexion, and find the impression, or\nimpressions, from which its idea may be derived. When I cast my eye on\nthe known Qualities of objects, I immediately discover that the relation\nof cause and effect depends not in the least on them. When I consider\ntheir relations, I can find none but those of contiguity and succession;\nwhich I have already regarded as imperfect and unsatisfactory. Shall the\ndespair of success make me assert, that I am here possest of an idea,\nwhich is not preceded by any similar impression? This would be too\nstrong a proof of levity and inconstancy; since the contrary principle\nhas been already so firmly established, as to admit of no farther doubt;\nat least, till we have more fully examined the present difficulty.\n\nWe must, therefore, proceed like those, who being in search of any\nthing, that lies concealed from them, and not finding it in the place\nthey expected, beat about all the neighbouring fields, without any\ncertain view or design, in hopes their good fortune will at last guide\nthem to what they search for. It is necessary for us to leave the\ndirect survey of this question concerning the nature of that necessary\nconnexion, which enters into our idea of cause and effect; and endeavour\nto find some other questions, the examination of which will perhaps\nafford a hint, that may serve to clear up the present difficulty. Of\nthese questions there occur two, which I shall proceed to examine, viz.\n\nFirst, For what reason we pronounce it necessary, that every thing whose\nexistence has a beginning, should also have a cause.\n\nSecondly, Why we conclude, that such particular causes must necessarily\nhave such particular effects; and what is the nature of that inference\nwe draw from the one to the other, and of the belief we repose in it?\n\nI shall only observe before I proceed any farther, that though the ideas\nof cause and effect be derived from the impressions of reflection as\nwell as from those of sensation, yet for brevity's sake, I commonly\nmention only the latter as the origin of these ideas; though I desire\nthat whatever I say of them may also extend to the former. Passions are\nconnected with their objects and with one another; no less than external\nbodies are connected together. The same relation, then, of cause and\neffect, which belongs to one, must be common to all of them.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. III. WHY A CAUSE IS ALWAYS NECESSARY.\n\n\nTo begin with the first question concerning the necessity of a cause:\nIt is a general maxim in philosophy, that whatever begins to exist, must\nhave a cause of existence. This is commonly taken for granted in all\nreasonings, without any proof given or demanded. It is supposed to be\nfounded on intuition, and to be one of those maxims, which though they\nmay be denyed with the lips, it is impossible for men in their hearts\nreally to doubt of. But if we examine this maxim by the idea of\nknowledge above-explained, we shall discover in it no mark of any such\nintuitive certainty; but on the contrary shall find, that it is of a\nnature quite foreign to that species of conviction.\n\nAll certainty arises from the comparison of ideas, and from the\ndiscovery of such relations as are unalterable, so long as the ideas\ncontinue the same. These relations are RESEMBLANCE, PROPORTIONS IN\nQUANTITY AND NUMBER, DEGREES OF ANY QUALITY, and CONTRARIETY; none of\nwhich are implyed in this proposition, Whatever has a beginning has\nalso a cause of existence. That proposition therefore is not intuitively\ncertain. At least any one, who would assert it to be intuitively\ncertain, must deny these to be the only infallible relations, and must\nfind some other relation of that kind to be implyed in it; which it will\nthen be time enough to examine.\n\nBut here is an argument, which proves at once, that the foregoing\nproposition is neither intuitively nor demonstrably certain. We can\nnever demonstrate the necessity of a cause to every new existence, or\nnew modification of existence, without shewing at the same time the\nimpossibility there is, that any thing can ever begin to exist without\nsome productive principle; and where the latter proposition cannot be\nproved, we must despair of ever being able to prove the former. Now that\nthe latter proposition is utterly incapable of a demonstrative proof,\nwe may satisfy ourselves by considering that as all distinct ideas are\nseparable from each other, and as the ideas of cause and effect are\nevidently distinct, it will be easy for us to conceive any object to be\nnon-existent this moment, and existent the next, without conjoining to\nit the distinct idea of a cause or productive principle. The separation,\ntherefore, of the idea of a cause from that of a beginning of existence,\nis plainly possible for the imagination; and consequently the actual\nseparation of these objects is so far possible, that it implies no\ncontradiction nor absurdity; and is therefore incapable of being refuted\nby any reasoning from mere ideas; without which it is impossible to\ndemonstrate the necessity of a cause.\n\nAccordingly we shall find upon examination, that every demonstration,\nwhich has been produced for the necessity of a cause, is fallacious and\nsophistical. All the points of time and place, say some\nphilosophers,[3] in which we can suppose any object to begin to exist,\nare in themselves equal; and unless there be some cause, which is\npeculiar to one time and to one place, and which by that means\ndetermines and fixes the existence, it must remain in eternal suspence;\nand the object can never begin to be, for want of something to fix its\nbeginning. But I ask; Is there any more difficulty in supposing the\ntime and place to be fixed without a cause, than to suppose the\nexistence to be determined in that manner? The first question that\noccurs on this subject is always, whether the object shall exist or\nnot: The next, when and where it shall begin to exist. If the removal\nof a cause be intuitively absurd in the one case, it must be so in the\nother: And if that absurdity be not clear without a proof in the one\ncase, it will equally require one in the other. The absurdity, then, of\nthe one supposition can never be a proof of that of the other; since\nthey are both upon the same footing, and must stand or fall by the same\nreasoning.\n\n    [3] Mr. Hobbes.\n\nThe second argument,[4] which I find used on this head, labours under\nan equal difficulty. Every thing, it is said, must have a cause; for if\nany thing wanted a cause, it would produce ITSELF; that is, exist\nbefore it existed; which is impossible. But this reasoning is plainly\nunconclusive; because it supposes, that in our denial of a cause we\nstill grant what we expressly deny, viz. that there must be a cause;\nwhich therefore is taken to be the object itself; and that, no doubt,\nis an evident contradiction. But to say that any thing is produced, or\nto express myself more properly, comes into existence, without a cause,\nis not to affirm, that it is itself its own cause; but on the contrary\nin excluding all external causes, excludes a fortiori the thing itself,\nwhich is created. An object, that exists absolutely without any cause,\ncertainly is not its own cause; and when you assert, that the one\nfollows from the other, you suppose the very point in questions and\ntake it for granted, that it is utterly impossible any thing can ever\nbegin to exist without a cause, but that, upon the exclusion of one\nproductive principle, we must still have recourse to another.\n\n    [4] Dr. Clarke and others.\n\nIt is exactly the same case with the third argument,[5] which has been\nemployed to demonstrate the necessity of a cause. Whatever is produced\nwithout any cause, is produced by nothing; or in other words, has\nnothing for its cause. But nothing can never be a cause, no more than\nit can be something, or equal to two right angles. By the same\nintuition, that we perceive nothing not to be equal to two right\nangles, or not to be something, we perceive, that it can never be a\ncause; and consequently must perceive, that every object has a real\ncause of its existence.\n\n    [5] Mr. Locke.\n\nI believe it will not be necessary to employ many words in shewing the\nweakness of this argument, after what I have said of the foregoing. They\nare all of them founded on the same fallacy, and are derived from the\nsame turn of thought. It is sufficient only to observe, that when\nwe exclude all causes we really do exclude them, and neither suppose\nnothing nor the object itself to be the causes of the existence;\nand consequently can draw no argument from the absurdity of these\nsuppositions to prove the absurdity of that exclusion. If every thing\nmust have a cause, it follows, that upon the exclusion of other causes\nwe must accept of the object itself or of nothing as causes. But it is\nthe very point in question, whether every thing must have a cause or\nnot; and therefore, according to all just reasoning, it ought never to\nbe taken for granted.\n\nThey are still more frivolous, who say, that every effect must have a\ncause, because it is implyed in the very idea of effect. Every effect\nnecessarily pre-supposes a cause; effect being a relative term, of which\ncause is the correlative. But this does not prove, that every being must\nbe preceded by a cause; no more than it follows, because every husband\nmust have a wife, that therefore every man must be marryed. The true\nstate of the question is, whether every object, which begins to exist,\nmust owe its existence to a cause: and this I assert neither to be\nintuitively nor demonstratively certain, and hope to have proved it\nsufficiently by the foregoing arguments.\n\nSince it is not from knowledge or any scientific reasoning, that we\nderive the opinion of the necessity of a cause to every new production,\nthat opinion must necessarily arise from observation and experience. The\nnext question, then, should naturally be, how experience gives rise to\nsuch a principle? But as I find it will be more convenient to sink this\nquestion in the following, Why we conclude, that such particular\ncauses must necessarily have such particular erects, and why we form\nan inference from one to another? we shall make that the subject of our\nfuture enquiry. It will, perhaps, be found in the end, that the same\nanswer will serve for both questions.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. IV. OF THE COMPONENT PARTS OF OUR REASONINGS CONCERNING CAUSE AND EFFECT.\n\n\nThough the mind in its reasonings from causes or effects carries its\nview beyond those objects, which it sees or remembers, it must never\nlose sight of them entirely, nor reason merely upon its own ideas,\nwithout some mixture of impressions, or at least of ideas of the memory,\nwhich are equivalent to impressions. When we infer effects from causes,\nwe must establish the existence of these causes; which we have only\ntwo ways of doing, either by an immediate perception of our memory or\nsenses, or by an inference from other causes; which causes again we must\nascertain in the same manner, either by a present impression, or by an\ninference from their causes, and so on, till we arrive at some object,\nwhich we see or remember. It is impossible for us to carry on our\ninferences IN INFINITUM; and the only thing, that can stop them, is an\nimpression of the memory or senses, beyond which there is no room for\ndoubt or enquiry.\n\nTo give an instance of this, we may chuse any point of history, and\nconsider for what reason we either believe or reject it. Thus we believe\nthat Caesar was killed in the senate-house on the ides of March; and\nthat because this fact is established on the unanimous testimony of\nhistorians, who agree to assign this precise time and place to that\nevent. Here are certain characters and letters present either to our\nmemory or senses; which characters we likewise remember to have been\nused as the signs of certain ideas; and these ideas were either in the\nminds of such as were immediately present at that action, and received\nthe ideas directly from its existence; or they were derived from the\ntestimony of others, and that again from another testimony, by a\nvisible gradation, it will we arrive at those who were eyewitnesses and\nspectators of the event. It is obvious all this chain of argument or\nconnexion of causes and effects, is at first founded on those characters\nor letters, which are seen or remembered, and that without the authority\neither of the memory or senses our whole reasoning would be chimerical\nand without foundation. Every link of the chain would in that case hang\nupon another; but there would not be any thing fixed to one end of it,\ncapable of sustaining the whole; and consequently there would be no\nbelief nor evidence. And this actually is the case with all hypothetical\narguments, or reasonings upon a supposition; there being in them,\nneither any present impression, nor belief of a real existence.\n\nI need not observe, that it is no just objection to the present\ndoctrine, that we can reason upon our past conclusions or principles,\nwithout having recourse to those impressions, from which they first\narose. For even supposing these impressions should be entirely effaced\nfrom the memory, the conviction they produced may still remain; and it\nis equally true, that all reasonings concerning causes and effects are\noriginally derived from some impression; in the same manner, as the\nassurance of a demonstration proceeds always from a comparison of ideas,\nthough it may continue after the comparison is forgot.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. V. OF THE IMPRESSIONS OF THE SENSES AND MEMORY.\n\n\nIn this kind of reasoning, then, from causation, we employ materials,\nwhich are of a mixed and heterogeneous nature, and which, however\nconnected, are yet essentially different from each other. All our\narguments concerning causes and effects consist both of an impression of\nthe memory or, senses, and of the idea of that existence, which produces\nthe object of the impression, or is produced by it. Here therefore\nwe have three things to explain, viz. First, The original impression.\nSecondly, The transition to the idea of the connected cause or effect.\nThirdly, The nature and qualities of that idea.\n\nAs to those impressions, which arise from the senses, their ultimate\ncause is, in my opinion, perfectly inexplicable by human reason, and it\nwill always be impossible to decide with certainty, whether they arise\nimmediately from the object, or are produced by the creative power of\nthe mind, or are derived from the author of our being. Nor is such a\nquestion any way material to our present purpose. We may draw inferences\nfrom the coherence of our perceptions, whether they be true or false;\nwhether they represent nature justly, or be mere illusions of the\nsenses.\n\nWhen we search for the characteristic, which distinguishes the memory\nfrom the imagination, we must immediately perceive, that it cannot lie\nin the simple ideas it presents to us; since both these faculties borrow\ntheir simple ideas from the impressions, and can never go beyond these\noriginal perceptions. These faculties are as little distinguished from\neach other by the arrangement of their complex ideas. For though it be\na peculiar property of the memory to preserve the original order and\nposition of its ideas, while the imagination transposes and changes\nthem, as it pleases; yet this difference is not sufficient to\ndistinguish them in their operation, or make us know the one from the\nother; it being impossible to recal the past impressions, in order to\ncompare them with our present ideas, and see whether their arrangement\nbe exactly similar. Since therefore the memory, is known, neither by\nthe order of its complex ideas, nor the nature of its simple ones; it\nfollows, that the difference betwixt it and the imagination lies in its\nsuperior force and vivacity. A man may indulge his fancy in feigning\nany past scene of adventures; nor would there be any possibility of\ndistinguishing this from a remembrance of a like kind, were not the\nideas of the imagination fainter and more obscure.\n\nIt frequently happens, that when two men have been engaged in any scene\nof action, the one shall remember it much better than the other,\nand shall have all the difficulty in the world to make his companion\nrecollect it. He runs over several circumstances in vain; mentions the\ntime, the place, the company, what was said, what was done on all sides;\ntill at last he hits on some lucky circumstance, that revives the whole,\nand gives his friend a perfect memory of every thing. Here the person\nthat forgets receives at first all the ideas from the discourse of\nthe other, with the same circumstances of time and place; though he\nconsiders them as mere fictions of the imagination. But as soon as the\ncircumstance is mentioned, that touches the memory, the very same ideas\nnow appear in a new light, and have, in a manner, a different feeling\nfrom what they had before. Without any other alteration, beside that\nof the feeling, they become immediately ideas of the memory, and are\nassented to.\n\nSince, therefore, the imagination can represent all the same objects\nthat the memory can offer to us, and since those faculties are only\ndistinguished by the different feeling of the ideas they present, it\nmay be proper to consider what is the nature of that feeling. And here\nI believe every one will readily agree with me, that the ideas of the\nmemory are more strong and lively than those of the fancy.\n\nA painter, who intended to represent a passion or emotion of any kind,\nwould endeavour to get a sight of a person actuated by a like emotion,\nin order to enliven his ideas, and give them a force and vivacity\nsuperior to what is found in those, which are mere fictions of the\nimagination. The more recent this memory is, the clearer is the idea;\nand when after a long interval he would return to the contemplation of\nhis object, he always finds its idea to be much decayed, if not wholly\nobliterated. We are frequently in doubt concerning the ideas of the\nmemory, as they become very weak and feeble; and are at a loss to\ndetermine whether any image proceeds from the fancy or the memory,\nwhen it is not drawn in such lively colours as distinguish that latter\nfaculty. I think, I remember such an event, says one; but am not sure.\nA long tract of time has almost worn it out of my memory, and leaves me\nuncertain whether or not it be the pure offspring of my fancy.\n\nAnd as an idea of the memory, by losing its force and vivacity,\nmay degenerate to such a degree, as to be taken for an idea of the\nimagination; so on the other hand an idea of the imagination may acquire\nsuch a force and vivacity, as to pass for an idea of the memory, and\ncounterfeit its effects on the belief and judgment. This is noted in\nthe case of liars; who by the frequent repetition of their lies, come at\nlast to believe and remember them, as realities; custom and habit having\nin this case, as in many others, the same influence on the mind as\nnature, and infixing the idea with equal force and vigour.\n\nThus it appears, that the belief or assent, which always attends the\nmemory and senses, is nothing but the vivacity of those perceptions they\npresent; and that this alone distinguishes them from the imagination. To\nbelieve is in this case to feel an immediate impression of the senses,\nor a repetition of that impression in the memory. It is merely the force\nand liveliness of the perception, which constitutes the first act of the\njudgment, and lays the foundation of that reasoning, which we build upon\nit, when we trace the relation of cause and effect.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. VI. OF THE INFERENCE FROM THE IMPRESSION TO THE IDEA.\n\n\nIt is easy to observe, that in tracing this relation, the inference we\ndraw from cause to effect, is not derived merely from a survey of these\nparticular objects, and from such a penetration into their essences\nas may discover the dependance of the one upon the other. There is no\nobject, which implies the existence of any other if we consider these\nobjects in themselves, and never look beyond the ideas which we form of\nthem. Such an inference would amount to knowledge, and would imply\nthe absolute contradiction and impossibility of conceiving any thing\ndifferent. But as all distinct ideas are separable, it is evident\nthere can be no impossibility of that kind. When we pass from a present\nimpression to the idea of any object, we might possibly have separated\nthe idea from the impression, and have substituted any other idea in its\nroom.\n\nIt is therefore by EXPERIENCE only, that we can infer the existence of\none object from that of another. The nature of experience is this. We\nremember to have had frequent instances of the existence of one species\nof objects; and also remember, that the individuals of another species\nof objects have always attended them, and have existed in a regular\norder of contiguity and succession with regard to them. Thus we\nremember, to have seen that species of object we call flame, and to have\nfelt that species of sensation we call heat. We likewise call to mind\ntheir constant conjunction in all past instances. Without any farther\nceremony, we call the one cause and the other effect, and infer the\nexistence of the one from that of the other. In all those instances,\nfrom which we learn the conjunction of particular causes and effects,\nboth the causes and effects have been perceived by the senses, and are\nremembered. But in all cases, wherein we reason concerning them, there\nis only one perceived or remembered, and the other is supplyed in\nconformity to our past experience.\n\nThus in advancing we have insensibly discovered a new relation betwixt\ncause and effect, when we least expected it, and were entirely employed\nupon another subject. This relation is their CONSTANT CONJUNCTION.\nContiguity and succession are not sufficient to make us pronounce any\ntwo objects to be cause and effect, unless we perceive, that these\ntwo relations are preserved in several instances. We may now see the\nadvantage of quitting the direct survey of this relation, in order\nto discover the nature of that necessary connexion, which makes so\nessential a part of it. There are hopes, that by this means we may\nat last arrive at our proposed end; though to tell the truth, this\nnew-discovered relation of a constant conjunction seems to advance us\nbut very little in our way. For it implies no more than this, that like\nobjects have always been placed in like relations of contiguity and\nsuccession; and it seems evident, at least at first sight, that by this\nmeans we can never discover any new idea, and can only multiply, but not\nenlarge the objects of our mind. It may be thought, that what we learn\nnot from one object, we can never learn from a hundred, which are all\nof the same kind, and are perfectly resembling in every circumstance. As\nour senses shew us in one instance two bodies, or motions, or qualities\nin certain relations of success and contiguity; so our memory presents\nus only with a multitude of instances, wherein we always find like\nbodies, motions, or qualities in like relations. From the mere\nrepetition of any past impression, even to infinity, there never will\narise any new original idea, such as that of a necessary connexion; and\nthe number of impressions has in this case no more effect than if we\nconfined ourselves to one only. But though this reasoning seems just and\nobvious; yet as it would be folly to despair too soon, we shall continue\nthe thread of our discourse; and having found, that after the discovery\nof the constant conjunction of any objects, we always draw an inference\nfrom one object to another, we shall now examine the nature of that\ninference, and of the transition from the impression to the idea.\nPerhaps it will appear in the end, that the necessary connexion depends\non the inference, instead of the inference's depending on the necessary\nconnexion.\n\nSince it appears, that the transition from an impression present to\nthe memory or senses to the idea of an object, which we call cause or\neffect, is founded on past experience, and on our remembrance of their\nconstant conjunction, the next question is, Whether experience produces\nthe idea by means of the understanding or imagination; whether we are\ndetermined by reason to make the transition, or by a certain association\nand relation of perceptions. If reason determined us, it would proceed\nupon that principle, that instances, of which we have had no experience,\nmust resemble those, of which we have had experience, and that the\ncourse of nature continues always uniformly the same. In order therefore\nto clear up this matter, let us consider all the arguments, upon which\nsuch a proposition may be supposed to be founded; and as these must be\nderived either from knowledge or probability, let us cast our eye on\neach of these degrees of evidence, and see whether they afford any just\nconclusion of this nature.\n\nOur foregoing method of reasoning will easily convince us, that there\ncan be no demonstrative arguments to prove, that those instances, of\nwhich we have, had no experience, resemble those, of which we have had\nexperience. We can at least conceive a change in the course of nature;\nwhich sufficiently proves, that such a change is not absolutely\nimpossible. To form a clear idea of any thing, is an undeniable\nargument for its possibility, and is alone a refutation of any pretended\ndemonstration against it.\n\nProbability, as it discovers not the relations of ideas, considered as\nsuch, but only those of objects, must in some respects be founded on the\nimpressions of our memory and senses, and in some respects on our ideas.\nWere there no mixture of any impression in our probable reasonings, the\nconclusion would be entirely chimerical: And were there no mixture\nof ideas, the action of the mind, in observing the relation, would,\nproperly speaking, be sensation, not reasoning. It is therefore\nnecessary, that in all probable reasonings there be something present\nto the mind, either seen or remembered; and that from this we infer\nsomething connected with it, which is not seen nor remembered.\n\nThe only connexion or relation of objects, which can lead us beyond the\nimmediate impressions of our memory and senses, is that of cause and\neffect; and that because it is the only one, on which we can found a\njust inference from one object to another. The idea of cause and effect\nis derived from experience, which informs us, that such particular\nobjects, in all past instances, have been constantly conjoined with\neach other: And as an object similar to one of these is supposed to\nbe immediately present in its impression, we thence presume on the\nexistence of one similar to its usual attendant. According to this\naccount of things, which is, I think, in every point unquestionable,\nprobability is founded on the presumption of a resemblance betwixt those\nobjects, of which we have had experience, and those, of which we have\nhad none; and therefore it is impossible this presumption can arise from\nprobability. The same principle cannot be both the cause and effect\nof another; and this is, perhaps, the only proposition concerning that\nrelation, which is either intuitively or demonstratively certain.\n\nShould any one think to elude this argument; and without determining\nwhether our reasoning on this subject be derived from demonstration or\nprobability, pretend that all conclusions from causes and effects are\nbuilt on solid reasoning: I can only desire, that this reasoning may be\nproduced, in order to be exposed to our examination. It may, perhaps,\nbe said, that after experience of the constant conjunction of certain\nobjects, we reason in the following manner. Such an object is always\nfound to produce another. It is impossible it could have this effect,\nif it was not endowed with a power of production. The power necessarily\nimplies the effect; and therefore there is a just foundation for drawing\na conclusion from the existence of one object to that of its usual\nattendant. The past production implies a power: The power implies a new\nproduction: And the new production is what we infer from the power and\nthe past production.\n\nIt were easy for me to shew the weakness of this reasoning, were I\nwilling to make use of those observations, I have already made, that\nthe idea of production is the same with that of causation, and that no\nexistence certainly and demonstratively implies a power in any other\nobject; or were it proper to anticipate what I shall have occasion to\nremark afterwards concerning the idea we form of power and efficacy. But\nas such a method of proceeding may seem either to weaken my system,\nby resting one part of it on another, or to breed a confusion in my\nreasoning, I shall endeavour to maintain my present assertion without\nany such assistance.\n\nIt shall therefore be allowed for a moment, that the production of one\nobject by another in any one instance implies a power; and that this\npower is connected with its effect. But it having been already proved,\nthat the power lies not in the sensible qualities of the cause; and\nthere being nothing but the sensible qualities present to us; I ask, why\nin other instances you presume that the same power still exists, merely\nupon the appearance of these qualities? Your appeal to past experience\ndecides nothing in the present case; and at the utmost can only prove,\nthat that very object, which produced any other, was at that very\ninstant endowed with such a power; but can never prove, that the\nsame power must continue in the same object or collection of sensible\nqualities; much less, that a like power is always conjoined with like\nsensible qualities, should it be said, that we have experience, that the\nsame power continues united with the same object, and that like objects\nare endowed with like powers, I would renew my question, why from this\nexperience we form any conclusion beyond those past instances, of which\nwe have had experience. If you answer this question in, the same manner\nas the preceding, your answer gives still occasion to a new question\nof the same kind, even in infinitum; which clearly proves, that the\nforegoing reasoning had no just foundation.\n\nThus not only our reason fails us in the discovery of the ultimate\nconnexion of causes and effects, but even after experience has informed\nus of their constant conjunction, it is impossible for us to satisfy\nourselves by our reason, why we should extend that experience beyond\nthose particular instances, which have fallen under our observation. We\nsuppose, but are never able to prove, that there must be a resemblance\nbetwixt those objects, of which we have had experience, and those which\nlie beyond the reach of our discovery.\n\nWe have already taken notice of certain relations, which make us pass\nfrom one object to another, even though there be no reason to determine\nus to that transition; and this we may establish for a general rule,\nthat wherever the mind constantly and uniformly makes a transition\nwithout any reason, it is influenced by these relations. Now this is\nexactly the present case. Reason can never shew us the connexion of one\nobject with another, though aided by experience, and the observation\nof their constant conjunction in all past instances. When the mind,\ntherefore, passes from the idea or impression of one object to the idea\nor belief of another, it is not determined by reason, but by certain\nprinciples, which associate together the ideas of these objects, and\nunite them in the imagination. Had ideas no more union in the fancy\nthan objects seem to have to the understanding, we could never draw any\ninference from causes to effects, nor repose belief in any matter of\nfact. The inference, therefore, depends solely on the union of ideas.\n\nThe principles of union among ideas, I have reduced to three general\nones, and have asserted, that the idea or impression of any object\nnaturally introduces the idea of any other object, that is resembling,\ncontiguous to, or connected with it. These principles I allow to be\nneither the infallible nor the sole causes of an union among ideas.\nThey are not the infallible causes. For one may fix his attention during\nSometime on any one object without looking farther. They are not the\nsole causes. For the thought has evidently a very irregular motion in\nrunning along its objects, and may leap from the heavens to the earth,\nfrom one end of the creation to the other, without any certain method\nor order. But though I allow this weakness in these three relations, and\nthis irregularity in the imagination; yet I assert that the only general\nprinciples, which associate ideas, are resemblance, contiguity and\ncausation.\n\nThere is indeed a principle of union among ideas, which at first sight\nmay be esteemed different from any of these, but will be found at\nthe bottom to depend on the same origin. When every individual of any\nspecies of objects is found by experience to be constantly united with\nan individual of another species, the appearance of any new individual\nof either species naturally conveys the thought to its usual attendant.\nThus because such a particular idea is commonly annexed to such a\nparticular word, nothing is required but the hearing of that word to\nproduce the correspondent idea; and it will scarce be possible for the\nmind, by its utmost efforts, to prevent that transition. In this case it\nis not absolutely necessary, that upon hearing such a particular sound\nwe should reflect on any past experience, and consider what idea\nhas been usually connected with the sound. The imagination of itself\nsupplies the place of this reflection, and is so accustomed to pass from\nthe word to the idea, that it interposes not a moment's delay betwixt\nthe hearing of the one, and the conception of the other.\n\nBut though I acknowledge this to be a true principle of association\namong ideas, I assert it to be the very same with that betwixt the ideas\nof cause and effects and to be an essential part in all our reasonings\nfrom that relation. We have no other notion of cause and effect, but\nthat of certain objects, which have been always conjoined together,\nand which in all past instances have been found inseparable. We cannot\npenetrate into the reason of the conjunction. We only observe the thing\nitself, and always find that from the constant conjunction the objects\nacquire an union in the imagination. When the impression of one becomes\npresent to us, we immediately form an idea of its usual attendant; and\nconsequently we may establish this as one part of the definition of an\nopinion or belief, that it is an idea related to or associated with a\npresent impression.\n\nThus though causation be a philosophical relation, as implying\ncontiguity, succession, and constant conjunction, yet it is only so far\nas it is a natural relation, and produces an union among our ideas, that\nwe are able to reason upon it, or draw any inference from it.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. VII. OF THE NATURE OF THE IDEA OR BELIEF.\n\n\nThe idea of an object is an essential part of the belief of it, but not\nthe whole. We conceive many things, which we do not believe. In order\nthen to discover more fully the nature of belief, or the qualities of\nthose ideas we assent to, let us weigh the following considerations.\n\nIt is evident, that all reasonings from causes or effects terminate\nin conclusions, concerning matter of fact; that is, concerning the\nexistence of objects or of their qualities. It is also evident, that the\nidea, of existence is nothing different from the idea of any object, and\nthat when after the simple conception of any thing we would conceive\nit as existent, we in reality make no addition to or alteration on our\nfirst idea. Thus when we affirm, that God is existent, we simply\nform the idea of such a being, as he is represented to us; nor is the\nexistence, which we attribute to him, conceived by a particular idea,\nwhich we join to the idea of his other qualities, and can again separate\nand distinguish from them. But I go farther; and not content with\nasserting, that the conception of the existence of any object is no\naddition to the simple conception of it, I likewise maintain, that the\nbelief of the existence joins no new ideas to those which compose\nthe idea of the object. When I think of God, when I think of him as\nexistent, and when I believe him to be existent, my idea of him\nneither encreases nor diminishes. But as it is certain there is a great\ndifference betwixt the simple conception of the existence of an object,\nand the belief of it, and as this difference lies not in the parts or\ncomposition of the idea, which we conceive; it follows, that it must lie\nin the manner, in which we conceive it.\n\nSuppose a person present with me, who advances propositions, to which I\ndo not assent, that Caesar dyed in his bed, that silver is more\nfusible, than lead, or mercury heavier than gold; it is evident, that\nnotwithstanding my incredulity, I clearly understand his meaning, and\nform all the same ideas, which he forms. My imagination is endowed with\nthe same powers as his; nor is it possible for him to conceive any idea,\nwhich I cannot conceive; nor conjoin any, which I cannot conjoin. I\ntherefore ask, Wherein consists the difference betwixt believing\nand disbelieving any proposition? The answer is easy with regard to\npropositions, that are proved by intuition or demonstration. In that\ncase, the person, who assents, not only conceives the ideas according to\nthe proposition, but is necessarily determined to conceive them in that\nparticular manner, either immediately or by the interposition of other\nideas. Whatever is absurd is unintelligible; nor is it possible for the\nimagination to conceive any thing contrary to a demonstration. But as in\nreasonings from causation, and concerning matters of fact, this absolute\nnecessity cannot take place, and the imagination is free to conceive\nboth sides of the question, I still ask, Wherein consists the deference\nbetwixt incredulity and belief? since in both cases the conception of\nthe idea is equally possible and requisite.\n\nIt will not be a satisfactory answer to say, that a person, who does not\nassent to a proposition you advance; after having conceived the object\nin the same manner with you; immediately conceives it in a different\nmanner, and has different ideas of it. This answer is unsatisfactory;\nnot because it contains any falshood, but because it discovers not all\nthe truth. It is contest, that in all cases, wherein we dissent from any\nperson, we conceive both sides of the question; but as we can believe\nonly one, it evidently follows, that the belief must make some\ndifference betwixt that conception to which we assent, and that from\nwhich we dissent. We may mingle, and unite, and separate, and confound,\nand vary our ideas in a hundred different ways; but until there appears\nsome principle, which fixes one of these different situations, we\nhave in reality no opinion: And this principle, as it plainly makes\nno addition to our precedent ideas, can only change the manner of our\nconceiving them.\n\nAll the perceptions of the mind are of two kinds, viz. impressions and\nideas, which differ from each other only in their different degrees\nof force and vivacity. Our ideas are copyed from our impressions, and\nrepresent them in all their parts. When you would any way vary the idea\nof a particular object, you can only encrease or diminish its force and\nvivacity. If you make any other change on it, it represents a different\nobject or impression. The case is the same as in colours. A particular\nshade of any colour may acquire a new degree of liveliness or brightness\nwithout any other variation. But when you produce any other variation,\nit is no longer the same shade or colour. So that as belief does nothing\nbut vary the manner, in which we conceive any object, it can only bestow\non our ideas an additional force and vivacity. An opinion, therefore,\nor belief may be most accurately defined, a lively idea related to or\nassociated with a present impression.[6]\n\n    [6] We may here take occasion to observe a very remarkable error,\n    which being frequently inculcated in the schools, has become a kind\n    of establishd maxim, and is universally received by all logicians.\n    This error consists in the vulgar division of the acts of the\n    understanding, into CONCEPTION, JUDGMENT and REASONING, and in the\n    definitions we give of them. Conception is defind to be the simple\n    survey of one or more ideas: Judgment to be the separating or\n    uniting of different ideas: Reasoning to be the separating or\n    uniting of different ideas by the interposition of others, which\n    show the relation they bear to each other. But these distinctions\n    and definitions are faulty in very considerable articles. For\n    FIRST, it is far from being true, that in every judgment, which we\n    form, we unite two different ideas; since in that proposition, GOD\n    IS, or indeed any other, which regards existence, the idea of\n    existence is no distinct idea, which we unite with that of the\n    object, and which is capable of forming a compound idea by the\n    union. SECONDLY, As we can thus form a proposition, which contains\n    only one idea, so we may exert our reason without employing more\n    than two ideas, and without having recourse to a third to serve as\n    a medium betwixt them. We infer a cause immediately from its\n    effect; and this inference is not only a true species of reasoning,\n    but the strongest of all others, and more convincing than when we\n    interpose another idea to connect the two extremes. What we may in\n    general affirm concerning these three acts of the understanding is,\n    that taking them in a proper light, they all resolve themselves\n    into the first, and are nothing but particular ways of conceiving\n    our objects. Whether we consider a single object, or several;\n    whether we dwell on these objects, or run from them to others; and\n    in whatever form or order we survey them, the act of the mind\n    exceeds not a simple conception; and the only remarkable\n    difference, which occurs on this occasion, is, when we join belief\n    to the conception, and are persuaded of the truth of what we\n    conceive. This act of the mind has never yet been explain\u2019d by any\n    philosopher; and therefore I am at liberty to propose my hypothesis\n    concerning it; which is, that it is only a strong and steady\n    conception of any idea, and such as approaches in some measure to\n    an immediate impression.\n\nHere are the heads of those arguments, which lead us to this\nconclusion. When we infer the existence of an object from that of\nothers, some object must always be present either to the memory or\nsenses, in order to be the foundation of our reasoning; since the mind\ncannot run up with its inferences IN INFINITUM. Reason can never\nsatisfy us that the existence of any one object does ever imply that of\nanother; so that when we pass from the impression of one to the idea or\nbelief of another, we are not determined by reason, but by custom or a\nprinciple of association. But belief is somewhat more than a simple\nidea. It is a particular manner of forming an idea: And as the same\nidea can only be varyed by a variation of its degrees of force and\nvivacity; it follows upon the whole, that belief is a lively idea\nproduced by a relation to a present impression, according to the\nforegoing definition.\n\nThis operation of the mind, which forms the belief of any matter of\nfact, seems hitherto to have been one of the greatest mysteries of\nphilosophy; though no one has so much as suspected, that there was\nany difficulty in explaining it. For my part I must own, that I find\na considerable difficulty in the case; and that even when I think I\nunderstand the subject perfectly, I am at a loss for terms to express\nmy meaning. I conclude, by an induction which seems to me very evident,\nthat an opinion or belief is nothing but an idea, that is different\nfrom a fiction, not in the nature or the order of its parts, but in the\nmanner of its being conceived. But when I would explain this manner, I\nscarce find any word that fully answers the case, but am obliged to have\nrecourse to every one's feeling, in order to give him a perfect notion\nof this operation of the mind. An idea assented to FEELS different\nfrom a fictitious idea, that the fancy alone presents to us: And this\ndifferent feeling I endeavour to explain by calling it a superior force,\nor vivacity, or solidity, or FIRMNESS, or steadiness. This variety of\nterms, which may seem so unphilosophical, is intended only to express\nthat act of the mind, which renders realities more present to us than\nfictions, causes them to weigh more in the thought, and gives them a\nsuperior influence on the passions and imagination. Provided we\nagree about the thing, it is needless to dispute about the terms. The\nimagination has the command over all its ideas, and can join, and mix,\nand vary them in all the ways possible. It may conceive objects with\nall the circumstances of place and time. It may set them, in a manner,\nbefore our eyes in their true colours, just as they might have existed.\nBut as it is impossible, that that faculty can ever, of itself, reach\nbelief, it is evident, that belief consists not in the nature and\norder of our ideas, but in the manner of their conception, and in\ntheir feeling to the mind. To confess, that it is impossible to explain\nperfectly this feeling or manner of conception. We may make use of\nwords, that express something near it. But its true and proper name\nis belief, which is a term that every one sufficiently understands in\ncommon life. And in philosophy we can go no farther, than assert, that\nit is something felt by the mind, which distinguishes the ideas of the\njudgment from the fictions of the imagination. It gives them more force\nand influence; makes them appear of greater importance; infixes them in\nthe mind; and renders them the governing principles of all our actions.\n\nThis definition will also be found to be entirely conformable to every\none's feeling and experience. Nothing is more evident, than that those\nideas, to which we assent, are more strong, firm and vivid, than the\nloose reveries of a castle-builder. If one person sits down to read a\nbook as a romance, and another as a true history, they plainly receive\nthe same ideas, and in the same order; nor does the incredulity of the\none, and the belief of the other hinder them from putting the very\nsame sense upon their author. His words produce the same ideas in both;\nthough his testimony has not the same influence on them. The latter has\na more lively conception of all the incidents. He enters deeper into\nthe concerns of the persons: represents to himself their actions, and\ncharacters, and friendships, and enmities: He even goes so far as to\nform a notion of their features, and air, and person. While the former,\nwho gives no credit to the testimony of the author, has a more faint and\nlanguid conception of all these particulars; and except on account\nof the style and ingenuity of the composition, can receive little\nentertainment from it.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. VIII. OF THE CAUSES OF BELIEF.\n\n\nHaving thus explained the nature of belief, and shewn that it consists\nin a lively idea related to a present impression; let us now proceed\nto examine from what principles it is derived, and what bestows the\nvivacity on the idea.\n\nI would willingly establish it as a general maxim in the science of\nhuman nature, that when any impression becomes present to us, it\nnot only transports the mind to such ideas as are related to it, but\nlikewise communicates to them a share of its force and vivacity. All\nthe operations of the mind depend in a great measure on its disposition,\nwhen it performs them; and according as the spirits are more or less\nelevated, and the attention more or less fixed, the action will always\nhave more or less vigour and vivacity. When therefore any object is\npresented, which elevates and enlivens the thought, every action, to\nwhich the mind applies itself, will be more strong and vivid, as Tong\nas that disposition continues, Now it is evident the continuance of the\ndisposition depends entirely on the objects, about which the mind is\nemployed; and that any new object naturally gives a new direction to the\nspirits, and changes the disposition; as on the contrary, when the mind\nfixes constantly on the same object, or passes easily and insensibly\nalong related objects, the disposition has a much longer duration.\nHence it happens, that when the mind is once inlivened by a present\nimpression, it proceeds to form a more lively idea of the related\nobjects, by a natural transition of the disposition from the one to the\nother. The change of the objects is so easy, that the mind is scarce\nsensible of it, but applies itself to the conception of the related idea\nwith all the force and vivacity it acquired from the present impression.\n\nIf in considering the nature of relation, and that facility of\ntransition, which is essential to it, we can satisfy ourselves\nconcerning the reality of this ph\u00e6nomenon, it is well: But I must\nconfess I place my chief confidence in experience to prove so material\na principle. We may, therefore, observe, as the first experiment to our\npresent purpose, that upon the appearance of the picture of an absent\nfriend, our idea of him is evidently inlivened by the resemblance, and\nthat every passion, which that idea occasions, whether of joy or sorrow,\nacquires new force and vigour. In producing this effect there concur\nboth a relation and a present impression. Where the picture bears him no\nresemblance, or at least was not intended for him, it never so much\nas conveys our thought to him: And where it is absent, as well as the\nperson; though the mind may pass from the thought of the one to that of\nthe other; it feels its idea to be rather weekend than inlivened by that\ntransition. We take a pleasure in viewing the picture of a friend, when\nit is set before us; but when it is removed, rather choose to consider\nhim directly, than by reflexion in an image, which is equally distinct\nand obscure.\n\nThe ceremonies of the Roman Catholic religion may be considered\nas experiments of the same nature. The devotees of that strange\nsuperstition usually plead in excuse of the mummeries, with which they\nare upbraided, that they feel the good effect of those external motions,\nand postures, and actions, in enlivening their devotion, and quickening\ntheir fervour, which otherwise would decay away, if directed entirely to\ndistant and immaterial objects. We shadow out the objects of our faith,\nsay they, in sensible types and images, and render them more present to\nus by the immediate presence of these types, than it is possible for\nus to do, merely by an intellectual view and contemplation. Sensible\nobjects have always a greater influence on the fancy than any other;\nand this influence they readily convey to those ideas, to which they\nare related, and which they Resemble. I shall only infer from these\npractices, and this reasoning, that the effect of resemblance in\ninlivening the idea is very common; and as in every case a resemblance\nand a present impression must concur, we are abundantly supplyed with\nexperiments to prove the reality of the foregoing principle.\n\nWe may add force to these experiments by others of a different kind, in\nconsidering the effects of contiguity, as well as of resemblance. It is\ncertain, that distance diminishes the force of every idea, and that upon\nour approach to any object; though it does not discover itself to our\nsenses; it operates upon the mind with an influence that imitates an\nimmediate impression. The thinking on any object readily transports the\nmind to what is contiguous; but it is only the actual presence of an\nobject, that transports it with a superior vivacity. When I am a few\nmiles from home, whatever relates to it touches me more nearly than\nwhen I am two hundred leagues distant; though even at that distance the\nreflecting on any thing in the neighbourhood of my friends and family\nnaturally produces an idea of them. But as in this latter case, both\nthe objects of the mind are ideas; notwithstanding there is an easy\ntransition betwixt them; that transition alone is not able to give\na superior vivacity to any of the ideas, for want of some immediate\nimpression.[7]\n\n\n    [7] NATURANE NOBIS, IN QUIT, DATUM DICAM, AN ERRORE QUODAM, UT, CUM\n    EA LOCA VIDEAMUS, IN QUIBUS MEMORIA DIGNOS VIROS ACCEPERIMUS\n    MULTURN ESSE VERSATOS, MAGIS MOVEAMUR, QUAM SIQUANDO EORUM IPSORUM\n    AUT JACTA AUDIAMUS, AUT SCRIPTUM ALIQUOD LEGAMUS? VELUT EGO NUNC\n    MOVEOR. VENIT ENIM MIHI PLATONIS IN MENTEM: QUEM ACCIPIMUS PRIMURN\n    HIC DISPUTARE SOLITUM: CUJUS ETIAM ILLI HORTULI PROPINQUI NON\n    MEMORIAM SOLUM MIHI AFFERUNT, SED IPSUM VIDENTUR IN CONSPECTU MEO\n    HIC PONERE. HIC SPEUSIPPUS, HIC XENOCRATES, HIC EJUS AUDITOR\n    POLEMO; CUJUS IPSA ILLA SESSIO FUIT, QUAM VIDEAMUS. EQUIDEM ETIAM\n    CURIAM NOSTRAM, HOSTILIAM DICO, NON HANC NOVAM, QUAE MIHI MINOR\n    ESSE VIDETUR POST QUAM EST MAJOR, SOLE BARN INTUENS SCIPIONEM,\n    CATONEM, LACLIUM, NOSTRUM VERO IN PRIMIS AVUM COGITARE. TANTA VIS\n    ADMONITIONIS INEST IN LOCIS; UT NON SINE CAUSA EX HIS MEMORIAE\n    DUCTA SIT DISCIPLINA. Cicero de Finibus, lib. 5.\n\n    {\"Should I, he said, \"attribute to instinct or to some kind of\n    illusion the fact that when we see those places in which we are\n    told notable men spent much of their time, we are more powerfully\n    affected than when we hear of the exploits of the men themselves or\n    read something written? This is just what is happening to me now;\n    for I am reminded of Plato who, we are told, was the first to make\n    a practice of holding discussions here. Those gardens of his near\n    by do not merely put me in mind of him; they seem to set the man\n    himself before my very eyes. Speusippus was here; so was\n    Xenocrates; so was his pupil, Polemo, and that very seat which we\n    may view was his.\n\n    \"Then again, when I looked at our Senate-house (I mean the old\n    building of Hostilius, not this new one; when it was enlarged, it\n    diminished in my estimation), I used to think of Scipio, Cato,\n    Laelius and in particular of my own grandfather.\n\n    \"Such is the power of places to evoke associations; so it is with\n    good reason that they are used as a basis for memory training.\"}\n\n\nNo one can doubt but causation has the same influence as the other two\nrelations; of resemblance and contiguity. Superstitious people are fond\nof the relicks of saints and holy men, for the same reason that they\nseek after types and images, in order to enliven their devotion, and\ngive them a more intimate and strong conception of those exemplary\nlives, which they desire to imitate. Now it is evident, one of the best\nrelicks a devotee could procure, would be the handywork of a saint; and\nif his cloaths and furniture are ever to be considered in this light, it\nis because they were once at his disposal, and were moved and affected\nby him; in which respect they are to be considered as imperfect effects,\nand as connected with him by a shorter chain of consequences than any\nof those, from which we learn the reality of his existence. This\nph\u00e6nomenon clearly proves, that a present impression with a relation\nof causation may, inliven any idea, and consequently produce belief or\nassent, according to the precedent definition of it.\n\nBut why need we seek for other arguments to prove, that a present\nimpression with a relation or transition of the fancy may inliven any\nidea, when this very instance of our reasonings from cause and effect\nwill alone suffice to that purpose? It is certain we must have an idea\nof every matter of fact, which we believe. It is certain, that this idea\narises only from a relation to a present impression. It is certain, that\nthe belief super-adds nothing to the idea, but only changes our manner\nof conceiving it, and renders it more strong and lively. The present\nconclusion concerning the influence of relation is the immediate\nconsequence of all these steps; and every step appears to me sure end\ninfallible. There enters nothing into this operation of the mind but a\npresent impression, a lively idea, and a relation or association in the\nfancy betwixt the impression and idea; so that there can be no suspicion\nof mistake.\n\nIn order to put this whole affair in a fuller light, let us consider\nit as a question in natural philosophy, which we must determine by\nexperience and observation. I suppose there is an object presented, from\nwhich I draw a certain conclusion, and form to myself ideas, which I\nam said to believe or assent to. Here it is evident, that however that\nobject, which is present to my senses, and that other, whose existence\nI infer by reasoning, may be thought to influence each other by their\nparticular powers or qualities; yet as the phenomenon of belief, which\nwe at present examine, is merely internal, these powers and qualities,\nbeing entirely unknown, can have no hand in producing it. It is the\npresent impression, which is to be considered as the true and real\ncause of the idea, and of the belief which attends it. We must therefore\nendeavour to discover by experiments the particular qualities, by which\nit is enabled to produce so extraordinary an effect.\n\nFirst then I observe, that the present impression has not this effect\nby its own proper power and efficacy, and when considered alone, as\na single perception, limited to the present moment. I find, that\nan impression, from which, on its first appearance, I can draw no\nconclusion, may afterwards become the foundation of belief, when I have\nhad experience of its usual consequences. We must in every case have\nobserved the same impression in past instances, and have found it to be\nconstantly conjoined with some other impression. This is confirmed by\nsuch a multitude of experiments, that it admits not of the smallest\ndoubt.\n\nFrom a second observation I conclude, that the belief, which attends the\npresent impression, and is produced by a number of past impressions and\nconjunctions; that this belief, I say, arises immediately, without any\nnew operation of the reason or imagination. Of this I can be certain,\nbecause I never am conscious of any such operation, and find nothing\nin the subject, on which it can be founded. Now as we call every thing\nCUSTOM, which proceeds from a past repetition, without any new reasoning\nor conclusion, we-may establish it as a certain truth, that all the\nbelief, which follows upon any present impression, is derived solely\nfrom that origin. When we are accustomed to see two impressions\nconjoined together, the appearance or idea of the one immediately\ncarries us to the idea of the other.\n\nBeing fully satisfyed on this head, I make a third set of experiments,\nin order to know, whether any thing be requisite, beside the customary\ntransition, towards the production of this ph\u00e6nomenon of belief. I\ntherefore change the first impression into an idea; and observe, that\nthough the customary transition to the correlative idea still remains,\nyet there is in reality no belief nor perswasion. A present impression,\nthen, is absolutely requisite to this whole operation; and when after\nthis I compare an impression with an idea, and find that their only\ndifference consists in their different degrees of force and vivacity,\nI conclude upon the whole, that belief is a more vivid and intense\nconception of an idea, proceeding from its relation to a present\nimpression.\n\nThus all probable reasoning is nothing but a species of sensation. It is\nnot solely in poetry and music, we must follow our taste and sentiment,\nbut likewise in philosophy. When I am convinced of any principle, it\nis only an idea, which strikes more strongly upon me. When I give the\npreference to one set of arguments above another, I do nothing but\ndecide from my feeling concerning the superiority of their influence.\nObjects have no discoverable connexion together; nor is it from any\nother principle but custom operating upon the imagination, that we\ncan draw any inference from the appearance of one to the existence of\nanother.\n\nIt will here be worth our observation, that the past experience, on\nwhich all our judgments concerning cause and effect depend, may operate\non our mind in such an insensible manner as never to be taken notice of,\nand may even in some measure be unknown to us. A person, who stops\nshort in his journey upon meeting a river in his way, foresees the\nconsequences of his proceeding forward; and his knowledge of these\nconsequences is conveyed to him by past experience, which informs him of\nsuch certain conjunctions of causes and effects. But can we think,\nthat on this occasion he reflects on any past experience, and calls\nto remembrance instances, that he has seen or heard of, in order to\ndiscover the effects of water on animal bodies? No surely; this is not\nthe method, in which he proceeds in his reasoning. The idea of sinking\nis so closely connected with that of water, and the idea of suffocating\nwith that of sinking, that the mind makes the transition without the\nassistance of the memory. The custom operates before we have time for\nreflection. The objects seem so inseparable, that we interpose not\na moment's delay in passing from the one to the other. But as this\ntransition proceeds from experience, and not from any primary connexion\nbetwixt the ideas, we must necessarily acknowledge, that experience\nmay produce a belief and a judgment of causes and effects by a secret\noperation, and without being once thought of. This removes all pretext,\nif there yet remains any, for asserting that the mind is convinced\nby reasoning of that principle, that instances of which we have no\nexperience, must necessarily resemble those, of which we have. For we\nhere find, that the understanding or imagination can draw inferences\nfrom past experience, without reflecting on it; much more without\nforming any principle concerning it, or reasoning upon that principle.\n\nIn general we may observe, that in all the most established and uniform\nconjunctions of causes and effects, such as those of gravity, impulse,\nsolidity, &c. the mind never carries its view expressly to consider any\npast experience: Though in other associations of objects, which are more\nrare and unusual, it may assist the custom and transition of ideas by\nthis reflection. Nay we find in some cases, that the reflection produces\nthe belief without the custom; or more properly speaking, that the\nreflection produces the custom in an oblique and artificial manner. I\nexplain myself. It is certain, that not only in philosophy, but even in\ncommon life, we may attain the knowledge of a particular cause merely by\none experiment, provided it be made with judgment, and after a careful\nremoval of all foreign and superfluous circumstances. Now as after one\nexperiment of this kind, the mind, upon the appearance either of the\ncause or the effect, can draw an inference concerning the existence\nof its correlative; and as a habit can never be acquired merely by one\ninstance; it may be thought, that belief cannot in this case be esteemed\nthe effect of custom. But this difficulty will vanish, if we consider,\nthat though we are here supposed to have had only one experiment of\na particular effect, yet we have many millions to convince us of this\nprinciple; that like objects placed in like circumstances, will always\nproduce like effects; and as this principle has established itself by a\nsufficient custom, it bestows an evidence and firmness on any opinion,\nto which it can be applied. The connexion of the ideas is not habitual\nafter one experiment: but this connexion is comprehended under another\nprinciple, that is habitual; which brings us back to our hypothesis. In\nall cases we transfer our experience to instances, of which we have no\nexperience, either expressly or tacitly, either directly or indirectly.\n\nI must not conclude this subject without observing, that it is very\ndifficult to talk of the operations of the mind with perfect propriety\nand exactness; because common language has seldom made any very nice\ndistinctions among them, but has generally called by the same term\nall such as nearly resemble each other. And as this is a source\nalmost inevitable of obscurity and confusion in the author; so it may\nfrequently give rise to doubts and objections in the reader, which\notherwise he would never have dreamed of. Thus my general position, that\nan opinion or belief is nothing but a strong and lively idea derived\nfrom a present impression related to it, maybe liable to the following\nobjection, by reason of a little ambiguity in those words strong and\nlively. It may be said, that not only an impression may give rise to\nreasoning, but that an idea may also have the same influence; especially\nupon my principle, that all our ideas are derived from correspondent\nimpressions. For suppose I form at present an idea, of which I have\nforgot the correspondent impression, I am able to conclude from this\nidea, that such an impression did once exist; and as this conclusion is\nattended with belief, it may be asked, from whence are the qualities of\nforce and vivacity derived, which constitute this belief? And to this I\nanswer very readily, from the present idea. For as this idea is not here\nconsidered, as the representation of any absent object, but as a real\nperception in the mind, of which we are intimately conscious, it must\nbe able to bestow on whatever is related to it the same quality, call\nit firmness, or solidity, or force, or vivacity, with which the mind\nreflects upon it, and is assured of its present existence. The idea here\nsupplies the place of an impression, and is entirely the same, so far as\nregards our present purpose.\n\nUpon the same principles we need not be surprized to hear of the\nremembrance of an idea: that is, of the idea of an idea, and of its\nforce and vivacity superior to the loose conceptions of the imagination.\nIn thinking of our past thoughts we not only delineate out the objects,\nof which we were thinking, but also conceive the action of the mind in\nthe meditation, that certain JE-NE-S\u00c7AI-QUOI, of which it is impossible\nto give any definition or description, but which every one sufficiently\nunderstands. When the memory offers an idea of this, and represents it\nas past, it is easily conceived how that idea may have more vigour and\nfirmness, than when we think of a past thought, of which we have no\nremembrance.\n\nAfter this any one will understand how we may form the idea of an\nimpression and of an idea, and how we way believe the existence of an\nimpression and of an idea.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. IX. OF THE EFFECTS OF OTHER RELATIONS AND OTHER HABITS.\n\n\nHowever convincing the foregoing arguments may appear, we must not rest\ncontented with them, but must turn the subject on every side, in order\nto find some new points of view, from which we may illustrate and\nconfirm such extraordinary, and such fundamental principles. A\nscrupulous hesitation to receive any new hypothesis is so laudable a\ndisposition in philosophers, and so necessary to the examination of\ntruth, that it deserves to be complyed with, and requires that every\nargument be produced, which may tend to their satisfaction, and every\nobjection removed, which may stop them in their reasoning.\n\nI have often observed, that, beside cause and effect, the two relations\nof resemblance and contiguity, are to be considered as associating\nprinciples of thought, and as capable of conveying the imagination from\none idea to another. I have also observed, that when of two objects\nconnected to-ether by any of these relations, one is immediately\npresent to the memory or senses, not only the mind is conveyed to\nits co-relative by means of the associating principle; but likewise\nconceives it with an additional force and vigour, by the united\noperation of that principle, and of the present impression. All this\nI have observed, in order to confirm by analogy, my explication of\nour judgments concerning cause and effect. But this very argument may,\nperhaps, be turned against me, and instead of a confirmation of my\nhypothesis, may become an objection to it. For it may be said, that if\nall the parts of that hypothesis be true, viz. that these three species\nof relation are derived from the same principles; that their effects\nin informing and enlivening our ideas are the same; and that belief is\nnothing but a more forcible and vivid conception of an idea; it should\nfollow, that that action of the mind may not only be derived from the\nrelation of cause and effect, but also from those of contiguity and\nresemblance. But as we find by experience, that belief arises only from\ncausation, and that we can draw no inference from one object to another,\nexcept they be connected by this relation, we may conclude, that there\nis some error in that reasoning, which leads us into such difficulties.\n\nThis is the objection; let us now consider its solution. It is evident,\nthat whatever is present to the memory, striking upon the mind with\na vivacity, which resembles an immediate impression, must become of\nconsiderable moment in all the operations of the mind, and must easily\ndistinguish itself above the mere fictions of the imagination. Of\nthese impressions or ideas of the memory we form a kind of system,\ncomprehending whatever we remember to have been present, either to our\ninternal perception or senses; and every particular of that system,\njoined to the present impressions, we are pleased to call a reality.\nBut the mind stops not here. For finding, that with this system of\nperceptions, there is another connected by custom, or if you will, by\nthe relation of cause or effect, it proceeds to the consideration\nof their ideas; and as it feels that it is in a manner necessarily\ndetermined to view these particular ideas, and that the custom or\nrelation, by which it is determined, admits not of the least change, it\nforms them into a new system, which it likewise dignifies with the title\nof realities. The first of these systems is the object of the memory and\nsenses; the second of the judgment.\n\nIt is this latter principle, which peoples the world, and brings us\nacquainted with such existences, as by their removal in time and place,\nlie beyond the reach of the senses and memory. By means of it I paint\nthe universe in my imagination, and fix my attention on any part of it\nI please. I form an idea of ROME, which I neither see nor remember; but\nwhich is connected with such impressions as I remember to have received\nfrom the conversation and books of travellers and historians. This idea\nof Rome I place in a certain situation on the idea of an object, which I\ncall the globe. I join to it the conception of a particular government,\nand religion, and manners. I look backward and consider its first\nfoundation; its several revolutions, successes, and misfortunes. All\nthis, and everything else, which I believe, are nothing but ideas;\nthough by their force and settled order, arising from custom and the\nrelation of cause and effect, they distinguish themselves from the other\nideas, which are merely the offspring of the imagination.\n\nAs to the influence of contiguity and resemblance, we may observe, that\nif the contiguous and resembling object be comprehended in this system\nof realities, there is no doubt but these two relations will assist that\nof cause and effect, and infix the related idea with more force in the\nimagination. This I shall enlarge upon presently. Mean while I shall\ncarry my observation a step farther, and assert, that even where the\nrelated object is but feigned, the relation will serve to enliven the\nidea, and encrease its influence. A poet, no doubt, will be the better\nable to form a strong description of the Elysian fields, that he prompts\nhis imagination by the view of a beautiful meadow or garden; as at\nanother time he may by his fancy place himself in the midst of these\nfabulous regions, that by the feigned contiguity he may enliven his\nimagination.\n\nBut though I cannot altogether exclude the relations of resemblance and\ncontiguity from operating on the fancy in this manner, it is observable\nthat, when single, their influence is very feeble and uncertain. As the\nrelation of cause and effect is requisite to persuade us of any real\nexistence, so is this persuasion requisite to give force to these other\nrelations. For where upon the appearance of an impression we not\nonly feign another object, but likewise arbitrarily, and of our mere\ngood-will and pleasure give it a particular relation to the impression,\nthis can have but a small effect upon the mind; nor is there any reason,\nwhy, upon the return of the same impression, we should be determined to\nplace the same object in the same relation to it. There is no manner of\nnecessity for the mind to feign any resembling and contiguous objects;\nand if it feigns such, there is as little necessity for it always to\nconfine itself to the same, without any difference or variation. And\nindeed such a fiction is founded on so little reason, that nothing but\npure caprice can determine the mind to form it; and that principle being\nfluctuating and uncertain, it is impossible it can ever operate with\nany considerable degree of force and constancy. The mind forsees and\nanticipates the change; and even from the very first instant feels the\nlooseness of its actions, and the weak hold it has of its objects. And\nas this imperfection is very sensible in every single instance, it still\nencreases by experience and observation, when we compare the several\ninstances we may remember, and form a general rule against the reposing\nany assurance in those momentary glimpses of light, which arise in the\nimagination from a feigned resemblance and contiguity.\n\nThe relation of cause and effect has all the opposite advantages. The\nobjects it presents are fixt and unalterable. The impressions of the\nmemory never change in any considerable degree; and each impression\ndraws along with it a precise idea, which takes its place in the\nimagination as something solid and real, certain and invariable. The\nthought is always determined to pass from the impression to the idea,\nand from that particular impression to that particular idea, without any\nchoice or hesitation.\n\nBut not content with removing this objection, I shall endeavour\nto extract from it a proof of the present doctrine. Contiguity and\nresemblance have an effect much inferior to causation; but still have\nsome effect, and augment the conviction of any opinion, and the vivacity\nof any conception. If this can be proved in several new instances,\nbeside what we have already observed, it will be allowed no\ninconsiderable argument, that belief is nothing but a lively idea\nrelated to a present impression.\n\nTo begin with contiguity; it has been remarked among the Mahometans as\nwell as Christians, that those pilgrims, who have seen MECCA or the HOLY\nLAND, are ever after more faithful and zealous believers, than those\nwho have not had that advantage. A man, whose memory presents him with a\nlively image of the Red-Sea, and the Desert, and Jerusalem, and Galilee,\ncan never doubt of any miraculous events, which are related either by\nMoses or the Evangelists. The lively idea of the places passes by an\neasy transition to the facts, which are supposed to have been related to\nthem by contiguity, and encreases the belief by encreasing the vivacity\nof the conception. The remembrance of these fields and rivers has\nthe same influence on the vulgar as a new argument; and from the same\ncauses.\n\nWe may form a like observation concerning resemblance. We have remarked,\nthat the conclusion, which we draw from a present object to its absent\ncause or effect, is never founded on any qualities, which we observe\nin that object, considered in itself, or, in other words, that it is\nimpossible to determine, otherwise than by experience, what will result\nfrom any phenomenon, or what has preceded it. But though this be so\nevident in itself, that it seemed not to require any, proof; yet some\nphilosophers have imagined that there is an apparent cause for the\ncommunication of motion, and that a reasonable man might immediately\ninfer the motion of one body from the impulse of another, without having\nrecourse to any past observation. That this opinion is false will admit\nof an easy proof. For if such an inference may be drawn merely from\nthe ideas of body, of motion, and of impulse, it must amount to a\ndemonstration, and must imply the absolute impossibility of any contrary\nsupposition. Every effect, then, beside the communication of motion,\nimplies a formal contradiction; and it is impossible not only that it\ncan exist, but also that it can be conceived. But we may soon satisfy\nourselves of the contrary, by forming a clear and consistent idea of\none body's moving upon another, and of its rest immediately upon the\ncontact, or of its returning back in the same line in which it came; or\nof its annihilation; or circular or elliptical motion: and in short, of\nan infinite number of other changes, which we may suppose it to undergo.\nThese suppositions are all consistent and natural; and the reason, Why\nwe imagine the communication of motion to be more consistent and natural\nnot only than those suppositions, but also than any other natural\neffect, is founded on the relation of resemblance betwixt the cause and\neffect, which is here united to experience, and binds the objects in the\nclosest and most intimate manner to each other, so as to make us imagine\nthem to be absolutely inseparable. Resemblance, then, has the same or a\nparallel influence with experience; and as the only immediate effect\nof experience is to associate our ideas together, it follows, that all\nbelief arises from the association of ideas, according to my hypothesis.\n\nIt is universally allowed by the writers on optics, that the eye at all\ntimes sees an equal number of physical points, and that a man on the top\nof a mountain has no larger an image presented to his senses, than\nwhen he is cooped up in the narrowest court or chamber. It is only by\nexperience that he infers the greatness of the object from some peculiar\nqualities of the image; and this inference of the judgment he confounds\nwith sensation, as is common on other occasions. Now it is evident,\nthat the inference of the judgment is here much more lively than what\nis usual in our common reasonings, and that a man has a more vivid\nconception of the vast extent of the ocean from the image he receives by\nthe eye, when he stands on the top of the high promontory, than merely\nfrom hearing the roaring of the waters. He feels a more sensible\npleasure from its magnificence; which is a proof of a more lively idea:\nAnd he confounds his judgment with sensation, which is another proof of\nit. But as the inference is equally certain and immediate in both cases,\nthis superior vivacity of our conception in one case can proceed from\nnothing but this, that in drawing an inference from the sight, beside\nthe customary conjunction, there is also a resemblance betwixt the image\nand the object we infer; which strengthens the relation, and conveys the\nvivacity of the impression to the related idea with an easier and more\nnatural movement.\n\nNo weakness of human nature is more universal and conspicuous than what\nwe commonly call CREDULITY, or a too easy faith in the testimony of\nothers; and this weakness is also very naturally accounted for from the\ninfluence of resemblance. When we receive any matter of fact upon human\ntestimony, our faith arises from the very same origin as our inferences\nfrom causes to effects, and from effects to causes; nor is there\nanything but our experience of the governing principles of human nature,\nwhich can give us any assurance of the veracity of men. But though\nexperience be the true standard of this, as well as of all other\njudgments, we seldom regulate ourselves entirely by it; but have a\nremarkable propensity to believe whatever is reported, even concerning\napparitions, enchantments, and prodigies, however contrary to daily\nexperience and observation. The words or discourses of others have an\nintimate connexion with certain ideas in their mind; and these ideas\nhave also a connexion with the facts or objects, which they represent.\nThis latter connexion is generally much over-rated, and commands our\nassent beyond what experience will justify; which can proceed from\nnothing beside the resemblance betwixt the ideas and the facts. Other\neffects only point out their causes in an oblique manner; but the\ntestimony of men does it directly, and is to be considered as an image\nas well as an effect. No wonder, therefore, we are so rash in drawing\nour inferences from it, and are less guided by experience in our\njudgments concerning it, than in those upon any other subject.\n\nAs resemblance, when conjoined with causation, fortifies our reasonings;\nso the want of it in any very great degree is able almost entirely to\ndestroy them. Of this there is a remarkable instance in the universal\ncarelessness and stupidity of men with regard to a future state, where\nthey show as obstinate an incredulity, as they do a blind credulity on\nother occasions. There is not indeed a more ample matter of wonder\nto the studious, and of regret to the pious man, than to observe\nthe negligence of the bulk of mankind concerning their approaching\ncondition; and it is with reason, that many eminent theologians have not\nscrupled to affirm, that though the vulgar have no formal principles\nof infidelity, yet they are really infidels in their hearts, and have\nnothing like what we can call a belief of the eternal duration of their\nsouls. For let us consider on the one hand what divines have displayed\nwith such eloquence concerning the importance of eternity; and at the\nsame time reflect, that though in matters of rhetoric we ought to lay\nour account with some exaggeration, we must in this case allow, that the\nstrongest figures are infinitely inferior to the subject: And after this\nlet us view on the other hand, the prodigious security of men in this\nparticular: I ask, if these people really believe what is inculcated on\nthem, and what they pretend to affirm; and the answer is obviously in\nthe negative. As belief is an act of the mind arising from custom, it\nis not strange the want of resemblance should overthrow what custom has\nestablished, and diminish the force of the idea, as much as that latter\nprinciple encreases it. A future state is so far removed from our\ncomprehension, and we have so obscure an idea of the manner, in which we\nshall exist after the dissolution of the body, that all the reasons we\ncan invent, however strong in themselves, and however much assisted\nby education, are never able with slow imaginations to surmount this\ndifficulty, or bestow a sufficient authority and force on the idea. I\nrather choose to ascribe this incredulity to the faint idea we form\nof our future condition, derived from its want of resemblance to the\npresent life, than to that derived from its remoteness. For I observe,\nthat men are everywhere concerned about what may happen after their\ndeath, provided it regard this world; and that there are few to whom\ntheir name, their family, their friends, and their country are in any\nperiod of time entirely indifferent.\n\nAnd indeed the want of resemblance in this case so entirely destroys\nbelief, that except those few, who upon cool reflection on the\nimportance of the subject, have taken care by repeated meditation to\nimprint in their minds the arguments for a future state, there scarce\nare any, who believe the immortality of the soul with a true and\nestablished judgment; such as is derived from the testimony of\ntravellers and historians. This appears very conspicuously wherever\nmen have occasion to compare the pleasures and pains, the rewards and\npunishments of this life with those of a future; even though the case\ndoes not concern themselves, and there is no violent passion to disturb\ntheir judgment. The Roman Catholicks are certainly the most zealous of\nany sect in the Christian world; and yet you'll find few among the\nmore sensible people of that communion who do not blame the\nGunpowder-treason, and the massacre of St. Bartholomew, as cruel and\nbarbarous, though projected or executed against those very people, whom\nwithout any scruple they condemn to eternal and infinite punishments.\nAll we can say in excuse for this inconsistency is, that they really do\nnot believe what they affirm concerning a future state; nor is there any\nbetter proof of it than the very inconsistency.\n\nWe may add to this a remark; that in matters of religion men take a\npleasure in being terrifyed, and that no preachers are so popular, as\nthose who excite the most dismal and gloomy passions. In the common\naffairs of life, where we feel and are penetrated with the solidity of\nthe subject, nothing can be more disagreeable than fear and terror; and\nit is only in dramatic performances and in religious discourses, that\nthey ever give pleasure. In these latter cases the imagination reposes\nitself indolently on the idea; and the passion, being softened by the\nwant of belief in the subject, has no more than the agreeable effect of\nenlivening the mind, and fixing the attention.\n\nThe present hypothesis will receive additional confirmation, if we\nexamine the effects of other kinds of custom, as well as of other\nrelations. To understand this we must consider, that custom, to which\nI attribute all belief and reasoning, may operate upon the mind in\ninvigorating an idea after two several ways. For supposing that in all\npast experience we have found two objects to have been always conjoined\ntogether, it is evident, that upon the appearance of one of these\nobjects in an impression, we must from custom make an easy transition to\nthe idea of that object, which usually attends it; and by means of the\npresent impression and easy transition must conceive that idea in a\nstronger and more lively manner, than we do any loose floating image of\nthe fancy. But let us next suppose, that a mere idea alone, without any\nof this curious and almost artificial preparation, should frequently\nmake its appearance in the mind, this idea must by degrees acquire a\nfacility and force; and both by its firm hold and easy introduction\ndistinguish itself from any new and unusual idea. This is the only\nparticular, in which these two kinds of custom agree; and if it appear,\nthat their effects on the judgment, are similar and proportionable, we\nmay certainly conclude, that the foregoing explication of that faculty\nis satisfactory. But can we doubt of this agreement in their influence\non the judgment, when we consider the nature and effects Of EDUCATION?\n\nAll those opinions and notions of things, to which we have been\naccustomed from our infancy, take such deep root, that it is impossible\nfor us, by all the powers of reason and experience, to eradicate them;\nand this habit not only approaches in its influence, but even on\nmany occasions prevails over that which a-rises from the constant and\ninseparable union of causes and effects. Here we most not be contented\nwith saying, that the vividness of the idea produces the belief: We must\nmaintain that they are individually the same. The frequent repetition\nof any idea infixes it in the imagination; but could never possibly\nof itself produce belief, if that act of the mind was, by the original\nconstitution of our natures, annexed only to a reasoning and comparison\nof ideas. Custom may lead us into some false comparison of ideas. This\nis the utmost effect we can conceive of it. But it is certain it could\nnever supply the place of that comparison, nor produce any act of the\nmind, which naturally belonged to that principle.\n\nA person, that has lost a leg or an arm by amputation, endeavours for a\nlong time afterwards to serve himself with them. After the death of any\none, it is a common remark of the whole family, but especially of the\nservants, that they can scarce believe him to be dead, but still\nimagine him to be in his chamber or in any other place, where they\nwere accustomed to find him. I have often heard in conversation, after\ntalking of a person, that is any way celebrated, that one, who has\nno acquaintance with him, will say, I have never seen such-a-one, but\nalmost fancy I have; so often have I heard talk of him. All these are\nparallel instances.\n\nIf we consider this argument from EDUCATION in a proper light, it will\nappear very convincing; and the more so, that it is founded on one\nof the most common phaenomena, that is any where to be met with. I am\npersuaded, that upon examination we shall find more than one half of\nthose opinions, that prevail among mankind, to be owing to education,\nand that the principles, which are thus implicitely embraced,\noverballance those, which are owing either to abstract reasoning or\nexperience. As liars, by the frequent repetition of their lies, come at\nlast to remember them; so the judgment, or rather the imagination, by\nthe like means, may have ideas so strongly imprinted on it, and conceive\nthem in so full a light, that they may operate upon the mind in the same\nmanner with those, which the senses, memory or reason present to us. But\nas education is an artificial and not a natural cause, and as its maxims\nare frequently contrary to reason, and even to themselves in different\ntimes and places, it is never upon that account recognized by\nphilosophers; though in reality it be built almost on the same\nfoundation of custom and repetition as our reasonings from causes and\neffects.[8]\n\n\n    [8] In general we may observe, that as our assent to all probable\n    reasonings is founded on the vivacity of ideas, It resembles many\n    of those whimsies and prejudices, which are rejected under the\n    opprobrious character of being the offspring of the imagination. By\n    this expression it appears that the word, imagination, is commonly\n    usd in two different senses; and tho nothing be more contrary to\n    true philosophy, than this inaccuracy, yet in the following\n    reasonings I have often been obligd to fall into it. When I oppose\n    the Imagination to the memory, I mean the faculty, by which we form\n    our fainter ideas. When I oppose it to reason, I mean the same\n    faculty, excluding only our demonstrative and probable reasonings.\n    When I oppose it to neither, it is indifferent whether it be taken\n    in the larger or more limited sense, or at least the context will\n    sufficiently explain the meaning.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. X. OF THE INFLUENCE OF BELIEF.\n\n\nBut though education be disclaimed by philosophy, as a fallacious ground\nof assent to any opinion, it prevails nevertheless in the world, and\nis the cause why all systems are apt to be rejected at first as new\nand unusual. This perhaps will be the fate of what I have here advanced\nconcerning belief, and though the proofs I have produced appear to\nme perfectly conclusive, I expect not to make many proselytes to\nmy opinion. Men will scarce ever be persuaded, that effects of\nsuch consequence can flow from principles, which are seemingly so\ninconsiderable, and that the far greatest part of our reasonings with\nall our actions and passions, can be derived from nothing but custom and\nhabit. To obviate this objection, I shall here anticipate a little what\nwould more properly fall under our consideration afterwards, when we\ncome to treat of the passions and the sense of beauty.\n\nThere is implanted in the human mind a perception of pain and pleasure,\nas the chief spring and moving principle of all its actions. But pain\nand pleasure have two ways of making their appearance in the mind; of\nwhich the one has effects very different from the other. They may either\nappear in impression to the actual feeling, or only in idea, as at\npresent when I mention them. It is evident the influence of these upon\nour actions is far from being equal. Impressions always actuate the\nsoul, and that in the highest degree; but it is not every idea which\nhas the same effect. Nature has proceeded with caution in this came, and\nseems to have carefully avoided the inconveniences of two extremes.\nDid impressions alone influence the will, we should every moment of our\nlives be subject to the greatest calamities; because, though we foresaw\ntheir approach, we should not be provided by nature with any principle\nof action, which might impel us to avoid them. On the other hand,\ndid every idea influence our actions, our condition would not be much\nmended. For such is the unsteadiness and activity of thought, that\nthe images of every thing, especially of goods and evils, are always\nwandering in the mind; and were it moved by every idle conception of\nthis kind, it would never enjoy a moment's peace and tranquillity.\n\nNature has, therefore, chosen a medium, and has neither bestowed on\nevery idea of good and evil the power of actuating the will, nor yet has\nentirely excluded them from this influence. Though an idle fiction has\nno efficacy, yet we find by experience, that the ideas of those objects,\nwhich we believe either are or will be existent, produce in a lesser\ndegree the same effect with those impressions, which are immediately\npresent to the senses and perception. The effect, then, of belief is to\nraise up a simple idea to an equality with our impressions, and bestow\non it a like influence on the passions. This effect it can only have by\nmaking an idea approach an impression in force and vivacity. For as the\ndifferent degrees of force make all the original difference betwixt an\nimpression and an idea, they must of consequence be the source of all\nthe differences in the effects of these perceptions, and their removal,\nin whole or in part, the cause of every new resemblance they acquire.\nWherever we can make an idea approach the impressions in force and\nvivacity, it will likewise imitate them in its influence on the mind;\nand vice versa, where it imitates them in that influence, as in the\npresent case, this must proceed from its approaching them in force and\nvivacity. Belief, therefore, since it causes an idea to imitate\nthe effects of the impressions, must make it resemble them in these\nqualities, and is nothing but A MORE VIVID AND INTENSE CONCEPTION OF\nANY IDEA. This, then, may both serve as an additional argument for\nthe present system, and may give us a notion after what manner our\nreasonings from causation are able to operate on the will and passions.\n\nAs belief is almost absolutely requisite to the exciting our passions,\nso the passions in their turn are very favourable to belief; and not\nonly such facts as convey agreeable emotions, but very often such as\ngive pain, do upon that account become more readily the objects of faith\nand opinion. A coward, whose fears are easily awakened, readily assents\nto every account of danger he meets with; as a person of a sorrowful and\nmelancholy disposition is very credulous of every thing, that nourishes\nhis prevailing passion. When any affecting object is presented, it\ngives the alarm, and excites immediately a degree of its proper passion;\nespecially in persons who are naturally inclined to that passion. This\nemotion passes by an easy transition to the imagination; and diffusing\nitself over our idea of the affecting object, makes us form that\nidea with greater force and vivacity, and consequently assent to it,\naccording to the precedent system. Admiration and surprize have the same\neffect as the other passions; and accordingly we may observe, that\namong the vulgar, quacks and projectors meet with a more easy faith upon\naccount of their magnificent pretensions, than if they kept themselves\nwithin the bounds of moderation. The first astonishment, which naturally\nattends their miraculous relations, spreads itself over the whole soul,\nand so vivifies and enlivens the idea, that it resembles the inferences\nwe draw from experience. This is a mystery, with which we may be already\na little acquainted, and which we shall have farther occasion to be let\ninto in the progress of this treatise.\n\nAfter this account of the influence of belief on the passions, we shall\nfind less difficulty in explaining its effects on the imagination,\nhowever extraordinary they may appear. It is certain we cannot take\npleasure in any discourse, where our judgment gives no assent to those\nimages which are presented to our fancy. The conversation of those who\nhave acquired a habit of lying, though in affairs of no moment, never\ngives any satisfaction; and that because those ideas they present to us,\nnot being attended with belief, make no impression upon the mind. Poets\nthemselves, though liars by profession, always endeavour to give an air\nof truth to their fictions; and where that is totally neglected, their\nperformances, however ingenious, will never be able to afford much\npleasure. In short, we may observe, that even when ideas have no manner\nof influence on the will and passions, truth and reality are still\nrequisite, in order to make them entertaining to the imagination.\n\nBut if we compare together all the phenomena that occur on this head,\nwe shall find, that truth, however necessary it may seem in all works\nof genius, has no other effect than to procure an easy reception for the\nideas, and to make the mind acquiesce in them with satisfaction, or at\nleast without reluctance. But as this is an effect, which may easily be\nsupposed to flow from that solidity and force, which, according to\nmy system, attend those ideas that are established by reasonings from\ncausation; it follows, that all the influence of belief upon the fancy\nmay be explained from that system. Accordingly we may observe, that\nwherever that influence arises from any other principles beside truth or\nreality, they supply its place, and give an equal entertainment to\nthe imagination. Poets have formed what they call a poetical system of\nthings, which though it be believed neither by themselves nor readers,\nis commonly esteemed a sufficient foundation for any fiction. We have\nbeen so much accustomed to the names of MARS, JUPITER, VENUS, that\nin the same manner as education infixes any opinion, the constant\nrepetition of these ideas makes them enter into the mind with facility,\nand prevail upon the fancy, without influencing the judgment. In like\nmanner tragedians always borrow their fable, or at least the names of\ntheir principal actors, from some known passage in history; and that not\nin order to deceive the spectators; for they will frankly confess, that\ntruth is not in any circumstance inviolably observed: but in order\nto procure a more easy reception into the imagination for those\nextraordinary events, which they represent. But this is a precaution,\nwhich is not required of comic poets, whose personages and incidents,\nbeing of a more familiar kind, enter easily into the conception, and are\nreceived without any such formality, even though at first night they be\nknown to be fictitious, and the pure offspring of the fancy.\n\nThis mixture of truth and falshood in the fables of tragic poets not\nonly serves our present purpose, by shewing, that the imagination can be\nsatisfyed without any absolute belief or assurance; but may in another\nview be regarded as a very strong confirmation of this system. It is\nevident, that poets make use of this artifice of borrowing the names\nof their persons, and the chief events of their poems, from history, in\norder to procure a more easy reception for the whole, and cause it\nto make a deeper impression on the fancy and affections. The several\nincidents of the piece acquire a kind of relation by being united into\none poem or representation; and if any of these incidents be an object\nof belief, it bestows a force and vivacity on the others, which are\nrelated to it. The vividness of the first conception diffuses itself\nalong the relations, and is conveyed, as by so many pipes or canals,\nto every idea that has any communication with the primary one. This,\nindeed, can never amount to a perfect assurance; and that because\nthe union among the ideas is, in a manner, accidental: But still it\napproaches so near, in its influence, as may convince us, that they\nare derived from the same origin. Belief must please the imagination\nby means of the force and vivacity which attends it; since every idea,\nwhich has force and vivacity, is found to be agreeable to that faculty.\n\nTo confirm this we may observe, that the assistance is mutual betwixt\nthe judgment and fancy, as well as betwixt the judgment and passion;\nand that belief not only gives vigour to the imagination, but that a\nvigorous and strong imagination is of all talents the most proper to\nprocure belief and authority. It is difficult for us to withhold our\nassent from what is painted out to us in all the colours of eloquence;\nand the vivacity produced by the fancy is in many cases greater than\nthat which arises from custom and experience. We are hurried away by the\nlively imagination of our author or companion; and even he himself is\noften a victim to his own fire and genius.\n\nNor will it be amiss to remark, that as a lively imagination very often\ndegenerates into madness or folly, and bears it a great resemblance in\nits operations; so they influence the judgment after the same manner,\nand produce belief from the very same principles. When the imagination,\nfrom any extraordinary ferment of the blood and spirits, acquires such a\nvivacity as disorders all its powers and faculties, there is no means\nof distinguishing betwixt truth and falshood; but every loose fiction or\nidea, having the same influence as the impressions of the memory, or\nthe conclusions of the judgment, is received on the same footing, and\noperates with equal force on the passions. A present impression and a\ncustomary transition are now no longer necessary to enliven our ideas.\nEvery chimera of the brain is as vivid and intense as any of those\ninferences, which we formerly dignifyed with the name of conclusions\nconcerning matters of fact, and sometimes as the present impressions of\nthe senses.\n\nWe may observe the same effect of poetry in a lesser degree; and this is\ncommon both to poetry and madness, that the vivacity they bestow on the\nideas is not derived from the particular situations or connexions of the\nobjects of these ideas, but from the present temper and disposition\nof the person. But how great soever the pitch may be, to which this\nvivacity rises, it is evident, that in poetry it never has the same\nfeeling with that which arises in the mind, when we reason, though even\nupon the lowest species of probability. The mind can easily distinguish\nbetwixt the one and the other; and whatever emotion the poetical\nenthusiasm may give to the spirits, it is still the mere phantom of\nbelief or persuasion. The case is the same with the idea, as with the\npassion it occasions. There is no passion of the human mind but what may\narise from poetry; though at the same time the feelings of the passions\nare very different when excited by poetical fictions, from what they are\nwhen they are from belief and reality. A passion, which is disagreeable\nin real life, may afford the highest entertainment in a tragedy, or epic\npoem. In the latter case, it lies not with that weight upon us: It\nfeels less firm and solid: And has no other than the agreeable effect of\nexciting the spirits, and rouzing the attention. The difference in the\npassions is a clear proof of a like difference in those ideas, from\nwhich the passions are derived. Where the vivacity arises from a\ncustomary conjunction with a present impression; though the imagination\nmay not, in appearance, be so much moved; yet there is always something\nmore forcible and real in its actions, than in the fervors of poetry and\neloquence. The force of our mental actions in this case, no more than in\nany other, is not to be measured by the apparent agitation of the mind.\nA poetical description may have a more sensible effect on the\nfancy, than an historical narration. It may collect more of those\ncircumstances, that form a compleat image or picture. It may seem to\nset the object before us in more lively colours. But still the ideas it\npresents are different to the feeling from those, which arise from the\nmemory and the judgment. There is something weak and imperfect amidst\nall that seeming vehemence of thought and sentiment, which attends the\nfictions of poetry.\n\nWe shall afterwards have occasion to remark both the resemblance and\ndifferences betwixt a poetical enthusiasm, and a serious conviction. In\nthe mean time I cannot forbear observing, that the great difference\nin their feeling proceeds in some measure from reflection and GENERAL\nRULES. We observe, that the vigour of conception, which fictions receive\nfrom poetry and eloquence, is a circumstance merely accidental, of which\nevery idea is equally susceptible; and that such fictions are connected\nwith nothing that is real. This observation makes us only lend\nourselves, so to speak, to the fiction: But causes the idea to feel very\ndifferent from the eternal established persuasions founded on memory and\ncustom. They are somewhat of the same kind: But the one is much inferior\nto the other, both in its causes and effects.\n\nA like reflection on general rules keeps us from augmenting our belief\nupon every encrease of the force and vivacity of our ideas. Where an\nopinion admits of no doubt, or opposite probability, we attribute to it\na full conviction: though the want of resemblance, or contiguity, may\nrender its force inferior to that of other opinions. It is thus the\nunderstanding corrects the appearances of the senses, and makes us\nimagine, that an object at twenty foot distance seems even to the eye as\nlarge as one of the same dimensions at ten.\n\nWe may observe the same effect of poetry in a lesser degree; only with\nthis difference, that the least reflection dissipates the illusions\nof poetry, and Places the objects in their proper light. It is however\ncertain, that in the warmth of a poetical enthusiasm, a poet has a\ncounterfeit belief, and even a kind of vision of his objects: And\nif there be any shadow of argument to support this belief, nothing\ncontributes more to his full conviction than a blaze of poetical figures\nand images, which have their effect upon the poet himself, as well as\nupon his readers.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. XI. OF THE PROBABILITY OF CHANCES.\n\n\nBut in order to bestow on this system its full force and evidence, we\nmust carry our eye from it a moment to consider its consequences, and\nexplain from the same principles some other species of reasoning, which\nare derived from the same origin.\n\nThose philosophers, who have divided human reason into knowledge and\nprobability, and have defined the first to be that evidence, which\narises from the comparison of ideas, are obliged to comprehend all our\narguments from causes or effects under the general term of probability.\nBut though every one be free to use his terms in what sense he pleases;\nand accordingly in the precedent part of this discourse, I have followed\nthis method of expression; it is however certain, that in common\ndiscourse we readily affirm, that many arguments from causation exceed\nprobability, and may be received as a superior kind of evidence. One\nwould appear ridiculous, who would say, that it is only probable the\nsun will rise to-morrow, or that all men must dye; though it is plain we\nhave no further assurance of these facts, than what experience affords\nus. For this reason, it would perhaps be more convenient, in order at\nonce to preserve the common signification of words, and mark the several\ndegrees of evidence, to distinguish human reason into three kinds, viz.\nTHAT FROM KNOWLEDGE, FROM PROOFS, AND FROM PROBABILITIES. By knowledge,\nI mean the assurance arising from the comparison of ideas. By proofs,\nthose arguments, which are derived from the relation of cause and\neffect, and which are entirely free from doubt and uncertainty. By\nprobability, that evidence, which is still attended with uncertainty. It\nis this last species of reasoning, I proceed to examine.\n\nProbability or reasoning from conjecture may be divided into two kinds,\nviz. that which is founded on chance, and that which arises from causes.\nWe shall consider each of these in order.\n\nThe idea of cause and effect is derived from experience, which\npresenting us with certain objects constantly conjoined with each other,\nproduces such a habit of surveying them in that relation, that we cannot\nwithout a sensible violence survey them iii any other. On the other\nhand, as chance is nothing real in itself, and, properly speaking, is\nmerely the negation of a cause, its influence on the mind is contrary to\nthat of causation; and it is essential to it, to leave the imagination\nperfectly indifferent, either to consider the existence or non-existence\nof that object, which is regarded as contingent. A cause traces the\nway to our thought, and in a manner forces us to survey such certain\nobjects, in such certain relations. Chance can only destroy this\ndetermination of the thought, and leave the mind in its native situation\nof indifference; in which, upon the absence of a cause, it is instantly\nre-instated.\n\nSince therefore an entire indifference is essential to chance, no one\nchance can possibly be superior to another, otherwise than as it is\ncomposed of a superior number of equal chances. For if we affirm that\none chance can, after any other manner, be superior to another, we must\nat the same time affirm, that there is something, which gives it the\nsuperiority, and determines the event rather to that side than the\nother: That is, in other words, we must allow of a cause, and destroy\nthe supposition of chance; which we had before established. A\nperfect and total indifference is essential to chance, and one total\nindifference can never in itself be either superior or inferior to\nanother. This truth is not peculiar to my system, but is acknowledged by\nevery one, that forms calculations concerning chances.\n\nAnd here it is remarkable, that though chance and causation be directly\ncontrary, yet it is impossible for us to conceive this combination of\nchances, which is requisite to render one hazard superior to another,\nwithout supposing a mixture of causes among the chances, and a\nconjunction of necessity in some particulars, with a total indifference\nin others. Where nothing limits the chances, every notion, that the most\nextravagant fancy can form, is upon a footing of equality; nor can there\nbe any circumstance to give one the advantage above another. Thus unless\nwe allow, that there are some causes to make the dice fall, and preserve\ntheir form in their fall, and lie upon some one of their sides, we can\nform no calculation concerning the laws of hazard. But supposing these\ncauses to operate, and supposing likewise all the rest to be indifferent\nand to be determined by chance, it is easy to arrive at a notion of a\nsuperior combination of chances. A dye that has four sides marked with\na certain number of spots, and only two with another, affords us an\nobvious and easy instance of this superiority. The mind is here limited\nby the causes to such a precise number and quality of the events; and at\nthe same time is undetermined in its choice of any particular event.\n\nProceeding then in that reasoning, wherein we have advanced three steps;\nthat chance is merely the negation of a cause, and produces a total\nindifference in the mind; that one negation of a cause and one total\nindifference can never be superior or inferior to another; and that\nthere must always be a mixture of causes among the chances, in order to\nbe the foundation of any reasoning: We are next to consider what effect\na superior combination of chances can have upon the mind, and after what\nmanner it influences our judgment and opinion. Here we may repeat all\nthe same arguments we employed in examining that belief, which arises\nfrom causes; and may prove, after the same manner, that a superior\nnumber of chances produces our assent neither by demonstration nor\nprobability. It is indeed evident that we can never by the comparison\nof mere ideas make any discovery, which can be of consequence in this\naffairs and that it is impossible to prove with certainty, that any\nevent must fall on that side where there is a superior number of\nchances. To, suppose in this case any certainty, were to overthrow what\nwe have established concerning the opposition of chances, and their\nperfect equality and indifference.\n\nShould it be said, that though in an opposition of chances it is\nimpossible to determine with certainty, on which side the event will\nfall, yet we can pronounce with certainty, that it is more likely and\nprobable, it will be on that side where there is a superior number of\nchances, than where there is an inferior: should this be said, I would\nask, what is here meant by likelihood and probability? The likelihood\nand probability of chances is a superior number of equal chances; and\nconsequently when we say it is likely the event win fall on the side,\nwhich is superior, rather than on the inferior, we do no more than\naffirm, that where there is a superior number of chances there is\nactually a superior, and where there is an inferior there is an\ninferior; which are identical propositions, and of no consequence. The\nquestion is, by what means a superior number of equal chances operates\nupon the mind, and produces belief or assent; since it appears, that\nit is neither by arguments derived from demonstration, nor from\nprobability.\n\nIn order to clear up this difficulty, we shall suppose a person to take\na dye, formed after such a manner as that four of its sides are marked\nwith one figure, or one number of spots, and two with another; and to\nput this dye into the box with an intention of throwing it: It is plain,\nhe must conclude the one figure to be more probable than the other, and\ngive the preference to that which is inscribed on the greatest number\nof sides. He in a manner believes, that this will lie uppermost; though\nstill with hesitation and doubt, in proportion to the number of chances,\nwhich are contrary: And according as these contrary chances diminish,\nand the superiority encreases on the other side, his belief acquires new\ndegrees of stability and assurance. This belief arises from an operation\nof the mind upon the simple and limited object before us; and therefore\nits nature will be the more easily discovered and explained. We have\nnothing but one single dye to contemplate, in order to comprehend one of\nthe most curious operations of the understanding.\n\nThis dye, formed as above, contains three circumstances worthy of our\nattention. First, Certain causes, such as gravity, solidity, a cubical\nfigure, &c. which determine it to fall, to preserve its form in its\nfall, and to turn up one of its sides. Secondly, A certain number\nof sides, which are supposed indifferent. Thirdly, A certain figure\ninscribed on each side. These three particulars form the whole nature of\nthe dye, so far as relates to our present purpose; and consequently are\nthe only circumstances regarded by the mind in its forming a judgment\nconcerning the result of such a throw. Let us, therefore, consider\ngradually and carefully what must be the influence of these\ncircumstances on the thought and imagination.\n\nFirst, We have already observed, that the mind is determined by custom\nto pass from any cause to its effect, and that upon the appearance\nof the one, it is almost impossible for it not to form an idea of the\nother. Their constant conjunction in past instances has produced such\na habit in the mind, that it always conjoins them in its thought, and\ninfers the existence of the one from that of its usual attendant. When\nit considers the dye as no longer supported by the box, it can not\nwithout violence regard it as suspended in the air; but naturally places\nit on the table, and views it as turning up one of its sides. This\nis the effect of the intermingled causes, which are requisite to our\nforming any calculation concerning chances.\n\nSecondly, It is supposed, that though the dye be necessarily determined\nto fall, and turn up one of its sides, yet there is nothing to fix the\nparticular side, but that this is determined entirely by chance. The\nvery nature and essence of chance is a negation of causes, and the\nleaving the mind in a perfect indifference among those events, which\nare supposed contingent. When therefore the thought is determined by the\ncauses to consider the dye as falling and turning up one of its sides,\nthe chances present all these sides as equal, and make us consider every\none of them, one after another, as alike probable and possible. The\nimagination passes from the cause, viz. the throwing of the dye, to the\neffect, viz. the turning up one of the six sides; and feels a kind of\nimpossibility both of stopping short in the way, and of forming any\nother idea. But as all these six sides are incompatible, and the dye\ncannot turn up above one at once, this principle directs us not to\nconsider all of them at once as lying uppermost; which we look upon\nas impossible: Neither does it direct us with its entire force to any\nparticular side; for in that case this side would be considered as\ncertain and inevitable; but it directs us to the whole six sides after\nsuch a manner as to divide its force equally among them. We conclude in\ngeneral, that some one of them must result from the throw: We run all\nof them over in our minds: The determination of the thought is common to\nall; but no more of its force falls to the share of any one, than what\nis suitable to its proportion with the rest. It is after this manner the\noriginal impulse, and consequently the vivacity of thought, arising from\nthe causes, is divided and split in pieces by the intermingled chances.\n\nWe have already seen the influence of the two first qualities of the\ndye, viz. the causes, and the number and indifference of the sides, and\nhave learned how they give an impulse to the thought, and divide that\nimpulse into as many parts as there are unites in the number of sides.\nWe must now consider the effects of the third particular, viz. the\nfigures inscribed on each side. It is evident that where several\nsides have the same figure inscribe on them, they must concur in their\ninfluence on the mind, and must unite upon one image or idea of a figure\nall those divided impulses, that were dispersed over the several sides,\nupon which that figure is inscribed. Were the question only what side\nwill be turned up, these are all perfectly equal, and no one could ever\nhave any advantage above another. But as the question is concerning the\nfigure, and as the same figure is presented by more than one side: it is\nevident, that the impulses belonging to all these sides must re-unite\nin that one figure, and become stronger and more forcible by the union.\nFour sides are supposed in the present case to have the same figure\ninscribed on them, and two to have another figure. The impulses of\nthe former are, therefore, superior to those of the latter. But as the\nevents are contrary, and it is impossible both these figures can be\nturned up; the impulses likewise become contrary, and the inferior\ndestroys the superior, as far as its strength goes. The vivacity of the\nidea is always proportionable to the degrees of the impulse or tendency\nto the transition; and belief is the same with the vivacity of the idea,\naccording to the precedent doctrine.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. XII. OF THE PROBABILITY OF CAUSES.\n\n\nWhat I have said concerning the probability of chances can serve to\nno other purpose, than to assist us in explaining the probability of\ncauses; since it is commonly allowed by philosophers, that what the\nvulgar call chance is nothing but a secret and concealed cause. That\nspecies of probability, therefore, is what we must chiefly examine.\n\nThe probabilities of causes are of several kinds; but are all derived\nfrom the same origin, viz. THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS TO A PRESENT\nIMPRESSION. As the habit, which produces the association, arises from\nthe frequent conjunction of objects, it must arrive at its perfection by\ndegrees, and must acquire new force from each instance, that falls under\nour observation. The first instance has little or no force: The second\nmakes some addition to it: The third becomes still more sensible; and it\nis by these slow steps, that our judgment arrives at a full assurance.\nBut before it attains this pitch of perfection, it passes through\nseveral inferior degrees, and in all of them is only to be esteemed a\npresumption or probability. The gradation, therefore, from probabilities\nto proofs is in many cases insensible; and the difference betwixt these\nkinds of evidence is more easily perceived in the remote degrees, than\nin the near and contiguous.\n\nIt is worthy of remark on this occasion, that though the species of\nprobability here explained be the first in order, and naturally takes\nplace before any entire proof can exist, yet no one, who is arrived at\nthe age of maturity, can any longer be acquainted with it. It is true,\nnothing is more common than for people of the most advanced knowledge\nto have attained only an imperfect experience of many particular events;\nwhich naturally produces only an imperfect habit and transition: But\nthen we must consider, that the mind, having formed another observation\nconcerning the connexion of causes and effects, gives new force to\nits reasoning from that observation; and by means of it can build an\nargument on one single experiment, when duly prepared and examined. What\nwe have found once to follow from any object, we conclude will for ever\nfollow from it; and if this maxim be not always built upon as certain,\nit is not for want of a sufficient number of experiments, but because\nwe frequently meet with instances to the contrary; which leads us to\nthe second species of probability, where there is a contrariety in our\nexperience and observation.\n\nIt would be very happy for men in the conduct of their lives and\nactions, were the same objects always conjoined together, and, we had\nnothing to fear but the mistakes of our own judgment, without having any\nreason to apprehend the uncertainty of nature. But as it is frequently\nfound, that one observation is contrary to another, and that causes and\neffects follow not in the same order, of which we have I had experience,\nwe are obliged to vary our reasoning on, account of this uncertainty,\nand take into consideration the contrariety of events. The first\nquestion, that occurs on this head, is concerning the nature and causes\nof the contrariety.\n\nThe vulgar, who take things according to their first appearance,\nattribute the uncertainty of events to such an uncertainty in the\ncauses, as makes them often fail of their usual influence, though\nthey meet with no obstacle nor impediment in their operation. But\nphilosophers observing, that almost in every part of nature there is\ncontained a vast variety of springs and principles, which are hid,\nby reason of their minuteness or remoteness, find that it is at least\npossible the contrariety of events may not proceed from any contingency\nin the cause, but from the secret operation of contrary causes. This\npossibility is converted into certainty by farther observation, when\nthey remark, that upon an exact scrutiny, a contrariety of effects\nalways betrays a contrariety of causes, and proceeds from their mutual\nhindrance and opposition. A peasant can give no better reason for the\nstopping of any clock or watch than to say, that commonly it does not\ngo right: But an artizan easily perceives, that the same force in the\nspring or pendulum has always the same influence on the wheels; but\nfails of its usual effect, perhaps by reason of a grain of dust, which\nputs a stop to the whole movement. From the observation of several\nparallel instances, philosophers form a maxim, that the connexion\nbetwixt all causes and effects is equally necessary, and that its\nseeming uncertainty in some instances proceeds from the secret\nopposition of contrary causes.\n\nBut however philosophers and the vulgar may differ in their explication\nof the contrariety of events, their inferences from it are always of the\nsame kind, and founded on the same principles. A contrariety of events\nin the past may give us a kind of hesitating belief for the future after\ntwo several ways. First, By producing an imperfect habit and transition\nfrom the present impression to the related idea. When the conjunction of\nany two objects is frequent, without being entirely constant, the mind\nis determined to pass from one object to the other; but not with\nso entire a habit, as when the union is uninterrupted, and all the\ninstances we have ever met with are uniform and of a piece-.. We find\nfrom common experience, in our actions as well as reasonings, that\na constant perseverance in any course of life produces a strong\ninclination and tendency to continue for the future; though there\nare habits of inferior degrees of force, proportioned to the inferior\ndegrees of steadiness and uniformity in our conduct.\n\nThere is no doubt but this principle sometimes takes place, and\nproduces those inferences we draw from contrary phaenomena: though I\nam perswaded, that upon examination we shall not find it to be the\nprinciple, that most commonly influences the mind in this species of\nreasoning. When we follow only the habitual determination of the mind,\nwe make the transition without any reflection, and interpose not a\nmoment's delay betwixt the view of one object and the belief of that,\nwhich is often found to attend it. As the custom depends not upon any\ndeliberation, it operates immediately, without allowing any time for\nreflection. But this method of proceeding we have but few instances\nof in our probable reasonings; and even fewer than in those, which are\nderived from the uninterrupted conjunction of objects. In the former\nspecies of reasoning we commonly take knowingly into consideration\nthe contrariety of past events; we compare the different sides of the\ncontrariety, and carefully weigh the experiments, which we have on each\nside: Whence we may conclude, that our reasonings of this kind arise\nnot directly from the habit, but in an oblique manner; which we must now\nendeavour to explain.\n\nIt is evident, that when an object is attended with contrary effects, we\njudge of them only by our past experience, and always consider those\nas possible, which we have observed to follow from it. And as past\nexperience regulates our judgment concerning the possibility of these\neffects, so it does that concerning their probability; and that effect,\nwhich has been the most common, we always esteem the most likely. Here\nthen are two things to be considered, viz. the reasons which determine\nus to make the past a standard for the future, and the manner how we\nextract a single judgment from a contrariety of past events.\n\nFirst we may observe, that the supposition, that the future resembles\nthe past, is not founded on arguments of any kind, but is derived\nentirely from habit, by which we are determined to expect for the future\nthe same train of objects, to which we have been accustomed. This habit\nor determination to transfer the past to the future is full and perfect;\nand consequently the first impulse of the imagination in this species of\nreasoning is endowed with the same qualities.\n\nBut, secondly, when in considering past experiments we find them of a\ncontrary nature, this determination, though full and perfect in itself,\npresents us with no steady object, but offers us a number of disagreeing\nimages in a certain order and proportion. The first impulse, therefore,\nis here broke into pieces, and diffuses itself over all those images, of\nwhich each partakes an equal share of that force and vivacity, that is\nderived from the impulse. Any of these past events may again happen;\nand we judge, that when they do happen, they will be mixed in the same\nproportion as in the past.\n\nIf our intention, therefore, be to consider the proportions of contrary\nevents in a great number of instances, the images presented by our past\nexperience must remain in their FIRST FORM, and preserve their first\nproportions. Suppose, for instance, I have found by long observation,\nthat of twenty ships, which go to sea, only nineteen return. Suppose\nI see at present twenty ships that leave the port: I transfer my past\nexperience to the future, and represent to myself nineteen of these\nships as returning in safety, and one as perishing. Concerning this\nthere can be no difficulty. But as we frequently run over those several\nideas of past events, in order to form a judgment concerning one single\nevent, which appears uncertain; this consideration must change the FIRST\nFORM of our ideas, and draw together the divided images presented\nby experience; since it is to it we refer the determination of that\nparticular event, upon which we reason. Many of these images are\nsupposed to concur, and a superior number to concur on one side. These\nagreeing images unite together, and render the idea more strong and\nlively, not only than a mere fiction of the imagination, but also than\nany idea, which is supported by a lesser number of experiments. Each new\nexperiment is as a new stroke of the pencil, which bestows an additional\nvivacity on the colours without either multiplying or enlarging the\nfigure. This operation of the mind has been so fully explained in\ntreating of the probability of chance, that I need not here endeavour to\nrender it more intelligible. Every past experiment may be considered as\na kind of chance; I it being uncertain to us, whether the object will\nexist conformable to one experiment or another. And for this reason\nevery thing that has been said on the one subject is applicable to both.\n\nThus upon the whole, contrary experiments produce an imperfect belief,\neither by weakening the habit, or by dividing and afterwards joining in\ndifferent parts, that perfect habit, which makes us conclude in general,\nthat instances, of which we have no experience, must necessarily\nresemble those of which we have.\n\nTo justify still farther this account of the second species of\nprobability, where we reason with knowledge and reflection from\na contrariety of past experiments, I shall propose the following\nconsiderations, without fearing to give offence by that air of subtilty,\nwhich attends them. Just reasoning ought still, perhaps, to retain\nits force, however subtile; in the same manner as matter preserves its\nsolidity in the air, and fire, and animal spirits, as well as in the\ngrosser and more sensible forms.\n\nFirst, We may observe, that there is no probability so great as not to\nallow of a contrary possibility; because otherwise it would cease to be\na probability, and would become a certainty. That probability of causes,\nwhich is most extensive, and which we at present examine, depends on a\ncontrariety of experiments: and it is evident an experiment in the past\nproves at least a possibility for the future.\n\nSecondly, The component parts of this possibility and probability are of\nthe same nature, and differ in number only, but not in kind. It has been\nobserved, that all single chances are entirely equal, and that the\nonly circumstance, which can give any event, that is contingent, a\nsuperiority over another is a superior number of chances. In like\nmanner, as the uncertainty of causes is discovery by experience, which\npresents us with a view of contrary events, it is plain, that when we\ntransfer the past to the future, the known to the unknown, every past\nexperiment has the same weight, and that it is only a superior number\nof them, which can throw the ballance on any side. The possibility,\ntherefore, which enters into every reasoning of this kind, is composed\nof parts, which are of the same nature both among themselves, and with\nthose, that compose the opposite probability.\n\nThirdly, We may establish it as a certain maxim, that in all moral as\nwell as natural phaenomena, wherever any cause consists of a number\nof parts, and the effect encreases or diminishes, according to the\nvariation of that number, the effects properly speaking, is a compounded\none, and arises from the union of the several effects, that proceed from\neach part of the cause. Thus, because the gravity of a body encreases or\ndiminishes by the encrease or diminution of its parts, we conclude that\neach part contains this quality and contributes to the gravity of the\nwhole. The absence or presence of a part of the cause is attended with\nthat of a proportionable part of the effect. This connexion or constant\nconjunction sufficiently proves the one part to be the cause of the\nother. As the belief which we have of any event, encreases or diminishes\naccording to the number of chances or past experiments, it is to be\nconsidered as a compounded effect, of which each part arises from a\nproportionable number of chances or experiments.\n\nLet us now join these three observations, and see what conclusion we can\ndraw from them. To every probability there is an opposite possibility.\nThis possibility is composed of parts, that are entirely of the same\nnature with those of the probability; and consequently have the same\ninfluence on the mind and understanding. The belief, which attends the\nprobability, is a compounded effect, and is formed by the concurrence\nof the several effects, which proceed from each part of the probability.\nSince therefore each part of the probability contributes to the\nproduction of the belief, each part of the possibility must have the\nsame influence on the opposite side; the nature of these parts being\nentirely the same. The contrary belief, attending the possibility,\nimplies a view of a certain object, as well as the probability does\nan opposite view. In this particular both these degrees of belief are\nalike. The only manner then, in which the superior number of similar\ncomponent parts in the one can exert its influence, and prevail above\nthe inferior in the other, is by producing a stronger and more lively\nview of its object. Each part presents a particular view; and all these\nviews uniting together produce one general view, which is fuller and\nmore distinct by the greater number of causes or principles, from which\nit is derived.\n\nThe component parts of the probability and possibility, being alike\nin their nature, must produce like effects; and the likeness of their\neffects consists in this, that each of them presents a view of a\nparticular object. But though these parts be alike in their nature, they\nare very different in their quantity and number; and this difference\nmust appear in the effect as well as the similarity. Now as the view\nthey present is in both cases full and entire, and comprehends the\nobject in all its parts, it is impossible that in this particular there\ncan be any difference; nor is there any thing but a superior vivacity\nin the probability, arising from the concurrence of a superior number of\nviews, which can distinguish these effects.\n\nHere is almost the same argument in a different light. All our\nreasonings concerning the probability of causes are founded on the\ntransferring of past to future. The transferring of any past experiment\nto the future is sufficient to give us a view of the object; whether\nthat experiment be single or combined with others of the same kind;\nwhether it be entire, or opposed by others of a contrary kind. Suppose,\nthen, it acquires both these qualities of combination and opposition, it\nloses not upon that account its former power of presenting a view of the\nobject, but only concurs with and opposes other experiments, that have\na like influence. A question, therefore, may arise concerning the manner\nboth of the concurrence and opposition. As to the concurrence, there is\nonly the choice left betwixt these two hypotheses. First, That the view\nof the object, occasioned by the transference of each past experiment,\npreserves itself entire, and only multiplies the number of views. Or,\nSECONDLY, That it runs into the other similar and correspondent views,\nand gives them a superior degree of force and vivacity. But that the\nfirst hypothesis is erroneous, is evident from experience, which\ninforms us, that the belief, attending any reasoning, consists in\none conclusion, not in a multitude of similar ones, which would only\ndistract the mind, and in many cases would be too numerous to be\ncomprehended distinctly by any finite capacity. It remains, therefore,\nas the only reasonable opinion, that these similar views run into each\nother, and unite their forces; so as to produce a stronger and clearer\nview, than what arises from any one alone. This is the manner, in which\npast experiments concur, when they are transfered to any future event.\nAs to the manner of their opposition, it is evident, that as the\ncontrary views are incompatible with each other, and it is impossible\nthe object can at once exist conformable to both of them, their\ninfluence becomes mutually destructive, and the mind is determined to\nthe superior only with that force, which remains, after subtracting the\ninferior.\n\nI am sensible how abstruse all this reasoning must appear to the\ngenerality of readers, who not being accustomed to such profound\nreflections on the intellectual faculties of the mind, will be apt to\nreject as chimerical whatever strikes not in with the common received\nnotions, and with the easiest and most obvious principles of philosophy.\nAnd no doubt there are some pains required to enter into these\narguments; though perhaps very little are necessary to perceive the\nimperfection of every vulgar hypothesis on this subject, and the little\nlight, which philosophy can yet afford us in such sublime and such\ncurious speculations. Let men be once fully perswaded of these two\nprinciples, THAT THERE, IS NOTHING IN ANY OBJECT, CONSIDERED IN ITSELF,\nWHICH CAN AFFORD US A REASON FOR DRAWING A CONCLUSION BEYOND it; and,\nTHAT EVEN AFTER THE OBSERVATION OF THE FREQUENT OR CONSTANT CONJUNCTION\nOF OBJECTS, WE HAVE NO REASON TO DRAW ANY INFERENCE CONCERNING ANY\nOBJECT BEYOND THOSE OF WHICH WE HAVE HAD EXPERIENCE; I say, let men be\nonce fully convinced of these two principles, and this will throw them\nso loose from all common systems, that they will make no difficulty of\nreceiving any, which may appear the most extraordinary. These principles\nwe have found to be sufficiently convincing, even with regard to our\nmost certain reasonings from causation: But I shall venture to affirm,\nthat with regard to these conjectural or probable reasonings they still\nacquire a new degree of evidence.\n\nFirst, It is obvious, that in reasonings of this kind, it is not the\nobject presented to us, which, considered in itself, affords us any\nreason to draw a conclusion concerning any other object or event. For\nas this latter object is supposed uncertain, and as the uncertainty is\nderived from a concealed contrariety of causes in the former, were any\nof the causes placed in the known qualities of that object, they would\nno longer be concealed, nor would our conclusion be uncertain.\n\nBut, secondly, it is equally obvious in this species of reasoning, that\nif the transference of the past to the future were founded merely on a\nconclusion of the understanding, it could never occasion any belief or\nassurance. When we transfer contrary experiments to the future, we\ncan only repeat these contrary experiments with their particular\nproportions; which could not produce assurance in any single event, upon\nwhich we reason, unless the fancy melted together all those images\nthat concur, and extracted from them one single idea or image, which is\nintense and lively in proportion to the number of experiments from which\nit is derived, and their superiority above their antagonists. Our past\nexperience presents no determinate object; and as our belief, however\nfaint, fixes itself on a determinate object, it is evident that the\nbelief arises not merely from the transference of past to future, but\nfrom some operation of the fancy conjoined with it. This may lead us\nto conceive the manner, in which that faculty enters into all our\nreasonings.\n\nI shall conclude this subject with two reflections, which may deserve\nour attention. The FIRST may be explained after this manner. When the\nmind forms a reasoning concerning any matter of fact, which is\nonly probable, it casts its eye backward upon past experience, and\ntransferring it to the future, is presented with so many contrary\nviews of its object, of which those that are of the same kind uniting\ntogether, and running into one act of the mind, serve to fortify and\ninliven it. But suppose that this multitude of views or glimpses of an\nobject proceeds not from experience, but from a voluntary act of the\nimagination; this effect does not follow, or at least, follows not in\nthe same degree. For though custom and education produce belief by such\na repetition, as is not derived from experience, yet this requires\na long tract of time, along with a very frequent and undesigned\nrepetition. In general we may pronounce, that a person who would\nvoluntarily repeat any idea in his mind, though supported by one past\nexperience, would be no more inclined to believe the existence of its\nobject, than if he had contented himself with one survey of it.\nBeside the effect of design; each act of the mind, being separate and\nindependent, has a separate influence, and joins not its force with that\nof its fellows. Not being united by any common object, producing them,\nthey have no relation to each other; and consequently make no transition\nor union of forces. This ph\u00e6nomenon we shall understand better\nafterwards.\n\nMy second reflection is founded on those large probabilities, which the\nmind can judge of, and the minute differences it can observe betwixt\nthem. When the chances or experiments on one side amount to ten\nthousand, and on the other to ten thousand and one, the judgment gives\nthe preference to the latter, upon account of that superiority; though\nit is plainly impossible for the mind to run over every particular view,\nand distinguish the superior vivacity of the image arising from the\nsuperior number, where the difference is so inconsiderable. We have a\nparallel instance in the affections. It is evident, according to the\nprinciples above-mentioned, that when an object produces any passion in\nus, which varies according to the different quantity of the object; I\nsay, it is evident, that the passion, properly speaking, is not a simple\nemotion, but a compounded one, of a great number of weaker passions,\nderived from a view of each part of the object. For otherwise it were\nimpossible the passion should encrease by the encrease of these parts.\nThus a man, who desires a thousand pound, has in reality a thousand\nor more desires which uniting together, seem to make only one passion;\nthough the composition evidently betrays itself upon every alteration of\nthe object, by the preference he gives to the larger number, if superior\nonly by an unite. Yet nothing can be more certain, than that so small\na difference would not be discernible in the passions, nor could render\nthem distinguishable from each other. The difference, therefore, of our\nconduct in preferring the greater number depends not upon our passions,\nbut upon custom, and general rules. We have found in a multitude of\ninstances, that the augmenting the numbers of any sum augments the\npassion, where the numbers are precise and the difference sensible. The\nmind can perceive from its immediate feeling, that three guineas produce\na greater passion than two; and this it transfers to larger numbers,\nbecause of the resemblance; and by a general rule assigns to a thousand\nguineas, a stronger passion than to nine hundred and ninety nine. These\ngeneral rules we shall explain presently.\n\nBut beside these two species of probability, which are derived from an\nimperfect experience and from contrary causes, there is a third arising\nfrom ANALOGY, which differs from them in some material circumstances.\nAccording to the hypothesis above explained all kinds of reasoning from\ncauses or effects are founded on two particulars, viz., the constant\nconjunction of any two objects in all past experience, and the\nresemblance of a present object to any one of them. The effect of these\ntwo particulars is, that the present object invigorates and inlivens the\nimagination; and the resemblance, along with the constant union, conveys\nthis force and vivacity to the related idea; which we are therefore said\nto believe, or assent to. If you weaken either the union or resemblance,\nyou weaken the principle of transition, and of consequence that belief,\nwhich arises from it. The vivacity of the first impression cannot be\nfully conveyed to the related idea, either where the conjunction of\ntheir objects is not constant, or where the present impression does\nnot perfectly resemble any of those, whose union we are accustomed to\nobserve. In those probabilities of chance and causes above-explained,\nit is the constancy of the union, which is diminished; and in the\nprobability derived from analogy, it is the resemblance only, which is\naffected. Without some degree of resemblance, as well as union, it is\nimpossible there can be any reasoning: but as this resemblance admits\nof many different degrees, the reasoning becomes proportionably more\nor less firm and certain. An experiment loses of its force, when\ntransferred to instances, which are not exactly resembling; though it\nis evident it may still retain as much as may be the foundation of\nprobability, as long as there is any resemblance remaining.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. XIII. OF UNPHILOSOPHICAL PROBABILITY.\n\n\nAll these kinds of probability are received by philosophers, and allowed\nto be reasonable foundations of belief and opinion. But there are\nothers, that are derived from the same principles, though they have not\nhad the good fortune to obtain the same sanction. The first probability\nof this kind may be accounted for thus. The diminution of the union, and\nof the resemblance, as above explained, diminishes the facility of the\ntransition, and by that means weakens the evidence; and we may farther\nobserve, that the same diminution of the evidence will follow from a\ndiminution of the impression, and from the shading of those colours,\nunder which it appears to the memory or senses. The argument, which\nwe found on any matter of fact we remember, is more or less convincing\naccording as the fact is recent or remote; and though the difference\nin these degrees of evidence be not received by philosophy as solid and\nlegitimate; because in that case an argument must have a different force\nto day, from what it shall have a month hence; yet notwithstanding\nthe opposition of philosophy, it is certain, this circumstance has a\nconsiderable influence on the understanding, and secretly changes the\nauthority of the same argument, according to the different times,\nin which it is proposed to us. A greater force and vivacity in the\nimpression naturally conveys a greater to the related idea; and it is on\nthe degrees of force and vivacity, that the belief depends, according to\nthe foregoing system.\n\nThere is a second difference, which we may frequently observe in our\ndegrees of belief and assurance, and which never fails to take place,\nthough disclaimed by philosophers. An experiment, that is recent and\nfresh in the memory, affects us more than one that is in some measure\nobliterated; and has a superior influence on the judgment, as well as on\nthe passions. A lively impression produces more assurance than a faint\none; because it has more original force to communicate to the related\nidea, which thereby acquires a greater force and vivacity. A recent\nobservation has a like effect; because the custom and transition is\nthere more entire, and preserves better the original force in the\ncommunication. Thus a drunkard, who has seen his companion die of a\ndebauch, is struck with that instance for some time, and dreads a like\naccident for himself: But as the memory of it decays away by degrees,\nhis former security returns, and the danger seems less certain and real.\n\nI add, as a third instance of this kind, that though our reasonings from\nproofs and from probabilities be considerably different from each other,\nyet the former species of reasoning often degenerates insensibly into\nthe latter, by nothing but the multitude of connected arguments. It is\ncertain, that when an inference is drawn immediately from an object,\nwithout any intermediate cause or effect, the conviction is much\nstronger, and the persuasion more lively, than when the imagination is\ncarryed through a long chain of connected arguments, however infallible\nthe connexion of each link may be esteemed. It is from the original\nimpression, that the vivacity of all the ideas is derived, by means\nof the customary transition of the imagination; and it is evident this\nvivacity must gradually decay in proportion to the distance, and must\nlose somewhat in each transition. Sometimes this distance has a greater\ninfluence than even contrary experiments would have; and a man may\nreceive a more lively conviction from a probable reasoning, which is\nclose and immediate, than from a long chain of consequences, though just\nand conclusive in each part. Nay it is seldom such reasonings produce\nany conviction; and one must have a very strong and firm imagination\nto preserve the evidence to the end, where it passes through so many,\nstages.\n\nBut here it may not be amiss to remark a very curious ph\u00e6nomenon, which\nthe present subject suggests to us. It is evident there is no point\nof ancient history, of which we can have any assurance, but by passing\nthrough many millions of causes and effects, and through a chain of\narguments of almost an immeasurable length. Before the knowledge of the\nfact could come to the first historian, it must be conveyed through many\nmouths; and after it is committed to writing, each new copy is a new\nobject, of which the connexion with the foregoing is known only by\nexperience and observation. Perhaps, therefore, it may be concluded from\nthe precedent reasoning, that the evidence of all ancient history must\nnow be lost; or at least, will be lost in time, as the chain of causes\nencreases, and runs on to a greater length. But as it seems contrary to\ncommon sense to think, that if the republic of letters, and the art of\nprinting continue on the same footing as at present, our posterity, even\nafter a thousand ages, can ever doubt if there has been such a man as\nJULIUS CAESAR; this may be considered as an objection to the present\nsystem. If belief consisted only in a certain vivacity, conveyed from an\noriginal impression, it would decay by the length of the transition, and\nmust at last be utterly extinguished: And vice versa, if belief on some\noccasions be not capable of such an extinction; it must be something\ndifferent from that vivacity.\n\nBefore I answer this objection I shall observe, that from this topic\nthere has been borrowed a very celebrated argument against the\nChristian Religion; but with this difference, that the connexion\nbetwixt each link of the chain in human testimony has been there\nsupposed not to go beyond probability, and to be liable to a degree of\ndoubt and uncertainty. And indeed it must be confest, that in this\nmanner of considering the subject, (which however is not a true one)\nthere is no history or tradition, but what must in the end lose all its\nforce and evidence. Every new probability diminishes the original\nconviction; and however great that conviction may be supposed, it is\nimpossible it can subsist under such re-iterated diminutions. This is\ntrue in general; though we shall find afterwards,[9] that there is one\nvery memorable exception, which is of vast consequence in the present\nsubject of the understanding.\n\n    [9] Part IV. Sect. 1.\n\nMean while to give a solution of the preceding objection upon the\nsupposition, that historical evidence amounts at first to an entire\nproof; let us consider, that though the links are innumerable, that\nconnect any original fact with the present impression, which is the\nfoundation of belief; yet they are all of the same kind, and depend on\nthe fidelity of Printers and Copyists. One edition passes into another,\nand that into a third, and so on, till we come to that volume we peruse\nat present. There is no variation in the steps. After we know one we\nknow all of them; and after we have made one, we can have no scruple as\nto the rest. This circumstance alone preserves the evidence of history,\nand will perpetuate the memory of the present age to the latest\nposterity. If all the long chain of causes and effects, which connect\nany past event with any volume of history, were composed of parts\ndifferent from each other, and which it were necessary for the mind\ndistinctly to conceive, it is impossible we should preserve to the\nend any belief or evidence. But as most of these proofs are perfectly\nresembling, the mind runs easily along them, jumps from one part to\nanother with facility, and forms but a confused and general notion of\neach link. By this means a long chain of argument, has as little effect\nin diminishing the original vivacity, as a much shorter would have, if\ncomposed of parts, which were different from each other, and of which\neach required a distinct consideration.\n\nA fourth unphilosophical species of probability is that derived from\ngeneral rules, which we rashly form to ourselves, and which are the\nsource of what we properly call PREJUDICE. An IRISHMAN cannot have\nwit, and a Frenchman cannot have solidity; for which reason, though the\nconversation of the former in any instance be visibly very agreeable,\nand of the latter very judicious, we have entertained such a prejudice\nagainst them, that they must be dunces or fops in spite of sense and\nreason. Human nature is very subject to errors of this kind; and perhaps\nthis nation as much as any other.\n\nShould it be demanded why men form general rules, and allow them to\ninfluence their judgment, even contrary to present observation and\nexperience, I should reply, that in my opinion it proceeds from those\nvery principles, on which all judgments concerning causes and effects\ndepend. Our judgments concerning cause and effect are derived from\nhabit and experience; and when we have been accustomed to see one object\nunited to another, our imagination passes from the first to the second,\nby a natural transition, which precedes reflection, and which cannot be\nprevented by it. Now it is the nature of custom not only to operate with\nits full force, when objects are presented, that are exactly the same\nwith those to which we have been accustomed; but also to operate in an\ninferior degree, when we discover such as are similar; and though the\nhabit loses somewhat of its force by every difference, yet it is seldom\nentirely destroyed, where any considerable circumstances remain the\nsame. A man, who has contracted a custom of eating fruit by the use of\npears or peaches, will satisfy himself with melons, where he cannot find\nhis favourite fruit; as one, who has become a drunkard by the use of\nred wines, will be carried almost with the same violence to white, if\npresented to him. From this principle I have accounted for that species\nof probability, derived from analogy, where we transfer our experience\nin past instances to objects which are resembling, but are not exactly\nthe same with those concerning which we have had experience. In\nproportion as the resemblance decays, the probability diminishes;\nbut still has some force as long as there remain any traces of the\nresemblance.\n\nThis observation we may carry farther; and may remark, that though\ncustom be the foundation of all our judgments, yet sometimes it has an\neffect on the imagination in opposition to the judgment, and produces\na contrariety in our sentiments concerning the same object. I explain\nmyself. In almost all kinds of causes there is a complication of\ncircumstances, of which some are essential, and others superfluous; some\nare absolutely requisite to the production of the effect, and others\nare only conjoined by accident. Now we may observe, that when these\nsuperfluous circumstances are numerous, and remarkable, and frequently\nconjoined with the essential, they have such an influence on the\nimagination, that even in the absence of the latter they carry us on to\nthe conception of the usual effect, and give to that conception a force\nand vivacity, which make it superior to the mere fictions of the fancy.\nWe may correct this propensity by a reflection on the nature of those\ncircumstances: but it is still certain, that custom takes the start, and\ngives a biass to the imagination.\n\nTo illustrate this by a familiar instance, let us consider the case of\na man, who, being hung out from a high tower in a cage of iron cannot\nforbear trembling, when he surveys the precipice below him, though he\nknows himself to be perfectly secure from falling, by his experience of\nthe solidity of the iron, which supports him; and though the ideas of\nfall and descent, and harm and death, be derived solely from custom and\nexperience. The same custom goes beyond the instances, from which it is\nderived, and to which it perfectly corresponds; and influences his\nideas of such objects as are in some respect resembling, but fall not\nprecisely under the same rule. The circumstances of depth and descent\nstrike so strongly upon him, that their influence can-not be destroyed\nby the contrary circumstances of support and solidity, which ought to\ngive him a perfect security. His imagination runs away with its object,\nand excites a passion proportioned to it. That passion returns back\nupon the imagination and inlivens the idea; which lively idea has a\nnew influence on the passion, and in its turn augments its force and\nviolence; and both his fancy and affections, thus mutually supporting\neach other, cause the whole to have a very great influence upon him.\n\nBut why need we seek for other instances, while the present subject\nof philosophical probabilities offers us so obvious an one, in the\nopposition betwixt the judgment and imagination arising from these\neffects of custom? According to my system, all reasonings are nothing\nbut the effects of custom; and custom has no influence, but by\ninlivening the imagination, and giving us a strong conception of\nany object. It may, therefore, be concluded, that our judgment and\nimagination can never be contrary, and that custom cannot operate on\nthe latter faculty after such a manner, as to render it opposite to the\nformer. This difficulty we can remove after no other manner, than by\nsupposing the influence of general rules. We shall afterwards take[10]\nnotice of some general rules, by which we ought to regulate\nour judgment concerning causes and effects; and these rules are formed\non the nature of our understanding, and on our experience of its\noperations in the judgments we form concerning objects. By them we learn\nto distinguish the accidental circumstances from the efficacious causes;\nand when we find that an effect can be produced without the concurrence\nof any particular circumstance, we conclude that that circumstance makes\nnot a part of the efficacious cause, however frequently conjoined with\nit. But as this frequent conjunction necessity makes it have some effect\non the imagination, in spite of the opposite conclusion from general\nrules, the opposition of these two principles produces a contrariety\nin our thoughts, and causes us to ascribe the one inference to our\njudgment, and the other to our imagination. The general rule is\nattributed to our judgment; as being more extensive and constant. The\nexception to the imagination, as being more capricious and uncertain.\n\n    [10] Sect. 15.\n\nThus our general rules are in a manner set in opposition to each other.\nWhen an object appears, that resembles any cause in very considerable\ncircumstances, the imagination naturally carries us to a lively\nconception of the usual effect, Though the object be different in the\nmost material and most efficacious circumstances from that cause. Here\nis the first influence of general rules. But when we take a review of\nthis act of the mind, and compare it with the more general and authentic\noperations of the understanding, we find it to be of an irregular\nnature, and destructive of all the most established principles of\nreasonings; which is the cause of our rejecting it. This is a second\ninfluence of general rules, and implies the condemnation of the former.\nSometimes the one, sometimes the other prevails, according to the\ndisposition and character of the person. The vulgar are commonly guided\nby the first, and wise men by the second. Mean while the sceptics may\nhere have the pleasure of observing a new and signal contradiction in\nour reason, and of seeing all philosophy ready to be subverted by a\nprinciple of human nature, and again saved by a new direction of\nthe very same principle. The following of general rules is a very\nunphilosophical species of probability; and yet it is only by\nfollowing them that we can correct this, and all other unphilosophical\nprobabilities.\n\nSince we have instances, where general rules operate on the imagination\neven contrary to the judgment, we need not be surprized to see their\neffects encrease, when conjoined with that latter faculty, and to\nobserve that they bestow on the ideas they present to us a force\nsuperior to what attends any other. Every one knows, there is an\nindirect manner of insinuating praise or blame, which is much less\nshocking than the open flattery or censure of any person. However he may\ncommunicate his sentiments by such secret insinuations, and make them\nknown with equal certainty as by the open discovery of them, it is\ncertain that their influence is not equally strong and powerful. One who\nlashes me with concealed strokes of satire, moves not my indignation to\nsuch a degree, as if he flatly told me I was a fool and coxcomb; though\nI equally understand his meaning, as if he did. This difference is to be\nattributed to the influence of general rules.\n\nWhether a person openly, abuses me, or slyly intimates his contempt, in\nneither case do I immediately perceive his sentiment or opinion; and it\nis only by signs, that is, by its effects, I become sensible of it. The\nonly difference, then, betwixt these two cases consists in this, that\nin the open discovery of his sentiments he makes use of signs, which are\ngeneral and universal; and in the secret intimation employs such as are\nmore singular and uncommon. The effect of this circumstance is, that the\nimagination, in running from the present impression to the absent idea,\nmakes the transition with greater facility, and consequently conceives\nthe object with greater force, where the connexion is common and\nuniversal, than where it is more rare and particular. Accordingly we\nmay observe, that the open declaration of our sentiments is called the\ntaking off the mask, as the secret intimation of our opinions is said\nto be the veiling of them. The difference betwixt an idea produced by\na general connexion, and that arising from a particular one is here\ncompared to the difference betwixt an impression and an idea. This\ndifference in the imagination has a suitable effect on the passions; and\nthis effect is augmented by another circumstance. A secret intimation\nof anger or contempt shews that we still have some consideration for\nthe person, and avoid the directly abusing him. This makes a concealed\nsatire less disagreeable; but still this depends on the same principle.\nFor if an idea were not more feeble, when only intimated, it would never\nbe esteemed a mark of greater respect to proceed in this method than in\nthe other.\n\nSometimes scurrility is less displeasing than delicate satire, because\nit revenges us in a manner for the injury at the very time it is\ncommitted, by affording us a just reason to blame and contemn the\nperson, who injures us. But this ph\u00e6nomenon likewise depends upon the\nsame principle. For why do we blame all gross and injurious language,\nunless it be, because we esteem it contrary to good breeding and\nhumanity? And why is it contrary, unless it be more shocking than any\ndelicate satire? The rules of good breeding condemn whatever is openly\ndisobliging, and gives a sensible pain and confusion to those, with\nwhom we converse. After this is once established, abusive language is\nuniversally blamed, and gives less pain upon account of its coarseness\nand incivility, which render the person despicable, that employs it. It\nbecomes less disagreeable, merely because originally it is more so; and\nit is more disagreeable, because it affords an inference by general and\ncommon rules, that are palpable and undeniable.\n\nTo this explication of the different influence of open and concealed\nflattery or satire, I shall add the consideration of another phenomenon,\nwhich is analogous to it. There are many particulars in the point of\nhonour both of men and women, whose violations, when open and avowed,\nthe world never excuses, but which it is more apt to overlook, when the\nappearances are saved, and the transgression is secret and concealed.\nEven those, who know with equal certainty, that the fault is committed,\npardon it more easily, when the proofs seem in some measure oblique and\nequivocal, than when they are direct and undeniable. The same idea is\npresented in both cases, and, properly speaking, is equally assented\nto by the judgment; and yet its influence is different, because of the\ndifferent manner, in which it is presented.\n\nNow if we compare these two cases, of the open and concealed violations\nof the laws of honour, we shall find, that the difference betwixt them\nconsists in this, that in the first ease the sign, from which we infer\nthe blameable action, is single, and suffices alone to be the\nfoundation of our reasoning and judgment; whereas in the latter the\nsigns are numerous, and decide little or nothing when alone and\nunaccompanyed with many minute circumstances, which are almost\nimperceptible. But it is certainly true, that any reasoning is always\nthe more convincing, the more single and united it is to the eye, and\nthe less exercise it gives to the imagination to collect all its parts,\nand run from them to the correlative idea, which forms the conclusion.\nThe labour of the thought disturbs the regular progress of the\nsentiments, as we shall observe presently.[11] The idea strikes not on\nus with ouch vivacity; and consequently has no such influence on the\npassion and imagination.\n\n    [11] Part IV. Sect. 1.\n\nFrom the same principles we may account for those observations of the\nCARDINAL DE RETZ, that there are many things, in which the world wishes\nto be deceived; and that it more easily excuses a person in acting than\nin talking contrary to the decorum of his profession and character. A\nfault in words is commonly more open and distinct than one in actions,\nwhich admit of many palliating excuses, and decide not so clearly\nconcerning the intention and views of the actor.\n\nThus it appears upon the whole, that every kind of opinion or judgment,\nwhich amounts not to knowledge, is derived entirely from the force and\nvivacity of the perception, and that these qualities constitute in the\nmind, what we call the BELIEF Of the existence of any object. This force\nand this vivacity are most conspicuous in the memory; and therefore our\nconfidence in the veracity of that faculty is the greatest imaginable,\nand equals in many respects the assurance of a demonstration. The next\ndegree of these qualities is that derived from the relation of cause and\neffect; and this too is very great, especially when the conjunction is\nfound by experience to be perfectly constant, and when the object,\nwhich is present to us, exactly resembles those, of which we have had\nexperience. But below this degree of evidence there are many others,\nwhich have an influence on the passions and imagination, proportioned to\nthat degree of force and vivacity, which they communicate to the ideas.\nIt is by habit we make the transition from cause to effect; and it is\nfrom some present impression we borrow that vivacity, which we diffuse\nover the correlative idea. But when we have not observed a sufficient\nnumber of instances, to produce a strong habit; or when these instances\nare contrary to each other; or when the resemblance is not exact; or\nthe present impression is faint and obscure; or the experience in some\nmeasure obliterated from the memory; or the connexion dependent on a\nlong chain of objects; or the inference derived from general rules, and\nyet not conformable to them: In all these cases the evidence diminishes\nby the diminution of the force and intenseness of the idea. This\ntherefore is the nature of the judgment and probability.\n\nWhat principally gives authority to this system is, beside the undoubted\narguments, upon which each part is founded, the agreement of these\nparts, and the necessity of one to explain another. The belief, which\nattends our memory, is of the same nature with that, which is derived\nfrom our judgments: Nor is there any difference betwixt that judgment,\nwhich is derived from a constant and uniform connexion of causes and\neffects, and that which depends upon an interrupted and uncertain. It is\nindeed evident, that in all determinations, where the mind decides from\ncontrary experiments, it is first divided within itself, and has an\ninclination to either side in proportion to the number of experiments\nwe have seen and remember. This contest is at last determined to the\nadvantage of that side, where we observe a superior number of these\nexperiments; but still with a diminution of force in the evidence\ncorrespondent to the number of the opposite experiments. Each\npossibility, of which the probability is composed, operates separately\nupon the imagination; and it is the larger collection of possibilities,\nwhich at last prevails, and that with a force proportionable to its\nsuperiority. All these phenomena lead directly to the precedent system;\nnor will it ever be possible upon any other principles to give a\nsatisfactory and consistent explication of them. Without considering\nthese judgments as the effects of custom on the imagination, we shall\nlose ourselves in perpetual contradiction and absurdity.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. XIV. OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNEXION.\n\n\nHaving thus explained the manner, in which we reason beyond our\nimmediate impressions, and conclude that such particular causes must\nhave such particular effects; we must now return upon our footsteps to\nexamine that question, which[12] first occured to us, and which we\ndropt in our way, viz. What is our idea of necessity, when we say that\ntwo objects are necessarily connected together. Upon this head I repeat\nwhat I have often had occasion to observe, that as we have no idea,\nthat is not derived from an impression, we must find some impression,\nthat gives rise to this idea of necessity, if we assert we have really\nsuch an idea. In order to this I consider, in what objects necessity is\ncommonly supposed to lie; and finding that it is always ascribed to\ncauses and effects, I turn my eye to two objects supposed to be placed\nin that relation; and examine them in all the situations, of which they\nare susceptible. I immediately perceive, that they are contiguous in\ntime and place, and that the object we call cause precedes the other we\ncall effect. In no one instance can I go any farther, nor is it\npossible for me to discover any third relation betwixt these objects. I\ntherefore enlarge my view to comprehend several instances; where I find\nlike objects always existing in like relations of contiguity and\nsuccession. At first sight this seems to serve but little to my\npurpose. The reflection on several instances only repeats the same\nobjects; and therefore can never give rise to a new idea. But upon\nfarther enquiry I find, that the repetition is not in every particular\nthe same, but produces a new impression, and by that means the idea,\nwhich I at present examine. For after a frequent repetition, I find,\nthat upon the appearance of one of the objects, the mind is determined\nby custom to consider its usual attendant, and to consider it in a\nstronger light upon account of its relation to the first object. It is\nthis impression, then, or determination, which affords me the idea of\nnecessity.\n\n    [12] Sect. 2.\n\nI doubt not but these consequences will at first sight be received\nwithout difficulty, as being evident deductions from principles, which\nwe have already established, and which we have often employed in our\nreasonings. This evidence both in the first principles, and in the\ndeductions, may seduce us unwarily into the conclusion, and make us\nimagine it contains nothing extraordinary, nor worthy of our curiosity.\nBut though such an inadvertence may facilitate the reception of this\nreasoning, it will make it be the more easily forgot; for which reason\nI think it proper to give warning, that I have just now examined one of\nthe most sublime questions in philosophy, viz. that concerning the power\nand efficacy of causes; where all the sciences seem so much interested.\nSuch a warning will naturally rouze up the attention of the reader, and\nmake him desire a more full account of my doctrine, as well as of the\narguments, on which it is founded. This request is so reasonable, that\nI cannot refuse complying with it; especially as I am hopeful that these\nprinciples, the more they are examined, will acquire the more force and\nevidence.\n\nThere is no question, which on account of its importance, as well as\ndifficulty, has caused more disputes both among antient and modern\nphilosophers, than this concerning the efficacy of causes, or that\nquality which makes them be followed by their effects. But before they\nentered upon these disputes, methinks it would not have been improper to\nhave examined what idea we have of that efficacy, which is the subject\nof the controversy. This is what I find principally wanting in their\nreasonings, and what I shall here endeavour to supply.\n\nI begin with observing that the terms of EFFICACY, AGENCY, POWER, FORCE,\nENERGY, NECESSITY, CONNEXION, and PRODUCTIVE QUALITY, are all nearly\nsynonymous; and therefore it is an absurdity to employ any of them in\ndefining the rest. By this observation we reject at once all the vulgar\ndefinitions, which philosophers have given of power and efficacy; and\ninstead of searching for the idea in these definitions, must look for\nit in the impressions, from which it is originally derived. If it be a\ncompound idea, it must arise from compound impressions. If simple, from\nsimple impressions.\n\nI believe the most general and most popular explication of this matter,\nis to say,[13] that finding from experience, that there are several new\nproductions in matter, such as the motions and variations of body, and\nconcluding that there must somewhere be a power capable of producing\nthem, we arrive at last by this reasoning at the idea of power and\nefficacy. But to be convinced that this explication is more popular\nthan philosophical, we need but reflect on two very obvious principles.\nFirst, that reason alone can never give rise to any original idea, and\nsecondly, that reason, as distinguished from experience, can never make\nus conclude, that a cause or productive quality is absolutely requisite\nto every beginning of existence. Both these considerations have been\nsufficiently explained: and therefore shall not at present be any\nfarther insisted on.\n\n    [13] See Mr. Locke, chapter of power.\n\nI shall only infer from them, that since reason can never give rise to\nthe idea of efficacy, that idea must be derived from experience, and\nfrom some particular instances of this efficacy, which make their\npassage into the mind by the common channels of sensation or reflection.\nIdeas always represent their objects or impressions; and vice versa,\nthere are some objects necessary to give rise to every idea. If we\npretend, therefore, to have any just idea of this efficacy, we must\nproduce some instance, wherein the efficacy is plainly discoverable to\nthe mind, and its operations obvious to our consciousness or sensation.\nBy the refusal of this, we acknowledge, that the idea is impossible and\nimaginary, since the principle of innate ideas, which alone can save\nus from this dilemma, has been already refuted, and is now almost\nuniversally rejected in the learned world. Our present business,\nthen, must be to find some natural production, where the operation and\nefficacy of a cause can be clearly conceived and comprehended by the\nmind, without any danger of obscurity or mistake.\n\nIn this research we meet with very little encouragement from that\nprodigious diversity, which is found in the opinions of those\nphilosophers, who have pretended to explain the secret force and energy\nof causes.[14] There are some, who maintain, that bodies operate by\ntheir substantial form; others, by their accidents or qualities;\nseveral, by their matter and form; some, by their form and accidents;\nothers, by certain virtues and faculties distinct from all this. All\nthese sentiments again are mixed and varyed in a thousand different\nways; and form a strong presumption, that none of them have any\nsolidity or evidence, and that the supposition of an efficacy in any of\nthe known qualities of matter is entirely without foundation. This\npresumption must encrease upon us, when we consider, that these\nprinciples of substantial forms, and accidents, and faculties, are not\nin reality any of the known properties of bodies, but are perfectly\nunintelligible and inexplicable. For it is evident philosophers would\nnever have had recourse to such obscure and uncertain principles, had\nthey met with any satisfaction in such as are clear and intelligible;\nespecially in such an affair as this, which must be an object of the\nsimplest understanding, if not of the senses. Upon the whole, we may\nconclude, that it is impossible in any one instance to shew the\nprinciple, in which the force and agency of a cause is placed; and that\nthe most refined and most vulgar understandings are equally at a loss\nin this particular. If any one think proper to refute this assertion,\nhe need not put himself to the trouble of inventing any long\nreasonings: but may at once shew us an instance of a cause, where we\ndiscover the power or operating principle. This defiance we are obliged\nfrequently to make use of, as being almost the only means of proving a\nnegative in philosophy.\n\n    [14] See Father Malbranche, Book vi. Part 2, chap. 3. And the\n    illustrations upon it.\n\nThe small success, which has been met with in all the attempts to fix\nthis power, has at last obliged philosophers to conclude, that the\nultimate force and efficacy of nature is perfectly unknown to us,\nand that it is in vain we search for it in all the known qualities of\nmatter. In this opinion they are almost unanimous; and it is only in the\ninference they draw from it, that they discover any difference in their\nsentiments. For some of them, as the CARTESIANS in particular, having\nestablished it as a principle, that we are perfectly acquainted with the\nessence of matter, have very naturally inferred, that it is endowed with\nno efficacy, and that it is impossible for it of itself to communicate\nmotion, or produce any of those effects, which we ascribe to it. As the\nessence of matter consists in extension, and as extension implies not\nactual motion, but only mobility; they conclude, that the energy, which\nproduces the motion, cannot lie in the extension.\n\nThis conclusion leads them into another, which they regard as perfectly\nunavoidable. Matter, say they, is in itself entirely unactive, and\ndeprived of any power, by which it may produce, or continue, or\ncommunicate motion: But since these effects are evident to our senses,\nand since the power, that produces them, must be placed somewhere, it\nmust lie in the DEITY, or that divine being, who contains in his nature\nall excellency and perfection. It is the deity, therefore, who is the\nprime mover of the universe, and who not only first created matter, and\ngave it it's original impulse, but likewise by a continued exertion of\nomnipotence, supports its existence, and successively bestows on it\nall those motions, and configurations, and qualities, with which it is\nendowed.\n\nThis opinion is certainly very curious, and well worth our attention;\nbut it will appear superfluous to examine it in this place, if we\nreflect a moment on our present purpose in taking notice of it. We\nhave established it as a principle, that as all ideas are derived from\nimpressions, or some precedent perceptions, it is impossible we can have\nany idea of power and efficacy, unless some instances can be produced,\nwherein this power is perceived to exert itself. Now, as these instances\ncan never be discovered in body, the Cartesians, proceeding upon their\nprinciple of innate ideas, have had recourse to a supreme spirit or\ndeity, whom they consider as the only active being in the universe, and\nas the immediate cause of every alteration in matter. But the principle\nof innate ideas being allowed to be false, it follows, that the\nsupposition of a deity can serve us in no stead, in accounting for that\nidea of agency, which we search for in vain in all the objects, which\nare presented to our senses, or which we are internally conscious of in\nour own minds. For if every idea be derived from an impression, the idea\nof a deity proceeds from the same origin; and if no impression, either\nof sensation or reflection, implies any force or efficacy, it is equally\nimpossible to discover or even imagine any such active principle in the\ndeity. Since these philosophers, therefore, have concluded, that\nmatter cannot be endowed with any efficacious principle, because it\nis impossible to discover in it such a principle; the same course of\nreasoning should determine them to exclude it from the supreme being. Or\nif they esteem that opinion absurd and impious, as it really is, I shall\ntell them how they may avoid it; and that is, by concluding from the\nvery first, that they have no adequate idea of power or efficacy in\nany object; since neither in body nor spirit, neither in superior nor\ninferior natures, are they able to discover one single instance of it.\n\nThe same conclusion is unavoidable upon the hypothesis of those, who\nmaintain the efficacy of second causes, and attribute a derivative, but\na real power and energy to matter. For as they confess, that this energy\nlies not in any of the known qualities of matter, the difficulty still\nremains concerning the origin of its idea. If we have really an idea\nof power, we may attribute power to an unknown quality: But as it is\nimpossible, that that idea can be derived from such a quality, and as\nthere is nothing in known qualities, which can produce it; it follows\nthat we deceive ourselves, when we imagine we are possest of any idea\nof this kind, after the manner we commonly understand it. All ideas are\nderived from, and represent impressions. We never have any impression,\nthat contains any power or efficacy. We never therefore have any idea of\npower.\n\nSome have asserted, that we feel an energy, or power, in our own mind;\nand that having in this manner acquired the idea of power, we transfer\nthat quality to matter, where we are not able immediately to discover\nit. The motions of our body, and the thoughts and sentiments of our\nmind, (say they) obey the will; nor do we seek any farther to acquire\na just notion of force or power. But to convince us how fallacious this\nreasoning is, we need only consider, that the will being here considered\nas a cause, has no more a discoverable connexion with its effects, than\nany material cause has with its proper effect. So far from perceiving\nthe connexion betwixt an act of volition, and a motion of the body;\nit is allowed that no effect is more inexplicable from the powers and\nessence of thought and matter. Nor is the empire of the will over\nour mind more intelligible. The effect is there distinguishable\nand separable from the cause, and could not be foreseen without the\nexperience of their constant conjunction. We have command over our mind\nto a certain degree, but beyond that, lose all empire over it: And it is\nevidently impossible to fix any precise bounds to our authority, where\nwe consult not experience. In short, the actions of the mind are, in\nthis respect, the same with those of matter. We perceive only their\nconstant conjunction; nor can we ever reason beyond it. No internal\nimpression has an apparent energy, more than external objects have.\nSince, therefore, matter is confessed by philosophers to operate by\nan unknown force, we should in vain hope to attain an idea of force by\nconsulting our own minds.[15]\n\n\n    [15] The same imperfection attends our ideas of the Deity; but this\n    can have no effect either on religion or morals. The order of the\n    universe proves an omnipotent mind; that is, a mind whose will is\n    CONSTANTLY ATTENDED with the obedience of every creature and being.\n    Nothing more is requisite to give a foundation to all the articles\n    of religion, nor is It necessary we shoud form a distinct idea of\n    the force and energy of the supreme Being.\n\n\nIt has been established as a certain principle, that general or abstract\nideas are nothing but individual ones taken in a certain light, and\nthat, in reflecting on any object, it is as impossible to exclude from\nour thought all particular degrees of quantity and quality as from the\nreal nature of things. If we be possest, therefore, of any idea of power\nin general, we must also be able to conceive some particular species\nof it; and as power cannot subsist alone, but is always regarded as an\nattribute of some being or existence, we must be able to place this\npower in some particular being, and conceive that being as endowed with\na real force and energy, by which such a particular effect necessarily\nresults from its operation. We must distinctly and particularly conceive\nthe connexion betwixt the cause and effect, and be able to pronounce,\nfrom a simple view of the one, that it must be followed or preceded by\nthe other. This is the true manner of conceiving a particular power in\na particular body: and a general idea being impossible without an\nindividual; where the latter is impossible, it is certain the former\ncan never exist. Now nothing is more evident, than that the human mind\ncannot form such an idea of two objects, as to conceive any connexion\nbetwixt them, or comprehend distinctly that power or efficacy, by which\nthey are united. Such a connexion would amount to a demonstration, and\nwould imply the absolute impossibility for the one object not to follow,\nor to be conceived not to follow upon the other: Which kind of connexion\nhas already been rejected in all cases. If any one is of a contrary\nopinion, and thinks he has attained a notion of power in any particular\nobject, I desire he may point out to me that object. But till I meet\nwith such-a-one, which I despair of, I cannot forbear concluding, that\nsince we can never distinctly conceive how any particular power can\npossibly reside in any particular object, we deceive ourselves in\nimagining we can form any such general idea.\n\nThus upon the whole we may infer, that when we talk of any being,\nwhether of a superior or inferior nature, as endowed with a power\nor force, proportioned to any effect; when we speak of a necessary\nconnexion betwixt objects, and suppose, that this connexion depends upon\nan efficacy or energy, with which any of these objects are endowed; in\nall these expressions, so applied, we have really no distinct meaning,\nand make use only of common words, without any clear and determinate\nideas. But as it is more probable, that these expressions do here lose\ntheir true meaning by being wrong applied, than that they never have\nany meaning; it will be proper to bestow another consideration on this\nsubject, to see if possibly we can discover the nature and origin of\nthose ideas, we annex to them.\n\nSuppose two objects to be presented to us, of which the one is the\ncause and the other the effect; it is plain, that from the simple\nconsideration of one, or both these objects we never shall perceive the\ntie by which they are united, or be able certainly to pronounce, that\nthere is a connexion betwixt them. It is not, therefore, from any one\ninstance, that we arrive at the idea of cause and effect, of a necessary\nconnexion of power, of force, of energy, and of efficacy. Did we never\nsee any but particular conjunctions of objects, entirely different from\neach other, we should never be able to form any such ideas.\n\nBut again; suppose we observe several instances, in which the same\nobjects are always conjoined together, we immediately conceive a\nconnexion betwixt them, and begin to draw an inference from one\nto another. This multiplicity of resembling instances, therefore,\nconstitutes the very essence of power or connexion, and is the source\nfrom which the idea of it arises. In order, then, to understand the idea\nof power, we must consider that multiplicity; nor do I ask more to give\na solution of that difficulty, which has so long perplexed us. For thus\nI reason. The repetition of perfectly similar instances can never alone\ngive rise to an original idea, different from what is to be found in any\nparticular instance, as has been observed, and as evidently follows from\nour fundamental principle, that all ideas are copyed from impressions.\nSince therefore the idea of power is a new original idea, not to be\nfound in any one instance, and which yet arises from the repetition of\nseveral instances, it follows, that the repetition alone has not that\neffect, but must either discover or produce something new, which is the\nsource of that idea. Did the repetition neither discover nor produce\nanything new, our ideas might be multiplyed by it, but would not\nbe enlarged above what they are upon the observation of one single\ninstance. Every enlargement, therefore, (such as the idea of power or\nconnexion) which arises from the multiplicity of similar instances,\nis copyed from some effects of the multiplicity, and will be perfectly\nunderstood by understanding these effects. Wherever we find anything new\nto be discovered or produced by the repetition, there we must place the\npower, and must never look for it in any other object.\n\nBut it is evident, in the first place, that the repetition of like\nobjects in like relations of succession and contiguity discovers\nnothing new in any one of them: since we can draw no inference from it,\nnor make it a subject either of our demonstrative or probable\nreasonings;[16] as has been already proved. Nay suppose we could draw\nan inference, it would be of no consequence in the present case; since\nno kind of reasoning can give rise to a new idea, such as this of power\nis; but wherever we reason, we must antecedently be possest of clear\nideas, which may be the objects of our reasoning. The conception always\nprecedes the understanding; and where the one is obscure, the other is\nuncertain; where the one fails, the other must fail also.\n\n    [16] Sect. 6.\n\nSecondly, It is certain that this repetition of similar objects in\nsimilar situations produces nothing new either in these objects, or\nin any external body. For it will readily be allowed, that the several\ninstances we have of the conjunction of resembling causes and effects\nare in themselves entirely independent, and that the communication\nof motion, which I see result at present from the shock of two\nbilliard-balls, is totally distinct from that which I saw result from\nsuch an impulse a twelve-month ago. These impulses have no influence\non each other. They are entirely divided by time and place; and the one\nmight have existed and communicated motion, though the other never had\nbeen in being.\n\nThere is, then, nothing new either discovered or produced in any objects\nby their constant conjunction, and by the uninterrupted resemblance\nof their relations of succession and contiguity. But it is from this\nresemblance, that the ideas of necessity, of power, and of efficacy, are\nderived. These ideas, therefore, represent not anything, that does or\ncan belong to the objects, which are constantly conjoined. This is\nan argument, which, in every view we can examine it, will be found\nperfectly unanswerable. Similar instances are still the first source\nof our idea of power or necessity; at the same time that they have no\ninfluence by their similarity either on each other, or on any external\nobject. We must, therefore, turn ourselves to some other quarter to seek\nthe origin of that idea.\n\nThough the several resembling instances, which give rise to the idea of\npower, have no influence on each other, and can never produce any new\nquality in the object, which can be the model of that idea, yet the\nobservation of this resemblance produces a new impression in the mind,\nwhich is its real model. For after we have observed the resemblance in\na sufficient number of instances, we immediately feel a determination of\nthe mind to pass from one object to its usual attendant, and to conceive\nit in a stronger light upon account of that relation. This determination\nis the only effect of the resemblance; and therefore must be the same\nwith power or efficacy, whose idea is derived from the resemblance. The\nseveral instances of resembling conjunctions lead us into the notion of\npower and necessity. These instances are in themselves totally distinct\nfrom each other, and have no union but in the mind, which observes\nthem, and collects their ideas. Necessity, then, is the effect of this\nobservation, and is nothing but an internal impression of the mind,\nor a determination to carry our thoughts from one object to another.\nWithout considering it in this view, we can never arrive at the most\ndistant notion of it, or be able to attribute it either to external or\ninternal objects, to spirit or body, to causes or effects.\n\nThe necessary connexion betwixt causes and effects is the foundation of\nour inference from one to the other. The foundation of our inference is\nthe transition arising from the accustomed union. These are, therefore,\nthe same.\n\nThe idea of necessity arises from some impression. There is no\nimpression conveyed by our senses, which can give rise to that idea. It\nmust, therefore, be derived from some internal impression, or impression\nof reflection. There is no internal impression, which has any relation\nto the present business, but that propensity, which custom produces, to\npass from an object to the idea of its usual attendant. This therefore\nis the essence of necessity. Upon the whole, necessity is something,\nthat exists in the mind, not in objects; nor is it possible for us ever\nto form the most distant idea of it, considered as a quality in bodies.\nEither we have no idea of necessity, or necessity is nothing but that\ndetermination of the thought to pass from causes to effects, and from\neffects to causes, according to their experienced union.\n\nThus as the necessity, which makes two times two equal to four, or three\nangles of a triangle equal to two right ones, lies only in the act of\nthe understanding, by which we consider and compare these ideas; in like\nmanner the necessity or power, which unites causes and effects, lies\nin the determination of the mind to pass from the one to the other. The\nefficacy or energy of causes is neither placed in the causes themselves,\nnor in the deity, nor in the concurrence of these two principles; but\nbelongs entirely to the soul, which considers the union of two or more\nobjects in all past instances. It is here that the real power of causes\nis placed along with their connexion and necessity.\n\nI am sensible, that of all the paradoxes, which I, have had, or shall\nhereafter have occasion to advance in the course of this treatise, the\npresent one is the most violent, and that it is merely by dint of solid\nproof and reasoning I can ever hope it will have admission, and overcome\nthe inveterate prejudices of mankind. Before we are reconciled to this\ndoctrine, how often must we repeat to ourselves, that the simple view of\nany two objects or actions, however related, can never give us any idea,\nof power, or of a connexion betwixt them: that this idea arises from\nthe repetition of their union: that the repetition neither discovers nor\ncauses any thing in the objects, but has an influence only on the mind,\nby that customary transition it produces: that this customary transition\nis, therefore, the same with the power and necessity; which are\nconsequently qualities of perceptions, not of objects, and are\ninternally felt by the soul, and not perceivd externally in bodies?\nThere is commonly an astonishment attending every thing extraordinary;\nand this astonishment changes immediately into the highest degree\nof esteem or contempt, according as we approve or disapprove of the\nsubject. I am much afraid, that though the foregoing reasoning appears\nto me the shortest and most decisive imaginable; yet with the generality\nof readers the biass of the mind will prevail, and give them a prejudice\nagainst the present doctrine.\n\nThis contrary biass is easily accounted for. It is a common\nobservation, that the mind has a great propensity to spread itself on\nexternal objects, and to conjoin with them any internal impressions,\nwhich they occasion, and which always make their appearance at the same\ntime that these objects discover themselves to the senses. Thus as\ncertain sounds and smells are always found to attend certain visible\nobjects, we naturally imagine a conjunction, even in place, betwixt the\nobjects and qualities, though the qualities be of such a nature as to\nadmit of no such conjunction, and really exist no where. But of this\nmore fully hereafter.[17] Mean while it is sufficient to observe, that\nthe same propensity is the reason, why we suppose necessity and power\nto lie in the objects we consider, not in our mind that considers them;\nnotwithstanding it is not possible for us to form the most distant idea\nof that quality, when it is not taken for the determination of the\nmind, to pass from the idea of an object to that of its usual\nattendant.\n\n    [17] Part IV, Sect. 5.\n\nBut though this be the only reasonable account we can give of necessity,\nthe contrary notion if; so riveted in the mind from the principles\nabove-mentioned, that I doubt not but my sentiments will be treated by\nmany as extravagant and ridiculous. What! the efficacy of causes lie\nin the determination of the mind! As if causes did not operate entirely\nindependent of the mind, and would not continue their operation,\neven though there was no mind existent to contemplate them, or reason\nconcerning them. Thought may well depend on causes for its operation,\nbut not causes on thought. This is to reverse the order of nature, and\nmake that secondary, which is really primary, To every operation there\nis a power proportioned; and this power must be placed on the body, that\noperates. If we remove the power from one cause, we must ascribe it to\nanother: But to remove it from all causes, and bestow it on a being,\nthat is no ways related to the cause or effect, but by perceiving them,\nis a gross absurdity, and contrary to the most certain principles of\nhuman reason.\n\nI can only reply to all these arguments, that the case is here much the\nsame, as if a blind man should pretend to find a great many absurdities\nin the supposition, that the colour of scarlet is not the same with the\nsound of a trumpet, nor light the same with solidity. If we have really\nno idea of a power or efficacy in any object, or of any real connexion\nbetwixt causes and effects, it will be to little purpose to prove, that\nan efficacy is necessary in all operations. We do not understand our own\nmeaning in talking so, but ignorantly confound ideas, which are entirely\ndistinct from each other. I am, indeed, ready to allow, that there may\nbe several qualities both in material and immaterial objects, with which\nwe are utterly unacquainted; and if we please to call these POWER or\nEFFICACY, it will be of little consequence to the world. But when,\ninstead of meaning these unknown qualities, we make the terms of power\nand efficacy signify something, of which we have a clear idea, and which\nis incompatible with those objects, to which we apply it, obscurity\nand error begin then to take place, and we are led astray by a false\nphilosophy. This is the case, when we transfer the determination of the\nthought to external objects, and suppose any real intelligible connexion\nbetwixt them; that being a quality, which can only belong to the mind\nthat considers them.\n\nAs to what may be said, that the operations of nature are independent\nof our thought and reasoning, I allow it; and accordingly have observed,\nthat objects bear to each other the relations of contiguity and\nsuccession: that like objects may be observed in several instances to\nhave like relations; and that all this is independent of, and antecedent\nto the operations of the understanding. But if we go any farther, and\nascribe a power or necessary connexion to these objects; this is what\nwe can never observe in them, but must draw the idea of it from what we\nfeel internally in contemplating them. And this I carry so far, that I\nam ready to convert my present reasoning into an instance of it, by a\nsubtility, which it will not be difficult to comprehend.\n\nWhen any object is presented to us, it immediately conveys to the mind\na lively idea of that object, which is usually found to attend it; and\nthis determination of the mind forms the necessary connexion of these\nobjects. But when we change the point of view, from the objects to the\nperceptions; in that case the impression is to be considered as the\ncause, and the lively idea as the effect; and their necessary connexion\nis that new determination, which we feel to pass from the idea of the\none to that of the other. The uniting principle among our internal\nperceptions is as unintelligible as that among external objects, and\nis not known to us any other way than by experience. Now the nature\nand effects of experience have been already sufficiently examined and\nexplained. It never gives us any insight into the internal structure or\noperating principle of objects, but only accustoms the mind to pass from\none to another.\n\nIt is now time to collect all the different parts of this reasoning,\nand by joining them together form an exact definition of the relation of\ncause and effect, which makes the subject of the present enquiry. This\norder would not have been excusable, of first examining our inference\nfrom the relation before we had explained the relation itself, had it\nbeen possible to proceed in a different method. But as the nature of the\nrelation depends so much on that of the inference, we have been obliged\nto advance in this seemingly preposterous manner, and make use of terms\nbefore we were able exactly to define them, or fix their meaning. We\nshall now correct this fault by giving a precise definition of cause and\neffect.\n\nThere may two definitions be given of this relation, which are only\ndifferent, by their presenting a different view of the same object,\nand making us consider it either as a philosophical or as a natural\nrelation; either as a comparison of two ideas, or as an association\nbetwixt them. We may define a CAUSE to be An object precedent and\ncontiguous to another, and where all the objects resembling the former\nare placed in like relations of precedency and contiguity to those\nobjects that resemble the latter. I If this definition be esteemed\ndefective, because drawn from objects foreign to the cause, we may\nsubstitute this other definition in its place, viz. A CAUSE is an object\nprecedent and contiguous to another, and so united with it, that the\nidea, of the one determines the mind to form the idea of the other, and\nthe impression of the one to form a more lively idea of the other. 2\nshould this definition also be rejected for the same reason, I know no\nother remedy, than that the persons, who express this delicacy, should\nsubstitute a juster definition in its place. But for my part I must own\nmy incapacity for such an undertaking. When I examine with the utmost\naccuracy those objects, which are commonly denominated causes and\neffects, I find, in considering a single instance, that the one object\nis precedent and contiguous to the other; and in inlarging my view\nto consider several instances, I find only, that like objects are\nconstantly placed in like relations of succession and contiguity. Again,\nwhen I consider the influence of this constant conjunction, I perceive,\nthat such a relation can never be an object of reasoning, and can never\noperate upon the mind, but by means of custom, which determines the\nimagination to make a transition from the idea of one object to that\nof its usual attendant, and from the impression of one to a more lively\nidea of the other. However extraordinary these sentiments may appear,\nI think it fruitless to trouble myself with any farther enquiry or\nreasoning upon the subject, but shall repose myself on them as on\nestablished maxims.\n\nIt will only be proper, before we leave this subject, to draw some\ncorrollaries from it, by which we may remove several prejudices and\npopular errors, that have very much prevailed in philosophy. First, We\nmay learn from the foregoing, doctrine, that all causes are of the\nsame kind, and that in particular there is no foundation for that\ndistinction, which we sometimes make betwixt efficient causes and causes\nsine qua non; or betwixt efficient causes, and formal, and material, and\nexemplary, and final causes. For as our idea of efficiency is derived\nfrom the constant conjunction of two objects, wherever this is observed,\nthe cause is efficient; and where it is not, there can never be a cause\nof any kind. For the same reason we must reject the distinction betwixt\ncause and occasion, when supposed to signify any thing essentially\ndifferent from each other. If constant conjunction be implyed in what we\ncall occasion, it is a real cause. If not, it is no relation at all, and\ncannot give rise to any argument or reasoning.\n\nSecondly, The same course of reasoning will make us conclude, that there\nis but one kind of necessity, as there is but one kind of cause, and\nthat the common distinction betwixt moral and physical necessity\nis without any foundation in nature. This clearly appears from the\nprecedent explication of necessity. It is the constant conjunction of\nobjects, along with the determination of the mind, which constitutes\na physical necessity: And the removal of these is the same thing with\nchance. As objects must either be conjoined or not, and as the mind must\neither be determined or not to pass from one object to another, it\nis impossible to admit of any medium betwixt chance and an absolute\nnecessity. In weakening this conjunction and determination you do not\nchange the nature of the necessity; since even in the operation of\nbodies, these have different degrees of constancy and force, without\nproducing a different species of that relation.\n\nThe distinction, which we often make betwixt POWER and the EXERCISE of\nit, is equally without foundation.\n\nThirdly, We may now be able fully to overcome all that repugnance, which\nit is so natural for us to entertain against the foregoing reasoning,\nby which we endeavoured to prove, that the necessity of a cause to\nevery beginning of existence is not founded on any arguments either\ndemonstrative or intuitive. Such an opinion will not appear strange\nafter the foregoing definitions. If we define a cause to be an\nobject precedent and contiguous to another, and where all the objects\nresembling the farmer are placed in a like relation of priority and\ncontiguity to those objects, that resemble the latter; we may easily\nconceive, that there is no absolute nor metaphysical necessity, that\nevery beginning of existence should be attended with such an object. If\nwe define a cause to be, AN OBJECT PRECEDENT AND CONTIGUOUS TO ANOTHER,\nAND SO UNITED WITH IT IN THE IMAGINATION, THAT THE IDEA OF THE ONE\nDETERMINES THE MIND TO FORM THE IDEA OF THE OTHER, AND THE IMPRESSION\nOF THE ONE TO FORM A MORE LIVELY IDEA OF THE OTHER; we shall make still\nless difficulty of assenting to this opinion. Such an influence on the\nmind is in itself perfectly extraordinary and incomprehensible; nor can\nwe be certain of its reality, but from experience and observation.\n\nI shall add as a fourth corrollary that we can never have reason to\nbelieve that any object exists, of which we cannot form an idea. For as\nall our reasonings concerning existence are derived from causation,\nand as all our reasonings concerning causation are derived from\nthe experienced conjunction of objects, not from any reasoning or\nreflection, the same experience must give us a notion of these objects,\nand must remove all mystery from our conclusions. This is so evident,\nthat it would scarce have merited our attention, were it not to obviate\ncertain objections of this kind, which might arise against the following\nreasonings concerning matter and substance. I need not observe, that\na full knowledge of the object is not requisite, but only of those\nqualities of it, which we believe to exist.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. XV. RULES BY WHICH TO JUDGE OF CAUSES AND EFFECTS.\n\n\nAccording to the precedent doctrine, there are no objects which by the\nmere survey, without consulting experience, we can determine to be the\ncauses of any other; and no objects, which we can certainly determine\nin the same manner not to be the causes. Any thing may produce any\nthing. Creation, annihilation, motion, reason, volition; all these may\narise from one another, or from any other object we can imagine. Nor\nwill this appear strange, if we compare two principles explained above,\nTHAT THE CONSTANT CONJUNCTION OF OBJECTS DETERMINES THEIR CAUSATION,\nAND[18] THAT, PROPERTY SPEAKING, NO OBJECTS ARE CONTRARY TO EACH OTHER\nBUT EXISTENCE AND NON-EXISTENCE. Where objects are not contrary,\nnothing hinders them from having that constant conjunction, on which\nthe relation of cause and effect totally depends.\n\n    [18] Part I. Sect. 5.\n\nSince therefore it is possible for all objects to become causes or\neffects to each other, it may be proper to fix some general rules, by\nwhich we may know when they really are so.\n\n(1) The cause and effect must be contiguous in space and time.\n\n(2) The cause must be prior to the effect.\n\n(3) There must be a constant union betwixt the cause and effect. It is\nchiefly this quality, that constitutes the relation.\n\n(4) The same cause always produces the same effect, and the same effect\nnever arises but from the same cause. This principle we derive from\nexperience, and is the source of most of our philosophical reasonings.\nFor when by any clear experiment we have discovered the causes or\neffects of any ph\u00e6nomenon, we immediately extend our observation to\nevery phenomenon of the same kind, without waiting for that constant\nrepetition, from which the first idea of this relation is derived.\n\n(5) There is another principle, which hangs upon this, viz. that where\nseveral different objects produce the same effect, it must be by means\nof some quality, which we discover to be common amongst them. For as\nlike effects imply like causes, we must always ascribe the causation to\nthe circumstance, wherein we discover the resemblance.\n\n(6) The following principle is founded on the same reason. The\ndifference in the effects of two resembling objects must proceed from\nthat particular, in which they differ. For as like causes always\nproduce like effects, when in any instance we find our expectation to be\ndisappointed, we must conclude that this irregularity proceeds from some\ndifference in the causes.\n\n(7) When any object encreases or diminishes with the encrease or\ndiminution of its cause, it is to be regarded as a compounded effect,\nderived from the union of the several different effects, which arise\nfrom the several different parts of the cause. The absence or presence\nof one part of the cause is here supposed to be always attended with\nthe absence or presence of a proportionable part of the effect. This\nconstant conjunction sufficiently proves, that the one part is the cause\nof the other. We must, however, beware not to draw such a conclusion\nfrom a few experiments. A certain degree of heat gives pleasure; if you\ndiminish that heat, the pleasure diminishes; but it does not follow,\nthat if you augment it beyond a certain degree, the pleasure will\nlikewise augment; for we find that it degenerates into pain.\n\n(8) The eighth and last rule I shall take notice of is, that an object,\nwhich exists for any time in its full perfection without any effect, is\nnot the sole cause of that effect, but requires to be assisted by some\nother principle, which may forward its influence and operation. For as\nlike effects necessarily follow from like causes, and in a contiguous\ntime and place, their separation for a moment shews, that these causes\nare not compleat ones.\n\nHere is all the LOGIC I think proper to employ in my reasoning; and\nperhaps even this was not very necessary, but might have been supplyd by\nthe natural principles of our understanding. Our scholastic head-pieces\nand logicians shew no such superiority above the mere vulgar in their\nreason and ability, as to give us any inclination to imitate them in\ndelivering a long system of rules and precepts to direct our judgment,\nin philosophy. All the rules of this nature are very easy in their\ninvention, but extremely difficult in their application; and even\nexperimental philosophy, which seems the most natural and simple of any,\nrequires the utmost stretch of human judgment. There is no ph\u00e6nomenon\nin nature, but what is compounded and modifyd by so many different\ncircumstances, that in order to arrive at the decisive point, we\nmust carefully separate whatever is superfluous, and enquire by new\nexperiments, if every particular circumstance of the first experiment\nwas essential to it. These new experiments are liable to a discussion\nof the same kind; so that the utmost constancy is requird to make us\npersevere in our enquiry, and the utmost sagacity to choose the right\nway among so many that present themselves. If this be the case even\nin natural philosophy, how much more in moral, where there is a much\ngreater complication of circumstances, and where those views and\nsentiments, which are essential to any action of the mind, are so\nimplicit and obscure, that they often escape our strictest attention,\nand are not only unaccountable in their causes, but even unknown in\ntheir existence? I am much afraid lest the small success I meet with\nin my enquiries will make this observation bear the air of an apology\nrather than of boasting.\n\nIf any thing can give me security in this particular, it will be the\nenlarging of the sphere of my experiments as much as possible; for which\nreason it may be proper in this place to examine the reasoning faculty\nof brutes, as well as that of human creatures.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. XVI OF THE REASON OF ANIMALS\n\n\nNext to the ridicule of denying an evident truth, is that of taking much\npains to defend it; and no truth appears to me more evident, than that\nbeasts are endowd with thought and reason as well as men. The arguments\nare in this case so obvious, that they never escape the most stupid and\nignorant.\n\nWe are conscious, that we ourselves, in adapting means to ends, are\nguided by reason and design, and that it is not ignorantly nor casually\nwe perform those actions, which tend to self-preservation, to the\nobtaining pleasure, and avoiding pain. When therefore we see other\ncreatures, in millions of instances, perform like actions, and direct\nthem to the ends, all our principles of reason and probability carry us\nwith an invincible force to believe the existence of a like cause. It is\nneedless in my opinion to illustrate this argument by the enumeration\nof particulars. The smallest attention will supply us with more than are\nrequisite. The resemblance betwixt the actions of animals and those\nof men is so entire in this respect, that the very first action of\nthe first animal we shall please to pitch on, will afford us an\nincontestable argument for the present doctrine.\n\nThis doctrine is as useful as it is obvious, and furnishes us with a\nkind of touchstone, by which we may try every system in this species\nof philosophy. It is from the resemblance of the external actions of\nanimals to those we ourselves perform, that we judge their internal\nlikewise to resemble ours; and the same principle of reasoning, carryd\none step farther, will make us conclude that since our internal actions\nresemble each other, the causes, from which they are derivd, must also\nbe resembling. When any hypothesis, therefore, is advancd to explain a\nmental operation, which is common to men and beasts, we must apply the\nsame hypothesis to both; and as every true hypothesis will abide this\ntrial, so I may venture to affirm, that no false one will ever be able\nto endure it. The common defect of those systems, which philosophers\nhave employd to account for the actions of the mind, is, that they\nsuppose such a subtility and refinement of thought, as not only exceeds\nthe capacity of mere animals, but even of children and the common people\nin our own species; who are notwithstanding susceptible of the same\nemotions and affections as persons of the most accomplishd genius and\nunderstanding. Such a subtility is a dear proof of the falshood, as the\ncontrary simplicity of the truth, of any system.\n\nLet us therefore put our present system concerning the nature of the\nunderstanding to this decisive trial, and see whether it will equally\naccount for the reasonings of beasts as for these of the human species.\n\nHere we must make a distinction betwixt those actions of animals, which\nare of a vulgar nature, and seem to be on a level with their common\ncapacities, and those more extraordinary instances of sagacity, which\nthey sometimes discover for their own preservation, and the propagation\nof their species. A dog, that avoids fire and precipices, that shuns\nstrangers, and caresses his master, affords us an instance of the first\nkind. A bird, that chooses with such care and nicety the place and\nmaterials of her nest, and sits upon her eggs for a due time, and in\nsuitable season, with all the precaution that a chymist is capable of in\nthe most delicate projection, furnishes us with a lively instance of the\nsecond.\n\nAs to the former actions, I assert they proceed from a reasoning, that\nis not in itself different, nor founded on different principles, from\nthat which appears in human nature. It is necessary in the first place,\nthat there be some impression immediately present to their memory or\nsenses, in order to be the foundation of their judgment. From the\ntone of voice the dog infers his masters anger, and foresees his own\npunishment. From a certain sensation affecting his smell, he judges his\ngame not to be far distant from him.\n\nSecondly, The inference he draws from the present impression is built on\nexperience, and on his observation of the conjunction of objects in past\ninstances. As you vary this experience, he varies his reasoning. Make\na beating follow upon one sign or motion for some time, and afterwards\nupon another; and he will successively draw different conclusions,\naccording to his most recent experience.\n\nNow let any philosopher make a trial, and endeavour to explain that\nact of the mind, which we call BELIEF, and give an account of the\nprinciples, from which it is derivd, independent of the influence of\ncustom on the imagination, and let his hypothesis be equally applicable\nto beasts as to the human species; and after he has done this, I promise\nto embrace his opinion. But at the same time I demand as an equitable\ncondition, that if my system be the only one, which can answer to all\nthese terms, it may be receivd as entirely satisfactory and convincing.\nAnd that it is the only one, is evident almost without any reasoning.\nBeasts certainly never perceive any real connexion among objects. It is\ntherefore by experience they infer one from another. They can never by\nany arguments form a general conclusion, that those objects, of which\nthey have had no experience, resemble those of which they have. It is\ntherefore by means of custom alone, that experience operates upon them.\nAll this was sufficiently evident with respect to man. But with respect\nto beasts there cannot be the least suspicion of mistake; which must be\nownd to be a strong confirmation, or rather an invincible proof of my\nsystem.\n\nNothing shews more the force of habit in reconciling us to any\nphaenomenoun, than this, that men are not astonished at the operations\nof their own reason, at the same time, that they admire the instinct\nof animals, and find a difficulty in explaining it, merely because it\ncannot be reduced to the very same principles. To consider the matter\naright, reason is nothing but a wonderful and unintelligible instinct in\nour souls, which carries us along a certain train of ideas, and endows\nthem with particular qualities, according to their particular situations\nand relations. This instinct, it is true, arises from past observation\nand experience; but can any one give the ultimate reason, why past\nexperience and observation produces such an effect, any more than why\nnature alone shoud produce it? Nature may certainly produce whatever\ncan arise from habit: Nay, habit is nothing but one of the principles of\nnature, and derives all its force from that origin.\n\n\n\n\n\nPART IV. OF THE SCEPTICAL AND OTHER SYSTEMS OF PHILOSOPHY.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. I. OF SCEPTICISM WITH REGARD TO REASON.\n\n\nIn all demonstrative sciences the rules are certain and infallible; but\nwhen we apply them, our fallible said uncertain faculties are very apt\nto depart from them, and fall into error. We must, therefore, in every\nreasoning form a new judgment, as a check or controul on our first\njudgment or belief; and must enlarge our view to comprehend a kind of\nhistory of all the instances, wherein our understanding has deceived us,\ncompared with those, wherein its testimony was just and true. Our reason\nmust be considered as a kind of cause, of which truth is the natural\neffect; but such-a-one as by the irruption of other causes, and by the\ninconstancy of our mental powers, may frequently be prevented. By this\nmeans all knowledge degenerates into probability; and this probability\nis greater or less, according to our experience of the veracity or\ndeceitfulness of our understanding, and according to the simplicity or\nintricacy of the question.\n\nThere is no Algebraist nor Mathematician so expert in his science, as to\nplace entire confidence in any truth immediately upon his discovery of\nit, or regard it as any thing, but a mere probability. Every time he\nruns over his proofs, his confidence encreases; but still more by the\napprobation of his friends; and is raised to its utmost perfection by\nthe universal assent and applauses of the learned world. Now it is\nevident, that this gradual encrease of assurance is nothing but the\naddition of new probabilities, and is derived from the constant union of\ncauses and effects, according to past experience and observation.\n\nIn accompts of any length or importance, Merchants seldom trust to\nthe infallible certainty of numbers for their security; but by the\nartificial structure of the accompts, produce a probability beyond what\nis derived from the skill and experience of the accomptant. For that\nis plainly of itself some degree of probability; though uncertain and\nvariable, according to the degrees of his experience and length of\nthe accompt. Now as none will maintain, that our assurance in a long\nnumeration exceeds probability, I may safely affirm, that there scarce\nis any proposition concerning numbers, of which we can have a fuller\nsecurity. For it is easily possible, by gradually diminishing the\nnumbers, to reduce the longest series of addition to the most simple\nquestion, which can be formed, to an addition of two single numbers; and\nupon this supposition we shall find it impracticable to shew the precise\nlimits of knowledge and of probability, or discover that particular\nnumber, at which the one ends and the other begins. But knowledge and\nprobability are of such contrary and disagreeing natures, that they\ncannot well run insensibly into each other, and that because they will\nnot divide, but must be either entirely present, or entirely absent.\nBesides, if any single addition were certain, every one would be so, and\nconsequently the whole or total sum; unless the whole can be different\nfrom all its parts. I had almost said, that this was certain; but I\nreflect that it must reduce itself, as well as every other reasoning,\nand from knowledge degenerate into probability.\n\nSince therefore all knowledge resolves itself into probability, and\nbecomes at last of the same nature with that evidence, which we employ\nin common life, we must now examine this latter species of reasoning,\nand see on what foundation it stands.\n\nIn every judgment, which we can form concerning probability, as well\nas concerning knowledge, we ought always to correct the first judgment,\nderived from the nature of the object, by another judgment, derived from\nthe nature of the understanding. It is certain a man of solid sense and\nlong experience ought to have, and usually has, a greater assurance\nin his opinions, than one that is foolish and ignorant, and that our\nsentiments have different degrees of authority, even with ourselves, in\nproportion to the degrees of our reason and experience. In the man of\nthe best sense and longest experience, this authority is never entire;\nsince even such-a-one must be conscious of many errors in the past, and\nmust still dread the like for the future. Here then arises a new species\nof probability to correct and regulate the first, and fix its just\nstandard and proportion. As demonstration is subject to the controul of\nprobability, so is probability liable to a new correction by a reflex\nact of the mind, wherein the nature of our understanding, and our\nreasoning from the first probability become our objects.\n\nHaving thus found in every probability, beside the original uncertainty\ninherent in the subject, a new uncertainty derived from the weakness of\nthat faculty, which judges, and having adjusted these two together,\nwe are obliged by our reason to add a new doubt derived from the\npossibility of error in the estimation we make of the truth and fidelity\nof our faculties. This is a doubt, which immediately occurs to us, and\nof which, if we would closely pursue our reason, we cannot avoid giving\na decision. But this decision, though it should be favourable to our\npreceding judgment, being founded only on probability, must weaken still\nfurther our first evidence, and must itself be weakened by a fourth\ndoubt of the same kind, and so on in infinitum: till at last there\nremain nothing of the original probability, however great we may\nsuppose it to have been, and however small the diminution by every new\nuncertainty. No finite object can subsist under a decrease repeated IN\nINFINITUM; and even the vastest quantity, which can enter into human\nimagination, must in this manner be reduced to nothing. Let our first\nbelief be never so strong, it must infallibly perish by passing through\nso many new examinations, of which each diminishes somewhat of its force\nand vigour. When I reflect on the natural fallibility of my judgment,\nI have less confidence in my opinions, than when I only consider the\nobjects concerning which I reason; and when I proceed still farther,\nto turn the scrutiny against every successive estimation I make of my\nfaculties, all the rules of logic require a continual diminution, and at\nlast a total extinction of belief and evidence.\n\nShould it here be asked me, whether I sincerely assent to this argument,\nwhich I seem to take such pains to inculcate, and whether I be really\none of those sceptics, who hold that all is uncertain, and that our\njudgment is not in any thing possest of any measures of truth and\nfalshood; I should reply, that this question is entirely superfluous,\nand that neither I, nor any other person was ever sincerely and\nconstantly of that opinion. Nature, by an absolute and uncontroulable\nnecessity has determined us to judge as well as to breathe and feel; nor\ncan we any more forbear viewing certain objects in a stronger and\nfuller light, upon account of their customary connexion with a present\nimpression, than we can hinder ourselves from thinking as long, as\nwe are awake, or seeing the surrounding bodies, when we turn our eyes\ntowards them in broad sunshine. Whoever has taken the pains to refute\nthe cavils of this total scepticism, has really disputed without an\nantagonist, and endeavoured by arguments to establish a faculty, which\nnature has antecedently implanted in the mind, and rendered unavoidable.\n\nMy intention then in displaying so carefully the arguments of that\nfantastic sect, is only to make the reader sensible of the truth of my\nhypothesis, that all our reasonings concerning causes and effects are\nderived from nothing but custom; and that belief is more properly an act\nof the sensitive, than of the cogitative part of our natures. I\nhave here proved, that the very same principles, which make us form\na decision upon any subject, and correct that decision by the\nconsideration of our genius and capacity, and of the situation of our\nmind, when we examined that subject; I say, I have proved, that these\nsame principles, when carryed farther, and applied to every new reflex\njudgment, must, by continually diminishing the original evidence, at\nlast reduce it to nothing, and utterly subvert all belief and opinion.\nIf belief, therefore, were a simple act of the thought, without any\npeculiar manner of conception, or the addition of a force and vivacity,\nit must infallibly destroy itself, and in every case terminate in a\ntotal suspense of judgment. But as experience will sufficiently convince\nany one, who thinks it worth while to try, that though he can find no\nerror in the foregoing arguments, yet he still continues to believe, and\nthink, and reason as usual, he may safely conclude, that his reasoning\nand belief is some sensation or peculiar manner of conception, which it\nis impossible for mere ideas and reflections to destroy.\n\nBut here, perhaps, it may be demanded, how it happens, even upon my\nhypothesis, that these arguments above-explained produce not a total\nsuspense of judgment, and after what manner the mind ever retains a\ndegree of assurance in any subject? For as these new probabilities,\nwhich by their repetition perpetually diminish the original evidence,\nare founded on the very same principles, whether of thought or\nsensation, as the primary judgment, it may seem unavoidable, that in\neither case they must equally subvert it, and by the opposition,\neither of contrary thoughts or sensations, reduce the mind to a total\nuncertainty. I suppose, there is some question proposed to me, and\nthat after revolving over the impressions of my memory and senses,\nand carrying my thoughts from them to such objects, as are commonly\nconjoined with them, I feel a stronger and more forcible conception on\nthe one side, than on the other. This strong conception forms my first\ndecision. I suppose, that afterwards I examine my judgment itself,\nand observing from experience, that it is sometimes just and sometimes\nerroneous, I consider it as regulated by contrary principles or causes,\nof which some lead to truth, and some to error; and in ballancing these\ncontrary causes, I diminish by a new probability the assurance of my\nfirst decision. This new probability is liable to the same diminution as\nthe foregoing, and so on, IN INFINITUM. It is therefore demanded, how\nit happens, that even after all we retain a degree of belief, which is\nsufficient for our purpose, either in philosophy or common life.\n\nI answer, that after the first and second decision; as the action of\nthe mind becomes forced and unnatural, and the ideas faint and obscure;\nthough the principles of judgment, and the ballancing of opposite\ncauses be the same as at the very beginning; yet their influence on the\nimagination, and the vigour they add to, or diminish from the thought,\nis by no means equal. Where the mind reaches not its objects with\neasiness and facility, the same principles have not the same effect as\nin a more natural conception of the ideas; nor does the imagination feel\na sensation, which holds any proportion with that which arises from\nits common judgments and opinions. The attention is on the stretch: The\nposture of the mind is uneasy; and the spirits being diverted from their\nnatural course, are not governed in their movements by the same laws, at\nleast not to the same degree, as when they flow in their usual channel.\n\nIf we desire similar instances, it will not be very difficult to find\nthem. The present subject of metaphysics will supply us abundantly. The\nsame argument, which would have been esteemed convincing in a reasoning\nconcerning history or politics, has little or no influence in these\nabstruser subjects, even though it be perfectly comprehended; and that\nbecause there is required a study and an effort of thought, in order\nto its being comprehended: And this effort of thought disturbs the\noperation of our sentiments, on which the belief depends. The case is\nthe same in other subjects. The straining of the imagination always\nhinders the regular flowing of the passions and sentiments. A tragic\npoet, that would represent his heroes as very ingenious and witty in\ntheir misfortunes, would never touch the passions. As the emotions of\nthe soul prevent any subtile reasoning and reflection, so these latter\nactions of the mind are equally prejudicial to the former. The mind, as\nwell as the body, seems to be endowed with a certain precise degree of\nforce and activity, which it never employs in one action, but at the\nexpense of all the rest. This is more evidently true, where the actions\nare of quite different natures; since in that case the force of the mind\nis not only diverted, but even the disposition changed, so as to render\nus incapable of a sudden transition from one action to the other, and\nstill more of performing both at once. No wonder, then, the conviction,\nwhich arises from a subtile reasoning, diminishes in proportion to the\nefforts, which the imagination makes to enter into the reasoning, and\nto conceive it in all its parts. Belief, being a lively conception, can\nnever be entire, where it is not founded on something natural and easy.\n\nThis I take to be the true state of the question, and cannot approve of\nthat expeditious way, which some take with the sceptics, to reject\nat once all their arguments without enquiry or examination. If the\nsceptical reasonings be strong, say they, it is a proof, that reason may\nhave some force and authority: if weak, they can never be sufficient to\ninvalidate all the conclusions of our understanding. This argument is\nnot just; because the sceptical reasonings, were it possible for them\nto exist, and were they not destroyed by their subtility, would\nbe successively both strong and weak, according to the successive\ndispositions of the mind. Reason first appears in possession of the\nthrone, prescribing laws, and imposing maxims, with an absolute sway and\nauthority. Her enemy, therefore, is obliged to take shelter under\nher protection, and by making use of rational arguments to prove the\nfallaciousness and imbecility of reason, produces, in a manner, a\npatent under her hand and seal. This patent has at first an authority,\nproportioned to the present and immediate authority of reason, from\nwhich it is derived. But as it is supposed to be contradictory to\nreason, it gradually diminishes the force of that governing power\nand its own at the same time; till at last they both vanish away into\nnothing, by a regulax and just diminution. The sceptical and dogmatical\nreasons are of the same kind, though contrary in their operation and\ntendency; so that where the latter is strong, it has an enemy of equal\nforce in the former to encounter; and as their forces were at first\nequal, they still continue so, as long as either of them subsists; nor\ndoes one of them lose any force in the contest, without taking as much\nfrom its antagonist. It is happy, therefore, that nature breaks the\nforce of all sceptical arguments in time, and keeps them from having any\nconsiderable influence on the understanding. Were we to trust entirely\nto their self-destruction, that can never take place, until they have\nfirst subverted all conviction, and have totally destroyed human reason.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. II. OF SCEPTICISM WITH REGARD TO THE SENSES.\n\n\nThus the sceptic still continues to reason and believe, even though he\nasserts, that he cannot defend his reason by reason; and by the same\nrule he must assent to the principle concerning the existence of body,\nthough he cannot pretend by any arguments of philosophy to maintain its\nveracity. Nature has not left this to his choice, and has doubtless,\nesteemed it an affair of too great importance to be trusted to our\nuncertain reasonings and speculations. We may well ask, What causes\ninduce us to believe in the existence of body? but it is in vain to ask,\nWhether there be body or not? That is a point, which we must take for\ngranted in all our reasonings.\n\nThe subject, then, of our present enquiry is concerning the causes which\ninduce us to believe in the existence of body: And my reasonings on this\nhead I shall begin with a distinction, which at first sight may\nseem superfluous, but which will contribute very much to the perfect\nunderstanding of what follows. We ought to examine apart those two\nquestions, which are commonly confounded together, viz. Why we attribute\na continued existence to objects, even when they are not present to the\nsenses; and why we suppose them to have an existence DISTINCT from the\nmind and perception. Under this last head I comprehend their\nsituation as well as relations, their external position as well as\nthe independence of their existence and operation. These two questions\nconcerning the continued and distinct existence of body are intimately\nconnected together. For if the objects of our senses continue to\nexist, even when they are not perceived, their existence is of course\nindependent of and distinct from the perception: and vice versa, if\ntheir existence be independent of the perception and distinct from it,\nthey must continue to exist, even though they be not perceived. But\nthough the decision of the one question decides the other; yet that we\nmay the more easily discover the principles of human nature, from whence\nthe decision arises, we shall carry along with us this distinction, and\nshall consider, whether it be the senses, reason, or the imagination,\nthat produces the opinion of a continued or of a distinct existence.\nThese are the only questions, that are intelligible on the present\nsubject. For as to the notion of external existence, when taken for\nsomething specially different from our perceptions,[1] we have already\nshewn its absurdity.\n\n    [1] Part. II. Sect. 6.\n\nTo begin with the SENSES, it is evident these faculties are incapable of\ngiving rise to the notion of the continued existence of their objects,\nafter they no longer appear to the senses. For that is a contradiction\nin terms, and suppose that the senses continue to operate, even after\nthey have ceased all manner of operation. These faculties, therefore, if\nthey have any influence in the present case, must produce the opinion\nof a distinct, not of a continued existence; and in order to that, must\npresent their impressions either as images and representations, or as\nthese very distinct and external existences.\n\nThat our senses offer not their impressions as the images of something\ndistinct, or independent, and external, is evident; because they convey\nto us nothing but a single perception, and never give us the least\nintimation of any thing beyond. A single perception can never produce\nthe idea of a double existence, but by some inference either of the\nreason or imagination. When the mind looks farther than what immediately\nappears to it, its conclusions can never be put to the account of the\nsenses; and it certainly looks farther, when from a single perception it\ninfers a double existence, and supposes the relations of resemblance and\ncausation betwixt them.\n\nIf our senses, therefore, suggest any idea of distinct existences,\nthey must convey the impressions as those very existences, by a kind of\nfallacy and illusion. Upon this bead we may observe, that all sensations\nare felt by the mind, such as they really are, and that when we\ndoubt, whether they present themselves as distinct objects, or as\nmere impressions, the difficulty is not concerning their nature, but\nconcerning their relations and situation. Now if the senses presented\nour impressions as external to, and independent of ourselves, both the\nobjects and ourselves must be obvious to our senses, otherwise they\ncould not be compared by these faculties. The difficulty, then, is how\nfax we are ourselves the objects of our senses.\n\nIt is certain there is no question in philosophy more abstruse than\nthat concerning identity, and the nature of the uniting principle, which\nconstitutes a person. So far from being able by our senses merely to\ndetermine this question, we must have recourse to the most profound\nmetaphysics to give a satisfactory answer to it; and in common life\nit is evident these ideas of self and person are never very fixed nor\ndeterminate. It is absurd, therefore, to imagine the senses can ever\ndistinguish betwixt ourselves and external objects.\n\nAdd to this, that every impression, external and internal, passions,\naffections, sensations, pains and pleasures, are originally on the same\nfooting; and that whatever other differences we may observe among them,\nthey appear, all of them, in their true colours, as impressions or\nperceptions. And indeed, if we consider the matter aright, it is scarce\npossible it should be otherwise, nor is it conceivable that our senses\nshould be more capable of deceiving us in the situation and relations,\nthan in the nature of our impressions. For since all actions and\nsensations of the mind are known to us by consciousness, they must\nnecessarily appear in every particular what they are, and be what they\nappear. Every thing that enters the mind, being in reality a perception,\nit is impossible any thing should to feeling appear different. This were\nto suppose, that even where we are most intimately conscious, we might\nbe mistaken.\n\nBut not to lose time in examining, whether it is possible for our senses\nto deceive us, and represent our perceptions as distinct from ourselves,\nthat is as external to and independent of us; let us consider whether\nthey really do so, and whether this error proceeds from an immediate\nsensation, or from some other causes.\n\nTo begin with the question concerning EXTERNAL existence, it may perhaps\nbe said, that setting aside the metaphysical question of the identity\nof a thinking substance, our own body evidently belongs to us; and as\nseveral impressions appear exterior to the body, we suppose them also\nexterior to ourselves. The paper, on which I write at present, is beyond\nmy hand. The table is beyond the paper. The walls of the chamber beyond\nthe table. And in casting my eye towards the window, I perceive a great\nextent of fields and buildings beyond my chamber. From all this it may\nbe infered, that no other faculty is required, beside the senses, to\nconvince us of the external existence of body. But to prevent this\ninference, we need only weigh the three following considerations. First,\nThat, properly speaking, it is not our body we perceive, when we regard\nour limbs and members, but certain impressions, which enter by the\nsenses; so that the ascribing a real and corporeal existence to these\nimpressions, or to their objects, is an act of the mind as difficult\nto explain, as that which we examine at present. Secondly, Sounds, and\ntastes, and smelts, though commonly regarded by the mind as continued\nindependent qualities, appear not to have any existence in extension,\nand consequently cannot appear to the senses as situated externally\nto the body. The reason, why we ascribe a place to them, shall be:\nconsidered afterwards. Thirdly, Even our sight informs us not of\ndistance or outness (so to speak) immediately and without a certain\nreasoning and experience, as is acknowledged by the most rational\nphilosophers.\n\nAs to the independency of our perceptions on ourselves, this can never\nbe an object of the senses; but any opinion we form concerning it, must\nbe derived from experience and observation: And we shall see afterwards,\nthat our conclusions from experience are far from being favourable to\nthe doctrine of the independency of our perceptions. Mean while we may\nobserve that when we talk of real distinct existences, we have commonly\nmore in our eye their independency than external situation in place,\nand think an object has a sufficient reality, when its Being is\nuninterrupted, and independent of the incessant revolutions, which we\nare conscious of in ourselves.\n\nThus to resume what I have said concerning the senses; they give us no\nnotion of continued existence, because they cannot operate beyond the\nextent, in which they really operate. They as little produce the opinion\nof a distinct existence, because they neither can offer it to the mind\nas represented, nor as original. To offer it as represented, they must\npresent both an object and an image. To make it appear as original, they\nmust convey a falshood; and this falshood must lie in the relations and\nsituation: In order to which they must be able to compare the object\nwith ourselves; and even in that case they do not, nor is it possible\nthey should, deceive us. We may, therefore, conclude with certainty,\nthat the opinion of a continued and of a distinct existence never arises\nfrom the senses.\n\nTo confirm this we may observe, that there are three different kinds of\nimpressions conveyed by the senses. The first are those of the figure,\nbulk, motion and solidity of bodies. The second those of colours,\ntastes, smells, sounds, heat and cold. The third are the pains and\npleasures, that arise from the application of objects to our bodies, as\nby the cutting of our flesh with steel, and such like. Both philosophers\nand the vulgar suppose the first of these to have a distinct continued\nexistence. The vulgar only regard the second as on the same footing.\nBoth philosophers and the vulgar, again, esteem the third to be merely\nperceptions and consequently interrupted and dependent beings.\n\nNow it is evident, that, whatever may be our philosophical opinion,\ncolours, Sounds, heat and cold, as far as appears to the senses, exist\nafter the same manner with motion and solidity, and that the difference\nwe make betwixt them in this respect, arises not from the mere\nperception. So strong the prejudice for the distinct continued existence\nOf the former qualities, that when the contrary opinion is advanced by\nmodern philosophers, people imagine they can almost refute it from\ntheir feeling and experience, and that their very senses contradict this\nphilosophy. It is also evident, that colours, sounds, &c. are originally\non the same footing with the pain that arises from steel, and pleasure\nthat proceeds from a fire; and that the difference betwixt them is\nfounded neither on perception nor reason, but on the imagination. For\nas they are confest to be, both of them, nothing but perceptions arising\nfrom the particular configurations and motions of the parts of body,\nwherein possibly can their difference consist? Upon the whole, then, we\nmay conclude, that as far as the senses are judges, all perceptions are\nthe same in the manner of their existence.\n\nWe may also observe in this instance of sounds and colours, that we\ncan attribute a distinct continued existence to objects without ever\nconsulting REASON, or weighing our opinions by any philosophical\nprinciples. And indeed, whatever convincing arguments philosophers may\nfancy they can produce to establish the belief of objects independent of\nthe mind, it is obvious these arguments are known but to very few, and\nthat it is not by them, that children, peasants, and the greatest part\nof mankind are induced to attribute objects to some impressions, and\ndeny them to others. Accordingly we find, that all the conclusions,\nwhich the vulgar form on this head, are directly contrary to those,\nwhich are confirmed by philosophy. For philosophy informs us, that every\nthing, which appears to the mind, is nothing but a perception, and is\ninterrupted, and dependent on the mind: whereas the vulgar confound\nperceptions and objects, and attribute a distinct continued existence\nto the very things they feel or see. This sentiment, then, as it is\nentirely unreasonable, must proceed from some other faculty than\nthe understanding. To which we may add, that as long as we take our\nperceptions and objects to be the same, we can never infer the existence\nof the one from that of the other, nor form any argument from the\nrelation of cause and effect; which is the only one that earl assure us\nof matter of fact. Even after we distinguish our perceptions from\nour objects, it will appear presently, that we are still incapable of\nreasoning from the existence of one to that of the other: So that upon\nthe whole our reason neither does, nor is it possible it ever should,\nupon any supposition, give us an assurance of the continued and\ndistinct existence of body. That opinion must be entirely owing to the\nIMAGINATION: which must now be the subject of our enquiry.\n\nSince all impressions are internal and perishing existences, and appear\nas such, the notion of their distinct and continued existence must arise\nfrom a concurrence of some of their qualities with the qualities of the\nimagination, and since this notion does not extend to all of them, it\nmust arise from certain qualities peculiar to some impressions. It will\ntherefore be easy for us to discover these qualities by a comparison\nof the impressions, to which we attribute a distinct and continued\nexistence, with those, which we regard as internal and perishing.\n\nWe may observe, then, that it is neither upon account of the\ninvoluntariness of certain impressions, as is commonly supposed, nor of\ntheir superior force and violence, that we attribute to them a reality,\nand continued existence, which we refuse to others, that are voluntary\nor feeble. For it is evident our pains and pleasures, our passions and\naffections, which we never suppose to have any existence beyond our\nperception, operate with greater violence, and are equally involuntary,\nas the impressions of figure and extension, colour and sound, which we\nsuppose to be permanent beings. The heat of a fire, when moderate, is\nsupposed to exist in the fire; but the pain, which it causes upon a near\napproach, is not taken to have any being, except in the perception.\n\nThese vulgar opinions, then, being rejected, we must search for some\nother hypothesis, by which we may discover those peculiar qualities\nin our impressions, which makes us attribute to them a distinct and\ncontinued existence.\n\nAfter a little examination, we shall find, that all those objects, to\nwhich we attribute a continued existence, have a peculiar constancy,\nwhich distinguishes them from the impressions, whose existence depends\nupon our perception. Those mountains, and houses, and trees, which lie\nat present under my eye, have always appeared to me in the same order;\nand when I lose sight of them by shutting my eyes or turning my head, I\nsoon after find them return upon me without the least alteration. My bed\nand table, my books and papers, present themselves in the same uniform\nmanner, and change not upon account of any interruption in my seeing\nor perceivilng them. This is the case with all the impressions, whose\nobjects are supposed to have an external existence; and is the case\nwith no other impressions, whether gentle or violent, voluntary or\ninvoluntary.\n\nThis constancy, however, is not so perfect as not to admit of very\nconsiderable exceptions. Bodies often change their position and\nqualities, and after a little absence or interruption may become hardly\nknowable. But here it is observable, that even in these changes they\npreserve a coherence, and have a regular dependence on each other; which\nis the foundation of a kind of reasoning from causation, and produces\nthe opinion of their continued existence. When I return to my chamber\nafter an hour's absence, I find not my fire in the same situation, in\nwhich I left it: But then I am accustomed in other instances to see a\nlike alteration produced in a like time, whether I am present or absent,\nnear or remote. This coherence, therefore, in their changes is one of\nthe characteristics of external objects, as well as their constancy.\n\nHaving found that the opinion of the continued existence of body depends\non the COHERENCE, and CONSTANCY of certain impressions, I now proceed to\nexamine after what manner these qualities give rise to so extraordinary\nan opinion. To begin with the coherence; we may observe, that though\nthose internal impressions, which we regard as fleeting and perishing,\nhave also a certain coherence or regularity in their appearances, yet\nit is of somewhat a different nature, from that which we discover in\nbodies. Our passions are found by experience to have a mutual connexion\nwith and dependence on each other; but on no occasion is it necessary\nto suppose, that they have existed and operated, when they were not\nperceived, in order to preserve the same dependence and connexion, of\nwhich we have had experience. The case is not the same with relation\nto external objects. Those require a continued existence, or otherwise\nlose, in a great measure, the regularity of their operation. I am here\nseated in my chamber with my face to the fire; and all the objects, that\nstrike my senses, are contained in a few yards around me. My memory,\nindeed, informs me of the existence of many objects; but then this\ninformation extends not beyond their past existence, nor do either my\nsenses or memory give any testimony to the continuance of their being.\nWhen therefore I am thus seated, and revolve over these thoughts, I hear\non a sudden a noise as of a door turning upon its hinges; and a little\nafter see a porter, who advances towards me. This gives occasion to many\nnew reflections and reasonings. First, I never have observed, that\nthis noise could proceed from any thing but the motion of a door; and\ntherefore conclude, that the present ph\u00e6nomenon is a contradiction to\nall past experience, unless the door, which I remember on the other side\nthe chamber, be still in being. Again, I have always found, that a human\nbody was possest of a quality, which I call gravity, and which hinders\nit from mounting in the air, as this porter must have done to arrive\nat my chamber, unless the stairs I remember be not annihilated by my\nabsence. But this is not all. I receive a letter, which upon, opening\nit I perceive by the hand-writing and subscription to have come from a\nfriend, who says he is two hundred leagues distant. It is evident I can\nnever account for this phenomenon, conformable to my experience in other\ninstances, without spreading out in my mind the whole sea and continent\nbetween us, and supposing the effects and continued existence of posts\nand ferries, according to my Memory and observation. To consider\nthese phaenomena of the porter and letter in a certain light, they are\ncontradictions to common experience, and may be regarded as objections\nto those maxims, which we form concerning the connexions of causes and\neffects. I am accustomed to hear such a sound, and see such an object in\nmotion at the same time. I have not received in this particular instance\nboth these perceptions. These observations are contrary, unless I\nsuppose that the door still remains, and that it was opened without\nmy perceiving it: And this supposition, which was at first entirely\narbitrary and hypothetical, acquires a force and evidence by its being\nthe only one, upon which I can reconcile these contradictions. There\nis scarce a moment of my life, wherein there is not a similar instance\npresented to me, and I have not occasion to suppose the continued\nexistence of objects, in order to connect their past and present\nappearances, and give them such an union with each other, as I have\nfound by experience to be suitable to their particular natures and\ncircumstances. Here then I am naturally led to regard the world, as\nsomething real and durable, and as preserving its existence, even when\nit is no longer present to my perception.\n\nBut though this conclusion from the coherence of appearances may seem to\nbe of the same nature with our reasonings concerning causes and effects;\nas being derived from custom, and regulated by past experience; we\nshall find upon examination, that they are at the bottom considerably\ndifferent from each other, and that this inference arises from the\nunderstanding, and from custom in an indirect and oblique manner. For\nit will readily be allowed, that since nothing is ever really present to\nthe mind, besides its own perceptions, it is not only impossible,\nthat any habit should ever be acquired otherwise than by the regular\nsuccession of these perceptions, but also that any habit should ever\nexceed that degree of regularity. Any degree, therefore, of regularity\nin our perceptions, can never be a foundation for us to infer a greater\ndegree of regularity in some objects, which are not perceived; since\nthis supposes a contradiction, viz. a habit acquired by what was never\npresent to the mind. But it is evident, that whenever we infer the\ncontinued existence of the objects of sense from their coherence, and\nthe frequency of their union, it is in order to bestow on the objects\na greater regularity than what is observed in our mere perceptions. We\nremark a connexion betwixt two kinds of objects in their past appearance\nto the senses, but are not able to observe this connexion to be\nperfectly constant, since the turning about of our head or the shutting\nof our eyes is able to break it. What then do we suppose in this\ncase, but that these objects still continue their usual connexion,\nnotwithstanding their apparent interruption, and that the irregular\nappearances are joined by something, of which we are insensible? But as\nall reasoning concerning matters of fact arises only from custom, and\ncustom can only be the effect of repeated perceptions, the extending of\ncustom and reasoning beyond the perceptions can never be the direct and\nnatural effect of the constant repetition and connexion, but must arise\nfrom the co-operation of some other principles.\n\nI have already observed,[2] in examining the foundation of mathematics,\nthat the imagination, when set into any train of thinking, is apt to\ncontinue, even when its object fails it, and like a galley put in\nmotion by the oars, carries on its course without any new impulse. This\nI have assigned for the reason, why, after considering several loose\nstandards of equality, and correcting them by each other, we proceed to\nimagine so correct and exact a standard of that relation, as is not\nliable to the least error or variation. The same principle makes us\neasily entertain this opinion of the continued existence of body.\nObjects have a certain coherence even as they appear to our senses; but\nthis coherence is much greater and more uniform, if we suppose the\nobject.% to have a continued existence; and as the mind is once in the\ntrain of observing an uniformity among objects, it naturally continues,\ntill it renders the uniformity as compleat as possible. The simple\nsupposition of their continued existence suffices for this purpose, and\ngives us a notion of a much greater regularity among objects, than what\nthey have when we look no farther than our senses.\n\n    [2] Part II, Sect. 4.\n\nBut whatever force we may ascribe to this principle, I am afraid it\nis too weak to support alone so vast an edifice, as is that of the\ncontinued existence of all external bodies; and that we must join the\nconstancy of their appearance to the coherence, in order to give a\nsatisfactory account of that opinion. As the explication of this will\nlead me into a considerable compass of very profound reasoning; I\nthink it proper, in order to avoid confusion, to give a short sketch or\nabridgment of my system, and afterwards draw out all its parts in their\nfull compass. This inference from the constancy of our perceptions, like\nthe precedent from their coherence, gives rise to the opinion of the\ncontinued existence of body, which is prior to that of its distinct\nexistence, and produces that latter principle.\n\nWhen we have been accustomed to observe a constancy in certain\nimpressions, and have found, that the perception of the sun or ocean,\nfor instance, returns upon us after an absence or annihilation with like\nparts and in a like order, as at its first appearance, we are not apt\nto regard these interrupted perceptions as different, (which they really\nare) but on the contrary consider them as individually the same,\nupon account of their resemblance. But as this interruption of their\nexistence is contrary to their perfect identity, and makes us regard\nthe first impression as annihilated, and the second as newly created,\nwe find ourselves somewhat at a loss, and are involved in a kind of\ncontradiction. In order to free ourselves from this difficulty, we\ndisguise, as much as possible, the interruption, or rather remove it\nentirely, by supposing that these interrupted perceptions are connected\nby a real existence, of which we are insensible. This supposition, or\nidea of continued existence, acquires a force and vivacity from the\nmemory of these broken impressions, and from that propensity, which\nthey give us, to suppose them the same; and according to the precedent\nreasoning, the very essence of belief consists in the force and vivacity\nof the conception.\n\nIn order to justify this system, there are four things requisite. First,\nTo explain the PRINCIPIUM INDIVIDUATIONIS, or principle of identity.\nSecondly, Give a reason, why the resemblance of our broken and\ninterrupted perceptions induces us to attribute an identity to them.\nThirdly, Account for that propensity, which this illusion gives, to\nunite these broken appearances by a continued existence. Fourthly and\nlastly, Explain that force and vivacity of conception, which arises from\nthe propensity.\n\nFirst, As to the principle of individuation; we may observe, that the\nview of any one object is not sufficient to convey the idea of identity.\nFor in that proposition, an object is the same with itself, if the idea\nexpressed by the word, object, were no ways distinguished from\nthat meant by itself; we really should mean nothing, nor would the\nproposition contain a predicate and a subject, which however are implyed\nin this affirmation. One single object conveys the idea of unity, not\nthat of identity.\n\nOn the other hand, a multiplicity of objects can never convey this idea,\nhowever resembling they may be supposed. The mind always pronounces the\none not to be the other, and considers them as forming two, three,\nor any determinate number of objects, whose existences are entirely\ndistinct and independent.\n\nSince then both number and unity are incompatible with the relation of\nidentity, it must lie in something that is neither of them. But to tell\nthe truth, at first sight this seems utterly impossible. Betwixt unity\nand number there can be no medium; no more than betwixt existence and\nnonexistence. After one object is supposed to exist, we must either\nsuppose another also to exist; in which case we have the idea of number:\nOr we must suppose it not to exist; in which case the first object\nremains at unity.\n\nTo remove this difficulty, let us have recourse to the idea of time or\nduration. I have already observ\u2019d,[3] that time, in a strict sense,\nimplies succession, and that when we apply its idea to any unchangeable\nobject, it is only by a fiction of the imagination, by which the\nunchangeable object is supposd to participate of the changes of the\nco-existent objects, and in particular of that of our perceptions. This\nfiction of the imagination almost universally takes place; and it is by\nmeans of it, that a single object, placd before us, and surveyd for any\ntime without our discovering in it any interruption or variation, is\nable to give us a notion of identity. For when we consider any two\npoints of this time, we may place them in different lights: We may\neither survey them at the very same instant; in which case they give us\nthe idea of number, both by themselves and by the object; which must be\nmultiplyd, in order to be conceivd at once, as existent in these two\ndifferent points of time: Or on the other hand, we may trace the\nsuccession of time by a like succession of ideas, and conceiving first\none moment, along with the object then existent, imagine afterwards a\nchange in the time without any VARIATION or INTERRUPTION in the object;\nin which case it gives us the idea of unity. Here then is an idea,\nwhich is a medium betwixt unity and number; or more properly speaking,\nis either of them, according to the view, in which we take it: And this\nidea we call that of identity. We cannot, in any propriety of speech,\nsay, that an object is the same with itself, unless we mean, that the\nobject existent at one time is the same with itself existent at\nanother. By this means we make a difference, betwixt the idea meant by\nthe word, OBJECT, and that meant by ITSELF, without going the length of\nnumber, and at the same time without restraining ourselves to a strict\nand absolute unity.\n\n    [3] Part II, Sect. 5.\n\nThus the principle of individuation is nothing but the INVARIABLENESS\nand UNINTERRUPTEDNESS of any object, thro a supposd variation of\ntime, by which the mind can trace it in the different periods of its\nexistence, without any break of the view, and without being obligd to\nform the idea of multiplicity or number.\n\nI now proceed to explain the SECOND part of my system, and shew why the\nconstancy of our perceptions makes us ascribe to them a perfect\nnumerical identity, tho there be very long intervals betwixt their\nappearance, and they have only one of the essential qualities of\nidentity, VIZ, INVARIABLENESS. That I may avoid all ambiguity and\nconfusion on this head, I shall observe, that I here account for the\nopinions and belief of the vulgar with regard to the existence of body;\nand therefore must entirely conform myself to their manner of thinking\nand of expressing themselves. Now we have already observ\u2019d, that\nhowever philosophers may distinguish betwixt the objects and\nperceptions of the senses; which they suppose co-existent and\nresembling; yet this is a distinction, which is not comprehended by the\ngenerality of mankind, who as they perceive only one being, can never\nassent to the opinion of a double existence and representation. Those\nvery sensations, which enter by the eye or ear, are with them the true\nobjects, nor can they readily conceive that this pen or paper, which is\nimmediately perceivd, represents another, which is different from, but\nresembling it. In order, therefore, to accommodate myself to their\nnotions, I shall at first suppose; that there is only a single\nexistence, which I shall call indifferently OBJECT or PERCEPTION,\naccording as it shall seem best to suit my purpose, understanding by\nboth of them what any common man means by a hat, or shoe, or stone, or\nany other impression, conveyd to him by his senses. I shall be sure to\ngive warning, when I return to a more philosophical way of speaking and\nthinking.\n\nTo enter, therefore, upon the question concerning the source of the\nerror and deception with regard to identity, when we attribute it to\nour resembling perceptions, notwithstanding their interruption; I must\nhere recal an observation, which I have already prov\u2019d and\nexplain\u2019d.[4] Nothing is more apt to make us mistake one idea for\nanother, than any relation betwixt them, which associates them together\nin the imagination, and makes it pass with facility from one to the\nother. Of all relations, that of resemblance is in this respect the\nmost efficacious; and that because it not only causes an association of\nideas, but also of dispositions, and makes us conceive the one idea by\nan act or operation of the mind, similar to that by which we conceive\nthe other. This circumstance I have observ\u2019d to be of great moment; and\nwe may establish it for a general rule, that whatever ideas place the\nmind in the same disposition or in similar ones, are very apt to be\nconfounded. The mind readily passes from one to the other, and\nperceives not the change without a strict attention, of which,\ngenerally speaking, it is wholly incapable.\n\n    [4] Part II. Sect. 5.\n\nIn order to apply this general maxim, we must first examine the\ndisposition of the mind in viewing any object which preserves a perfect\nidentity, and then find some other object, that is confounded with it,\nby causing a similar disposition. When we fix our thought on any object,\nand suppose it to continue the same for some time; it is evident we\nsuppose the change to lie only in the time, and never exert ourselves to\nproduce any new image or idea of the object. The faculties of the mind\nrepose themselves in a manner, and take no more exercise, than what is\nnecessary to continue that idea, of which we were formerly possest, and\nwhich subsists without variation or interruption. The passage from one\nmoment to another is scarce felt, and distinguishes not itself by a\ndifferent perception or idea, which may require a different direction of\nthe spirits, in order to its conception.\n\nNow what other objects, beside identical ones, are capable of placing\nthe mind in the same disposition, when it considers them, and of causing\nthe same uninterrupted passage of the imagination from one idea to\nanother? This question is of the last importance. For if we can find any\nsuch objects, we may certainly conclude, from the foregoing principle,\nthat they are very naturally confounded with identical ones, and are\ntaken for them in most of our reasonings. But though this question be\nvery important, it is not very difficult nor doubtful. For I immediately\nreply, that a succession of related objects places the mind in this\ndisposition, and is considered with the same smooth and uninterrupted\nprogress of the imagination, as attends the view of the same invariable\nobject. The very nature and essence of relation is to connect our ideas\nwith each other, and upon the appearance of one, to facilitate the\ntransition to its correlative. The passage betwixt related ideas is,\ntherefore, so smooth and easy, that it produces little alteration on\nthe mind, and seems like the continuation of the same action; and as the\ncontinuation of the same action is an effect of the continued view of\nthe same object, it is for this reason we attribute sameness to every\nsuccession of related objects. The thought slides along the succession\nwith equal facility, as if it considered only one object; and therefore\nconfounds the succession with the identity.\n\nWe shall afterwards see many instances of this tendency of relation to\nmake us ascribe an identity to different objects; but shall here confine\nourselves to the present subject. We find by experience, that there is\nsuch a constancy in almost all the impressions of the senses, that their\ninterruption produces no alteration on them, and hinders them not from\nreturning the same in appearance and in situation as at their first\nexistence. I survey the furniture of my chamber; I shut my eyes, and\nafterwards open them; and find the new perceptions to resemble perfectly\nthose, which formerly struck my senses. This resemblance is observed in\na thousand instances, and naturally connects together our ideas of these\ninterrupted perceptions by the strongest relation, and conveys the\nmind with an easy transition from one to another. An easy transition\nor passage of the imagination, along the ideas of these different and\ninterrupted perceptions, is almost the same disposition of mind with\nthat in which we consider one constant and uninterrupted perception. It\nis therefore very natural for us to mistake the one for the other.[5]\n\n\n    This reasoning, it must be confest, is somewhat abstruse, and\n    difficult to be comprehended; but it is remarkable, that this very\n    difficulty may be converted into a proof of the reasoning. We may\n    observe, that there are two relations, and both of them\n    resemblances, which contribute to our mistaking the succession of\n    our interrupted perceptions for an identical object. The first is,\n    the resemblance of the perceptions: The second is the resemblance,\n    which the act of the mind in surveying a succession of resembling\n    objects bears to that in surveying an identical object. Now these\n    resemblances we are apt to confound with each other; and it is\n    natural we shoud, according to this very reasoning. But let us keep\n    them distinct, and we shall find no difficulty in conceiving the\n    precedent argument.\n\nThe persons, who entertain this opinion concerning the identity of\nour resembling perceptions, are in general an the unthinking and\nunphilosophical part of mankind, (that is, all of us, at one time or\nother) and consequently such as suppose their perceptions to be their\nonly objects, and never think of a double existence internal and\nexternal, representing and represented. The very image, which is present\nto the senses, is with us the real body; and it is to these interrupted\nimages we ascribe a perfect identity. But as the interruption of the\nappearance seems contrary to the identity, and naturally leads us to\nregard these resembling perceptions as different from each other, we\nhere find ourselves at a loss how to reconcile such opposite opinions.\nThe smooth passage of the imagination along the ideas of the resembling\nperceptions makes us ascribe to them a perfect identity. The interrupted\nmanner of their appearance makes us consider them as so many resembling,\nbut still distinct beings, which appear after certain intervals. The\nperplexity arising from this contradiction produces a propension to\nunite these broken appearances by the fiction of a continued existence,\nwhich is the third part of that hypothesis I proposed to explain.\n\nNothing is more certain from experience, than that any contradiction\neither to the sentiments or passions gives a sensible uneasiness,\nwhether it proceeds from without or from within; from the opposition\nof external objects, or from the combat of internal principles. On the\ncontrary, whatever strikes in with the natural propensities, and either\nexternally forwards their satisfaction, or internally concurs with their\nmovements, is sure to give a sensible pleasure. Now there being here an\nopposition betwixt the notion of the identity of resembling perceptions,\nand the interruption of their appearance, the mind must be uneasy in\nthat situation, and will naturally seek relief from the uneasiness.\nSince the uneasiness arises from the opposition of two contrary\nprinciples, it must look for relief by sacrificing the one to the\nother. But as the smooth passage of our thought along our resembling\nperceptions makes us ascribe to them an identity, we can never without\nreluctance yield up that opinion. We must, therefore, turn to the other\nside, and suppose that our perceptions are no longer interrupted, but\npreserve a continued as well as an invariable existence, and are by that\nmeans entirely the same. But here the interruptions in the appearance\nof these perceptions are so long and frequent, that it is impossible to\noverlook them; and as the appearance of a perception in the mind and\nits existence seem at first sight entirely the same, it may be doubted,\nwhether we can ever assent to so palpable a contradiction, and suppose a\nperception to exist without being present to the mind. In order to clear\nup this matter, and learn how the interruption in the appearance of a\nperception implies not necessarily an interruption in its existence,\nit will be proper to touch upon some principles, which we shall have\noccasion to explain more fully afterwards.[6]\n\n    [6] Sect. 6.\n\nWe may begin with observing, that the difficulty in the present case\nis not concerning the matter of fact, or whether the mind forms such a\nconclusion concerning the continued existence of its perceptions,\nbut only concerning the manner in which the conclusion is formed, and\nprinciples from which it is derived. It is certain, that almost all\nmankind, and even philosophers themselves, for the greatest part of\ntheir lives, take their perceptions to be their only objects, and\nsuppose, that the very being, which is intimately present to the mind,\nis the real body or material existence. It is also certain, that this\nvery perception or object is supposed to have a continued uninterrupted\nbeing, and neither to be annihilated by our absence, nor to be brought\ninto existence by our presence. When we are absent from it, we say it\nstill exists, but that we do not feel, we do not see it. When we are\npresent, we say we feel, or see it. Here then may arise two questions;\nFirst, How we can satisfy ourselves in supposing a perception to be\nabsent from the mind without being annihilated. Secondly, After what\nmanner we conceive an object to become present to the mind, without some\nnew creation of a perception or image; and what we mean by this seeing,\nand feeling, and perceiving.\n\nAs to the first question; we may observe, that what we call a mind,\nis nothing but a heap or collection of different perceptions, united\ntogether by certain relations, and supposed, though falsely, to be\nendowed with a perfect simplicity and identity. Now as every perception\nis distinguishable from another, and may be considered as separately\nexistent; it evidently follows, that there is no absurdity in separating\nany particular perception from the mind; that is, in breaking off all\nits relations, with that connected mass of perceptions, which constitute\na thinking being.\n\nThe same reasoning affords us an answer to the second question. If the\nname of perception renders not this separation from a mind absurd and\ncontradictory, the name of object, standing for the very same thing, can\nnever render their conjunction impossible. External objects are seen,\nand felt, and become present to the mind; that is, they acquire such a\nrelation to a connected heap of perceptions, as to influence them very\nconsiderably in augmenting their number by present reflections and\npassions, and in storing the memory with ideas. The same continued and\nuninterrupted Being may, therefore, be sometimes present to the mind,\nand sometimes absent from it, without any real or essential change in\nthe Being itself. An interrupted appearance to the senses implies not\nnecessarily an interruption in the existence. The supposition of the\ncontinued existence of sensible objects or perceptions involves\nno contradiction. We may easily indulge our inclination to that\nsupposition. When the exact resemblance of our perceptions makes us\nascribe to them an identity, we may remove the seeming interruption by\nfeigning a continued being, which may fill those intervals, and preserve\na perfect and entire identity to our perceptions.\n\nBut as we here not only feign but believe this continued existence, the\nquestion is, from whence arises such a belief; and this question leads\nus to the fourth member of this system. It has been proved already, that\nbelief in general consists in nothing, but the vivacity of an idea; and\nthat an idea may acquire this vivacity by its relation to some present\nimpression. Impressions are naturally the most vivid perceptions of\nthe mind; and this quality is in part conveyed by the relation to every\nconnected idea. The relation causes a smooth passage from the impression\nto the idea, and even gives a propensity to that passage. The mind falls\nso easily from the one perception to the other, that it scarce perceives\nthe change, but retains in the second a considerable share of the\nvivacity of the first. It is excited by the lively impression; and this\nvivacity is conveyed to the related idea, without any great diminution\nin the passage, by reason of the smooth transition and the propensity of\nthe imagination.\n\nBut suppose, that this propensity arises from some other principle,\nbesides that of relation; it is evident it must still have the same\neffect, and convey the vivacity from the impression to the idea. Now\nthis is exactly the present case. Our memory presents us with a vast\nnumber of instances of perceptions perfectly resembling each other,\nthat return at different distances of time, and after considerable\ninterruptions. This resemblance gives us a propension to consider these\ninterrupted perceptions as the same; and also a propension to connect\nthem by a continued existence, in order to justify this identity, and\navoid the contradiction, in which the interrupted appearance of these\nperceptions seems necessarily to involve us. Here then we have a\npropensity to feign the continued existence of all sensible objects; and\nas this propensity arises from some lively impressions of the memory, it\nbestows a vivacity on that fiction: or in other words, makes us believe\nthe continued existence of body. If sometimes we ascribe a continued\nexistence to objects, which are perfectly new to us, and of whose\nconstancy and coherence we have no experience, it is because the manner,\nin which they present themselves to our senses, resembles that of\nconstant and coherent objects; and this resemblance is a source of\nreasoning and analogy, and leads us to attribute the same qualities to\nsimilar objects.\n\nI believe an intelligent reader will find less difficulty to assent to\nthis system, than to comprehend it fully and distinctly, and will allow,\nafter a little reflection, that every part carries its own proof\nalong with it. It is indeed evident, that as the vulgar suppose their\nperceptions to be their only objects, and at the same time believe the\ncontinued existence of matter, we must account for the origin of the\nbelief upon that supposition. Now upon that supposition, it is a false\nopinion that any of our objects, or perceptions, are identically the\nsame after an interruption; and consequently the opinion of their\nidentity can never arise from reason, but must arise from the\nimagination. The imagination is seduced into such an opinion only by\nmeans of the resemblance of certain perceptions; since we find they are\nonly our resembling perceptions, which we have a propension to suppose\nthe same. This propension to bestow an identity on our resembling\nperceptions, produces the fiction of a continued existence; since that\nfiction, as well as the identity, is really false, as is acknowledged\nby all philosophers, and has no other effect than to remedy the\ninterruption of our perceptions, which is the only circumstance that\nis contrary to their identity. In the last place this propension causes\nbelief by means of the present impressions of the memory; since without\nthe remembrance of former sensations, it is plain we never should have\nany belief of the continued existence of body. Thus in examining all\nthese parts, we find that each of them is supported by the strongest\nproofs: and that all of them together form a consistent system, which is\nperfectly convincing. A strong propensity or inclination alone, without\nany present impression, will sometimes cause a belief or opinion. How\nmuch more when aided by that circumstance?\n\nBut though we are led after this manner, by the natural propensity of\nthe imagination, to ascribe a continued existence to those sensible\nobjects or perceptions, which we find to resemble each other in their\ninterrupted appearance; yet a very little reflection and philosophy\nis sufficient to make us perceive the fallacy of that opinion. I have\nalready observed, that there is an intimate connexion betwixt those two\nprinciples, of a continued and of a distinct or independent existence,\nand that we no sooner establish the one than the other follows, as a\nnecessary consequence. It is the opinion of a continued existence, which\nfirst takes place, and without much study or reflection draws the other\nalong with it, wherever the mind follows its first and most natural\ntendency. But when we compare experiments, and reason a little upon\nthem, we quickly perceive, that the doctrine of the independent\nexistence of our sensible perceptions is contrary to the plainest\nexperience. This leads us backward upon our footsteps to perceive our\nerror in attributing a continued existence to our perceptions, and is\nthe origin of many very curious opinions, which we shall here endeavour\nto account for.\n\nIt will first be proper to observe a few of those experiments, which\nconvince us, that our perceptions are not possest of any independent\nexistence. When we press one eye with a finger, we immediately perceive\nall the objects to become double, and one half of them to be removed\nfrom their common and natural position. But as we do not attribute to\ncontinued existence to both these perceptions, and as they are both\nof the same nature, we clearly perceive, that all our perceptions are\ndependent on our organs, and the disposition of our nerves and\nanimal spirits. This opinion is confirmed by the seeming encrease and\ndiminution of objects, according to their distance; by the apparent\nalterations in their figure; by the changes in their colour and other\nqualities from our sickness and distempers: and by an infinite number\nof other experiments of the same kind; from all which we learn, that\nour sensible perceptions are not possest of any distinct or independent\nexistence.\n\nThe natural consequence of this reasoning should be, that our\nperceptions have no more a continued than an independent existence; and\nindeed philosophers have so far run into this opinion, that they change\ntheir system, and distinguish, (as we shall do for the future) betwixt\nperceptions and objects, of which the former are supposed to be\ninterrupted, and perishing, and different at every different return; the\nlatter to be uninterrupted, and to preserve a continued existence and\nidentity. But however philosophical this new system may be esteemed, I\nassert that it is only a palliative remedy, and that it contains all the\ndifficulties of the vulgar system, with some others, that are peculiar\nto itself. There are no principles either of the understanding or fancy,\nwhich lead us directly to embrace this opinion of the double existence\nof perceptions and objects, nor can we arrive at it but by passing\nthrough the common hypothesis of the identity and continuance of\nour interrupted perceptions. Were we not first perswaded, that our\nperceptions are our only objects, and continue to exist even when they\nno longer make their appearance to the senses, we should never be led\nto think, that our perceptions and objects are different, and that our\nobjects alone preserve a continued existence. The latter hypothesis\nhas no primary recommendation either to reason or the imagination, but\nacquires all its influence on the imagination from the former. This\nproposition contains two parts, which we shall endeavour to prove as\ndistinctly and clearly, as such abstruse subjects will permit.\n\nAs to the first part of the proposition, that this philosophical\nhypothesis has no primary recommendation, either to reason, or the\nimagination, we may soon satisfy ourselves with regard to reason by the\nfollowing reflections. The only existences, of which we are certain,\nare perceptions, which being immediately present to us by consciousness,\ncommand our strongest assent, and are the first foundation of all our\nconclusions. The only conclusion we can draw from the existence of\none thing to that of another, is by means of the relation of cause and\neffect, which shews, that there is a connexion betwixt them, and that\nthe existence of one is dependent on that of the other. The idea of this\nrelation is derived from past experience, by which we find, that two\nbeings are constantly conjoined together, and are always present at\nonce to the mind. But as no beings are ever present to the mind but\nperceptions; it follows that we may observe a conjunction or a relation\nof cause and effect between different perceptions, but can never observe\nit between perceptions and objects. It is impossible, therefore, that\nfrom the existence or any of the qualities of the former, we can ever\nform any conclusion concerning the existence of the latter, or ever\nsatisfy our reason in this particular.\n\nIt is no less certain, that this philosophical system has no primary\nrecommendation to the imagination, and that that faculty would never, of\nitself, and by its original tendency, have fallen upon such a principle.\nI confess it will be somewhat difficult to prove this to the fall\nsatisfaction of the reader; because it implies a negative, which in many\ncases will not admit of any positive proof. If any one would take the\npains to examine this question, and would invent a system, to account\nfor the direct origin of this opinion from the imagination, we should be\nable, by the examination of that system, to pronounce a certain\njudgment in the present subject. Let it be taken for granted, that our\nperceptions are broken, and interrupted, and however like, are still\ndifferent from each other; and let any one upon this supposition shew\nwhy the fancy, directly and immediately, proceeds to the belief of\nanother existence, resembling these perceptions in their nature, but yet\ncontinued, and uninterrupted, and identical; and after he has done this\nto my satisfaction, I promise to renounce my present opinion. Mean while\nI cannot forbear concluding, from the very abstractedness and difficulty\nof the first supposition, that it is an improper subject for the fancy\nto work upon. Whoever would explain the origin of the common opinion\nconcerning the continued and distinct existence of body, must take the\nmind in its common situation, and must proceed upon the supposition,\nthat our perceptions are our only objects, and continue to exist even\nwhen they are not perceived. Though this opinion be false, it is the\nmost natural of any, and has alone any primary recommendation to the\nfancy.\n\nAs to the second part of the proposition, that the philosophical system\nacquires all its influence on the imagination from the vulgar one; we\nmay observe, that this is a natural and unavoidable consequence of the\nforegoing conclusion, that it has no primary recommendation to reason or\nthe imagination. For as the philosophical system is found by experience\nto take hold of many minds, and in particular of all those, who reflect\never so little on this subject, it must derive all its authority from\nthe vulgar system; since it has no original authority of its own.\nThe manner, in which these two systems, though directly contrary, are\nconnected together, may be explains, as follows.\n\nThe imagination naturally runs on in this train of thinking. Our\nperceptions are our only objects: Resembling perceptions are the same,\nhowever broken or uninterrupted in their appearance: This appealing\ninterruption is contrary to the identity: The interruption consequently\nextends not beyond the appearance, and the perception or object really\ncontinues to exist, even when absent from us: Our sensible perceptionz\nhave, therefore, a continued and uninterrupted existence. But as a\nlittle reflection destroys this conclusion, that our perceptions have a\ncontinued existence, by shewing that they have a dependent one, it would\nnaturally be expected, that we must altogether reject the opinion,\nthat there is such a thing in nature as a continued existence, which\nis preserved even when it no longer appears to the senses. The case,\nhowever, is otherwise. Philosophers are so far from rejecting the\nopinion of a continued existence upon rejecting that of the independence\nand continuance of our sensible perceptions, that though all sects\nagree in the latter sentiment, the former, which is, in a manner, its\nnecessary consequence, has been peculiar to a few extravagant sceptics;\nwho after all maintained that opinion in words only, and were never able\nto bring themselves sincerely to believe it.\n\nThere is a great difference betwixt such opinions as we form after\na calm and profound reflection, and such as we embrace by a kind of\ninstinct or natural impulse, on account of their suitableness and\nconformity to the mind. If these opinions become contrary, it is not\ndifficult to foresee which of them will have the advantage. As long as\nour attention is bent upon the subject, the philosophical and studyed\nprinciple may prevail; but the moment we relax our thoughts, nature will\ndisplay herself, and draw us back to our former opinion. Nay she has\nsometimes such an influence, that she can stop our progress, even in the\nmidst of our most profound reflections, and keep us from running on\nwith all the consequences of any philosophical opinion. Thus though we\nclearly perceive the dependence and interruption of our perceptions, we\nstop short in our career, and never upon that account reject the notion\nof an independent and continued existence. That opinion has taken such\ndeep root in the imagination, that it is impossible ever to eradicate\nit, nor will any strained metaphysical conviction of the dependence of\nour perceptions be sufficient for that purpose.\n\nBut though our natural and obvious principles here prevail above our\nstudied reflections, it is certain there must be sonic struggle and\nopposition in the case: at least so long as these rejections retain any\nforce or vivacity. In order to set ourselves at ease in this particular,\nwe contrive a new hypothesis, which seems to comprehend both\nthese principles of reason and imagination. This hypothesis is the\nphilosophical, one of the double existence of perceptions and objects;\nwhich pleases our reason, in allowing, that our dependent perceptions\nare interrupted and different; and at the same time is agreeable to the\nimagination, in attributing a continued existence to something else,\nwhich we call objects. This philosophical system, therefore, is the\nmonstrous offspring of two principles, which are contrary to each\nother, which are both at once embraced by the mind, and which are unable\nmutually to destroy each other. The imagination tells us, that our\nresembling perceptions have a continued and uninterrupted existence, and\nare not annihilated by their absence. Reflection tells us, that even our\nresembling perceptions are interrupted in their existence, and different\nfrom each other. The contradiction betwixt these opinions we elude by a\nnew fiction, which is conformable to the hypotheses both of reflection\nand fancy, by ascribing these contrary qualities to different\nexistences; the interruption to perceptions, and the continuance to\nobjects. Nature is obstinate, and will not quit the field, however\nstrongly attacked by reason; and at the same time reason is so clear\nin the point, that there is no possibility of disguising her. Not being\nable to reconcile these two enemies, we endeavour to set ourselves at\nease as much as possible, by successively granting to each whatever\nit demands, and by feigning a double existence, where each may find\nsomething, that has all the conditions it desires. Were we fully\nconvinced, that our resembling perceptions are continued, and identical,\nand independent, we should never run into this opinion of a double\nexistence, since we should find satisfaction in our first supposition,\nand would not look beyond. Again, were we fully convinced, that our\nperceptions are dependent, and interrupted, and different, we should be\nas little inclined to embrace the opinion of a double existence;\nsince in that case we should clearly perceive the error of our first\nsupposition of a continued existence, and would never regard it any\nfarther. It is therefore from the intermediate situation of the mind,\nthat this opinion arises, and from such an adherence to these two\ncontrary principles, as makes us seek some pretext to justify our\nreceiving both; which happily at last is found in the system of a double\nexistence.\n\nAnother advantage of this philosophical system is its similarity to the\nvulgar one; by which means we can humour our reason for a moment,\nwhen it becomes troublesome and sollicitous; and yet upon its least\nnegligence or inattention, can easily return to our vulgar and natural\nnotions. Accordingly we find, that philosophers neglect not this\nadvantage; but immediately upon leaving their closets, mingle with the\nrest of mankind in those exploded opinions, that our perceptions are our\nonly objects, and continue identically and uninterruptedly the same in\nall their interrupted appearances.\n\nThere are other particulars of this system, wherein we may remark its\ndependence on the fancy, in a very conspicuous manner. Of these, I\nshall observe the two following. First, We suppose external objects to\nresemble internal perceptions. I have already shewn, that the relation\nof cause and effect can never afford us any just conclusion from the\nexistence or qualities of our perceptions to the existence of external\ncontinued objects: And I shall farther add, that even though they could\nafford such a conclusion, we should never have any reason to infer,\nthat our objects resemble our perceptions. That opinion, therefore, is\nderived from nothing but the quality of the fancy above-explained, <that\nit borrows all its ideas from some precedent perception>. We never can\nconceive any thing but perceptions, and therefore must make every thing\nresemble them.\n\nSecondly, As we suppose our objects in general to resemble our\nperceptions, so we take it for granted, that every particular object\nresembles that perception, which it causes. The relation of cause and\neffect determines us to join the other of resemblance; and the ideas\nof these existences being already united together in the fancy by the\nformer relation, we naturally add the latter to compleat the union.\nWe have a strong propensity to compleat every union by joining new\nrelations to those which we have before observed betwixt any ideas, as\nwe shall have occasion to observe presently.[7]\n\n    [7] Sect. 5.\n\nHaving thus given an account of all the systems both popular and\nphilosophical, with regard to external existences, I cannot forbear\ngiving vent to a certain sentiment, which arises upon reviewing those\nsystems. I begun this subject with premising, that we ought to have an\nimplicit faith in our senses, and that this would be the conclusion, I\nshould draw from the whole of my reasoning. But to be ingenuous, I feel\nmyself at present of a quite contrary sentiment, and am more inclined\nto repose no faith at all in my senses, or rather imagination, than\nto place in it such an implicit confidence. I cannot conceive how such\ntrivial qualities of the fancy, conducted by such false suppositions,\ncan ever lead to any solid and rational system. They are the coherence\nand constancy of our perceptions, which produce the opinion of their\ncontinued existence; though these qualities of perceptions have no\nperceivable connexion with such an existence. The constancy of our\nperceptions has the most considerable effect, and yet is attended with\nthe greatest difficulties. It is a gross illusion to suppose, that\nour resembling perceptions are numerically the same; and it is this\nillusion, which leads us into the opinion, that these perceptions are\nuninterrupted, and are still existent, even when they are not present\nto the senses. This is the case with our popular system. And as to\nour philosophical one, it is liable to the same difficulties; and is\nover-and-above loaded with this absurdity, that it at once denies and\nestablishes the vulgar supposition. Philosophers deny our resembling\nperceptions to be identically the same, and uninterrupted; and yet have\nso great a propensity to believe them such, that they arbitrarily invent\na new set of perceptions, to which they attribute these qualities. I\nsay, a new set of perceptions: For we may well suppose in general, but\nit is impossible for us distinctly to conceive, objects to be in their\nnature any thing but exactly the same with perceptions. What then can\nwe look for from this confusion of groundless and extraordinary opinions\nbut error and falshood? And how can we justify to ourselves any belief\nwe repose in them?\n\nThis sceptical doubt, both with respect to reason and the senses, is\na malady, which can never be radically cured, but must return upon\nus every moment, however we may chace it away, and sometimes may seem\nentirely free from it. It is impossible upon any system to defend either\nour understanding or senses; and we but expose them farther when we\nendeavour to justify them in that manner. As the sceptical doubt arises\nnaturally from a profound and intense reflection on those subjects,\nit always encreases, the farther we carry our reflections, whether in\nopposition or conformity to it. Carelessness and in-attention alone can\nafford us any remedy. For this reason I rely entirely upon them; and\ntake it for granted, whatever may be the reader's opinion at this\npresent moment, that an hour hence he will be persuaded there is both an\nexternal and internal world; and going upon that supposition, I intend\nto examine some general systems both ancient and modern, which have\nbeen proposed of both, before I proceed to a more particular enquiry\nconcerning our impressions. This will not, perhaps, in the end be found\nforeign to our present purpose.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. III. OF THE ANTIENT PHILOSOPHY.\n\n\nSeveral moralists have recommended it as an excellent method of becoming\nacquainted with our own hearts, and knowing our progress in virtue,\nto recollect our dreams in a morning, and examine them with the same\nrigour, that we would our most serious and most deliberate actions.\nOur character is the same throughout, say they, and appears best\nwhere artifice, fear, and policy have no place, and men can neither be\nhypocrites with themselves nor others. The generosity, or baseness\nof our temper, our meekness or cruelty, our courage or pusilanimity,\ninfluence the fictions of the imagination with the most unbounded\nliberty, and discover themselves in the most glaring colours. In like\nmanner, I am persuaded, there might be several useful discoveries made\nfrom a criticism of the fictions of the antient philosophy, concerning\nsubstances, and substantial form, and accidents, and occult qualities;\nwhich, however unreasonable and capricious, have a very intimate\nconnexion with the principles of human nature.\n\nIt is confest by the most judicious philosophers, that our ideas of\nbodies are nothing but collections formed by the mind of the ideas of\nthe several distinct sensible qualities, of which objects are composed,\nand which we find to have a constant union with each other. But however\nthese qualities may in themselves be entirely distinct, it is certain\nwe commonly regard the compound, which they form, as ONE thing, and\nas continuing the SAME under very considerable alterations. The\nacknowledged composition is evidently contrary to this supposed\nsimplicity, and the variation to the identity. It may, therefore, be\nworth while to consider the causes, which make us almost universally\nfall into such evident contradictions, as well as the means by which we\nendeavour to conceal them.\n\nIt is evident, that as the ideas of the several distinct, successive\nqualities of objects are united together by a very close relation, the\nmind, in looking along the succession, must be carryed from one part\nof it to another by an easy transition, and will no more perceive the\nchange, than if it contemplated the same unchangeable object. This easy\ntransition is the effect, or rather essence of relation; I and as the\nimagination readily takes one idea for another, where their influence\non the mind is similar; hence it proceeds, that any such succession\nof related qualities is readily considered as one continued object,\nexisting without any variation. The smooth and uninterrupted progress of\nthe thought, being alike in both cases, readily deceives the mind, and\nmakes us ascribe an identity to the changeable succession of connected\nqualities.\n\nBut when we alter our method of considering the succession, and instead\nof traceing it gradually through the successive points of time, survey\nat once Any two distinct periods of its duration, and compare the\ndifferent conditions of the successive qualities; in that case the\nvariations, which were insensible when they arose gradually, do now\nappear of consequence, and seem entirely to destroy the identity. By\nthis means there arises a kind of contrariety in our method of thinking,\nfrom the different points of view, in which we survey the object, and\nfrom the nearness or remoteness of those instants of time, which we\ncompare together. When we gradually follow an object in its successive\nchanges, the smooth progress of the thought makes us ascribe an identity\nto the succession; because it is by a similar act of the mind we\nconsider an unchangeable object. When we compare its situation after\na considerable change the progress of the thought is broke; and\nconsequently we are presented with the idea of diversity: In order to\nreconcile which contradictions the imagination is apt to feign something\nunknown and invisible, which it supposes to continue the same under\nall these variations; and this unintelligible something it calls a\nsubstance, or original and first matter.\n\nWe entertain a like notion with regard to the simplicity of substances,\nand from like causes. Suppose an object perfectly simple and indivisible\nto be presented, along with another object, whose co-existent parts are\nconnected together by a strong relation, it is evident the actions of\nthe mind, in considering these two objects, are not very different. The\nimagination conceives the simple object at once, with facility, by a\nsingle effort of thought, without change or variation. The connexion of\nparts in the compound object has almost the same effect, and so unites\nthe object within itself, that the fancy feels not the transition in\npassing from one part to another. Hence the colour, taste, figure,\nsolidity, and other qualities, combined in a peach or melon, are\nconceived to form one thing; and that on account of their close\nrelation, which makes them affect the thought in the same manner, as if\nperfectly uncompounded. But the mind rests not here. Whenever it views\nthe object in another light, it finds that all these qualities are\ndifferent, and distinguishable, and separable from each other; which\nview of things being destructive of its primary and more natural\nnotions, obliges the imagination to feign an unknown something, or\noriginal substance and matter, as a principle of union or cohesion among\nthese qualities, and as what may give the compound object a title to be\ncalled one thing, notwithstanding its diversity and composition.\n\nThe peripatetic philosophy asserts the original matter to be perfectly\nhomogeneous in all bodies, and considers fire, water, earth, and air, as\nof the very same substance; on account of their gradual revolutions and\nchanges into each other. At the same time it assigns to each of these\nspecies of objects a distinct substantial form, which it supposes to be\nthe source of all those different qualities they possess, and to be a\nnew foundation of simplicity and identity to each particular species.\nAll depends on our manner of viewing the objects. When we look along the\ninsensible changes of bodies, we suppose all of them to be of the same\nsubstance or essence. When we consider their sensible differences, we\nattribute to each of them a substantial and essential difference. And\nin order to indulge ourselves in both these ways of considering our\nobjects, we suppose all bodies to have at once a substance and a\nsubstantial form.\n\nThe notion of accidents is an unavoidable consequence of this method\nof thinking with regard to substances and substantial forms; nor can\nwe forbear looking upon colours, sounds, tastes, figures, and other\nproperties of bodies, as existences, which cannot subsist apart, but\nrequire a subject of inhesion to sustain and support them. For having\nnever discovered any of these sensible qualities, where, for the reasons\nabove-mentioned, we did not likewise fancy a substance to exist; the\nsame habit, which makes us infer a connexion betwixt cause and effect,\nmakes us here infer a dependence of every quality on the unknown\nsubstance. The custom of imagining a dependence has the same effect as\nthe custom of observing it would have. This conceit, however, is no more\nreasonable than any of the foregoing. Every quality being a distinct\nthing from another, may be conceived to exist apart, and may exist\napart, not only from every other quality, but from that unintelligible\nchimera of a substance.\n\nBut these philosophers carry their fictions still farther in their\nsentiments concerning occult qualities, and both suppose a substance\nsupporting, which they do not understand, and an accident supported, of\nwhich they have as imperfect an idea. The whole system, therefore, is\nentirely incomprehensible, and yet is derived from principles as natural\nas any of these above-explained.\n\nIn considering this subject we may observe a gradation of three\nopinions, that rise above each other, according as the persons, who form\nthem, acquire new degrees of reason and knowledge. These opinions are\nthat of the vulgar, that of a false philosophy, and that of the true;\nwhere we shall find upon enquiry, that the true philosophy approaches\nnearer to the sentiments of the vulgar, than to those of a mistaken\nknowledge. It is natural for men, in their common and care, less way of\nthinking, to imagine they perceive a connexion betwixt such objects\nas they have constantly found united together; and because custom has\nrendered it difficult to separate the ideas, they are apt to fancy such\na separation to be in itself impossible and absurd. But philosophers,\nwho abstract from the effects of custom, and compare the ideas of\nobjects, immediately perceive the falshood of these vulgar sentiments,\nand discover that there is no known connexion among objects. Every\ndifferent object appears to them entirely distinct and separate; and\nthey perceive, that it is not from a view of the nature and qualities of\nobjects we infer one from another, but only when in several instances we\nobserve them to have been constantly conjoined. But these philosophers,\ninstead of drawing a just inference from this observation, and\nconcluding, that we have no idea of power or agency, separate from\nthe mind, and belonging to causes; I say, instead of drawing this\nconclusion, they frequently search for the qualities, in which this\nagency consists, and are displeased with every system, which their\nreason suggests to them, in order to explain it. They have sufficient\nforce of genius to free them from the vulgar error, that there is a\nnatural and perceivable connexion betwixt the several sensible qualities\nand actions of matter; but not sufficient to keep them from ever\nseeking for this connexion in matter, or causes. Had they fallen upon\nthe just conclusion, they would have returned back to the situation\nof the vulgar, and would have regarded all these disquisitions with\nindolence and indifference. At present they seem to be in a very\nlamentable condition, and such as the poets have given us but a faint\nnotion of in their descriptions of the punishment of Sisyphus and\nTantalus. For what can be imagined more tormenting, than to seek with\neagerness, what for ever flies us; and seek for it in a place, where it\nis impossible it can ever exist?\n\nBut as nature seems to have observed a kind of justice and compensation\nin every thing, she has not neglected philosophers more than the rest\nof the creation; but has reserved them a consolation amid all their\ndisappointments and afflictions. This consolation principally consists\nin their invention of the words: faculty and occult quality. For\nit being usual, after the frequent use of terms, which are really\nsignificant and intelligible, to omit the idea, which we would express\nby them, and to preserve only the custom, by which we recal the idea at\npleasure; so it naturally happens, that after the frequent use of terms,\nwhich are wholly insignificant and unintelligible, we fancy them to be\non the same footing with the precedent, and to have a secret meaning,\nwhich we might discover by reflection. The resemblance of their\nappearance deceives the mind, as is usual, and makes us imagine a\nthorough resemblance and conformity. By this means these philosophers\nset themselves at ease, and arrive at last, by an illusion, at the\nsame indifference, which the people attain by their stupidity, and true\nphilosophers by their moderate scepticism. They need only say, that\nany phenomenon, which puzzles them, arises from a faculty or an occult\nquality, and there is an end of all dispute and enquiry upon the matter.\n\nBut among all the instances, wherein the Peripatetics have shewn they\nwere guided by every trivial propensity of the imagination, no one is\nmore-remarkable than their sympathies, antipathies, and horrors of\na vacuum. There is a very remarkable inclination in human nature, to\nbestow on external objects the same emotions, which it observes in\nitself; and to find every where those ideas, which are most present to\nit. This inclination, it is true, is suppressed by a little reflection,\nand only takes place in children, poets, and the antient philosophers.\nIt appears in children, by their desire of beating the stones, which\nhurt them: In poets, by their readiness to personify every thing: And in\nthe antient philosophers, by these fictions of sympathy and antipathy.\nWe must pardon children, because of their age; poets, because they\nprofess to follow implicitly the suggestions of their fancy: But\nwhat excuse shall we find to justify our philosophers in so signal a\nweakness?\n\n\n\n\nSECT. IV. OF THE MODERN PHILOSOPHY.\n\n\nBut here it may be objected, that the imagination, according to my own\nconfession, being the ultimate judge of all systems of philosophy, I\nam unjust in blaming the antient philosophers for making use of that\nfaculty, and allowing themselves to be entirely guided by it in their\nreasonings. In order to justify myself, I must distinguish in the\nimagination betwixt the principles which are permanent, irresistible,\nand universal; such as the customary transition from causes to effects,\nand from effects to causes: And the principles, which are changeable,\nweak, and irregular; such as those I have just now taken notice of. The\nformer are the foundation of all our thoughts and actions, so that upon\ntheir removal human nature must immediately perish and go to ruin. The\nlatter are neither unavoidable to mankind, nor necessary, or so much as\nuseful in the conduct of life; but on the contrary are observed only to\ntake place in weak minds, and being opposite to the other principles\nof custom and reasoning, may easily be subverted by a due contrast and\nopposition. For this reason the former are received by philosophy, and\nthe latter rejected. One who concludes somebody to be near him, when\nhe hears an articulate voice in the dark, reasons justly and naturally;\nthough that conclusion be derived from nothing but custom, which infixes\nand inlivens the idea of a human creature, on account of his usual\nconjunction with the present impression. But one, who is tormented\nhe knows not why, with the apprehension of spectres in the dark, may,\nperhaps, be said to reason, and to reason naturally too: But then it\nmust be in the same sense, that a malady is said to be natural; as\narising from natural causes, though it be contrary to health, the most\nagreeable and most natural situation of man.\n\nThe opinions of the antient philosophers, their fictions of substance\nand accident, and their reasonings concerning substantial forms and\noccult qualities, are like the spectres in the dark, and are derived\nfrom principles, which, however common, are neither universal nor\nunavoidable in human nature. The modern philosophy pretends to be\nentirely free from this defect, and to arise only from the solid,\npermanent, and consistent principles of the imagination. Upon what\ngrounds this pretension is founded must now be the subject of our\nenquiry.\n\nThe fundamental principle of that philosophy is the opinion concerning\ncolours, sounds, tastes, smells, heat and cold; which it asserts to\nbe nothing but impressions in the mind, derived from the operation of\nexternal objects, and without any resemblance to the qualities of the\nobjects. Upon examination, I find only one of the reasons commonly\nproduced for this opinion to be satisfactory, viz. that derived from the\nvariations of those impressions, even while the external object, to all\nappearance, continues the same. These variations depend upon several\ncircumstances. Upon the different situations of our health: A man in a\nmalady feels a disagreeable taste in meats, which before pleased him the\nmost. Upon the different complexions and constitutions of men That seems\nbitter to one, which is sweet to another. Upon the difference of their\nexternal situation and position: Colours reflected from the clouds\nchange according to the distance of the clouds, and according to the\nangle they make with the eye and luminous body. Fire also communicates\nthe sensation of pleasure at one distance, and that of pain at another.\nInstances of this kind are very numerous and frequent.\n\nThe conclusion drawn from them, is likewise as satisfactory as can\npossibly be imagined. It is certain, that when different impressions of\nthe same sense arise from any object, every one of these impressions has\nnot a resembling quality existent in the object. For as the same object\ncannot, at the same time, be endowed with different qualities of the\nsame sense, and as the same quality cannot resemble impressions entirely\ndifferent; it evidently follows, that many of our impressions have\nno external model or archetype. Now from like effects we presume like\ncauses. Many of the impressions of colour, sound, &c. are confest to be\nnothing but internal existences, and to arise from causes, which no ways\nresemble them. These impressions are in appearance nothing different\nfrom the other impressions of colour, sound, &c. We conclude, therefore,\nthat they are, all of them, derived from a like origin.\n\nThis principle being once admitted, all the other doctrines of that\nphilosophy seem to follow by an easy consequence. For upon the removal\nof sounds, colours, beat, cold, and other sensible qualities, from the\nrank of continued independent existences, we are reduced merely to what\nare called primary qualities, as the only real ones, of which we have\nany adequate notion. These primary qualities are extension and solidity,\nwith their different mixtures and modifications; figure, motion,\ngravity, and cohesion. The generation, encrease, decay, and corruption\nof animals and vegetables, are nothing but changes of figure and motion;\nas also the operations of all bodies on each other; of fire, of light,\nwater, air, earth, and of all the elements and powers of nature. One\nfigure and motion produces another figure and motion; nor does there\nremain in the material universe any other principle, either active or\npassive, of which we can form the most distant idea.\n\nI believe many objections might be made to this system But at present\nI shall confine myself to one, which is in my opinion very decisive. I\nassert, that instead of explaining the operations of external objects by\nits means, we utterly annihilate all these objects, and reduce ourselves\nto the opinions of the most extravagant scepticism concerning them. If\ncolours, sounds, tastes, and smells be merely perceptions, nothing we\ncan conceive is possest of a real, continued, and independent existence;\nnot even motion, extension and solidity, which are the primary qualities\nchiefly insisted on.\n\nTo begin with the examination of motion; it is evident this is a quality\naltogether inconceivable alone, and without a reference to some other\nobject. The idea of motion necessarily supposes that of a body moving.\nNow what is our idea of the moving body, without which motion is\nincomprehensible? It must resolve itself into the idea of extension or\nof solidity; and consequently the reality of motion depends upon that of\nthese other qualities.\n\nThis opinion, which is universally acknowledged concerning motion, I\nhave proved to be true with regard to extension; and have shewn that it\nis impossible to conceive extension, but as composed of parts, endowed\nwith colour or solidity. The idea of extension is a compound idea;\nbut as it is not compounded of an infinite number of parts or inferior\nideas, it must at last resolve itself into such as are perfectly simple\nand indivisible. These simple and indivisible parts, not being ideas of\nextension, must be non entities, unless conceived as coloured or solid.\nColour is excluded from any real existence. The reality, therefore, of\nour idea of extension depends upon the reality of that of solidity, nor\ncan the former be just while the latter is chimerical. Let us, then,\nlend our attention to the examination of the idea of solidity.\n\nThe idea of solidity is that of two objects, which being impelled by the\nutmost force, cannot penetrate each other; but still maintain a\nseparate and distinct existence. Solidity, therefore, is perfectly\nincomprehensible alone, and without the conception of some bodies, which\nare solid, and maintain this separate and distinct existence. Now what\nidea have we of these bodies? The ideas of colours, sounds, and other\nsecondary qualities are excluded. The idea of motion depends on that\nof extension, and the idea of extension on that of solidity. It is\nimpossible, therefore, that the idea of solidity can depend on either of\nthem. For that would be to run in a circle, and make one idea depend on\nanother, while at the same time the latter depends on the former. Our\nmodern philosophy, therefore, leaves us no just nor satisfactory idea of\nsolidity; nor consequently of matter.\n\nThis argument will appear entirely conclusive to every one that\ncomprehends it; but because it may seem abstruse and intricate to the\ngenerality of readers, I hope to be excused, if I endeavour to render\nit more obvious by some variation of the expression. In order to form\nan idea of solidity, we must conceive two bodies pressing on each other\nwithout any penetration; and it is impossible to arrive at this idea,\nwhen we confine ourselves to one object, much more without conceiving\nany. Two non-entities cannot exclude each other from their places;\nbecause they never possess any place, nor can be endowed with any\nquality. Now I ask, what idea do we form of these bodies or objects,\nto which we suppose solidity to belong? To say, that we conceive them\nmerely as solid, is to run on in infinitum. To affirm, that we paint\nthem out to ourselves as extended, either resolves all into a false\nidea, or returns in a circle. Extension must necessarily be considered\neither as coloured, which is a false idea; I or as solid, which\nbrings us back to the first question. We may make the same observation\nconcerning mobility and figure; and upon the whole must conclude, that\nafter the exclusion of colours, sounds, heat and cold from the rank of\nexternal existences, there remains nothing, which can afford us a just\nand constituent idea of body.\n\nAdd to this, that, properly speaking, solidity or impenetrability is\nnothing, but an impossibility of annihilation, as[8] has been already\nobserved: For which reason it is the more necessary for us to form some\ndistinct idea of that object, whose annihilation we suppose impossible.\nAn impossibility of being annihilated cannot exist, and can never be\nconceived to exist, by itself: but necessarily requires some object or\nreal existence, to which it may belong. Now the difficulty still\nremains, how to form an idea of this object or existence, without\nhaving recourse to the secondary and sensible qualities.\n\n    [8] Part II. Sect. 4.\n\nNor must we omit on this occasion our accustomed method of examining\nideas by considering those impressions, from which they are derived. The\nimpressions, which enter by the sight and hearing, the smell and taste,\nare affirmed by modern philosophy to be without any resembling objects;\nand consequently the idea of solidity, which is supposed to be real, can\nnever be derived from any of these senses. There remains, therefore,\nthe feeling as the only sense, that can convey the impression, which is\noriginal to the idea of solidity; and indeed we naturally imagine, that\nwe feel the solidity of bodies, and need but touch any object in order\nto perceive this quality. But this method of thinking is more popular\nthan philosophical; as will appear from the following reflections.\n\nFirst, It is easy to observe, that though bodies are felt by means of\ntheir solidity, yet the feeling is a quite different thing from the\nsolidity; and that they have not the least resemblance to each other.\nA man, who has the palsey in one hand, has as perfect an idea of\nimpenetrability, when he observes that hand to be supported by the\ntable, as when he feels the same table with the other hand. An object,\nthat presses upon any of our members, meets with resistance; and that\nresistance, by the motion it gives to the nerves and animal spirits,\nconveys a certain sensation to the mind; but it does not follow, that\nthe sensation, motion, and resistance are any ways resembling.\n\nSecondly, The impressions of touch are simple impressions, except when\nconsidered with regard to their extension; which makes nothing to the\npresent purpose: And from this simplicity I infer, that they neither\nrepresent solidity, nor any real object. For let us put two cases, viz.\nthat of a man, who presses a stone, or any solid body, with his hand,\nand that of two stones, which press each other; it will readily be\nallowed, that these two cases are not in every respect alike, but\nthat in the former there is conjoined with the solidity, a feeling or\nsensation, of which there is no appearance in the latter. In order,\ntherefore, to make these two cases alike, it is necessary to remove some\npart of the impression, which the man feels by his hand, or organ of\nsensation; and that being impossible in a simple impression, obliges\nus to remove the whole, and proves that this whole impression has\nno archetype or model in external objects. To which we may add, that\nsolidity necessarily supposes two bodies, along with contiguity and\nimpulse; which being a compound object, can never be represented by a\nsimple impression. Not to mention, that though solidity continues always\ninvariably the same, the impressions of touch change every moment upon\nus; which is a clear proof that the latter are not representations of\nthe former.\n\nThus there is a direct and total opposition betwixt our reason and our\nsenses; or more properly speaking, betwixt those conclusions we form\nfrom cause and effect, and those that persuade us of the continued and\nindependent existence of body. When we reason from cause and effect, we\nconclude, that neither colour, sound, taste, nor smell have a continued\nand independent existence. When we exclude these sensible qualities\nthere remains nothing in the universe, which has such an existence.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. V. OF THE IMMATERIALITY OF THE SOUL.\n\n\nHaving found such contradictions and difficulties in every system\nconcerning external objects, and in the idea of matter, which we fancy\nso clear and determinate, We shall naturally expect still greater\ndifficulties and contradictions in every hypothesis concerning our\ninternal perceptions, and the nature of the mind, which we are apt\nto imagine so much more obscure, and uncertain. But in this we should\ndeceive ourselves. The intellectual world, though involved in infinite\nobscurities, is not perplexed with any such contradictions, as those we\nhave discovered in the natural. What is known concerning it, agrees with\nitself; and what is unknown, we must be contented to leave so.\n\nIt is true, would we hearken to certain philosophers, they promise to\ndiminish our ignorance; but I am afraid it is at the hazard of running\nus into contradictions, from which the subject is of itself exempted.\nThese philosophers are the curious reasoners concerning the material or\nimmaterial substances, in which they suppose our perceptions to inhere.\nIn order to put a stop to these endless cavils on both sides, I know no\nbetter method, than to ask these philosophers in a few words, What\nthey mean by substance and inhesion? And after they have answered\nthis question, it will then be reasonable, and not till then, to enter\nseriously into the dispute.\n\nThis question we have found impossible to be answered with regard to\nmatter and body: But besides that in the case of the mind, it labours\nunder all the same difficulties, it is burthened with some additional\nones, which are peculiar to that subject. As every idea is derived from\na precedent impression, had we any idea of the substance of our minds,\nwe must also have an impression of it; which is very difficult, if\nnot impossible, to be conceived. For how can an impression represent a\nsubstance, otherwise than by resembling it? And how can an impression\nresemble a substance, since, according to this philosophy, it is not a\nsubstance, and has none of the peculiar qualities or characteristics of\na substance?\n\nBut leaving the question of what may or may not be, for that other what\nactually is, I desire those philosophers, who pretend that we have an\nidea of the substance of our minds, to point out the impression that\nproduces it, and tell distinctly after what manner that impression\noperates, and from what object it is derived. Is it an impression of\nsensation or of reflection? Is it pleasant, or painful, or indifferent?\nI Does it attend us at all times, or does it only return at intervals?\nIf at intervals, at what times principally does it return, and by what\ncauses is it produced?\n\nIf instead of answering these questions, any one should evade the\ndifficulty, by saying, that the definition of a substance is something\nwhich may exist by itself; and that this definition ought to satisfy us:\nshould this be said, I should observe, that this definition agrees to\nevery thing, that can possibly be conceived; and never will serve to\ndistinguish substance from accident, or the soul from its perceptions.\nFor thus I reason. Whatever is clearly conceived may exist; and whatever\nis clearly conceived, after any manner, may exist after the same manner.\nThis is one principle, which has been already acknowledged. Again, every\nthing, which is different, is distinguishable, and every thing which\nis distinguishable, is separable by the imagination. This is another\nprinciple. My conclusion from both is, that since all our perceptions\nare different from each other, and from every thing else in the\nuniverse, they are also distinct and separable, and may be considered as\nseparately existent, and may exist separately, and have no need of any\nthing else to support their existence. They are, therefore, substances,\nas far as this definition explains a substance.\n\nThus neither by considering the first origin of ideas, nor by means of\na definition are we able to arrive at any satisfactory notion of\nsubstance; which seems to me a sufficient reason for abandoning utterly\nthat dispute concerning the materiality and immateriality of the soul,\nand makes me absolutely condemn even the question itself. We have no\nperfect idea of any thing but of a perception. A substance is entirely\ndifferent from a perception. We have, therefore, no idea of a substance.\nInhesion in something is supposed to be requisite to support the\nexistence of our perceptions. Nothing appears requisite to support the\nexistence of a perception. We have, therefore, no idea of inhesion. What\npossibility then of answering that question, Whether perceptions\ninhere in a material or immaterial substance, when we do not so much as\nunderstand the meaning of the question?\n\nThere is one argument commonly employed for the immateriality of the\nsoul, which seems to me remarkable. Whatever is extended consists of\nparts; and whatever consists of parts is divisible, if not in reality,\nat least in the imagination. But it is impossible anything divisible\ncan be conjoined to a thought or perception, which is a being altogether\ninseparable and indivisible. For supposing such a conjunction, would\nthe indivisible thought exist on the left or on the right hand of this\nextended divisible body? On the surface or in the middle? On the back\nor fore side of it? If it be conjoined with the extension, it must exist\nsomewhere within its dimensions. If it exist within its dimensions, it\nmust either exist in one particular part; and then that particular part\nis indivisible, and the perception is conjoined only with it, not with\nthe extension: Or if the thought exists in every part, it must also be\nextended, and separable, and divisible, as well as the body; which is\nutterly absurd and contradictory. For can any one conceive a passion of\na yard in length, a foot in breadth, and an inch in thickness? Thought,\ntherefore, and extension are qualities wholly incompatible, and never\ncan incorporate together into one subject.\n\nThis argument affects not the question concerning the substance of the\nsoul, but only that concerning its local conjunction with matter; and\ntherefore it may not be improper to consider in general what objects\nare, or are not susceptible of a local conjunction. This is a curious\nquestion, and may lead us to some discoveries of considerable moment.\n\nThe first notion of space and extension is derived solely from the\nsenses of sight and feeling; nor is there any thing, but what is\ncoloured or tangible, that has parts disposed after such a manner, as to\nconvey that idea. When we diminish or encrease a relish, it is not after\nthe same manner that we diminish or encrease any visible object; and\nwhen several sounds strike our hearing at once, custom and reflection\nalone make us form an idea of the degrees of the distance and contiguity\nof those bodies, from which they are derived. Whatever marks the place\nof its existence either must be extended, or must be a mathematical\npoint, without parts or composition. What is extended must have a\nparticular figure, as square, round, triangular; none of which will\nagree to a desire, or indeed to any impression or idea, except to these\ntwo senses above-mentioned. Neither ought a desire, though indivisible,\nto be considered as a mathematical point. For in that case it would be\npossible, by the addition of others, to make two, three, four desires,\nand these disposed and situated in such a manner, as to have a\ndeterminate length, breadth and thickness; which is evidently absurd.\n\nIt will not be surprising after this, if I deliver a maxim, which is\ncondemned by several metaphysicians, and is esteemed contrary to the\nmost certain principles of hum reason. This maxim is that an object\nmay exist, and yet be no where: and I assert, that this is not only\npossible, but that the greatest part of beings do and must exist after\nthis manner. An object may be said to be no where, when its parts are\nnot so situated with respect to each other, as to form any figure or\nquantity; nor the whole with respect to other bodies so as to answer to\nour notions of contiguity or distance. Now this is evidently the case\nwith all our perceptions and objects, except those of the sight and\nfeeling. A moral reflection cannot be placed on the right or on the left\nhand of a passion, nor can a smell or sound be either of a circular or a\nsquare figure. These objects and perceptions, so far from requiring\nany particular place, are absolutely incompatible with it, and even\nthe imagination cannot attribute it to them. And as to the absurdity of\nsupposing them to be no where, we may consider, that if the passions and\nsentiments appear to the perception to have any particular place, the\nidea of extension might be derived from them, as well as from the sight\nand touch; contrary to what we have already established. If they APPEAR\nnot to have any particular place, they may possibly exist in the same\nmanner; since whatever we conceive is possible.\n\nIt will not now be necessary to prove, that those perceptions, which are\nsimple, and exist no where, are incapable of any conjunction in place\nwith matter or body, which is extended and divisible; since it is\nimpossible to found a relation but on some common quality. It may\nbe better worth our while to remark, that this question of the local\nconjunction of objects does not only occur in metaphysical disputes\nconcerning the nature of the soul, but that even in common life we have\nevery moment occasion to examine it. Thus supposing we consider a fig at\none end of the table, and an olive at the other, it is evident, that in\nforming the complex ideas of these substances, one of the most obvious\nis that of their different relishes; and it is as evident, that we\nincorporate and conjoin these qualities with such as are coloured\nand tangible. The bitter taste of the one, and sweet of the other are\nsupposed to lie in the very visible body, and to be separated from\neach other by the whole length of the table. This is so notable and so\nnatural an illusion, that it may be proper to consider the principles,\nfrom which it is derived.\n\nThough an extended object be incapable of a conjunction in place with\nanother, that exists without any place or extension, yet are they\nsusceptible of many other relations. Thus the taste and smell of any\nfruit are inseparable from its other qualities of colour and\ntangibility; and whichever of them be the cause or effect, it is\ncertain they are always co-existent. Nor are they only co-existent in\ngeneral, but also co-temporary in their appearance in the mind; and it\nis upon the application of the extended body to our senses we perceive\nits particular taste and smell. These relations, then, of causation,\nand contiguity in the time of their appearance, betwixt the extended\nobject and the quality, which exists without any particular place, must\nhave such an effect on the mind, that upon the appearance of one it\nwill immediately turn its thought to the conception of the other. Nor\nis this all. We not only turn our thought from one to the other upon\naccount of their relation, but likewise endeavour to give them a new\nrelation, viz. that of a CONJUNCTION IN PLACE, that we may render the\ntransition more easy and natural. For it is a quality, which I shall\noften have occasion to remark in human nature, and shall explain more\nfully in its proper place, that when objects are united by any\nrelation, we have a strong propensity to add some new relation to them,\nin order to compleat the union. In our arrangement of bodies we never\nfail to place such as are resembling, in contiguity to each other, or\nat least in correspondent points of view: Why? but because we feel a\nsatisfaction in joining the relation of contiguity to that of\nresemblance, or the resemblance of situation to that of qualities. The\neffects this propensity have been[9] already observed in that\nresemblance, which we so readily suppose betwixt particular impressions\nand their external causes. But we shall not find a more evident effect\nof it, than in the present instance, where from the relations of\ncausation and contiguity in time betwixt two objects, we feign likewise\nthat of a conjunction in place, in order to strengthen the connexion.\n\n    [9] Sect. 2, towards the end.\n\nBut whatever confused notions we may form of an union in place betwixt\nan extended body, as a fig, and its particular taste, it is certain\nthat upon reflection we must observe this union something altogether\nunintelligible and contradictory. For should we ask ourselves one\nobvious question, viz. if the taste, which we conceive to be contained\nin the circumference of the body, is in every part of it or in one only,\nwe must quickly find ourselves at a loss, and perceive the impossibility\nof ever giving a satisfactory answer. We cannot rely, that it is only\nin one part: For experience convinces us, that every part has the same\nrelish. We can as little reply, that it exists in every part: For\nthen we must suppose it figured and extended; which is absurd and\nincomprehensible. Here then we are influenced by two principles directly\ncontrary to each other, viz. that inclination of our fancy by which we\nare determined to incorporate the taste with the extended object, and\nour reason, which shows us the impossibility of such an union. Being\ndivided betwixt these opposite principles, we renounce neither one nor\nthe other, but involve the subject in such confusion and obscurity, that\nwe no longer perceive the opposition. We suppose, that the taste exists\nwithin the circumference of the body, but in such a manner, that it\nfills the whole without extension, and exists entire in every part\nwithout separation. In short, we use in our most familiar way of\nthinking, that scholastic principle, which, when crudely proposed,\nappears so shocking, of TOTUM IN TOTO & TOLUM IN QUALIBET PARTE: Which\nis much the same, as if we should say, that a thing is in a certain\nplace, and yet is not there.\n\nAll this absurdity proceeds from our endeavouring to bestow a place on\nwhat is utterly incapable of it; and that endeavour again arises from\nour inclination to compleat an union, which is founded on causation,\nand a contiguity of time, by attributing to the objects a conjunction in\nplace. But if ever reason be of sufficient force to overcome prejudice,\nit is certain, that in the present case it must prevail. For we have\nonly this choice left, either to suppose that some beings exist without\nany place; or that they are figured and extended; or that when they are\nincorporated with extended objects, the whole is in the whole, and the\nwhole in every part. The absurdity of the two last suppositions proves\nsufficiently the veracity of the first. Nor is there any fourth\nopinion. For as to the supposition of their existence in the manner of\nmathematical points, it resolves itself into the second opinion, and\nsupposes, that several passions may be placed in a circular figure,\nand that a certain number of smells, conjoined with a certain number of\nsounds, may make a body of twelve cubic inches; which appears ridiculous\nupon the bare mentioning of it.\n\nBut though in this view of things we cannot refuse to condemn the\nmaterialists, who conjoin all thought with extension; yet a little\nreflection will show us equal reason for blaming their antagonists, who\nconjoin all thought with a simple and indivisible substance. The most\nvulgar philosophy informs us, that no external object can make itself\nknown to the mind immediately, and without the interposition of an\nimage or perception. That table, which just now appears to me, is only a\nperception, and all its qualities are qualities of a perception. Now the\nmost obvious of all its qualities is extension. The perception consists\nof parts. These parts are so situated, as to afford us the notion\nof distance and contiguity; of length, breadth, and thickness. The\ntermination of these three dimensions is what we call figure. This\nfigure is moveable, separable, and divisible. Mobility, and separability\nare the distinguishing properties of extended objects. And to cut short\nall disputes, the very idea of extension is copyed from nothing but an\nimpression, and consequently must perfectly agree to it. To say the idea\nof extension agrees to any thing, is to say it is extended.\n\nThe free-thinker may now triumph in his turn; and having found there are\nimpressions and ideas really extended, may ask his antagonists, how\nthey can incorporate a simple and indivisible subject with an extended\nperception? All the arguments of Theologians may here be retorted upon\nthem. Is the indivisible subject, or immaterial substance, if you\nwill, on the left or on the right hand of the perception? Is it in this\nparticular part, or in that other? Is it in every part without being\nextended? Or is it entire in any one part without deserting the rest? It\nis impossible to give any answer to these questions, but what will both\nbe absurd in itself, and will account for the union of our indivisible\nperceptions with an extended substance.\n\nThis gives me an occasion to take a-new into consideration the question\nconcerning the substance of the soul; and though I have condemned that\nquestion as utterly unintelligible, yet I cannot forbear proposing some\nfarther reflections concerning it. I assert, that the doctrine of the\nimmateriality, simplicity, and indivisibility of a thinking substance\nis a true atheism, and will serve to justify all those sentiments, for\nwhich Spinoza is so universally infamous. From this topic, I hope at\nleast to reap one advantage, that my adversaries will not have any\npretext to render the present doctrine odious by their declamations,\nwhen they see that they can be so easily retorted on them.\n\nThe fundamental principle of the atheism of Spinoza is the doctrine\nof the simplicity of the universe, and the unity of that substance, in\nwhich he supposes both thought and matter to inhere. There is only one\nsubstance, says he, in the world; and that substance is perfectly simple\nand indivisible, and exists every where, without any local presence.\nWhatever we discover externally by sensation; whatever we feel\ninternally by reflection; all these are nothing but modifications of\nthat one, simple, and necessarily existent being, and are not possest\nof any separate or distinct existence. Every passion of the soul; every\nconfiguration of matter, however different and various, inhere in\nthe same substance, and preserve in themselves their characters of\ndistinction, without communicating them to that subject, in which\nthey inhere. The same substratum, if I may so speak, supports the most\ndifferent modifications, without any difference in itself; and varies\nthem, without any variation. Neither time, nor place, nor all the\ndiversity of nature are able to produce any composition or change in its\nperfect simplicity and identity.\n\nI believe this brief exposition of the principles of that famous\natheist will be sufficient for the present purpose, and that without\nentering farther into these gloomy and obscure regions, I shall be able\nto shew, that this hideous hypothesis is almost the same with that of\nthe immateriality of the soul, which has become so popular. To make\nthis evident, let us[10] remember, that as every idea is derived from a\npreceding perception, it is impossible our idea of a perception, and\nthat of an object or external existence can ever represent what are\nspecifically different from each other. Whatever difference we may\nsuppose betwixt them, it is still incomprehensible to us; and we are\nobliged either to conceive an external object merely as a relation\nwithout a relative, or to make it the very same with a perception or\nimpression.\n\n    [10] Part II, Sect. 6.\n\nThe consequence I shall draw from this may, at first sight, appear a\nmere sophism; but upon the least examination will be found solid and\nsatisfactory. I say then, that since we may suppose, but never can\nconceive a specific deference betwixt an object and impression; any\nconclusion we form concerning the connexion and repugnance of\nimpressions, will not be known certainly to be applicable to objects;\nbut that on the other hand, whatever conclusions of this kind we form\nconcerning objects, will most certainly be applicable to impressions.\nThe reason is not difficult. As an object is supposed to be different\nfrom an impression, we cannot be sure, that the circumstance, upon\nwhich we found our reasoning, is common to both, supposing we form the\nreasoning upon the impression. It is still possible, that the object\nmay differ from it in that particular. But when we first form our\nreasoning concerning the object, it is beyond doubt, that the same\nreasoning must extend to the impression: And that because the quality\nof the object, upon which the argument is founded, must at least be\nconceived by the mind; and could not be conceived, unless it were\ncommon to an impression; since we have no idea but what is derived from\nthat origin. Thus we may establish it as a certain maxim, that we can\nnever, by any principle, but by an irregular kind[11] form the\ncoherence of our perceptions.] of reasoning from experience, discover a\nconnexion or repugnance betwixt objects, which extends not to\nimpressions; though the inverse proposition may not be equally true,\nthat all the discoverable relations of impressions are common to\nobjects.\n\n    [11] Such as that of Sect. 2, form the coherence of our\n    perceptions.\n\nTo apply this to the present case; there are two different systems\nof being presented, to which I suppose myself under necessity of\nassigning some substance, or ground of inhesion. I observe first the\nuniverse of objects or of body: The sun, moon and stars; the earth,\nseas, plants, animals, men, ships, houses, and other productions either\nof art or nature. Here Spinoza appears, and tells me, that these are\nonly modifications; and that the subject, in which they inhere, is\nsimple, incompounded, and indivisible. After this I consider the other\nsystem of beings, viz. the universe of thought, or my impressions and\nideas. There I observe another sun, moon and stars; an earth, and seas,\ncovered and inhabited by plants and animals; towns, houses, mountains,\nrivers; and in short every thing I can discover or conceive in the\nfirst system. Upon my enquiring concerning these, Theologians present\nthemselves, and tell me, that these also are modifications, and\nmodifications of one simple, uncompounded, and indivisible substance.\nImmediately upon which I am deafened with the noise of a hundred voices,\nthat treat the first hypothesis with detestation and scorn, and the\nsecond with applause and veneration. I turn my attention to these\nhypotheses to see what may be the reason of so great a partiality; and\nfind that they have the same fault of being unintelligible, and that\nas far as we can understand them, they are so much alike, that it is\nimpossible to discover any absurdity in one, which is not common to both\nof them. We have no idea of any quality in an object, which does not\nagree to, and may not represent a quality in an impression; and that\nbecause all our ideas are derived from our impressions. We can\nnever, therefore, find any repugnance betwixt an extended object as\na modification, and a simple uncompounded essence, as its substance,\nunless that repugnance takes place equally betwixt the perception or\nimpression of that extended object, and the same uncompounded essence.\nEvery idea of a quality in an object passes through an impression;\nand therefore every perceivable relation, whether of connexion or\nrepugnance, must be common both to objects and impressions.\n\nBut though this argument, considered in general, seems evident beyond\nall doubt and contradiction, yet to make it more clear and sensible, let\nus survey it in detail; and see whether all the absurdities, which have\nbeen found in the system of Spinoza, may not likewise be discovered in\nthat of Theologians.[12]\n\n    [12] See _Bayle's_ dictionary, article of _Spinoza_.\n\nFirst, It has been said against Spinoza, according to the scholastic way\nof talking, rather than thinking, that a mode, not being any distinct\nor separate existence, must be the very same with its substance,\nand consequently the extension of the universe, must be in a manner\nidentifyed with that, simple, uncompounded essence, in which the\nuniverse is supposed to inhere. But this, it may be pretended, is\nutterly impossible and inconceivable unless the indivisible substance\nexpand itself, so as to correspond to the extension, or the extension\ncontract itself, so as to answer to the indivisible substance. This\nargument seems just, as far as we can understand it; and it is plain\nnothing is required, but a change in the terms, to apply the same\nargument to our extended perceptions, and the simple essence of the\nsoul; the ideas of objects and perceptions being in every respect\nthe same, only attended with the supposition of a difference, that is\nunknown and incomprehensible.\n\nSecondly, It has been said, that we have no idea of substance, which is\nnot applicable to matter; nor any idea of a distinct substance, which is\nnot applicable to every distinct portion of matter. Matter, therefore,\nis not a mode but a substance, and each part of matter is not a distinct\nmode, but a distinct substance. I have already proved, that we have no\nperfect idea of substance; but that taking it for something, that can\nexist by itself, it is evident every perception is a substance,\nand every distinct part of a perception a distinct substance: And\nconsequently the one hypothesis labours under the same difficulties in\nthis respect with the other.\n\nThirdly, It has been objected to the system of one simple substance in\nthe universe, that this substance being the support or substratum of\nevery thing, must at the very same instant be modifyed into forms,\nwhich are contrary and incompatible. The round and square figures are\nincompatible in the same substance at the same time. How then is it\npossible, that the same substance can at once be modifyed into\nthat square table, and into this round one? I ask the same question\nconcerning the impressions of these tables; and find that the answer is\nno more satisfactory in one case than in the other.\n\nIt appears, then, that to whatever side we turn, the same difficulties\nfollow us, and that we cannot advance one step towards the establishing\nthe simplicity and immateriality o the soul, without preparing the\nway for a dangerous and irrecoverable atheism. It is the same case, if\ninstead o calling thought a modification of the soul, we should give it\nthe more antient, and yet more modish name of an action. By an action we\nmean much the same thing, as what is commonly called an abstract\nmode; that is, something, which, properly speaking, is neither\ndistinguishable, nor separable from its substance, and is only conceived\nby a distinction of reason, or an abstraction. But nothing is gained by\nthis change of the term of modification, for that of action; nor do we\nfree ourselves from one single difficulty by its means; as will appear\nfrom the two following reflexions.\n\nFirst, I observe, that the word, action, according to this explication\nof it, can never justly be applied to any perception, as derived from\na mind or thinking substance. Our perceptions are all really different,\nand separable, and distinguishable from each other, and from everything\nelse, which we can imagine: and therefore it is impossible to conceive,\nhow they can be the action or abstract mode of any substance. The\ninstance of motion, which is commonly made use of to shew after what\nmanner perception depends, as an action, upon its substance, rather\nconfounds than instructs us. Motion to all appearance induces no real\nnor essential change on the body, but only varies its relation to other\nobjects. But betwixt a person in the morning walking a garden with\ncompany, agreeable to him; and a person in the afternoon inclosed in a\ndungeon, and full of terror, despair, and resentment, there seems to be\na radical difference, and of quite another kind, than what is produced\non a body by the change of its situation. As we conclude from the\ndistinction and separability of their ideas, that external objects\nhave a separate existence from each other; so when we make these ideas\nthemselves our objects, we must draw the same conclusion concerning\nthem, according to the precedent reasoning. At least it must be confest,\nthat having idea of the substance of the soul, it is impossible for us\nto tell how it can admit of such differences, and even contrarieties of\nperception without any fundamental change; and consequently can never\ntell in what sense perceptions are actions of that substance. The use,\ntherefore, of the word, action, unaccompanyed with any meaning, instead\nof that of modification, makes no addition to our knowledge, nor is of\nany advantage to the doctrine of the immateriality of the soul.\n\nI add in the second place, that if it brings any advantage to that\ncause, it must bring an equal to the cause of atheism. For do our\nTheologians pretend to make a monopoly of the word, action, and may not\nthe atheists likewise take possession of it, and affirm that plants,\nanimals, men, &c. are nothing but particular actions of one simple\nuniversal substance, which exerts itself from a blind and\nabsolute necessity? This you'll say is utterly absurd. I own it is\nunintelligible; but at the same time assert, according to the principles\nabove-explained, that it is impossible to discover any absurdity in the\nsupposition, that all the various objects in nature are actions of\none simple substance, which absurdity will not be applicable to a like\nsupposition concerning impressions and ideas.\n\nFrom these hypotheses concerning the substance and local conjunction of\nour perceptions, we may pass to another, which is more intelligible\nthan the former, and more important than the latter, viz. concerning the\ncause of our perceptions. Matter and motion, it is commonly said in the\nschools, however varyed, are still matter and motion, and produce only\na difference in the position and situation of objects. Divide a body as\noften as you please, it is still body. Place it in any figure, nothing\never results but figure, or the relation of parts. Move it in any\nmanner, you still find motion or a change of relation. It is absurd to\nimagine, that motion in a circle, for instance, should be nothing but\nmerely motion in a circle; while motion in another direction, as in an\nellipse, should also be a passion or moral reflection: That the shocking\nof two globular particles should become a sensation of pain, and that\nthe meeting of two triangular ones should afford a pleasure. Now as\nthese different shocks, and variations, and mixtures are the only\nchanges, of which matter is susceptible, and as these never afford us\nany idea of thought or perception, it is concluded to be impossible,\nthat thought can ever be caused by matter.\n\nFew have been able to withstand the seeming evidence of this argument;\nand yet nothing in the world is more easy than to refute it. We need\nonly reflect on what has been proved at large, that we are never\nsensible of any connexion betwixt causes and effects, and that it is\nonly by our experience of their constant conjunction, we can arrive at\nany knowledge of this relation. Now as all objects, which are not\ncontrary, are susceptible of a constant conjunction, and as no real\nobjects are contrary;[13] I have inferred from these principles, that\nto consider the matter A PRIORI, any thing may produce any thing, and\nthat we shall never discover a reason, why any object may or may not be\nthe cause of any other, however great, or however little the\nresemblance may be betwixt them. This evidently destroys the precedent\nreasoning concerning the cause of thought or perception. For though\nthere appear no manner of connexion betwixt motion or thought, the case\nis the same with all other causes and effects. Place one body of a\npound weight on one end of a lever, and another body of the same weight\non another end; you will never find in these bodies any principle of\nmotion dependent on their distances from the center, more than of\nthought and perception. If you pretend, therefore, to prove a priori,\nthat such a position of bodies can never cause thought; because turn it\nwhich way you will, it is nothing but a position of bodies; you must by\nthe same course of reasoning conclude, that it can never produce\nmotion; since there is no more apparent connexion in the one case than\nin the other. But as this latter conclusion is contrary to evident\nexperience, and as it is possible we may have a like experience in the\noperations of the mind, and may perceive a constant conjunction of\nthought and motion; you reason too hastily, when from the mere\nconsideration of the ideas, you conclude that it is impossible motion\ncan ever produce thought, or a different position of parts give rise to\na different passion or reflection. Nay it is not only possible we may\nhave such an experience, but it is certain we have it; since every one\nmay perceive, that the different dispositions of his body change his\nthoughts and sentiments. And should it be said, that this depends on\nthe union of soul and body; I would answer, that we must separate the\nquestion concerning the substance of the mind from that concerning the\ncause of its thought; and that confining ourselves to the latter\nquestion we find by the comparing their ideas, that thought and motion\nare different from each other, and by experience, that they are\nconstantly united; which being all the circumstances, that enter into\nthe idea of cause and effect, when applied to the operations of matter,\nwe may certainly conclude, that motion may be, and actually is, the\ncause of thought and perception.\n\n    [13] Part III. Sect. 15.\n\nThere seems only this dilemma left us in the present case; either to\nassert, that nothing can be the cause of another, but where the mind\ncan perceive the connexion in its idea of the objects: Or to maintain,\nthat all objects, which we find constantly conjoined, are upon that\naccount to be regarded as causes and effects. If we choose the first\npart of the dilemma, these are the consequences. First, We in reality\naffirm, that there is no such thing in the universe as a cause or\nproductive principle, not even the deity himself; since our idea of\nthat supreme Being is derived from particular impressions, none of\nwhich contain any efficacy, nor seem to have any connexion with any\nother existence. As to what may be said, that the connexion betwixt the\nidea of an infinitely powerful being, and that of any effect, which he\nwills, is necessary and unavoidable; I answer, that we have no idea of\na being endowed with any power, much less of one endowed with infinite\npower. But if we will change expressions, we can only define power by\nconnexion; and then in saying, that the idea, of an infinitely powerful\nbeing is connected with that of every effect, which he wills, we really\ndo no more than assert, that a being, whose volition is connected with\nevery effect, is connected with every effect: which is an identical\nproposition, and gives us no insight into the nature of this power or\nconnexion. But, secondly, supposing, that the deity were the great and\nefficacious principle, which supplies the deficiency of all causes,\nthis leads us into the grossest impieties and absurdities. For upon the\nsame account, that we have recourse to him in natural operations, and\nassert that matter cannot of itself communicate motion, or produce\nthought, viz. because there is no apparent connexion betwixt these\nobjects; I say, upon the very same account, we must acknowledge that\nthe deity is the author of all our volitions and perceptions; since\nthey have no more apparent connexion either with one another, or with\nthe supposed but unknown substance of the soul. This agency of the\nsupreme Being we know to have been asserted by[14] several philosophers\nwith relation to all the actions of the mind, except volition, or\nrather an inconsiderable part of volition; though it is easy to\nperceive, that this exception is a mere pretext, to avoid the dangerous\nconsequences of that doctrine. If nothing be active but what has an\napparent power, thought is in no case any more active than matter; and\nif this inactivity must make us have recourse to a deity, the supreme\nbeing is the real cause of all our actions, bad as well as good,\nvicious as well as virtuous.\n\n    [14] As father _Malebranche_ and other _Cartesians_.\n\nThus we are necessarily reduced to the other side of the dilemma, viz..\nthat all objects, which are found to be constantly conjoined, are upon\nthat account only to be regarded as causes and effects. Now as\nall objects, which are not contrary, are susceptible of a constant\nconjunction, and as no real objects are contrary: it follows, that for\nought we can determine by the mere ideas, any thing may be the cause\nor effect of any thing; which evidently gives the advantage to the\nmaterialists above their antagonists.\n\nTo pronounce, then, the final decision upon the whole; the question\nconcerning the substance of the soul is absolutely unintelligible: All\nour perceptions are not susceptible of a local union, either with what\nis extended or unextended: there being some of them of the one kind,\nand some of the other: And as the constant conjunction of objects\nconstitutes the very essence of cause and effect, matter and motion may\noften be regarded as the causes of thought, as far as we have any notion\nof that relation.\n\nIt is certainly a kind of indignity to philosophy, whose sovereign\nauthority ought every where to be acknowledged, to oblige her on every\noccasion to make apologies for her conclusions, and justify herself to\nevery particular art and science, which may be offended at her. This\nputs one in mind of a king arrainged for high-treason against his\nsubjects. There is only one occasion, when philosophy will think it\nnecessary and even honourable to justify herself, and that is, when\nreligion may seem to be in the least offended; whose rights are as\ndear to her as her own, and are indeed the same. If any one, therefore,\nshould imagine that the foregoing arguments are any ways dangerous to\nreligion, I hope the following apology will remove his apprehensions.\n\nThere is no foundation for any conclusion a priori, either concerning\nthe operations or duration of any object, of which it is possible for\nthe human mind to form a conception. Any object may be imagined to\nbecome entirely inactive, or to be annihilated in a moment; and it is an\nevident principle, that whatever we can imagine, is possible. Now this\nis no more true of matter, than of spirit; of an extended compounded\nsubstance, than of a simple and unextended. 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. If my\nphilosophy, therefore, makes no addition to the arguments for religion,\nI have at least the satisfaction to think it takes nothing from them,\nbut that every thing remains precisely as before.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. VI. OF PERSONAL IDENTITY\n\n\nThere are some philosophers who imagine we are every moment intimately\nconscious of what we call our SELF; that we feel its existence and its\ncontinuance in existence; and are certain, beyond the evidence of a\ndemonstration, both o its perfect identity and simplicity. The strongest\nsensation, the most violent passion, say they, instead of distracting\nus from this view, only fix it the more intensely, and make us consider\ntheir influence on self either by their pain or pleasure. To attempt a\nfarther proof of this were to weaken its evidence; since no proof can be\nderived from any fact, of which we are so intimately conscious; nor is\nthere any thing, of which we can be certain, if we doubt of this.\n\nUnluckily all these positive assertions are contrary to that very\nexperience, which is pleaded for them, nor have we any idea of self,\nafter the manner it is here explained. For from what impression could\nthis idea be derived? This question it is impossible to answer without\na manifest contradiction and absurdity; and yet it is a question, which\nmust necessarily be answered, if we would have the idea of self pass for\nclear and intelligible, It must be some one impression, that gives rise\nto every real idea. But self or person is not any one impression, but\nthat to which our several impressions and ideas are supposed to have\na reference. If any impression gives rise to the idea of self, that\nimpression must continue invariably the same, through the whole course\nof our lives; since self is supposed to exist after that manner. But\nthere is no impression constant and invariable. Pain and pleasure, grief\nand joy, passions and sensations succeed each other, and never all\nexist at the same time. It cannot, therefore, be from any of these\nimpressions, or from any other, that the idea of self is derived; and\nconsequently there is no such idea.\n\nBut farther, what must become of all our particular perceptions upon\nthis hypothesis? All these are different, and distinguishable, and\nseparable from each other, and may be separately considered, and may\nexist separately, and have no Deed of tiny thing to support their\nexistence. After what manner, therefore, do they belong to self; and how\nare they connected with it? For my part, when I enter most intimately\ninto what I call myself, I always stumble on some particular perception\nor other, of heat or cold, light or shade, love or hatred, pain or\npleasure. I never can catch myself at any time without a perception, and\nnever can observe any thing but the perception. When my perceptions\nare removed for any time, as by sound sleep; so long am I insensible of\nmyself, and may truly be said not to exist. And were all my perceptions\nremoved by death, and could I neither think, nor feel, nor see, nor\nlove, nor hate after the dissolution of my body, I should be entirely\nannihilated, nor do I conceive what is farther requisite to make me a\nperfect non-entity. If any one, upon serious and unprejudiced reflection\nthinks he has a different notion of himself, I must confess I can\nreason no longer with him. All I can allow him is, that he may be in\nthe right as well as I, and that we are essentially different in this\nparticular. He may, perhaps, perceive something simple and continued,\nwhich he calls himself; though I am certain there is no such principle\nin me.\n\nBut setting aside some metaphysicians of this kind, I may venture to\naffirm of the rest of mankind, that they are nothing but a bundle or\ncollection of different perceptions, which succeed each other with an\ninconceivable rapidity, and are in a perpetual flux and movement. Our\neyes cannot turn in their sockets without varying our perceptions. Our\nthought is still more variable than our sight; and all our other senses\nand faculties contribute to this change; nor is there any single power\nof the soul, which remains unalterably the same, perhaps for one moment.\nThe mind is a kind of theatre, where several perceptions successively\nmake their appearance; pass, re-pass, glide away, and mingle in an\ninfinite variety of postures and situations. There is properly no\nsimplicity in it at one time, nor identity in different; whatever\nnatural propension we may have to imagine that simplicity and identity.\nThe comparison of the theatre must not mislead us. They are the\nsuccessive perceptions only, that constitute the mind; nor have we the\nmost distant notion of the place, where these scenes are represented, or\nof the materials, of which it is composed.\n\nWhat then gives us so great a propension to ascribe an identity to\nthese successive perceptions, and to suppose ourselves possest of an\ninvariable and uninterrupted existence through the whole course of our\nlives? In order to answer this question, we must distinguish betwixt\npersonal identity, as it regards our thought or imagination, and as it\nregards our passions or the concern we take in ourselves. The first is\nour present subject; and to explain it perfectly we must take the matter\npretty deep, and account for that identity, which we attribute to plants\nand animals; there being a great analogy betwixt it, and the identity of\na self or person.\n\nWe have a distinct idea of an object, that remains invariable and\nuninterrupted through a supposed variation of time; and this idea we\ncall that of identity or sameness. We have also a distinct idea of\nseveral different objects existing in succession, and connected\ntogether by a close relation; and this to an accurate view affords as\nperfect a notion of diversity, as if there was no manner of relation\namong the objects. But though these two ideas of identity, and a\nsuccession of related objects be in themselves perfectly distinct, and\neven contrary, yet it is certain, that in our common way of thinking\nthey are generally confounded with each other. That action of the\nimagination, by which we consider the uninterrupted and invariable\nobject, and that by which we reflect on the succession of related\nobjects, are almost the same to the feeling, nor is there much more\neffort of thought required in the latter case than in the former. The\nrelation facilitates the transition of the mind from one object to\nanother, and renders its passage as smooth as if it contemplated one\ncontinued object. This resemblance is the cause of the confusion and\nmistake, and makes us substitute the notion of identity, instead of\nthat of related objects. However at one instant we may consider the\nrelated succession as variable or interrupted, we are sure the next to\nascribe to it a perfect identity, and regard it as enviable and\nuninterrupted. Our propensity to this mistake is so great from the\nresemblance above-mentioned, that we fall into it before we are aware;\nand though we incessantly correct ourselves by reflection, and return\nto a more accurate method of thinking, yet we cannot long sustain our\nphilosophy, or take off this biass from the imagination. Our last\nresource is to yield to it, and boldly assert that these different\nrelated objects are in effect the same, however interrupted and\nvariable. In order to justify to ourselves this absurdity, we often\nfeign some new and unintelligible principle, that connects the objects\ntogether, and prevents their interruption or variation. Thus we feign\nthe continued existence of the perceptions of our senses, to remove the\ninterruption: and run into the notion of a soul, and self, and\nsubstance, to disguise the variation. But we may farther observe, that\nwhere we do not give rise to such a fiction, our propension to confound\nidentity with relation is so great, that we are apt to imagine[15]\nsomething unknown and mysterious, connecting the parts, beside their\nrelation; and this I take to be the case with regard to the identity we\nascribe to plants and vegetables. And even when this does not take\nplace, we still feel a propensity to confound these ideas, though we\nare not able fully to satisfy ourselves in that particular, nor find\nany thing invariable and uninterrupted to justify our notion of\nidentity.\n\n\n    [15] If the reader is desirous to see how a great genius may be\n    influencd by these seemingly trivial principles of the imagination,\n    as well as the mere vulgar, let him read my Lord SHAFTSBURY\u2019S\n    reasonings concerning the uniting principle of the universe, and\n    the identity of plants and animals. See his MORALISTS: or,\n    PHILOSOPHICAL RHAPSODY.\n\nThus the controversy concerning identity is not merely a dispute of\nwords. For when we attribute identity, in an improper sense, to variable\nor interrupted objects, our mistake is not confined to the expression,\nbut is commonly attended with a fiction, either of something invariable\nand uninterrupted, or of something mysterious and inexplicable, or at\nleast with a propensity to such fictions. What will suffice to prove\nthis hypothesis to the satisfaction of every fair enquirer, is to shew\nfrom daily experience and observation, that the objects, which are\nvariable or interrupted, and yet are supposed to continue the same, are\nsuch only as consist of a succession of parts, connected together by\nresemblance, contiguity, or causation. For as such a succession answers\nevidently to our notion of diversity, it can only be by mistake we\nascribe to it an identity; and as the relation of parts, which leads us\ninto this mistake, is really nothing but a quality, which produces an\nassociation of ideas, and an easy transition of the imagination from one\nto another, it can only be from the resemblance, which this act of the\nmind bears to that, by which we contemplate one continued object, that\nthe error arises. Our chief business, then, must be to prove, that\nall objects, to which we ascribe identity, without observing their\ninvariableness and uninterruptedness, are such as consist of a\nsuccession of related objects.\n\nIn order to this, suppose any mass of matter, of which the parts are\ncontiguous and connected, to be placed before us; it is plain we must\nattribute a perfect identity to this mass, provided all the parts\ncontinue uninterruptedly and invariably the same, whatever motion or\nchange of place we may observe either in the whole or in any of the\nparts. But supposing some very small or inconsiderable part to be added\nto the mass, or subtracted from it; though this absolutely destroys\nthe identity of the whole, strictly speaking; yet as we seldom think so\naccurately, we scruple not to pronounce a mass of matter the same, where\nwe find so trivial an alteration. The passage of the thought from the\nobject before the change to the object after it, is so smooth and easy,\nthat we scarce perceive the transition, and are apt to imagine, that it\nis nothing but a continued survey of the same object.\n\nThere is a very remarkable circumstance, that attends this experiment;\nwhich is, that though the change of any considerable part in a mass\nof matter destroys the identity of the whole, let we must measure the\ngreatness of the part, not absolutely, but by its proportion to the\nwhole. The addition or diminution of a mountain would not be sufficient\nto produce a diversity in a planet: though the change of a very few\ninches would be able to destroy the identity of some bodies. It will be\nimpossible to account for this, but by reflecting that objects operate\nupon the mind, and break or interrupt the continuity of its actions not\naccording to their real greatness, but according to their proportion to\neach other: And therefore, since this interruption makes an object cease\nto appear the same, it must be the uninterrupted progress o the thought,\nwhich constitutes the imperfect identity.\n\nThis may be confirmed by another phenomenon. A change in any\nconsiderable part of a body destroys its identity; but it is remarkable,\nthat where the change is produced gradually and insensibly we are less\napt to ascribe to it the same effect. The reason can plainly be no\nother, than that the mind, in following the successive changes of the\nbody, feels an easy passage from the surveying its condition in one\nmoment to the viewing of it in another, and at no particular time\nperceives any interruption in its actions. From which continued\nperception, it ascribes a continued existence and identity to the\nobject.\n\nBut whatever precaution we may use in introducing the changes gradually,\nand making them proportionable to the whole, it is certain, that where\nthe changes are at last observed to become considerable, we make a\nscruple of ascribing identity to such different objects. There is,\nhowever, another artifice, by which we may induce the imagination to\nadvance a step farther; and that is, by producing a reference of the\nparts to each other, and a combination to some common end or purpose.\nA ship, of which a considerable part has been changed by frequent\nreparations, is still considered as the same; nor does the difference\nof the materials hinder us from ascribing an identity to it. The\ncommon end, in which the parts conspire, is the same under all their\nvariations, and affords an easy transition of the imagination from one\nsituation of the body to another.\n\nBut this is still more remarkable, when we add a sympathy of parts\nto their common end, and suppose that they bear to each other, the\nreciprocal relation of cause and effect in all their actions and\noperations. This is the case with all animals and vegetables; where not\nonly the several parts have a reference to some general purpose, but\nalso a mutual dependence on, and connexion with each other. The effect\nof so strong a relation is, that though every one must allow, that in a\nvery few years both vegetables and animals endure a total change, yet we\nstill attribute identity to them, while their form, size, and substance\nare entirely altered. An oak, that grows from a small plant to a large\ntree, is still the same oak; though there be not one particle of matter,\nor figure of its parts the same. An infant becomes a man-, and is\nsometimes fat, sometimes lean, without any change in his identity.\n\nWe may also consider the two following phaenomena, which are remarkable\nin their kind. The first is, that though we commonly be able to\ndistinguish pretty exactly betwixt numerical and specific identity, yet\nit sometimes happens, that we confound them, and in our thinking and\nreasoning employ the one for the other. Thus a man, who bears a noise,\nthat is frequently interrupted and renewed, says, it is still the same\nnoise; though it is evident the sounds have only a specific identity or\nresemblance, and there is nothing numerically the same, but the cause,\nwhich produced them. In like manner it may be said without breach of the\npropriety of language, that such a church, which was formerly of brick,\nfell to ruin, and that the parish rebuilt the same church of free-stone,\nand according to modern architecture. Here neither the form nor\nmaterials are the same, nor is there any thing common to the two\nobjects, but their relation to the inhabitants of the parish; and yet\nthis alone is sufficient to make us denominate them the same. But\nwe must observe, that in these cases the first object is in a manner\nannihilated before the second comes into existence; by which means, we\nare never presented in any one point of time with the idea of difference\nand multiplicity: and for that reason are less scrupulous in calling\nthem the same.\n\nSecondly, We may remark, that though in a succession of related objects,\nit be in a manner requisite, that the change of parts be not sudden nor\nentire, in order to preserve the identity, yet where the objects are\nin their nature changeable and inconstant, we admit of a more sudden\ntransition, than would otherwise be consistent with that relation. Thus\nas the nature of a river consists in the motion and change of parts;\nthough in less than four and twenty hours these be totally altered; this\nhinders not the river from continuing the same during several ages. What\nis natural and essential to any thing is, in a manner, expected; and\nwhat is expected makes less impression, and appears of less moment, than\nwhat is unusual and extraordinary. A considerable change of the former\nkind seems really less to the imagination, than the most trivial\nalteration of the latter; and by breaking less the continuity of the\nthought, has less influence in destroying the identity.\n\nWe now proceed to explain the nature of personal identity, which has\nbecome so great a question ill philosophy, especially of late years in\nEngland, where all the abstruser sciences are studyed with a peculiar\nardour and application. And here it is evident, the same method of\nreasoning must be continued which has so successfully explained the\nidentity of plants, and animals, and ships, and houses, and of all\nthe compounded and changeable productions either of art or nature. The\nidentity, which we ascribe to the mind of man, is only a fictitious one,\nand of a like kind with that which we ascribe to vegetables and animal\nbodies. It cannot, therefore, have a different origin, but must proceed\nfrom a like operation of the imagination upon like objects.\n\nBut lest this argument should not convince the reader; though in my\nopinion perfectly decisive; let him weigh the following reasoning, which\nis still closer and more immediate. It is evident, that the identity,\nwhich we attribute to the human mind, however perfect we may imagine it\nto be, is not able to run the several different perceptions into one,\nand make them lose their characters of distinction and difference, which\nare essential to them. It is still true, that every distinct perception,\nwhich enters into the composition of the mind, is a distinct existence,\nand is different, and distinguishable, and separable from every other\nperception, either contemporary or successive. But, as, notwithstanding\nthis distinction and separability, we suppose the whole train of\nperceptions to be united by identity, a question naturally arises\nconcerning this relation of identity; whether it be something that\nreally binds our several perceptions together, or only associates\ntheir ideas in the imagination. That is, in other words, whether in\npronouncing concerning the identity of a person, we observe some real\nbond among his perceptions, or only feel one among the ideas we form of\nthem. This question we might easily decide, if we would recollect what\nhas been already proud at large, that the understanding never observes\nany real connexion among objects, and that even the union of cause\nand effect, when strictly examined, resolves itself into a customary\nassociation of ideas. For from thence it evidently follows, that\nidentity is nothing really belonging to these different perceptions, and\nuniting them together; but is merely a quality, which we attribute to\nthem, because of the union of their ideas in the imagination, when we\nreflect upon them. Now the only qualities, which can give ideas an union\nin the imagination, are these three relations above-mentioned. There\nare the uniting principles in the ideal world, and without them\nevery distinct object is separable by the mind, and may be separately\nconsidered, and appears not to have any more connexion with any other\nobject, than if disjoined by the greatest difference and remoteness.\nIt is, therefore, on some of these three relations of resemblance,\ncontiguity and causation, that identity depends; and as the very essence\nof these relations consists in their producing an easy transition\nof ideas; it follows, that our notions of personal identity, proceed\nentirely from the smooth and uninterrupted progress of the thought along\na train of connected ideas, according to the principles above-explained.\n\nThe only question, therefore, which remains, is, by what relations this\nuninterrupted progress of our thought is produced, when we consider\nthe successive existence of a mind or thinking person. And here it is\nevident we must confine ourselves to resemblance and causation, and must\ndrop contiguity, which has little or no influence in the present case.\n\nTo begin with resemblance; suppose we could see clearly into the\nbreast of another, and observe that succession of perceptions, which\nconstitutes his mind or thinking principle, and suppose that he always\npreserves the memory of a considerable part of past perceptions; it is\nevident that nothing could more contribute to the bestowing a relation\non this succession amidst all its variations. For what is the memory but\na faculty, by which we raise up the images of past perceptions? And\nas an image necessarily resembles its object, must not. The frequent\nplacing of these resembling perceptions in the chain of thought, convey\nthe imagination more easily from one link to another, and make the whole\nseem like the continuance of one object? In this particular, then, the\nmemory not only discovers the identity, but also contributes to\nits production, by producing the relation of resemblance among the\nperceptions. The case is the same whether we consider ourselves or\nothers.\n\nAs to causation; we may observe, that the true idea of the human mind,\nis to consider it as a system of different perceptions or different\nexistences, which are linked together by the relation of cause and\neffect, and mutually produce, destroy, influence, and modify each other.\nOur impressions give rise to their correspondent ideas; said these ideas\nin their turn produce other impressions. One thought chaces another,\nand draws after it a third, by which it is expelled in its turn. In this\nrespect, I cannot compare the soul more properly to any thing than to a\nrepublic or commonwealth, in which the several members are united by the\nreciprocal ties of government and subordination, and give rise to other\npersons, who propagate the same republic in the incessant changes of\nits parts. And as the same individual republic may not only change its\nmembers, but also its laws and constitutions; in like manner the\nsame person may vary his character and disposition, as well as his\nimpressions and ideas, without losing his identity. Whatever changes\nhe endures, his several parts are still connected by the relation of\ncausation. And in this view our identity with regard to the passions\nserves to corroborate that with regard to the imagination, by the making\nour distant perceptions influence each other, and by giving us a present\nconcern for our past or future pains or pleasures.\n\nAs a memory alone acquaints us with the continuance and extent of this\nsuccession of perceptions, it is to be considered, upon that account\nchiefly, as the source of personal identity. Had we no memory, we never\nshould have any notion of causation, nor consequently of that chain of\ncauses and effects, which constitute our self or person. But having once\nacquired this notion of causation from the memory, we can extend the\nsame chain of causes, and consequently the identity of car persons\nbeyond our memory, and can comprehend times, and circumstances, and\nactions, which we have entirely forgot, but suppose in general to have\nexisted. For how few of our past actions are there, of which we have\nany memory? Who can tell me, for instance, what were his thoughts and\nactions on the 1st of January 1715, the 11th of March 1719, and the 3rd\nof August 1733? Or will he affirm, because he has entirely forgot the\nincidents of these days, that the present self is not the same person\nwith the self of that time; and by that means overturn all the most\nestablished notions of personal identity? In this view, therefore,\nmemory does not so much produce as discover personal identity, by\nshewing us the relation of cause and effect among our different\nperceptions. It will be incumbent on those, who affirm that memory\nproduces entirely our personal identity, to give a reason why we can\nthus extend our identity beyond our memory.\n\nThe whole of this doctrine leads us to a conclusion, which is of great\nimportance in the present affair, viz. that all the nice and subtile\nquestions concerning personal identity can never possibly be decided,\nand are to be regarded rather as gramatical than as philosophical\ndifficulties. Identity depends on the relations of ideas; and these\nrelations produce identity, by means of that easy transition they\noccasion. But as the relations, and the easiness of the transition may\ndiminish by insensible degrees, we have no just standard, by which we\ncan decide any dispute concerning the time, when they acquire or lose a\ntitle to the name of identity. All the disputes concerning the identity\nof connected objects are merely verbal, except so fax as the relation of\nparts gives rise to some fiction or imaginary principle of union, as we\nhave already observed.\n\nWhat I have said concerning the first origin and uncertainty of our\nnotion of identity, as applied to the human mind, may be extended with\nlittle or no variation to that of simplicity. An object, whose different\nco-existent parts are bound together by a close relation, operates upon\nthe imagination after much the same manner as one perfectly simple and\nindivisible and requires not a much greater stretch of thought in order\nto its conception. From this similarity of operation we attribute a\nsimplicity to it, and feign a principle of union as the support of this\nsimplicity, and the center of all the different parts and qualities of\nthe object.\n\nThus we have finished our examination of the several systems of\nphilosophy, both of the intellectual and natural world; and in our\nmiscellaneous way of reasoning have been led into several topics;\nwhich will either illustrate and confirm some preceding part of this\ndiscourse, or prepare the way for our following opinions. It is now time\nto return to a more close examination of our subject, and to proceed in\nthe accurate anatomy of human nature, having fully explained the nature\nof our judgment and understandings.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. VII. CONCLUSION OF THIS BOOK.\n\n\nBut before I launch out into those immense depths of philosophy, which\nlie before me, I find myself inclined to stop a moment in my present\nstation, and to ponder that voyage, which I have undertaken, and which\nundoubtedly requires the utmost art and industry to be brought to a\nhappy conclusion. Methinks I am like a man, who having struck on many\nshoals, and having narrowly escaped shipwreck in passing a small frith,\nhas yet the temerity to put out to sea in the same leaky weather-beaten\nvessel, and even carries his ambition so far as to think of compassing\nthe globe under these disadvantageous circumstances. My memory of past\nerrors and perplexities, makes me diffident for the future. The wretched\ncondition, weakness, and disorder of the faculties, I must employ in my\nenquiries, encrease my apprehensions. And the impossibility of amending\nor correcting these faculties, reduces me almost to despair, and makes\nme resolve to perish on the barren rock, on which I am at present,\nrather than venture myself upon that boundless ocean, which runs\nout into immensity. This sudden view of my danger strikes me with\nmelancholy; and as it is usual for that passion, above all others, to\nindulge itself; I cannot forbear feeding my despair, with all those\ndesponding reflections, which the present subject furnishes me with in\nsuch abundance.\n\nI am first affrighted and confounded with that forelorn solitude,\nin which I am placed in my philosophy, and fancy myself some strange\nuncouth monster, who not being able to mingle and unite in society,\nhas been expelled all human commerce, and left utterly abandoned and\ndisconsolate. Fain would I run into the crowd for shelter and warmth;\nbut cannot prevail with myself to mix with such deformity. I call upon\nothers to join me, in order to make a company apart; but no one will\nhearken to me. Every one keeps at a distance, and dreads that storm,\nwhich beats upon me from every side. I have exposed myself to the enmity\nof all metaphysicians, logicians, mathematicians, and even theologians;\nand can I wonder at the insults I must suffer? I have declared my\ndisapprobation of their systems; and can I be surprized, if they should\nexpress a hatred of mine and of my person? When I look abroad, I foresee\non every side, dispute, contradiction, anger, calumny and detraction.\nWhen I turn my eye inward, I find nothing but doubt and ignorance.\nAll the world conspires to oppose and contradict me; though such is my\nweakness, that I feel all my opinions loosen and fall of themselves,\nwhen unsupported by the approbation of others. Every step I take is\nwith hesitation, and every new reflection makes me dread an error and\nabsurdity in my reasoning.\n\nFor with what confidence can I venture upon such bold enterprises, when\nbeside those numberless infirmities peculiar to myself, I find so many\nwhich are common to human nature? Can I be sure, that in leaving all\nestablished opinions I am following truth; and by what criterion shall\nI distinguish her, even if fortune should at last guide me on her\nfoot-steps? After the most accurate and exact of my reasonings, I can\ngive no reason why I should assent to it; and feel nothing but a strong\npropensity to consider objects strongly in that view, under which they\nappear to me. Experience is a principle, which instructs me in\nthe several conjunctions of objects for the past. Habit is another\nprinciple, which determines me to expect the same for the future; and\nboth of them conspiring to operate upon the imagination, make me form\ncertain ideas in a more intense and lively manner, than others, which\nare not attended with the same advantages. Without this quality, by\nwhich the mind enlivens some ideas beyond others (which seemingly is so\ntrivial, and so little founded on reason) we could never assent to any\nargument, nor carry our view beyond those few objects, which are present\nto our senses. Nay, even to these objects we could never attribute any\nexistence, but what was dependent on the senses; and must comprehend\nthem entirely in that succession of perceptions, which constitutes our\nself or person. Nay farther, even with relation to that succession, we\ncould only admit of those perceptions, which are immediately present to\nour consciousness, nor could those lively images, with which the memory\npresents us, be ever received as true pictures of past perceptions. The\nmemory, senses, and understanding are, therefore, all of them founded on\nthe imagination, or the vivacity of our ideas.\n\nNo wonder a principle so inconstant and fallacious should lead us into\nerrors, when implicitly followed (as it must be) in all its variations.\nIt is this principle, which makes us reason from causes and effects;\nand it is the same principle, which convinces us of the continued\nexistence of external objects, when absent from the senses. But though\nthese two operations be equally natural and necessary in the human\nmind, yet in some circumstances they are[16] directly contrary, nor is\nit possible for us to reason justly and regularly from causes and\neffects, and at the same time believe the continued existence of\nmatter. How then shall we adjust those principles together? Which of\nthem shall we prefer? Or in case we prefer neither of them, but\nsuccessively assent to both, as is usual among philosophers, with what\nconfidence can we afterwards usurp that glorious title, when we thus\nknowingly embrace a manifest contradiction?\n\n    [16] Sect. 4.\n\nThis contradiction[17] would be more excusable, were it compensated by\nany degree of solidity and satisfaction in the other parts of our\nreasoning. But the case is quite contrary. When we trace up the human\nunderstanding to its first principles, we find it to lead us into such\nsentiments, as seem to turn into ridicule all our past pains and\nindustry, and to discourage us from future enquiries. Nothing is more\ncuriously enquired after by the mind of man, than the causes of every\nphenomenon; nor are we content with knowing the immediate causes, but\npush on our enquiries, till we arrive at the original and ultimate\nprinciple. We would not willingly stop before we are acquainted with\nthat energy in the cause, by which it operates on its effect; that tie,\nwhich connects them together; and that efficacious quality, on which\nthe tie depends. This is our aim in all our studies and reflections:\nAnd how must we be disappointed, when we learn, that this connexion,\ntie, or energy lies merely in ourselves, and is nothing but that\ndetermination of the mind, which is acquired by custom, and causes us\nto make a transition from an object to its usual attendant, and from\nthe impression of one to the lively idea of the other? Such a discovery\nnot only cuts off all hope of ever attaining satisfaction, but even\nprevents our very wishes; since it appears, that when we say we desire\nto know the ultimate and operating principle, as something, which\nresides in the external object, we either contradict ourselves, or talk\nwithout a meaning.\n\n    [17] Part III. Sect. 14.\n\nThis deficiency in our ideas is not, indeed, perceived in common life,\nnor are we sensible, that in the most usual conjunctions of cause and\neffect we are as ignorant of the ultimate principle, which binds them\ntogether, as in the most unusual and extraordinary. But this proceeds\nmerely from an illusion of the imagination; and the question is, how far\nwe ought to yield to these illusions. This question is very difficult,\nand reduces us to a very dangerous dilemma, whichever way we answer it.\nFor if we assent to every trivial suggestion of the fancy; beside that\nthese suggestions are often contrary to each other; they lead us into\nsuch errors, absurdities, and obscurities, that we must at last become\nashamed of our credulity. Nothing is more dangerous to reason than the\nflights of the imagination, and nothing has been the occasion of more\nmistakes among philosophers. Men of bright fancies may in this respect\nbe compared to those angels, whom the scripture represents as covering\ntheir eyes with their wings. This has already appeared in so many\ninstances, that we may spare ourselves the trouble of enlarging upon it\nany farther.\n\nBut on the other hand, if the consideration of these instances makes us\ntake a resolution to reject all the trivial suggestions of the fancy,\nand adhere to the understanding, that is, to the general and more\nestablished properties of the imagination; even this resolution, if\nsteadily executed, would be dangerous, and attended with the most fatal\nconsequences. For I have already shewn,[18] that the understanding,\nwhen it acts alone, and according to its most general principles,\nentirely subverts itself, and leaves not the lowest degree of evidence\nin any proposition, either in philosophy or common life. We save\nourselves from this total scepticism only by means of that singular and\nseemingly trivial property of the fancy, by which we enter with\ndifficulty into remote views of things, and are not able to accompany\nthem with so sensible an impression, as we do those, which are more\neasy and natural. Shall we, then, establish it for a general maxim,\nthat no refined or elaborate reasoning is ever to be received? Consider\nwell the consequences of such a principle. By this means you cut off\nentirely all science and philosophy: You proceed upon one singular\nquality of the imagination, and by a parity of reason must embrace all\nof them: And you expressly contradict yourself; since this maxim must\nbe built on the preceding reasoning, which will be allowed to be\nsufficiently refined and metaphysical. What party, then, shall we\nchoose among these difficulties? If we embrace this principle, and\ncondemn all refined reasoning, we run into the most manifest\nabsurdities. If we reject it in favour of these reasonings, we subvert\nentirely the human understanding. We have, therefore, no choice left\nbut betwixt a false reason and none at all. For my part, know not what\nought to be done in the present case. I can only observe what is\ncommonly done; which is, that this difficulty is seldom or never\nthought of; and even where it has once been present to the mind, is\nquickly forgot, and leaves but a small impression behind it. Very\nrefined reflections have little or no influence upon us; and yet we do\nnot, and cannot establish it for a rule, that they ought not to have\nany influence; which implies a manifest contradiction.\n\n    [18] Sect. 1.\n\nBut what have I here said, that reflections very refined and\nmetaphysical have little or no influence upon us? This opinion I can\nscarce forbear retracting, and condemning from my present feeling\nand experience. The intense view of these manifold contradictions and\nimperfections in human reason has so wrought upon me, and heated my\nbrain, that I am ready to reject all belief and reasoning, and can look\nupon no opinion even as more probable or likely than another. Where\nam I, or what? From what causes do I derive my existence, and to what\ncondition shall I return? Whose favour shall I court, and whose\nanger must I dread? What beings surround me? and on whom have, I any\ninfluence, or who have any influence on me? I am confounded with all\nthese questions, and begin to fancy myself in the most deplorable\ncondition imaginable, invironed with the deepest darkness, and utterly\ndeprived of the use of every member and faculty.\n\nMost fortunately it happens, that since reason is incapable of\ndispelling these clouds, nature herself suffices to that purpose,\nand cures me of this philosophical melancholy and delirium, either by\nrelaxing this bent of mind, or by some avocation, and lively impression\nof my senses, which obliterate all these chimeras. I dine, I play a game\nof backgammon, I converse, and am merry with my friends; and when after\nthree or four hours' amusement, I would return to these speculations,\nthey appear so cold, and strained, and ridiculous, that I cannot find in\nmy heart to enter into them any farther.\n\nHere then I find myself absolutely and necessarily determined to live,\nand talk, and act like other people in the common affairs of life. But\nnotwithstanding that my natural propensity, and the course of my animal\nspirits and passions reduce me to this indolent belief in the general\nmaxims of the world, I still feel such remains of my former disposition,\nthat I am ready to throw all my books and papers into the fire, and\nresolve never more to renounce the pleasures of life for the sake of\nreasoning and philosophy. For those are my sentiments in that splenetic\nhumour, which governs me at present. I may, nay I must yield to the\ncurrent of nature, in submitting to my senses and understanding; and in\nthis blind submission I shew most perfectly my sceptical disposition and\nprinciples. But does it follow, that I must strive against the current\nof nature, which leads me to indolence and pleasure; that I must seclude\nmyself, in some measure, from the commerce and society of men, which\nis so agreeable; and that I must torture my brains with subtilities and\nsophistries, at the very time that I cannot satisfy myself concerning\nthe reasonableness of so painful an application, nor have any tolerable\nprospect of arriving by its means at truth and certainty. Under what\nobligation do I lie of making such an abuse of time? And to what end\ncan it serve either for the service of mankind, or for my own private\ninterest? No: If I must be a fool, as all those who reason or believe\nany thing certainly are, my follies shall at least be natural and\nagreeable. Where I strive against my inclination, I shall have a good\nreason for my resistance; and will no more be led a wandering into such\ndreary solitudes, and rough passages, as I have hitherto met with.\n\nThese are the sentiments of my spleen and indolence; and indeed I must\nconfess, that philosophy has nothing to oppose to them, and expects a\nvictory more from the returns of a serious good-humoured disposition,\nthan from the force of reason and conviction. In all the incidents of\nlife we ought still to preserve our scepticism. If we believe, that fire\nwarms, or water refreshes, it is only because it costs us too much pains\nto think otherwise. Nay if we are philosophers, it ought only to be\nupon sceptical principles, and from an inclination, which we feel to the\nemploying ourselves after that manner. Where reason is lively, and mixes\nitself with some propensity, it ought to be assented to. Where it does\nnot, it never can have any title to operate upon us.\n\nAt the time, therefore, that I am tired with amusement and company,\nand have indulged a reverie in my chamber, or in a solitary walk by a\nriver-side, I feel my mind all collected within itself, and am naturally\ninclined to carry my view into all those subjects, about which I have\nmet with so many disputes in the course of my reading and conversation.\nI cannot forbear having a curiosity to be acquainted with the principles\nof moral good and evil, the nature and foundation of government, and\nthe cause of those several passions and inclinations, which actuate and\ngovern me. I am uneasy to think I approve of one object, and disapprove\nof another; call one thing beautiful, and another deformed; decide\nconcerning truth and falshood, reason and folly, without knowing upon\nwhat principles I proceed. I am concerned for the condition of the\nlearned world, which lies under such a deplorable ignorance in all these\nparticulars. I feel an ambition to arise in me of contributing to the\ninstruction of mankind, and of acquiring a name by my inventions\nand discoveries. These sentiments spring up naturally in my present\ndisposition; and should I endeavour to banish them, by attaching myself\nto any other business or diversion, I feel I should be a loser in point\nof pleasure; and this is the origin of my philosophy.\n\nBut even suppose this curiosity and ambition should not transport\nme into speculations without the sphere of common life, it would\nnecessarily happen, that from my very weakness I must be led into such\nenquiries. It is certain, that superstition is much more bold in its\nsystems and hypotheses than philosophy; and while the latter contents\nitself with assigning new causes and principles to the phaenomena, which\nappear in the visible world, the former opens a world of its own, and\npresents us with scenes, and beings, and objects, which are altogether\nnew. Since therefore it is almost impossible for the mind of man to\nrest, like those of beasts, in that narrow circle of objects, which\nare the subject of daily conversation and action, we ought only to\ndeliberate concerning the choice of our guide, and ought to prefer that\nwhich is safest and most agreeable. And in this respect I make bold to\nrecommend philosophy, and shall not scruple to give it the preference to\nsuperstition of every kind or denomination. For as superstition arises\nnaturally and easily from the popular opinions of mankind, it seizes\nmore strongly on the mind, and is often able to disturb us in the\nconduct of our lives and actions. Philosophy on the contrary, if just,\ncan present us only with mild and moderate sentiments; and if false and\nextravagant, its opinions are merely the objects of a cold and general\nspeculation, and seldom go so far as to interrupt the course of our\nnatural propensities. The CYNICS are an extraordinary instance of\nphilosophers, who from reasonings purely philosophical ran into as great\nextravagancies of conduct as any Monk or Dervise that ever was in the\nworld. Generally speaking, the errors in religion are dangerous; those\nin philosophy only ridiculous.\n\nI am sensible, that these two cases of the strength and weakness of the\nmind will not comprehend all mankind, and that there are in England, in\nparticular, many honest gentlemen, who being always employed in their\ndomestic affairs, or amusing themselves in common recreations, have\ncarried their thoughts very little beyond those objects, which are every\nday exposed to their senses. And indeed, of such as these I pretend not\nto make philosophers, nor do I expect them either to be associates in\nthese researches or auditors of these discoveries. They do well to keep\nthemselves in their present situation; and instead of refining them into\nphilosophers, I wish we could communicate to our founders of systems,\na share of this gross earthy mixture, as an ingredient, which they\ncommonly stand much in need of, and which would serve to temper those\nfiery particles, of which they are composed. While a warm imagination\nis allowed to enter into philosophy, and hypotheses embraced merely for\nbeing specious and agreeable, we can never have any steady principles,\nnor any sentiments, which will suit with common practice and experience.\nBut were these hypotheses once removed, we might hope to establish a\nsystem or set of opinions, which if not true (for that, perhaps, is too\nmuch to be hoped for) might at least be satisfactory to the human mind,\nand might stand the test of the most critical examination. Nor should we\ndespair of attaining this end, because of the many chimerical systems,\nwhich have successively arisen and decayed away among men, would we\nconsider the shortness of that period, wherein these questions have been\nthe subjects of enquiry and reasoning. Two thousand years with such long\ninterruptions, and under such mighty discouragements are a small space\nof time to give any tolerable perfection to the sciences; and perhaps we\nare still in too early an age of the world to discover any principles,\nwhich will bear the examination of the latest posterity. For my part,\nmy only hope is, that I may contribute a little to the advancement\nof knowledge, by giving in some particulars a different turn to the\nspeculations of philosophers, and pointing out to them more distinctly\nthose subjects, where alone they can expect assurance and conviction.\nHuman Nature is the only science of man; and yet has been hitherto the\nmost neglected. It will be sufficient for me, if I can bring it a little\nmore into fashion; and the hope of this serves to compose my temper\nfrom that spleen, and invigorate it from that indolence, which\nsometimes prevail upon me. If the reader finds himself in the same easy\ndisposition, let him follow me in my future speculations. If not, let\nhim follow his inclination, and wait the returns of application and good\nhumour. The conduct of a man, who studies philosophy in this careless\nmanner, is more truly sceptical than that of one, who feeling in himself\nan inclination to it, is yet so overwhelmed with doubts and scruples,\nas totally to reject it. A true sceptic will be diffident of his\nphilosophical doubts, as well as of his philosophical conviction; and\nwill never refuse any innocent satisfaction, which offers itself, upon\naccount of either of them.\n\nNor is it only proper we should in general indulge our inclination\nin the most elaborate philosophical researches, notwithstanding our\nsceptical principles, but also that we should yield to that propensity,\nwhich inclines us to be positive and certain in particular points,\naccording to the light, in which we survey them in any particular\ninstant. It is easier to forbear all examination and enquiry, than\nto check ourselves in so natural a propensity, and guard against that\nassurance, which always arises from an exact and full survey of\nan object. On such an occasion we are apt not only to forget our\nscepticism, but even our modesty too; and make use of such terms as\nthese, it is evident, it is certain, it is undeniable; which a due\ndeference to the public ought, perhaps, to prevent. I may have fallen\ninto this fault after the example of others; but I here enter a caveat\nagainst any Objections, which may be offered on that head; and declare\nthat such expressions were extorted from me by the present view of the\nobject, and imply no dogmatical spirit, nor conceited idea of my own\njudgment, which are sentiments that I am sensible can become no body,\nand a sceptic still less than any other.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBOOK II OF THE PASSIONS\n\n\n\n\n\nPART I OF PRIDE AND HUMILITY\n\n\n\n\nSECT. I DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT\n\n\nAs all the perceptions of the mind may be divided into impressions and\nideas, so the impressions admit of another division into original and\nsecondary. This division of the impressions is the same with that\nwhich[1] I formerly made use of when I distinguished them into\nimpressions of sensation and reflection. Original impressions or\nimpressions of sensation are such as without any antecedent perception\narise in the soul, from the constitution of the body, from the animal\nspirits, or from the application of objects to the external organs.\nSecondary, or reflective impressions are such as proceed from some of\nthese original ones, either immediately or by the interposition of its\nidea. Of the first kind are all the impressions of the senses, and all\nbodily pains and pleasures: Of the second are the passions, and other\nemotions resembling them.\n\n    [1] Book I. Part I. Sect. 2.\n\nIt is certain, that the mind, in its perceptions, must begin somewhere;\nand that since the impressions precede their correspondent ideas, there\nmust be some impressions, which without any introduction make their\nappearance in the soul. As these depend upon natural and physical\ncauses, the examination of them would lead me too far from my present\nsubject, into the sciences of anatomy and natural philosophy. For this\nreason I shall here confine myself to those other impressions, which\nI have called secondary and reflective, as arising either from the\noriginal impressions, or from their ideas. Bodily pains and pleasures\nare the source of many passions, both when felt and considered by the\nmind; but arise originally in the soul, or in the body, whichever you\nplease to call it, without any preceding thought or perception. A fit of\nthe gout produces a long train of passions, as grief, hope, fear; but\nis not derived immediately from any affection or idea. The reflective\nimpressions may be divided into two kinds, viz. the calm and the\nVIOLENT. Of the first kind is the sense of beauty and deformity in\naction, composition, and external objects. Of the second are the\npassions of love and hatred, grief and joy, pride and humility. This\ndivision is far from being exact. The raptures of poetry and music\nfrequently rise to the greatest height; while those other impressions,\nproperly called PASSIONS, may decay into so soft an emotion, as to\nbecome, in a manner, imperceptible. But as in general the passions are\nmore violent than the emotions arising from beauty and deformity,\nthese impressions have been commonly distinguished from each other. The\nsubject of the human mind being so copious and various, I shall here\ntake advantage of this vulgar and spacious division, that I may\nproceed with the greater order; and having said all I thought necessary\nconcerning our ideas, shall now explain those violent emotions or\npassions, their nature, origin, causes, and effects.\n\nWhen we take a survey of the passions, there occurs a division of them\ninto DIRECT and INDIRECT. By direct passions I understand such as arise\nimmediately from good or evil, from pain or pleasure. By indirect such\nas proceed from the same principles, but by the conjunction of other\nqualities. This distinction I cannot at present justify or explain any\nfarther. I can only observe in general, that under the indirect passions\nI comprehend pride, humility, ambition, vanity, love, hatred, envy,\npity, malice, generosity, with their dependants. And under the direct\npassions, desire, aversion, grief, joy, hope, fear, despair and\nsecurity. I shall begin with the former.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. II OF PRIDE AND HUMILITY, THEIR OBJECTS AND CAUSES\n\n\nThe passions of PRIDE and HUMILITY being simple and uniform impressions,\nit is impossible we can ever, by a multitude of words, give a just\ndefinition of them, or indeed of any of the passions. The utmost we\ncan pretend to is a description of them, by an enumeration of such\ncircumstances, as attend them: But as these words, PRIDE and humility,\nare of general use, and the impressions they represent the most common\nof any, every one, of himself, will be able to form a just idea of them,\nwithout any danger of mistake. For which reason, not to lose time upon\npreliminaries, I shall immediately enter upon the examination of these\npassions.\n\nIt is evident, that pride and humility, though directly contrary, have\nyet the same OBJECT. This object is self, or that succession of\nrelated ideas and impressions, of which we have an intimate memory and\nconsciousness. Here the view always fixes when we are actuated by either\nof these passions. According as our idea of ourself is more or less\nadvantageous, we feel either of those opposite affections, and are\nelated by pride, or dejected with humility. Whatever other objects may\nbe comprehended by the mind, they are always considered with a view to\nourselves; otherwise they would never be able either to excite these\npassions, or produce the smallest encrease or diminution of them. When\nself enters not into the consideration, there is no room either for\npride or humility.\n\nBut though that connected succession of perceptions, which we call SELF,\nbe always the object of these two passions, it is impossible it can\nbe their CAUSE, or be sufficient alone to excite them. For as these\npassions are directly contrary, and have the same object in common; were\ntheir object also their cause; it could never produce any degree of the\none passion, but at the same time it must excite an equal degree of\nthe other; which opposition and contrariety must destroy both. It is\nimpossible a man can at the same time be both proud and humble; and\nwhere he has different reasons for these passions, as frequently\nhappens, the passions either take place alternately; or if they\nencounter, the one annihilates the other, as far as its strength goes,\nand the remainder only of that, which is superior, continues to operate\nupon the mind. But in the present case neither of the passions could\never become superior; because supposing it to be the view only of\nourself, which excited them, that being perfectly indifferent to either,\nmust produce both in the very same proportion; or in other words, can\nproduce neither. To excite any passion, and at the same time raise an\nequal share of its antagonist, is immediately to undo what was done, and\nmust leave the mind at last perfectly calm and indifferent.\n\nWe must therefore, make a distinction betwixt the cause and the object\nof these passions; betwixt that idea, which excites them, and that to\nwhich they direct their view, when excited. Pride and humility, being\nonce raised, immediately turn our attention to ourself, and regard\nthat as their ultimate and final object; but there is something farther\nrequisite in order to raise them: Something, which is peculiar to one of\nthe passions, and produces not both in the very same degree. The first\nidea, that is presented to the mind, is that of the cause or productive\nprinciple. This excites the passion, connected with it; and that\npassion, when excited, turns our view to another idea, which is that of\nself. Here then is a passion placed betwixt two ideas, of which the one\nproduces it, and the other is produced by it. The first idea, therefore,\nrepresents the cause, the second the object of the passion.\n\nTo begin with the causes of pride and humility; we may observe, that\ntheir most obvious and remarkable property is the vast variety of\nsubjects, on which they may be placed. Every valuable quality of the\nmind, whether of the imagination, judgment, memory or disposition; wit,\ngood-sense, learning, courage, justice, integrity; all these are the\ncause of pride; and their opposites of humility. Nor are these passions\nconfined to the mind but extend their view to the body likewise. A man\nmay be proud of his beauty, strength, agility, good mein, address\nin dancing, riding, and of his dexterity in any manual business\nor manufacture. But this is not all. The passions looking farther,\ncomprehend whatever objects are in the least allyed or related to us.\nOur country, family, children, relations, riches, houses, gardens,\nhorses, dogs, cloaths; any of these may become a cause either of pride\nor of humility.\n\nFrom the consideration of these causes, it appears necessary we shoud\nmake a new distinction in the causes of the passion, betwixt that\nQUALITY, which operates, and the subject, on which it is placed. A man,\nfor instance, is vain of a beautiful house, which belongs to him, or\nwhich he has himself built and contrived. Here the object of the passion\nis himself, and the cause is the beautiful house: Which cause again is\nsub-divided into two parts, viz. the quality, which operates upon the\npassion, and the subject in which the quality inheres. The quality is\nthe beauty, and the subject is the house, considered as his property or\ncontrivance. Both these parts are essential, nor is the distinction vain\nand chimerical. Beauty, considered merely as such, unless placed upon\nsomething related to us, never produces any pride or vanity; and the\nstrongest relation alone, without beauty, or something else in its\nplace, has as little influence on that passion. Since, therefore, these\ntwo particulars are easily separated and there is a necessity for their\nconjunction, in order to produce the passion, we ought to consider them\nas component parts of the cause; and infix in our minds an exact idea of\nthis distinction.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. III WHENCE THESE OBJECTS AND CAUSES ARE DERIVED\n\n\nBeing so far advanced as to observe a difference betwixt the object\nof the passions and their cause, and to distinguish in the cause the\nquality, which operates on the passions, from the subject, in which it\ninheres; we now proceed to examine what determines each of them to\nbe what it is, and assigns such a particular object, and quality, and\nsubject to these affections. By this means we shall fully understand the\norigin of pride and humility.\n\nIt is evident in the first place, that these passions are determined\nto have self for their object, not only by a natural but also by an\noriginal property. No one can doubt but this property is natural from\nthe constancy and steadiness of its operations. It is always self, which\nis the object of pride and humility; and whenever the passions look\nbeyond, it is still with a view to ourselves, nor can any person or\nobject otherwise have any influence upon us.\n\nThat this proceeds from an original quality or primary impulse, will\nlikewise appear evident, if we consider that it is the distinguishing\ncharacteristic of these passions Unless nature had given some original\nqualities to the mind, it could never have any secondary ones; because\nin that case it would have no foundation for action, nor could ever\nbegin to exert itself. Now these qualities, which we must consider as\noriginal, are such as are most inseparable from the soul, and can be\nresolved into no other: And such is the quality, which determines\nthe object of pride and humility. We may, perhaps, make it a greater\nquestion, whether the causes, that produce the passion, be as natural as\nthe object, to which it is directed, and whether all that vast variety\nproceeds from caprice or from the constitution of the mind. This doubt\nwe shall soon remove, if we cast our eye upon human nature, and consider\nthat in all nations and ages, the same objects still give rise to pride\nand humility; and that upon the view even of a stranger, we can know\npretty nearly, what will either encrease or diminish his passions of\nthis kind. If there be any variation in this particular, it proceeds\nfrom nothing but a difference in the tempers and complexions of men; and\nis besides very inconsiderable. Can we imagine it possible, that while\nhuman nature remains the same, men will ever become entirely indifferent\nto their power, riches, beauty or personal merit, and that their pride\nand vanity will not be affected by these advantages?\n\nBut though the causes of pride and humility be plainly natural, we\nshall find upon examination, that they are not original, and that it is\nutterly impossible they should each of them be adapted to these passions\nby a particular provision, and primary constitution of nature, Beside\ntheir prodigious number, many of them are the effects of art, and arise\npartly from the industry, partly from the caprice, and partly from\nthe good fortune of men, Industry produces houses, furniture, cloaths.\nCaprice determines their particular kinds and qualities. And good\nfortune frequently contributes to all this, by discovering the effects\nthat result from the different mixtures and combinations of bodies. It\nis absurd, therefore, to imagine, that each of these was foreseen and\nprovided for by nature, and that every new production of art, which\ncauses pride or humility; instead of adapting itself to the passion by\npartaking of some general quality, that naturally operates on the mind;\nis itself the object of an original principle, which till then lay\nconcealed in the soul, and is only by accident at last brought to light.\nThus the first mechanic, that invented a fine scritoire, produced pride\nin him, who became possest of it, by principles different from those,\nwhich made him proud of handsome chairs and tables. As this appears\nevidently ridiculous, we must conclude, that each cause of pride and\nhumility is not adapted to the passions by a distinct original quality;\nbut that there are some one or more circumstances common to all of them,\non which their efficacy depends.\n\nBesides, we find in the course of nature, that though the effects be\nmany, the principles, from which they arise, are commonly but few and\nsimple, and that it is the sign of an unskilful naturalist to have\nrecourse to a different quality, in order to explain every different\noperation. How much more must this be true with regard to the human\nmind, which being so confined a subject may justly be thought incapable\nof containing such a monstrous heap of principles, as would be necessary\nto excite the passions of pride and humility, were each distinct cause\nadapted to the passion by a distinct set of principles?\n\nHere, therefore, moral philosophy is in the same condition as natural,\nwith regard to astronomy before the time of COPERNICUS. The antients,\nthough sensible of that maxim, THAT NATURE DOES NOTHING IN VAIN,\ncontrived such intricate systems of the heavens, as seemed inconsistent\nwith true philosophy, and gave place at last to something more simple\nand natural. To invent without scruple a new principle to every\nnew ph\u00e6nomenon, instead of adapting it to the old; to overload our\nhypotheses with a variety of this kind; are certain proofs, that none of\nthese principles is the just one, and that we only desire, by a number\nof falsehoods, to cover our ignorance of the truth.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. IV OF THE RELATIONS OF IMPRESSIONS AND IDEAS\n\n\nThus we have established two truths without any obstacle or difficulty,\nthat IT IS FROM NATURAL PRINCIPLES THIS VARIETY OF CAUSES EXCITES PRIDE\nAND HUMILITY, and that IT IS NOT BY A DIFFERENT PRINCIPLE EACH DIFFERENT\nCAUSE IS ADAPTED TO ITS PASSION. We shall now proceed to enquire how\nwe may reduce these principles to a lesser number, and find among the\ncauses something common, on which their influence depends.\n\nIn order to this we must reflect on certain properties of human nature,\nwhich though they have a mighty influence on every operation both of\nthe understanding and passions, are not commonly much insisted on by\nphilosophers. The first of these is the association of ideas, which I\nhave so often observed and explained. It is impossible for the mind to\nfix itself steadily upon one idea for any considerable time; nor can\nit by its utmost efforts ever arrive at such a constancy. But however\nchangeable our thoughts may be, they are not entirely without rule and\nmethod in their changes. The rule, by which they proceed, is to pass\nfrom one object to what is resembling, contiguous to, or produced by it.\nWhen one idea is present to the imagination, any other, united by these\nrelations, naturally follows it, and enters with more facility by means\nof that introduction.\n\nThe second property I shall observe in the human mind is a like\nassociation of impressions. All resembling impressions are connected\ntogether, and no sooner one arises than the rest immediately follow.\nGrief and disappointment give rise to anger, anger to envy, envy to\nmalice, and malice to grief again, till the whole circle be compleated.\nIn like manner our temper, when elevated with joy, naturally throws\nitself into love, generosity, pity, courage, pride, and the other\nresembling affections. It is difficult for the mind, when actuated by\nany passion, to confine itself to that passion alone, without any\nchange or variation. Human nature is too inconstant to admit of any such\nregularity. Changeableness is essential to it. And to what can it so\nnaturally change as to affections or emotions, which are suitable to the\ntemper, and agree with that set of passions, which then prevail? It is\nevident, then, there is an attraction or association among impressions,\nas well as among ideas; though with this remarkable difference, that\nideas are associated by resemblance, contiguity, and causation; and\nimpressions only by resemblance.\n\nIn the THIRD place, it is observable of these two kinds of association,\nthat they very much assist and forward each other, and that the\ntransition is more easily made where they both concur in the same\nobject. Thus a man, who, by any injury from another, is very much\ndiscomposed and ruffled in his temper, is apt to find a hundred subjects\nof discontent, impatience, fear, and other uneasy passions; especially\nif he can discover these subjects in or near the person, who was\nthe cause of his first passion. Those principles, which forward the\ntransition of ideas, here concur with those, which operate on the\npassions; and both uniting in one action, bestow on the mind a double\nimpulse. The new passion, therefore, must arise with so much greater\nviolence, and the transition to it must be rendered so much more easy\nand natural.\n\nUpon this occasion I may cite the authority of an elegant writer, who\nexpresses himself in the following manner.\n\n\"As the fancy delights in every thing that is great, strange, or\nbeautiful, and is still more pleased the more it finds of these\nperfections in the same object, so it is capable of receiving a new\nsatisfaction by the assistance of another sense. Thus any continued\nsound, as the music of birds, or a fall of waters, awakens every moment\nthe mind of the beholder, and makes him more attentive to the several\nbeauties of the place, that lie before him. Thus if there arises a\nfragrancy of smells or perfumes, they heighten the pleasure of the\nimagination, and make even the colours and verdure of the landschape\nappear more agreeable; for the ideas of both senses recommend each\nother, and are pleasanter together than when they enter the mind\nseparately: As the different colours of a picture, when they are well\ndisposed, set off one another, and receive an additional beauty from\nthe advantage of the situation.\"[2] In this ph\u00e6nomenon we may remark\nthe association both of impressions and ideas, as well as the mutual\nassistance they lend each other.\n\n    [2] Addison, SPECTATOR 412, final paragraph.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. V OF THE INFLUENCE OF THESE RELATIONS ON PRIDE AND HUMILITY\n\n\nThese principles being established on unquestionable experience, I begin\nto consider how we shall apply them, by revolving over all the causes of\npride and humility, whether these causes be regarded, as the qualities,\nthat operate, or as the subjects, on which the qualities are placed. In\nexamining these qualities I immediately find many of them to concur\nin producing the sensation of pain and pleasure, independent of those\naffections, which I here endeavour to explain. Thus the beauty of our\nperson, of itself, and by its very appearance, gives pleasure, as well\nas pride; and its deformity, pain as well as humility. A magnificent\nfeast delights us, and a sordid one displeases. What I discover to\nbe true in some instances, I suppose to be so in all; and take it for\ngranted at present, without any farther proof, that every cause of\npride, by its peculiar qualities, produces a separate pleasure, and of\nhumility a separate uneasiness.\n\nAgain, in considering the subjects, to which these qualities adhere, I\nmake a new supposition, which also appears probable from many obvious\ninstances, viz, that these subjects are either parts of ourselves, or\nsomething nearly related to us. Thus the good and bad qualities of\nour actions and manners constitute virtue and vice, and determine our\npersonal character, than which nothing operates more strongly on these\npassions. In like manner, it is the beauty or deformity of our person,\nhouses, equipage, or furniture, by which we are rendered either vain or\nhumble. The same qualities, when transfered to subjects, which bear\nus no relation, influence not in the smallest degree either of these\naffections.\n\nHaving thus in a manner supposed two properties of the causes of these\naffections, viz, that the qualities produce a separate pain or pleasure,\nand that the subjects, on which the qualities are placed, are related\nto self; I proceed to examine the passions themselves, in order to find\nsomething in them, correspondent to the supposed properties of their\ncauses. First, I find, that the peculiar object of pride and humility\nis determined by an original and natural instinct, and that it is\nabsolutely impossible, from the primary constitution of the mind, that\nthese passions should ever look beyond self, or that individual person.\nof whose actions and sentiments each of us is intimately conscious. Here\nat last the view always rests, when we are actuated by either of these\npassions; nor can we, in that situation of mind, ever lose sight of this\nobject. For this I pretend not to give any reason; but consider such a\npeculiar direction of the thought as an original quality.\n\nThe SECOND quality, which I discover in these passions, and which I\nlikewise consider an an original quality, is their sensations, or the\npeculiar emotions they excite in the soul, and which constitute their\nvery being and essence. Thus pride is a pleasant sensation, and humility\na painful; and upon the removal of the pleasure and pain, there is in\nreality no pride nor humility. Of this our very feeling convinces us;\nand beyond our feeling, it is here in vain to reason or dispute.\n\nIf I compare, therefore, these two established properties of the\npassions, viz, their object, which is self, and their sensation, which\nis either pleasant or painful, to the two supposed properties of the\ncauses, viz, their relation to self, and their tendency to produce a\npain or pleasure, independent of the passion; I immediately find, that\ntaking these suppositions to be just, the true system breaks in upon me\nwith an irresistible evidence. That cause, which excites the passion, is\nrelated to the object, which nature has attributed to the passion;\nthe sensation, which the cause separately produces, is related to\nthe sensation of the passion: From this double relation of ideas and\nimpressions, the passion is derived. The one idea is easily converted\ninto its correlative; and the one impression into that, which resembles\nand corresponds to it: With how much greater facility must this\ntransition be made, where these movements mutually assist each other,\nand the mind receives a double impulse from the relations both of its\nimpressions and ideas?\n\nThat we may comprehend this the better, we must suppose, that nature has\ngiven to the organs of the human mind, a certain disposition fitted to\nproduce a peculiar impression or emotion, which we call pride: To this\nemotion she has assigned a certain idea, viz, that of self, which it\nnever fails to produce. This contrivance of nature is easily conceived.\nWe have many instances of such a situation of affairs. The nerves of the\nnose and palate are so disposed, as in certain circumstances to convey\nsuch peculiar sensations to the mind: The sensations of lust and hunger\nalways produce in us the idea of those peculiar objects, which are\nsuitable to each appetite. These two circumstances are united in pride.\nThe organs are so disposed as to produce the passion; and the passion,\nafter its production, naturally produces a certain idea. All this needs\nno proof. It is evident we never should be possest of that passion, were\nthere not a disposition of mind proper for it; and it is as evident,\nthat the passion always turns our view to ourselves, and makes us think\nof our own qualities and circumstances.\n\nThis being fully comprehended, it may now be asked, WHETHER NATURE\nPRODUCES THE PASSION IMMEDIATELY, OF HERSELF; OR WHETHER SHE MUST BE\nASSISTED BY THE CO-OPERATION OF OTHER CAUSES? For it is observable, that\nin this particular her conduct is different in the different passions\nand sensations. The palate must be excited by an external object, in\norder to produce any relish: But hunger arises internally, without the\nconcurrence of any external object. But however the case may stand with\nother passions and impressions, it is certain, that pride requires the\nassistance of some foreign object, and that the organs, which produce\nit, exert not themselves like the heart and arteries, by an original\ninternal movement. For first, daily experience convinces us, that pride\nrequires certain causes to excite it, and languishes when unsupported by\nsome excellency in the character, in bodily accomplishments, in cloaths,\nequipage or fortune. SECONDLY, it is evident pride would be perpetual,\nif it arose immediately from nature; since the object is always the\nsame, and there is no disposition of body peculiar to pride, as there\nis to thirst and hunger. Thirdly, Humility is in the very same situation\nwith pride; and therefore, either must, upon this supposition, be\nperpetual likewise, or must destroy the contrary passion from, the very\nfirst moment; so that none of them could ever make its appearance. Upon\nthe whole, we may rest satisfyed with the foregoing conclusion, that\npride must have a cause, as well as an object, and that the one has no\ninfluence without the other.\n\nThe difficulty, then, is only to discover this cause, and find what\nit is that gives the first motion to pride, and sets those organs in\naction, which are naturally fitted to produce that emotion. Upon\nmy consulting experience, in order to resolve this difficulty, I\nimmediately find a hundred different causes, that produce pride; and\nupon examining these causes, I suppose, what at first I perceive to be\nprobable, that all of them concur in two circumstances; which are, that\nof themselves they produce an impression, allyed to the passion, and\nare placed on a subject, allyed to the object of the passion. When I\nconsider after this the nature of relation, and its effects both on the\npassions and ideas, I can no longer doubt, upon these suppositions, that\nit is the very principle, which gives rise to pride, and bestows\nmotion on those organs, which being naturally disposed to produce that\naffection, require only a first impulse or beginning to their action.\nAny thing, that gives a pleasant sensation, and is related to self,\nexcites the passion of pride, which is also agreeable, and has self for\nits object.\n\nWhat I have said of pride is equally true of humility. The sensation of\nhumility is uneasy, as that of pride is agreeable; for which reason the\nseparate sensation, arising from the causes, must be reversed, while\nthe relation to self continues the same. Though pride and humility are\ndirectly contrary in their effects, and in their sensations, they have\nnotwithstanding the same object; so that it is requisite only to change\nthe relation of impressions, without making any change upon that\nof ideas. Accordingly we find, that a beautiful house, belonging to\nourselves, produces pride; and that the same house, still belonging to\nourselves, produces humility, when by any accident its beauty is\nchanged into deformity, and thereby the sensation of pleasure, which\ncorresponded to pride, is transformed into pain, which is related to\nhumility. The double relation between the ideas and impressions subsists\nin both cases, and produces an easy transition from the one emotion to\nthe other.\n\nIn a word, nature has bestowed a kind of attraction on certain\nimpressions and ideas, by which one of them, upon its appearance,\nnaturally introduces its correlative. If these two attractions or\nassociations of impressions and ideas concur on the same object, they\nmutually assist each other, and the transition of the affections and\nof the imagination is made with the greatest ease and facility. When\nan idea produces an impression, related to an impression, which is\nconnected with an idea, related to the first idea, these two impressions\nmust be in a manner inseparable, nor will the one in any case be\nunattended with the other. It is after this manner, that the particular\ncauses of pride and humility are determined. The quality, which operates\non the passion, produces separately an impression resembling it; the\nsubject, to which the quality adheres, is related to self, the object of\nthe passion: No wonder the whole cause, consisting of a quality and of a\nsubject, does so unavoidably give rise to the pass on.\n\nTo illustrate this hypothesis we may compare it to that, by which I\nhave already explained the belief attending the judgments, which we form\nfrom causation. I have observed, that in all judgments of this kind,\nthere is always a present impression and a related idea; and that\nthe present impression gives a vivacity to the fancy, and the relation\nconveys this vivacity, by an easy transition, to the related idea.\nWithout the present impression, the attention is not fixed, nor the\nspirits excited. Without the relation, this attention rests on its\nfirst object, and has no farther consequence. There is evidently a great\nanalogy betwixt that hypothesis and our present one of an impression\nand idea, that transfuse themselves into another impression and idea by\nmeans of their double relation: Which analogy must be allowed to be no\ndespicable proof of both hypotheses.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. VI LIMITATIONS OF THIS SYSTEM\n\n\nBut before we proceed farther in this subject, and examine particularly\nall the causes of pride and humility, it will be proper to make some\nlimitations to the general system, THAT ALL AGREEABLE OBJECTS, RELATED\nTO OURSELVES, BY AN ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS AND OF IMPRESSIONS, PRODUCE\nPRIDE, AND DISAGREEABLE ONES, HUMILITY: And these limitations are\nderived from the very nature of the subject.\n\nI. Suppose an agreeable object to acquire a relation to self, the\nfirst passion, that appears on this occasion, is joy; and this passion\ndiscovers itself upon a slighter relation than pride and vain-glory. We\nmay feel joy upon being present at a feast, where our senses are regard\nwith delicacies of every kind: But it is only the master of the feast,\nwho, beside the same joy, has the additional passion of self-applause\nand vanity. It is true, men sometimes boast of a great entertainment,\nat which they have only been present; and by so small a relation convert\ntheir pleasure into pride: But however, this must in general be owned,\nthat joy arises from a more inconsiderable relation than vanity, and\nthat many things, which are too foreign to produce pride, are yet able\nto give us a delight and pleasure, The reason of the difference may be\nexplained thus. A relation is requisite to joy, in order to approach\nthe object to us, and make it give us any satisfaction. But beside this,\nwhich is common to both passions, it is requisite to pride, in order\nto produce a transition from one passion to another, and convert the\nfalsification into vanity. As it has a double task to perform, it must\nbe endowed with double force and energy. To which we may add, that where\nagreeable objects bear not a very close relation to ourselves, they\ncommonly do to some other person; and this latter relation not only\nexcels, but even diminishes, and sometimes destroys the former, as we\nshall see afterwards.[3]\n\n    [3] Part II. Sec. 4.\n\nHere then is the first limitation, we must make to our general position,\nthat every thing related to us, which produces pleasure or pain,\nproduces likewise pride or humility. There is not only a relation\nrequired, but a close one, and a closer than is required to joy.\n\nII. The second limitation is, that the agreeable or disagreeable object\nbe not only closely related, but also peculiar to ourselves, or at least\ncommon to us with a few persons. It is a quality observable in human\nnature, and which we shall endeavour to explain afterwards, that\nevery thing, which is often presented and to which we have been\nlong accustomed, loses its value in our eyes, and is in a little\ntime despised and neglected. We likewise judge of objects more from\ncomparison than from their real and intrinsic merit; and where we cannot\nby some contrast enhance their value, we are apt to overlook even what\nis essentially good in them. These qualities of the mind have an effect\nupon joy as well as pride; and it is remarkable, that goods which are\ncommon to all mankind, and have become familiar to us by custom, give us\nlittle satisfaction; though perhaps of a more excellent kind, than those\non which, for their singularity, we set a much higher value. But though\nthis circumstance operates on both these passions, it has a much greater\ninfluence on vanity. We are rejoiced for many goods, which, on account\nof their frequency, give us no pride. Health, when it returns after a\nlong absence, affords us a very sensible satisfaction; but is seldom\nregarded as a subject of vanity, because it is shared with such vast\nnumbers.\n\nThe reason, why pride is so much more delicate in this particular than\njoy, I take to be, as follows. In order to excite pride, there are\nalways two objects we must contemplate, viz. the cause or that object\nwhich produces pleasure; and self, which is the real object of the\npassion. But joy has only one object necessary to its production, viz.\nthat which gives pleasure; and though it be requisite, that this bear\nsome relation to self, yet that is only requisite in order to render it\nagreeable; nor is self, properly speaking, the object of this passion.\nSince, therefore, pride has in a manner two objects, to which it directs\nour view; it follows, that where neither of them have any singularity,\nthe passion must be more weakened upon that account, than a passion,\nwhich has only one object. Upon comparing ourselves with others, as\nwe are every moment apt to do, we find we are not in the least\ndistinguished; and upon comparing the object we possess, we\ndiscover still the same unlucky circumstance. By two comparisons so\ndisadvantageous the passion must be entirely destroyed.\n\nIII The third limitation is, that the pleasant or painful object be very\ndiscernible and obvious, and that not only to ourselves, but to others\nalso. This circumstance, like the two foregoing, has an effect upon\njoy, as well as pride. We fancy Ourselves more happy, as well as more\nvirtuous or beautiful, when we appear so to others; but are still more\nostentatious of our virtues than of our pleasures. This proceeds from\ncauses, which I shall endeavour to explain afterwards.\n\nIV. The fourth limitation is derived from the inconstancy of the cause\nof these passions, and from the short duration of its connexion with\nourselves. What is casual and inconstant gives but little joy, and less\npride. We are not much satisfyed with the thing itself; and are still\nless apt to feel any new degrees of self-satisfaction upon its account.\nWe foresee and anticipate its change by the imagination; which makes\nus little satisfyed with the thing: We compare it to ourselves, whose\nexistence is more durable; by which means its inconstancy appears still\ngreater. It seems ridiculous to infer an excellency in ourselves from an\nobject, which is of so much shorter duration, and attends us during so\nsmall a part of our existence. It will be easy to comprehend the reason,\nwhy this cause operates not with the same force in joy as in pride;\nsince the idea of self is not so essential to the former passion as to\nthe latter.\n\nV. I may add as a fifth limitation, or rather enlargement of this\nsystem, that general rules have a great influence upon pride and\nhumility, as well as on all the other passions. Hence we form a notion\nof different ranks of men, suitable to the power of riches they\nare possest of; and this notion we change not upon account of any\npeculiarities of the health or temper of the persons, which may deprive\nthem of all enjoyment in their possessions. This may be accounted for\nfrom the same principles, that explained the influence of general rules\non the understanding. Custom readily carries us beyond the just bounds\nin our passions, as well as in our reasonings.\n\nIt may not be amiss to observe on this occasion, that the influence\nof general rules and maxims on the passions very much contributes to\nfacilitate the effects of all the principles, which we shall explain\nin the progress of this treatise. For it is evident, that if a\nperson full-grown, and of the same nature with ourselves, were on a\nsudden-transported into our world, he would be very much embarrased with\nevery object, and would not readily find what degree of love or hatred,\npride or humility, or any other passion he ought to attribute to it. The\npassions are often varyed by very inconsiderable principles; and these\ndo not always play with a perfect regularity, especially on the first\ntrial. But as custom and practice have brought to light all these\nprinciples, and have settled the just value of every thing; this must\ncertainly contribute to the easy production of the passions, and guide\nus, by means of general established maxims, in the proportions we\nought to observe in preferring one object to another. This remark may,\nperhaps, serve to obviate difficulties, that mayarise concerning some\ncauses, which I shall hereafter ascribe to particular passions,\nand which may be esteemed too refined to operate so universally and\ncertainly, as they are found to do.\n\nI shall close this subject with a reflection derived from these five\nlimitations. This reflection is, that the persons, who are proudest, and\nwho in the eye of the world have most reason for their pride, are not\nalways the happiest; nor the most humble always the most miserable, as\nmay at first sight be imagined from this system. An evil may be real.\nthough its cause has no relation to us: It may be real, without being\npeculiar: It may be real, without shewing itself to others: It may be\nreal, without being constant: And it may be real, without falling\nunder the general rules. Such evils as these will not fail to render\nus miserable, though they have little tendency to diminish pride: And\nperhaps the most real and the most solid evils of life will be found of\nthis nature.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. VII OF VICE AND VIRTUE\n\n\nTaking these limitations along with us, let us proceed to examine the\ncauses of pride and humility; and see, whether in every case we can\ndiscover the double relations, by which they operate on the passions.\nIf we find that all these causes are related to self, and produce a\npleasure or uneasiness separate from the passion, there will remain no\nfarther scruple with regard to the present system. We shall principally\nendeavour to prove the latter point; the former being in a manner\nself-evident.\n\nTo begin, with vice and virtue; which are the most obvious causes of\nthese passions; it would be entirely foreign to my present purpose to\nenter upon the controversy, which of late years has so much excited the\ncuriosity of the publick. WHETHER THESE MORAL DISTINCTIONS BE FOUNDED ON\nNATURAL AND ORIGINAL PRINCIPLES, OR ARISE FROM INTEREST AND EDUCATION.\nThe examination of this I reserve for the following book; and in the\nmean time I shall endeavour to show, that my system maintains its ground\nupon either of these hypotheses; which will be a strong proof of its\nsolidity.\n\nFor granting that morality had no foundation in nature, it must still\nbe allowed, that vice and virtue, either from self-interest or the\nprejudices of education, produce in us a real pain and pleasure; and\nthis we may observe to be strenuously asserted by the defenders of that\nhypothesis. Every passion, habit, or turn of character (say they)\nwhich has a tendency to our advantage or prejudice, gives a delight\nor uneasiness; and it is from thence the approbation or disapprobation\narises. We easily gain from the liberality of others, but are always\nin danger of losing by their avarice: Courage defends us, but cowardice\nlays us open to every attack: Justice is the support of society, but\ninjustice, unless checked would quickly prove its ruin: Humility exalts;\nbut pride mortifies us. For these reasons the former qualities are\nesteemed virtues, and the latter regarded as vices. Now since it is\ngranted there is a delight or uneasiness still attending merit or\ndemerit of every kind, this is all that is requisite for my purpose.\n\nBut I go farther, and observe, that this moral hypothesis and my present\nsystem not only agree together, but also that, allowing the former to be\njust, it is an absolute and invincible proof of the latter. For if\nall morality be founded on the pain or pleasure, which arises from\nthe prospect of any loss or advantage, that may result from our own\ncharacters, or from those of others, all the effects of morality must-be\nderived from the same pain or pleasure, and among the rest, the passions\nof pride and humility. The very essence of virtue, according to this\nhypothesis, is to produce pleasure and that of vice to give pain. The\nvirtue and vice must be part of our character in order to excite pride\nor humility. What farther proof can we desire for the double relation of\nimpressions and ideas?\n\nThe same unquestionable argument may be derived from the opinion of\nthose, who maintain that morality is something real, essential, and\nfounded on nature. The most probable hypothesis, which has been advanced\nto explain the distinction betwixt vice and virtue, and the origin of\nmoral rights and obligations, is, that from a primary constitution\nof nature certain characters and passions, by the very view and\ncontemplation, produce a pain, and others in like manner excite a\npleasure. The uneasiness and satisfaction are not only inseparable\nfrom vice and virtue, but constitute their very nature and essence.\nTo approve of a character is to feel an original delight upon its\nappearance. To disapprove of it is to be sensible of an uneasiness.\nThe pain and pleasure, therefore, being the primary causes of vice and\nvirtue, must also be the causes of all their effects, and consequently\nof pride and humility, which are the unavoidable attendants of that\ndistinction.\n\nBut supposing this hypothesis of moral philosophy should be allowed to\nbe false, it is still evident, that pain and pleasure, if not the causes\nof vice and virtue, are at least inseparable from them. A generous and\nnoble character affords a satisfaction even in the survey; and when\npresented to us, though only in a poem or fable, never fails to charm\nand delight us. On the other hand cruelty and treachery displease from\ntheir very nature; nor is it possible ever to reconcile us to these\nqualities, either in ourselves or others. Thus one hypothesis of\nmorality is an undeniable proof of the foregoing system, and the other\nat worst agrees with it. But pride and humility arise not from these\nqualities alone of the mind, which, according to the vulgar systems of\nethicks, have been comprehended as parts of moral duty, but from\nany other that has a connexion with pleasure and uneasiness. Nothing\nflatters our vanity more than the talent of pleasing by our wit,\ngood humour, or any other accomplishment; and nothing gives us a more\nsensible mortification than a disappointment in any attempt of that\nnature. No one has ever been able to tell what wit is, and to-shew why\nsuch a system of thought must be received under that denomination, and\nsuch another rejected. It is only by taste we can decide concerning\nit, nor are we possest of any other standard, upon which we can form a\njudgment of this kind. Now what is this taste, from which true and false\nwit in a manner receive their being, and without which no thought can\nhave a title to either of these denominations? It is plainly nothing\nbut a sensation of pleasure from true wit, and of uneasiness from\nfalse, without oar being able to tell the reasons of that pleasure\nor uneasiness. The power of bestowing these opposite sensations is,\ntherefore, the very essence of true and false wit; and consequently the\ncause of that pride or humility, which arises from them.\n\nThere may, perhaps, be some, who being accustomed to the style of the\nschools and pulpit, and having never considered human nature in any\nother light, than that in which they place it, may here be surprized\nto hear me talk of virtue as exciting pride, which they look upon as a\nvice; and of vice as producing humility, which they have been taught to\nconsider as a virtue. But not to dispute about words, I observe, that by\npride I understand that agreeable impression, which arises in the mind,\nwhen the view either of our virtue, beauty, riches or power makes us\nsatisfyed with ourselves: and that by humility I mean the opposite\nimpression. It is evident the former impression is not always vicious,\nnor the latter virtuous. The most rigid morality allows us to receive\na pleasure from reflecting on a generous action; and it is by none\nesteemed a virtue to feel any fruitless remorses upon the thoughts\nof past villainy and baseness. Let us, therefore, examine these\nimpressions, considered in themselves; and enquire into their causes,\nwhether placed on the mind or body, without troubling ourselves at\npresent with that merit or blame, which may attend them.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. VIII OF BEAUTY AND DEFORMITY\n\n\nWhether we consider the body as a part of ourselves, or assent to those\nphilosophers, who regard it as something external, it must still be\nallowed to be near enough connected with us to form one of these double\nrelations, which I have asserted to be necessary to the causes of pride\nand humility. Wherever, therefore, we can find the other relation of\nimpressions to join to this of ideas, we may expect with assurance\neither of these passions, according as the impression is pleasant\nor uneasy. But beauty of all kinds gives us a peculiar delight and\nsatisfaction; as deformity produces pain, upon whatever subject it may\nbe placed, and whether surveyed in an animate or inanimate object. If\nthe beauty or deformity, therefore, be placed upon our own bodies, this\npleasure or uneasiness must be converted into pride or humility, as\nhaving in this case all the circumstances requisite to produce a perfect\ntransition of impressions and ideas. These opposite sensations are\nrelated to the opposite passions. The beauty or deformity is closely\nrelated to self, the object of both these passions. No wonder, then our\nown beauty becomes an object of pride, and deformity of humility.\n\nBut this effect of personal and bodily qualities is not only a proof of\nthe present system, by shewing that the passions arise not in this case\nwithout all the circumstances I have required, but may be employed as\na stronger and more convincing argument. If we consider all the\nhypotheses, which have been formed either by philosophy or common\nreason, to explain the difference betwixt beauty and deformity, we shall\nfind that all of them resolve into this, that beauty is such an order\nand construction of parts, as either by the primary constitution of\nour nature, by custom, or by caprice, is fitted to give a pleasure\nand satisfaction to the soul. This is the distinguishing character of\nbeauty, and forms all the difference betwixt it and deformity, whose\nnatural tendency is to produce uneasiness. Pleasure and pain, therefore,\nare not only necessary attendants of beauty and deformity, but\nconstitute their very essence. And indeed, if we consider, that a\ngreat part of the beauty, which we admire either in animals or in other\nobjects, is derived from the idea of convenience and utility, we shall\nmake no scruple to assent to this opinion. That shape, which produces\nstrength, is beautiful in one animal; and that which is a sign of\nagility in another. The order and convenience of a palace are no less\nessential to its beauty, than its mere figure and appearance. In like\nmanner the rules of architecture require, that the top of a pillar\nshould be more slender than its base, and that because such a figure\nconveys to us the idea of security, which is pleasant; whereas the\ncontrary form gives us the apprehension of danger, which is uneasy. From\ninnumerable instances of this kind, as well as from considering that\nbeauty like wit, cannot be defined, but is discerned only by a taste\nor sensation, we may conclude, that beauty is nothing but a form, which\nproduces pleasure, as deformity is a structure of parts, which conveys\npain; and since the power of producing pain and pleasure make in this\nmanner the essence of beauty and deformity, all the effects of these\nqualities must be derived from the sensation; and among the rest\npride and humility, which of all their effects are the most common and\nremarkable.\n\nThis argument I esteem just and decisive; but in order to give greater\nauthority to the present reasoning, let us suppose it false for a\nmoment, and see what will follow. It is certain, then, that if the\npower of producing pleasure and pain forms not the essence of beauty and\ndeformity, the sensations are at least inseparable from the qualities,\nand it is even difficult to consider them apart. Now there is nothing\ncommon to natural and moral beauty, (both of which are the causes of\npride) but this power of producing pleasure; and as a common effect\nsupposes always a common cause, it is plain the pleasure must in both\ncases be the real and influencing cause of the passion. Again; there is\nnothing originally different betwixt the beauty of our bodies and the\nbeauty of external and foreign objects, but that the one has a near\nrelation to ourselves, which is wanting in the other. This original\ndifference, therefore, must be the cause of all their other differences,\nand among the rest, of their different influence upon the passion of\npride, which is excited by the beauty of our person, but is not affected\nin the least by that of foreign and external objects. Placing, then,\nthese two conclusions together, we find they compose the preceding\nsystem betwixt them, viz, that pleasure, as a related or resembling\nimpression, when placed on a related object by a natural transition,\nproduces pride; and its contrary, humility. This system, then, seems\nalready sufficiently confirmed by experience; that we have not yet\nexhausted all our arguments.\n\nIt is not the beauty of the body alone that produces pride, but also\nits strength and force. Strength is a kind of power; and therefore the\ndesire to excel in strength is to be considered as an inferior\nspecies of ambition. For this reason the present ph\u00e6nomenon will be\nsufficiently accounted for, in explaining that passion.\n\nConcerning all other bodily accomplishments we may observe in general,\nthat whatever in ourselves is either useful, beautiful, or surprising,\nis an object of pride; and it's contrary, of humility. Now it is\nobvious, that every thing useful, beautiful or surprising, agrees in\nproducing a separate pleasure and agrees in nothing else. The pleasure,\ntherefore, with the relation to self must be the cause of the passion.\n\nThough it should be questioned, whether beauty be not something real,\nand different from the power of producing pleasure, it can never be\ndisputed, that as surprize is nothing but a pleasure arising from\nnovelty, it is not, properly speaking, a quality in any object, but\nmerely a passion or impression in the soul. It must, therefore, be\nfrom that impression, that pride by a natural transition arises. And\nit arises so naturally, that there is nothing in us or belonging to\nus, which produces surprize, that does not at the same time excite that\nother passion. Thus we are vain of the surprising adventures we have\nmet with, the escapes we have made, and dangers we have been exposed to.\nHence the origin of vulgar lying; where men without any interest, and\nmerely out of vanity, heap up a number of extraordinary events, which\nare either the fictions of their brain, or if true, have at least no\nconnexion with themselves. Their fruitful invention supplies them with\na variety of adventures; and where that talent is wanting, they\nappropriate such as belong to others, in order to satisfy their vanity.\n\nIn this ph\u00e6nomenon are contained two curious experiments, which if we\ncompare them together, according to the known rules, by which we judge\nof cause and effect in anatomy, natural philosophy, and other sciences,\nwill be an undeniable argument for that influence of the double\nrelations above-mentioned. By one of these experiments we find, that an\nobject produces pride merely by the interposition of pleasure; and that\nbecause the quality, by which it produces pride, is in reality nothing\nbut the power of producing pleasure. By the other experiment we find,\nthat the pleasure produces the pride by a transition along related\nideas; because when we cut off that relation the passion is immediately\ndestroyed.. A surprising adventure, in which we have been ourselves\nengaged, is related to us, and by that means produces pride: But the\nadventures of others, though they may cause pleasure, yet for want of\nthis relation of ideas, never excite that passion. What farther proof\ncan be desired for the present system?\n\nThere is only one objection to this system with regard to our body:\nwhich is, that though nothing be more agreeable than health, and more\npainful than sickness, yet commonly men are neither proud of the one,\nnor mortifyed with the other. This will easily be accounted for, if\nwe consider the second and fourth limitations, proposed to our general\nsystem. It was observed, that no object ever produces pride or humility,\nif it has not something peculiar to ourself; as also, that every\ncause of that passion must be in some measure constant, and hold some\nproportion to the duration of our self, which, is its object. Now as\nhealth and sickness vary incessantly to all men, and there is none, who\nis solely or certainly fixed in either, these accidental blessings and\ncalamities are in a manner separated from us, and are never considered\nas connected with our being and existence. And that this account is just\nappears hence, that wherever a malady of any kind is so rooted in our\nconstitution, that we no longer entertain any hopes of recovery, from\nthat moment it becomes an object of humility; as is evident in old men,\nwhom nothing mortifies more than the consideration of their age and\ninfirmities. They endeavour, as long as possible, to conceal their\nblindness and deafness, their rheums and gouts; nor do they ever confess\nthem without reluctance and uneasiness. And though young men are not\nashamed of every head-ach or cold they fall into, yet no topic is so\nproper to mortify human pride, and make us entertain a mean opinion of\nour nature, than this, that we are every moment of our lives subject to\nsuch infirmities. This sufficiently proves that bodily pain and sickness\nare in themselves proper causes of humility; though the custom of\nestimating every thing by comparison more than by its intrinsic worth\nand value, makes us overlook these calamities, which we find to be\nincident to every one, and causes us to form an idea of our merit and\ncharacter independent of them.\n\nWe are ashamed of such maladies as affect others, and are either\ndangerous or disagreeable to them. Of the epilepsy; because it gives a\nhorror to every one present: Of the itch; because it is infectious:\nOf the king's-evil; because it commonly goes to posterity. Men always\nconsider the sentiments of others in their judgment of themselves. This\nhas evidently appeared in some of the foregoing reasonings; and will\nappear still more evidently, and be more fully explained afterwards.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. IX OF EXTERNAL ADVANTAGES AND DISADVANTAGES\n\n\nBut though pride and humility have the qualities of our mind and body\nthat is self, for their natural and more immediate causes, we find\nby experience, that there are many other objects, which produce these\naffections, and that the primary one is, in some measure, obscured and\nlost by the multiplicity of foreign and extrinsic. We found a vanity\nupon houses, gardens, equipages, as well as upon personal merit and\naccomplishments; and though these external advantages be in themselves\nwidely distant from thought or a person, yet they considerably influence\neven a passion, which is directed to that as its ultimate object.\nThis happens when external objects acquire any particular relation to\nourselves, and are associated or connected with us. A beautiful fish\nin the ocean, an animal in a desert, and indeed any thing that neither\nbelongs, nor is related to us, has no manner of influence on our vanity,\nwhatever extraordinary qualities it may be endowed with, and whatever\ndegree of surprize and admiration it may naturally occasion. It must be\nsome way associated with us in order to touch our pride. Its idea must\nhang in a manner, upon that of ourselves and the transition from the one\nto the other must be easy and natural.\n\nBut here it is remarkable, that though the relation of resemblance\noperates upon the mind in the same manner as contiguity and causation,\nin conveying us from one idea to another, yet it is seldom a foundation\neither of pride or of humility. If we resemble a person in any of the\nvaluable parts of his character, we must, in some degree, possess the\nquality, in which we resemble him; and this quality we always chuse to\nsurvey directly in ourselves rather than by reflexion in another person,\nwhen we would found upon it any degree of vanity. So that though a\nlikeness may occasionally produce that passion by suggesting a more\nadvantageous idea of ourselves, it is there the view fixes at last, and\nthe passion finds its ultimate and final cause.\n\nThere are instances, indeed, wherein men shew a vanity in resembling a\ngreat man in his countenance, shape, air, or other minute circumstances,\nthat contribute not in any degree to his reputation; but it must be\nconfessed that this extends not very far, nor is of any considerable\nmoment in these affections. For this I assign the following reason. We\ncan never have a vanity of resembling in trifles any person, unless\nhe be possessed of very shining qualities, which give us a respect and\nveneration for him. These qualities, then, are, properly speaking, the\ncauses of our vanity, by means of their relation to ourselves. Now after\nwhat manner are they related to ourselves? They are parts of the person\nwe value, and consequently connected with these trifles; which are\nalso supposed to be parts of him. These trifles are connected with the\nresembling qualities in us; and these qualities in us, being parts,\nare connected with the whole; and by that means form a chain of several\nlinks of the person we resemble. But besides that this multitude of\nrelations must weaken the connexion; it is evident the mind, in passing\nfrom the shining qualities to the trivial ones, must by that contrast\nthe better perceive the minuteness of the latter, and be in some measure\nashamed of the comparison and resemblance.\n\nThe relation, therefore, of contiguity, or that of causation, betwixt\nthe cause and object of pride and humility, is alone requisite to\ngive rise to these passions; and these relations are nothing else\nbut qualities, by which the imagination is conveyed from one idea to\nanother. Now let us consider what effect these can possibly have upon\nthe mind, and by what means they become so requisite to the production\nof the passions. It is evident, that the association of ideas operates\nin so silent and imperceptible a manner, that we are scarce sensible of\nit, and discover it more by its effects than by any immediate feeling or\nperception. It produces no emotion, and gives rise to no new impression\nof any kind, but only modifies those ideas, of which the mind was\nformerly possessed, and which it could recal upon occasion. From this\nreasoning, as well as from undoubted experience, we may conclude, that\nan association of ideas, however necessary, is not alone sufficient to\ngive rise to any passion.\n\nIt is evident, then, that when the mind feels the passion either of\npride or humility upon the appearance of related object, there is,\nbeside the relation or transition of thought, an emotion or original\nimpression produced by some other principle. The question is, whether\nthe emotion first produced be the passion itself, or some other\nimpression related to it. This question we cannot be long in deciding,\nFor besides all the other arguments, with which this subject abounds,\nit must evidently appear, that the relation of ideas, which experience\nshews to be so requisite a circumstance to the production of the\npassion, would be entirely superfluous, were it not to second a relation\nof affections, and facilitate the transition from one impression\nto another. If nature produced immediately the passion of pride or\nhumility, it would be compleated in itself, and would require no farther\naddition or encrease from any other affection. But supposing the first\nemotion to be only related to pride or humility, it is easily conceived\nto what purpose the relation of objects may serve, and how the two\ndifferent associations, of impressions and ideas, by uniting their\nforces, may assist each other's operation. This is not only easily\nconceived, but I will venture to affirm it is the only manner, in which\nwe can conceive this subject. An easy transition of ideas, which, of\nitself, causes no emotion, can never be necessary, or even useful to\nthe passions, but by forwarding the transition betwixt some related\nimpressions. Not to mention, that the same object causes a greater\nor smaller degree of pride, not only in proportion to the encrease or\ndecrease of its qualities, but also to the distance or nearness of the\nrelation; which is a clear argument for the transition of affections\nalong the relation of ideas; since every change in the relation produces\na proportionable change in the passion. Thus one part of the preceding\nsystem, concerning the relations of ideas is a sufficient proof of\nthe other, concerning that of impressions; and is itself so evidently\nfounded on experience, that it would be lost time to endeavour farther\nto prove it.\n\nThis will appear still more evidently in particular instances. Men are\nvain of the beauty of their country, of their county, of their parish.\nHere the idea of beauty plainly produces a pleasure. This pleasure\nis related to pride. The object or cause of this pleasure is, by the\nsupposition, related to self, or the object of pride. By this double\nrelation of impressions and ideas, a transition is made from the one\nimpression to the other.\n\nMen are also vain of the temperature of the climate, in which they were\nborn; of the fertility of their native soil; of the goodness of the\nwines, fruits or victuals, produced by it; of the softness or force of\ntheir language; with other particulars of that kind. These objects have\nplainly a reference to the pleasures of the senses, and are originally\nconsidered as agreeable to the feeling, taste or hearing. How is it\npossible they could ever become objects of pride, except by means of\nthat transition above-explained?\n\nThere are some, that discover a vanity of an opposite kind, and affect\nto depreciate their own country, in comparison of those, to which\nthey have travelled. These persons find, when they are at home, and\nsurrounded with their countrymen, that the strong relation betwixt them\nand their own nation is shared with so many, that it is in a manner lost\nto them; whereas their distant relation to a foreign country, which is\nformed by their having seen it and lived in it, is augmented by their\nconsidering how few there are who have done the same. For this reason\nthey always admire the beauty, utility and rarity of what is abroad,\nabove what is at home.\n\nSince we can be vain of a country, climate or any inanimate object,\nwhich bears a relation to us, it is no wonder we are vain of the\nqualities of those, who are connected with us by blood or friendship.\nAccordingly we find, that the very same qualities, which in ourselves\nproduce pride, produce also in a lesser degree the same affection, when\ndiscovered in persons related to us. The beauty, address, merit, credit\nand honours of their kindred are carefully displayed by the proud, as\nsome of their most considerable sources of their vanity.\n\nAs we are proud of riches in ourselves, so to satisfy our vanity we\ndesire that every one, who has any connexion with us, should likewise be\npossest of them, and are ashamed of any one, that is mean or poor, among\nour friends and relations. For this reason we remove the poor as far\nfrom us as possible; and as we cannot prevent poverty in some distant\ncollaterals, and our forefathers are taken to be our nearest relations;\nupon this account every one affects to be of a good family, and to be\ndescended from a long succession of rich and honourable ancestors.\n\nI have frequently observed, that those, who boast of the antiquity of\ntheir families, are glad when they can join this circumstance, that\ntheir ancestors for many generations have been uninterrupted proprietors\nof the same portion of land, and that their family has never changed its\npossessions, or been transplanted into any other county or province.\nI have also observed, that it is an additional subject of vanity, when\nthey can boast, that these possessions have been transmitted through\na descent composed entirely of males, and that the honour, and fortune\nhave never past through any female. Let us endeavour to explain these\nphaenomena by the foregoing system.\n\nIt is evident, that when any one boasts of the antiquity of his family,\nthe subjects of his vanity are not merely the extent of time and number\nof ancestors, but also their riches and credit, which are supposed to\nreflect a lustre on himself on account of his relation to them. He first\nconsiders these objects; is affected by them in an agreeable manner;\nand then returning back to himself, through the relation of parent and\nchild, is elevated with the passion of pride, by means of the double\nrelation, of impressions and ideas. Since therefore the passion depends\non these relations, whatever strengthens any of the relations must also\nencrease the passion, and whatever weakens the relations must diminish\nthe passion. Now it is certain the identity of the possesion strengthens\nthe relation of ideas arising from blood and kindred, and conveys the\nfancy with greater facility from one generation to another, from the\nremote ancestors to their posterity, who are both their heirs and their\ndescendants. By this facility the impression is transmitted more entire,\nand excites a greater degree of pride and vanity.\n\nThe case is the same with the transmission of the honours and fortune\nthrough a succession of males without their passing through any female.\nIt is a quality of human nature, which we shall consider[4] afterwards,\nthat the imagination naturally turns to whatever is important and\nconsiderable; and where two objects are presented to it, a small and a\ngreat one, usually leaves the former, and dwells entirely upon the\nlatter. As in the society of marriage, the male sex has the advantage\nabove the female, the husband first engages our attention; and whether\nwe consider him directly, or reach him by passing through related\nobjects, the thought both rests upon him with greater satisfaction, and\narrives at him with greater facility than his consort. It is easy to\nsee, that this property must strengthen the child's relation to the\nfather, and weaken that to the mother. For as all relations are nothing\nbut a propensity to pass from one idea to another, whatever strengthens\nthe propensity strengthens the relation; and as we have a stronger\npropensity to pass from the idea of the children to that of the father,\nthan from the same idea to that of the mother, we ought to regard the\nformer relation as the closer and more considerable. This is the reason\nwhy children commonly bear their father's name, and are esteemed to be\nof nobler or baser birth, according to his family. And though the\nmother should be possest of a superior spirit and genius to the father,\nas often happens, the general rule prevails, notwithstanding the\nexception, according to the doctrine above-explained. Nay even when a\nsuperiority of any kind is so great, or when any other reasons have\nsuch an effect, as to make the children rather represent: the mother's\nfamily than the father's, the general rule still retains such an\nefficacy that it weakens the relation, and makes a kind of break in the\nline of ancestors. The imagination runs not along them with facility,\nnor is able to transfer the honour and credit of the ancestors to their\nposterity of the same name and family so readily, as when the\ntransition is conformable to the general rules, and passes from father\nto son, or from brother to brother.\n\n    [4] Part II. Sect, 2.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. X OF PROPERTY AND RICHES\n\n\nBut the relation, which is esteemed the closest, and which of all others\nproduces most commonly the passion of pride, is that of property. This\nrelation it will be impossible for me fully to explain before I come\nto treat of justice and the other moral virtues. It is sufficient to\nobserve on this occasion, that property may be defined, such a relation\nbetwixt a person and an object as permits him, but forbids any other,\nthe free use and possession of it, without violating the laws of justice\nand moral equity. If justice, therefore, be a virtue, which has a\nnatural and original influence on the human mind, property may be looked\nupon as a particular species of causation; whether we consider the\nliberty it gives the proprietor to operate as he please upon the object\nor the advantages, which he reaps from it. It is the same case, if\njustice, according to the system of certain philosophers, should be\nesteemed an artificial and not a natural virtue. For then honour, and\ncustom, and civil laws supply the place of natural conscience, and\nproduce, in some degree, the same effects. This in the mean time is\ncertain, that the mention of the property naturally carries our thought\nto the proprietor, and of the proprietor to the property; which being\na proof of a perfect relation of ideas is all that is requisite to our\npresent purpose. A relation of ideas, joined to that of impressions,\nalways produces a transition of affections; and therefore, whenever any\npleasure or pain arises from an object, connected with us by property.\nwe may be certain, that either pride or humility must arise from\nthis conjunction of relations; if the foregoing system be solid and\nsatisfactory. And whether it be so or not, we may soon satisfy ourselves\nby the most cursory view of human life.\n\nEvery thing belonging to a vain man is the best that is anywhere to be\nfound. His houses, equipage, furniture, doaths, horses, hounds, excel\nall others in his conceit; and it is easy to observe, that from the\nleast advantage in any of these, he draws a new subject of pride and\nvanity. His wine, if you'll believe him, has a finer flavour than\nany other; his cookery is more exquisite; his table more orderly; his\nservants more expert; the air, in which he lives, more healthful; the\nsoil he cultivates more fertile; his fruits ripen earlier and to greater\nperfection: Such a thing is remarkable for its novelty; such another for\nits antiquity: This is the workmanship of a famous artist; that belonged\nonce to such a prince or great man: All objects, in a word, that are\nuseful, beautiful or surprising, or are related to such, may, by means\nof property, give rise to this passion. These agree in giving pleasure,\nand agree in nothing else. This alone is common to them; and therefore\nmust be the quality that produces the passion, which is their common\neffect. As every new instance is a new argument, and as the instances\nare here without number, I may venture to affirm, that scarce any\nsystem was ever so fully proved by experience, as that which I have here\nadvanced.\n\nIf the property of any thing, that gives pleasure either by its\nutility, beauty or novelty, produces also pride by a double relation\nof impressions and ideas; we need not be surprized, that the power of\nacquiring this property, should have the same effect. Now riches are to\nbe considered as the power of acquiring the property of what pleases;\nand it is only in this view they have any influence on the passions.\nPaper will, on many occasions, be considered as riches, and that because\nit may convey the power of acquiring money: And money is not riches,\nas it is a metal endowed with certain qualities of solidity, weight\nand fusibility; but only as it has a relation to the pleasures and\nconveniences of life. Taking then this for granted, which is in itself\nso evident, we may draw from it one of the strongest arguments I have\nyet employed to prove the influence of the double relations on pride and\nhumility.\n\nIt has been observed in treating of the understanding, that the\ndistinction, which we sometimes make betwixt a power and the exercise\nof it, is entirely frivolous, and that neither man nor any other being\nought ever to be thought possest of any ability, unless it be exerted\nand put in action. But though this be strictly true in a just and\nphilosophical way of thinking, it is certain it is not the philosophy\nof our passions; but that many things operate upon them by means of the\nidea and supposition of power, independent of its actual exercise. We\nare pleased when we acquire an ability of procuring pleasure, and are\ndispleased when another acquires a power of giving pain. This is evident\nfrom experience; but in order to give a just explication of the matter,\nand account for this satisfaction and uneasiness, we must weigh the\nfollowing reflections.\n\nIt is evident the error of distinguishing power from its exercise\nproceeds not entirely from the scholastic doctrine of free-will, which,\nindeed, enters very little into common life, and has but small influence\non our vulgar and popular ways of thinking. According to that doctrine,\nmotives deprive us not of free-will, nor take away our power of\nperforming or forbearing any action. But according to common notions a\nman has no power, where very considerable motives lie betwixt him and\nthe satisfaction of his desires, and determine him to forbear what he\nwishes to perform. I do not think I have fallen into my enemy's power,\nwhen I see him pass me in the streets with a sword by his side, while\nI am unprovided of any weapon. I know that the fear of the civil\nmagistrate is as strong a restraint as any of iron, and that I am in as\nperfect safety as if he were chained or imprisoned. But when a person\nacquires such an authority over me, that not only there is no external\nobstacle to his actions; but also that he may punish or reward me as he\npleases, without any dread of punishment in his turn, I then attribute a\nfull power to him, and consider myself as his subject or vassal.\n\nNow if we compare these two cases, that of a person, who has very\nstrong motives of interest or safety to forbear any action, and that of\nanother, who lies under no such obligation, we shall find, according\nto the philosophy explained in the foregoing book, that the only\nknown difference betwixt them lies in this, that in the former case we\nconclude from past experience, that the person never will perform that\naction, and in the latter, that he possibly or probably will perform it.\nNothing is more fluctuating and inconstant on many occasions, than the\nwill of man; nor is there any thing but strong motives, which can give\nus an absolute certainty in pronouncing concerning any of his future\nactions. When we see a person free from these motives, we suppose a\npossibility either of his acting or forbearing; and though in general\nwe may conclude him to be determined by motives and causes, yet this\nremoves not the uncertainty of our judgment concerning these causes, nor\nthe influence of that uncertainty on the passions. Since therefore we\nascribe a power of performing an action to every one, who has no very\npowerful motive to forbear it, and refuse it to such as have; it may\njustly be concluded, that power has always a reference to its exercise,\neither actual or probable, and that we consider a person as endowed with\nany ability when we find from past experience, that it is probable, or\nat least possible he may exert it. And indeed, as our passions always\nregard the real existence of objects, and we always judge of this\nreality from past instances; nothing can be more likely of itself,\nwithout any farther reasoning, than that power consists in the\npossibility or probability of any action, as discovered by experience\nand the practice of the world.\n\nNow it is evident, that wherever a person is in such a situation with\nregard to me, that there is no very powerful motive to deter him from\ninjuring me, and consequently it is uncertain whether he will injure me\nor not, I must be uneasy in such a situation, and cannot consider the\npossibility or probability of that injury without a sensible concern.\nThe passions are not only affected by such events as are certain and\ninfallible, but also in an inferior degree by such as are possible\nand contingent. And though perhaps I never really feel any harm, and\ndiscover by the event, that, philosophically speaking, the person never\nhad any power of harming me; since he did not exert any; this prevents\nnot my uneasiness from the preceding uncertainty. The agreeable passions\nmay here operate as well as the uneasy, and convey a pleasure when I\nperceive a good to become either possible or probable by the possibility\nor probability of another's bestowing it on me, upon the removal of any\nstrong motives, which might formerly have hindered him.\n\nBut we may farther observe, that this satisfaction encreases, when any\ngood approaches in such a manner that it is in one's own power to take\nor leave it, and there neither is any physical impediment, nor any\nvery strong motive to hinder our enjoyment. As all men desire pleasure,\nnothing can be more probable, than its existence when there is no\nexternal obstacle to the producing it, and men perceive no danger in\nfollowing their inclinations. In that case their imagination easily\nanticipates the satisfaction, and conveys the same joy, as if they were\npersuaded of its real and actual existence.\n\nBut this accounts not sufficiently for the satisfaction, which attends\nriches. A miser receives delight from his money; that is, from the\npower it affords him of procuring all the pleasures and conveniences of\nlife, though he knows he has enjoyed his riches for forty years without\never employing them; and consequently cannot conclude by any species of\nreasoning, that the real existence of these pleasures is nearer, than\nif he were entirely deprived of all his possessions. But though he\ncannot form any such conclusion in a way of reasoning concerning the\nnearer approach of the pleasure, it is certain he imagines it to\napproach nearer, whenever all external obstacles are removed, along\nwith the more powerful motives of interest and danger, which oppose it.\nFor farther satisfaction on this head I must refer to my account of the\nwill, where I shall[5] explain that false sensation of liberty, which\nmakes us imagine we can perform any thing, that is not very dangerous\nor destructive. Whenever any other person is under no strong\nobligations of interest to forbear any pleasure, we judge from\nexperience, that the pleasure will exist, and that he will probably\nobtain it. But when ourselves are in that situation, we judge from an\nillusion of the fancy, that the pleasure is still closer and more\nimmediate. The will seems to move easily every way, and casts a shadow\nor image of itself, even to that side, on which it did not settle. By\nmeans of this image the enjoyment seems to approach nearer to us, and\ngives us the same lively satisfaction, as if it were perfectly certain\nand unavoidable.\n\n    [5] Part III. Sect. 2.\n\nIt will now be easy to draw this whole reasoning to a point, and to\nprove, that when riches produce any pride or vanity in their possessors,\nas they never fail to do, it is only by means of a double relation of\nimpressions and ideas. The very essence of riches consists in the power\nof procuring the pleasures and conveniences of life. The very essence of\nthis consists in the probability of its exercise, and in its causing us\nto anticipate, by a true or false reasoning, the real existence of\nthe pleasure. This anticipation of pleasure is, in itself, a very\nconsiderable pleasure; and as its cause is some possession or property,\nwhich we enjoy, and which is thereby related to us, we here dearly see\nall the parts of the foregoing system most exactly and distinctly drawn\nout before us. For the same reason, that riches cause pleasure and\npride, and poverty excites uneasiness and humility, power must produce\nthe former emotions, and slavery the latter. Power or an authority over\nothers makes us capable of satisfying all our desires; as slavery, by\nsubjecting us to the will of others, exposes us to a thousand wants, and\nmortifications.\n\nIt is here worth observing, that the vanity of power, or shame of\nslavery, are much augmented by the consideration of the persons,\nover whom we exercise our authority, or who exercise it over us. For\nsupposing it possible to frame statues of such an admirable mechanism,\nthat they could move and act in obedience to the will; it is evident\nthe possession of them would give pleasure and pride, but not to such a\ndegree, as the same authority, when exerted over sensible and rational\ncreatures, whose condition, being compared to our own, makes it seem\nmore agreeable and honourable. Comparison is in every case a sure method\nof augmenting our esteem of any thing. A rich man feels the felicity of\nhis condition better by opposing it to that of a beggar. But there is\na peculiar advantage in power, by the contrast, which is, in a manner,\npresented to us, betwixt ourselves and the person we command. The\ncomparison is obvious and natural: The imagination finds it in the very\nsubject: The passage of the thought to its conception is smooth and\neasy. And that this circumstance has a considerable effect in augmenting\nits influence, will appear afterwards in examining the nature of malice\nand envy.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. XI OF THE LOVE OF FAME\n\n\nBut beside these original causes of pride and humility, there is a\nsecondary one in the opinions of others, which has an equal influence\non the affections. Our reputation, our character, our name are\nconsiderations of vast weight and importance; and even the other causes\nof pride; virtue, beauty and riches; have little influence, when not\nseconded by the opinions and sentiments of others. In order to account\nfor this ph\u00e6nomenon it will be necessary to take some compass, and\nfirst explain the nature of sympathy.\n\nNo quality of human nature is more remarkable, both in itself and in its\nconsequences, than that propensity we have to sympathize with others,\nand to receive by communication their inclinations and sentiments,\nhowever different from, or even contrary to our own. This is not only\nconspicuous in children, who implicitly embrace every opinion proposed\nto them; but also in men of the greatest judgment and understanding,\nwho find it very difficult to follow their own reason or inclination,\nin opposition to that of their friends and daily companions. To this\nprinciple we ought to ascribe the great uniformity we may observe in the\nhumours and turn of thinking of those of the same nation; and it is much\nmore probable, that this resemblance arises from sympathy, than from\nany influence of the soil and climate, which, though they continue\ninvariably the same, are not able to preserve the character of a nation\nthe same for a century together. A good-natured man finds himself in an\ninstant of the same humour with his company; and even the proudest and\nmost surly take a tincture from their countrymen and acquaintance. A\nchearful countenance infuses a sensible complacency and serenity into my\nmind; as an angry or sorrowful one throws a sudden dump upon me. Hatred,\nresentment, esteem, love, courage, mirth and melancholy; all these\npassions I feel more from communication than from my own natural temper\nand disposition. So remarkable a ph\u00e6nomenon merits our attention, and\nmust be traced up to its first principles.\n\nWhen any affection is infused by sympathy, it is at first known only\nby its effects, and by those external signs in the countenance and\nconversation, which convey an idea of it. This idea is presently\nconverted into an impression, and acquires such a degree of force\nand vivacity, as to become the very passion itself, and produce an\nequal emotion, as any original affection. However instantaneous this\nchange of the idea into an impression may be, it proceeds from certain\nviews and reflections, which will not escape the strict scrutiny of a\nphilosopher, though they may the person himself, who makes them.\n\nIt is evident, that the idea, or rather impression of ourselves is\nalways intimately present with us, and that our consciousness gives us\nso lively a conception of our own person, that it is not possible to\nimagine, that any thing can in this particular go beyond it. Whatever\nobject, therefore, is related to ourselves must be conceived with a\nlittle vivacity of conception, according to the foregoing principles;\nand though this relation should not be so strong as that of causation,\nit must still have a considerable influence. Resemblance and contiguity\nare relations not to be neglected; especially when by an inference\nfrom cause and effect, and by the observation of external signs, we are\ninformed of the real existence of the object, which is resembling or\ncontiguous.\n\nNow it is obvious, that nature has preserved a great resemblance among\nall human creatures, and that we never remark any passion or principle\nin others, of which, in some degree or other, we may not find a parallel\nin ourselves. The case is the same with the fabric of the mind, as with\nthat of the body. However the parts may differ in shape or size, their\nstructure and composition are in general the same. There is a very\nremarkable resemblance, which preserves itself amidst all their variety;\nand this resemblance must very much contribute to make us enter into\nthe sentiments of others; and embrace them with facility and pleasure.\nAccordingly we find, that where, beside the general resemblance of our\nnatures, there is any peculiar similarity in our manners, or character,\nor country, or language, it facilitates the sympathy. The stronger the\nrelation is betwixt ourselves and any object, the more easily does the\nimagination make the transition, and convey to the related idea the\nvivacity of conception, with which we always form the idea of our own\nperson.\n\nNor is resemblance the only relation, which has this effect, but\nreceives new force from other relations, that may accompany it. The\nsentiments of others have little influence, when far removed from us,\nand require the relation of contiguity, to make them communicate\nthemselves entirely. The relations of blood, being a species of\ncausation, may sometimes contribute to the same effect; as also\nacquaintance, which operates in the same manner with education and\ncustom; as we shall see more fully[6] afterwards. All these relations,\nwhen united together, convey the impression or consciousness of our own\nperson to the idea of the sentiments or passions of others, and makes\nus conceive them in the strongest and most lively manner.\n\n    [6] Part II. Sect. 4.\n\nIt has been remarked in the beginning of this treatise, that all ideas\nare borrowed from impressions, and that these two kinds of perceptions\ndiffer only in the degrees of force and vivacity, with which they\nstrike upon the soul. The component part of ideas and impressions are\nprecisely alike. The manner and order of their appearance may be the\nsame. The different degrees of their force and vivacity are, therefore,\nthe only particulars, that distinguish them: And as this difference may\nbe removed, in some measure, by a relation betwixt the impressions and\nideas, it is no wonder an idea of a sentiment or passion, may by this\nmeans be inlivened as to become the very sentiment or passion. The\nlively idea of any object always approaches is impression; and it\nis certain we may feel sickness and pain from the mere force of\nimagination, and make a malady real by often thinking of it. But this\nis most remarkable in the opinions and affections; and it is there\nprincipally that a lively idea is converted into an impression. Our\naffections depend more upon ourselves, and the internal operations of\nthe mind, than any other impressions; for which reason they arise more\nnaturally from the imagination, and from every lively idea we form of\nthem. This is the nature and cause of sympathy; and it is after this\nmanner we enter so deep into the opinions and affections of others,\nwhenever we discover them.\n\nWhat is principally remarkable in this whole affair is the strong\nconfirmation these phaenomena give to the foregoing system concerning\nthe understanding, and consequently to the present one concerning the\npassions; since these are analogous to each other. It is indeed evident,\nthat when we sympathize with the passions and sentiments of others,\nthese movements appear at first in our mind as mere ideas, and are\nconceived to belong to another person, as we conceive any other matter\nof fact. It is also evident, that the ideas of the affections of others\nare converted into the very impressions they represent, and that the\npassions arise in conformity to the images we form of them. All this is\nan object of the plainest experience, and depends not on any hypothesis\nof philosophy. That science can only be admitted to explain the\nphaenomena; though at the same time it must be confest, they are so\nclear of themselves, that there is but little occasion to employ it. For\nbesides the relation of cause and effect, by which we are convinced of\nthe reality of the passion, with which we sympathize; besides this, I\nsay, we must be assisted by the relations of resemblance and contiguity,\nin order to feel the sympathy in its full perfection. And since these\nrelations can entirely convert an idea into an impression, and convey\nthe vivacity of the latter into the former, so perfectly as to lose\nnothing of it in the transition, we may easily conceive how the relation\nof cause and effect alone, may serve to strengthen and inliven an\nidea. In sympathy there is an evident conversion of an idea into an\nimpression. This conversion arises from the relation of objects to\nourself. Ourself is always intimately present to us. Let us compare\nall these circumstances, and we shall find, that sympathy is exactly\ncorrespondent to the operations of our understanding; and even contains\nsomething more surprizing and extraordinary.\n\nIt is now time to turn our view from the general consideration of\nsympathy, to its influence on pride and humility, when these passions\narise from praise and blame, from reputation and infamy. We may\nobserve, that no person is ever praised by another for any quality,\nwhich would not, if real, produce, of itself, a pride in the person\npossest of it. The elogiums either turn upon his power, or riches, or\nfamily, or virtue; all of which are subjects of vanity, that we have\nalready explained and accounted for. It is certain, then, that if a\nperson considered himself in the same light, in which he appears to his\nadmirer, he would first receive a separate pleasure, and afterwards a\npride or self-satisfaction, according to the hypothesis above\nexplained. Now nothing is more natural than for us to embrace the\nopinions of others in this particular; both from sympathy, which\nrenders all their sentiments intimately present to us; and from\nreasoning, which makes us regard their judgment, as a kind of argument\nfor what they affirm. These two principles of authority and sympathy\ninfluence almost all our opinions; but must have a peculiar influence,\nwhen we judge of our own worth and character. Such judgments are always\nattended with passion;[7] and nothing tends more to disturb our\nunderstanding, and precipitate us into any opinions, however\nunreasonable, than their connexion with passion; which diffuses itself\nover the imagination, and gives an additional force to every related\nidea. To which we may add, that being conscious of great partiality in\nour own favour, we are peculiarly pleased with any thing, that confirms\nthe good opinion we have of ourselves, and are easily shocked with\nwhatever opposes it.\n\n    [7] Book I, Part III. Sect. 10.\n\nAll this appears very probable in theory; but in order to bestow a\nfull certainty on this reasoning, we must examine the phaenonena of the\npassions, and see if they agree with it.\n\nAmong these phaenomena we may esteem it a very favourable one to our\npresent purposes that though fame in general be agreeable, yet we\nreceive a much greater satisfaction from the approbation of those, whom\nwe ourselves esteem and approve of, than of those, whom we hate and\ndespise. In like measure we are principally mortifyed with the contempt\nof persons, upon whose judgment we set some value, and are, in a peat\nmeasure, indifferent about the opinions of the rest of mankind. But\nif the mind received from any original instinct a desire of fame\nand aversion to infamy, fame and infamy would influence us without\ndistinction; and every opinion, according as it were favourable or\nunfavourable, would equally excite that desire or aversion. The judgment\nof a fool is the judgment of another person, as well as that of a wise\nman, and is only inferior in its influence on our own judgment.\n\nWe are not only better pleased with the approbation of a wise man than\nwith that of a fool, but receive an additional satisfaction from the\nformer, when it is obtained after a long and intimate acquaintance. This\nis accounted for after the same manner.\n\nThe praises of others never give us much pleasure, unless they concur\nwith our own opinion, and extol us for those qualities, in which we\nchiefly excel. A mere soldier little values the character of eloquence:\nA gownman of courage: A bishop of humour: Or a merchant of learning.\nWhatever esteem a man may have for any quality, abstractedly considered;\nwhen he is conscious he is not possest of it; the opinions of the whole\nworld will give him little pleasure in that particular, and that because\nthey never will be able to draw his own opinion after them.\n\nNothing is more usual than for men of good families, but narrow\ncircumstances, to leave their friends and country, and rather seek their\nlivelihood by mean and mechanical employments among strangers, than\namong those, who are acquainted with their birth and education. We shall\nbe unknown, say they, where we go. No body will suspect from what\nfamily we are sprung. We shall be removed from all our friends and\nacquaintance, and our poverty and meanness will by that means sit more\neasy upon us. In examining these sentiments, I find they afford many\nvery convincing arguments for my present purpose.\n\nFirst, We may infer from them, that the uneasiness of being contemned\ndepends on sympathy, and that sympathy depends on the relation of\nobjects to ourselves; since we are most uneasy under the contempt of\npersons, who are both related to us by blood, and contiguous in place.\nHence we seek to diminish this sympathy and uneasiness by separating\nthese relations, and placing ourselves in a contiguity to strangers, and\nat a distance from relations.\n\nSecondly, We may conclude, that relations are requisite to sympathy, not\nabsolutely considered as relations, but by their influence in converting\nour ideas of the sentiments of others into the very sentiments, by means\nof the association betwixt the idea of their persons, and that of our\nown. For here the relations of kindred and contiguity both subsist; but\nnot being united in the same persons, they contribute in a less degree\nto the sympathy.\n\nThirdly, This very circumstance of the diminution of sympathy by the\nseparation of relations is worthy of our attention. Suppose I am placed\nin a poor condition among strangers, and consequently am but lightly\ntreated; I yet find myself easier in that situation, than when I was\nevery day exposed to the contempt of my kindred and countrymen. Here\nI feel a double contempt; from my relations, but they are absent; from\nthose about me, but they are strangers. This double contempt is likewise\nstrengthened by the two relations of kindred and contiguity. But as\nthe persons are not the same, who are connected with me by those two\nrelations, this difference of ideas separates the impressions arising\nfrom the contempt, and keeps them from running into each other. The\ncontempt of my neighbours has a certain influence; as has also that of\nmy kindred: But these influences are distinct, and never unite; as when\nthe contempt proceeds from persons who are at once both my neighbours\nand kindred. This ph\u00e6nomenon is analogous to the system of pride and\nhumility above-explained, which may seem so extraordinary to vulgar\napprehensions.\n\nFourthly, A person in these circumstances naturally conceals his birth\nfrom those among whom he lives, and is very uneasy, if any one suspects\nhim to be of a family, much superior to his present fortune and way of\nliving. Every thing in this world is judged of by comparison. What is\nan immense fortune for a private gentleman is beggary for a prince. A\npeasant would think himself happy in what cannot afford necessaries for\na gentleman. When a man has either been accustomed to a more splendid\nway of living, or thinks himself intitled to it by his birth and\nquality, every thing below is disagreeable and even shameful; and it\nis with the greatest industry he conceals his pretensions to a better\nfortune. Here he himself knows his misfortunes; but as those, with whom\nhe lives. are ignorant of them, he has the disagreeable reflection and\ncomparison suggested only by his own thoughts, and never receives it by\na sympathy with others; which must contribute very much to his ease and\nsatisfaction.\n\nIf there be any objections to this hypothesis, THAT THE PLEASURE, WHICH\nWE RECEIVE FROM PRAISE, ARISES FROM A COMMUNICATION OF SENTIMENTS, we\nshall find, upon examination, that these objections, when taken in a\nproper light, will serve to confirm it. Popular fame may be agreeable\neven to a man, who despises the vulgar; but it is because their\nmultitude gives them additional weight and authority. Plagiaries are\ndelighted with praises, which they are conscious they do not deserve;\nbut this is a kind of castle-building, where the imagination amuses\nitself with its own fictions, and strives to render them firm and\nstable by a sympathy with the sentiments of others. Proud men are\nmost shocked with contempt, should they do not most readily assent to\nit; but it is because of the opposition betwixt the passion, which is\nnatural to them, and that received by sympathy. A violent lover in like\nmanner is very much displeased when you blame and condemn his love;\nthough it is evident your opposition can have no influence, but by the\nhold it takes of himself, and by his sympathy with you. If he despises\nyou, or perceives you are in jest, whatever you say has no effect upon\nhim.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. XII OF THE PRIDE AND HUMILITY OF ANIMALS\n\n\nThus in whatever light we consider this subject, we may still observe,\nthat die causes of pride and humility correspond exactly to our\nhypothesis, and that nothing can excite either of these passions,\nunless it be both related to ourselves, and produces a pleasure or pain\nindependent of the passion. We have not only proved, that a tendency\nto produce pleasure or pain is common to all the causes of pride or\nhumility, but also that it is the only thing, which is common; and\nconsequently is the quality, by which they operate. We have farther\nproved, that the most considerable causes of these passions are\nreally nothing but the power of producing either agreeable or uneasy\nsensations; and therefore that all their effects, and amongst the rest,\npride and humility, are derived solely from that origin. Such simple\nand natural principles, founded on such solid proofs, cannot fail to be\nreceived by philosophers, unless opposed by some objections, that have\nescaped me.\n\nIt is usual with anatomists to join their observations and experiments\non human bodies to those on beasts, and from the agreement of these\nexperiments to derive an additional argument for any particular\nhypothesis. It is indeed certain, that where the structure of parts in\nbrutes is the same as in men, and the operation of these parts also\nthe same, the causes of that operation cannot be different, and that\nwhatever we discover to be true of the one species, may be concluded\nwithout hesitation to be certain of the other. Thus though the mixture\nof humours and the composition of minute parts may justly be presumed\nso be somewhat different in men from what it is in mere animals; and\ntherefore any experiment we make upon the one concerning the effects of\nmedicines will not always apply to the other; yet as the structure of\nthe veins and muscles, the fabric and situation of the heart, of the\nlungs, the stomach, the liver and other parts, are the same or nearly\nthe same in all animals, the very same hypothesis, which in one species\nexplains muscular motion, the progress of the chyle, the circulation of\nthe blood, must be applicable to every one; and according as it\nagrees or disagrees with the experiments we may make in any species of\ncreatures, we may draw a proof of its truth or falshood on the whole.\nLet us, therefore, apply this method of enquiry, which is found so just\nand useful in reasonings concerning the body, to our present anatomy of\nthe mind, and see what discoveries we can make by it.\n\nIn order to this we must first shew the correspondence of passions in\nmen and animals, and afterwards compare the causes, which produce these\npassions.\n\nIt is plain, that almost in every species of creatures, but especially\nof the nobler kind, there are many evident marks of pride and humility.\nThe very port and gait of a swan, or turkey, or peacock show the high\nidea he has entertained of himself, and his contempt of all others. This\nis the more remarkable, that in the two last species of animals, the\npride always attends the beauty, and is discovered in the male only.\nThe vanity and emulation of nightingales in singing have been commonly\nremarked; as likewise that of horses in swiftness, of hounds in sagacity\nand smell, of the bull and cock in strength, and of every other animal\nin his particular excellency. Add to this, that every species of\ncreatures, which approach so often to man, as to familiarize themselves\nwith him, show an evident pride in his approbation, and are pleased with\nhis praises and caresses, independent of every other consideration. Nor\nare they the caresses of every one without distinction, which give them\nthis vanity, but those principally of the persons they know and love;\nin the same manner as that passion is excited in mankind. All these are\nevident proofs, that pride and humility are not merely human passions,\nbut extend themselves over the whole animal creation.\n\nThe CAUSES of these passions are likewise much the same in beasts as\nin us, making a just allowance for our superior knowledge and\nunderstanding. Thus animals have little or no sense of virtue or vice;\nthey quickly lose sight of the relations of blood; and are incapable of\nthat of right and property: For which reason the causes of their pride\nand humility must lie solely in the body, and can never be placed either\nin the mind or external objects. But so far as regards the body, the\nsame qualities cause pride in the animal as in the human kind; and it is\non beauty, strength, swiftness or some other useful or agreeable quality\nthat this passion is always founded.\n\nThe next question is, whether, since those passions are the same, and\narise from the same causes through the whole creation, the manner, in\nwhich the causes operate, be also the same. According to all rules of\nanalogy, this is justly to be expected; and if we find upon trial,\nthat the explication of these phaenomena, which we make use of in\none species, will not apply to the rest, we may presume that that\nexplication, however specious, is in reality without foundation.\n\nIn order to decide this question, let us consider, that there is\nevidently the same relation of ideas, and derived from the same causes,\nin the minds of animals as in those of men. A dog, that has hid a bone,\noften forgets the place; but when brought to it, his thought passes\neasily to what he formerly concealed, by means of the contiguity, which\nproduces a relation among his ideas. In like manner, when he has been\nheartily beat in any place, he will tremble on his approach to it,\neven though he discover no signs of any present danger. The effects\nof resemblance are not so remarkable; but as that relation makes a\nconsiderable ingredient in causation, of which all animals shew\nso evident a judgment, we may conclude that the three relations of\nresemblance, contiguity and causation operate in the same manner upon\nbeasts as upon human creatures.\n\nThere are also instances of the relation of impressions, sufficient\nto convince us, that there is an union of certain affections with each\nother in the inferior species of creatures as well as in the superior,\nand that their minds are frequently conveyed through a series of\nconnected emotions. A dog, when elevated with joy, runs naturally into\nlove and kindness, whether of his master or of the sex. In like manner,\nwhen full of pain and sorrow, he becomes quarrelsome and ill-natured;\nand that passion; which at first was grief, is by the smallest occasion\nconverted into anger.\n\nThus all the internal principles, that are necessary in us to produce\neither pride or humility, are common to all creatures; and since the\ncauses, which excite these passions, are likewise the same, we may\njustly conclude, that these causes operate after the same manner through\nthe whole animal creation. My hypothesis Is so simple, and supposes so\nlittle reflection and judgment, that it is applicable to every sensible\ncreature; which must not only be allowed to be a convincing proof of its\nveracity, but, I am confident, will be found an objection to every other\nsystem.\n\n\n\n\n\nPART II OF LOVE AND HATRED\n\n\n\n\nSECT. I OF THE OBJECT AND CAUSES OF LOVE AND HATRED\n\n\nIt is altogether impossible to give any definition of the passions\nof love and hatred; and that because they produce merely a simple\nimpression, without any mixture or composition. Twould be as unnecessary\nto attempt any description of them, drawn from their nature, origin,\ncauses and objects; and that both because these are the subjects of\nour present enquiry, and because these passions of themselves are\nsufficiently known from our common feeling and experience. This we\nhave already observed concerning pride and humility, and here repeat it\nconcerning love and hatred; and indeed there is so great a resemblance\nbetwixt these two sets of passions, that we shall be obliged to begin\nwith a kind of abridgment of our reasonings concerning the former, in\norder to explain the latter.\n\nAs the immediate object of pride and humility is self or that identical\nperson, of whose thoughts, actions, and sensations we are intimately\nconscious; so the object of love and hatred is some other person, of\nwhose thoughts, actions, and sensations we are not conscious. This is\nsufficiently evident from experience. Our love and hatred are always\ndirected to some sensible being external to us; and when we talk\nof self-love, it is not in a proper sense, nor has the sensation it\nproduces any thing in common with that tender emotion which is excited\nby a friend or mistress. It is the same case with hatred. We may be\nmortified by our own faults and follies; but never feel any anger or\nhatred except from the injuries of others.\n\nBut though the object of love and hatred be always some other person, it\nis plain that the object is not, properly speaking, the cause of these\npassions, or alone sufficient to excite them. For since love and hatred\nare directly contrary in their sensation, and have the same object in\ncommon, if that object were also their cause, it would produce these\nopposite passions in an equal degree; and as they must, from the very\nfirst moment, destroy each other, none of them would ever be able to\nmake its appearance. There must, therefore, be some cause different from\nthe object.\n\nIf we consider the causes of love and hatred, we shall find they are\nvery much diversifyed, and have not many things in common. The virtue,\nknowledge, wit, good sense, good humour of any person, produce love\nand esteem; as the opposite qualities, hatred and contempt. The same\npassions arise from bodily accomplishments, such as beauty, force,\nswiftness, dexterity; and from their contraries; as likewise from the\nexternal advantages and disadvantages of family, possession, cloaths,\nnation and climate. There is not one of these objects, but what by its\ndifferent qualities may produce love and esteem, or hatred and contempt.\n\nFrom the view of these causes we may derive a new distinction betwixt\nthe quality that operates, and the subject on which it is placed. A\nprince, that is possessed of a stately palace, commands the esteem\nof the people upon that account; and that first, by the beauty of the\npalace, and secondly, by the relation of property, which connects it\nwith him. The removal of either of these destroys the passion; which\nevidently proves that the cause Is a compounded one.\n\nTwould be tedious to trace the passions of love and hatred, through all\nthe observations which we have formed concerning pride and humility,\nand which are equally applicable to both sets of passions. Twill be\nsufficient to remark in general, that the object of love and hatred is\nevidently some thinking person; and that the sensation of the former\npassion is always agreeable, and of the latter uneasy. We may also\nsuppose with some shew of probability, THAT THE CAUSE OF BOTH THESE\nPASSIONS IS ALWAYS RELATED TO A THINKING BEING, AND THAT THE CAUSE OF\nTHE FORMER PRODUCE A SEPARATE PLEASURE, AND OF THE LATTER A SEPARATE\nUNEASINESS.\n\nOne of these suppositions, viz, that the cause of love and hatred must\nbe related to a person or thinking being, in order to produce these\npassions, is not only probable, but too evident to be contested. Virtue\nand vice, when considered in the abstract; beauty and deformity, when\nplaced on inanimate objects; poverty and riches when belonging to a\nthird person, excite no degree of love or hatred, esteem or contempt\ntowards those, who have no relation to them. A person looking out at a\nwindow, sees me in the street, and beyond me a beautiful palace, with\nwhich I have no concern: I believe none will pretend, that this person\nwill pay me the same respect, as if I were owner of the palace.\n\nIt is not so evident at first sight, that a relation of impressions is\nrequisite to these passions, and that because in the transition the one\nimpression is so much confounded with the other, that they become in a\nmanner undistinguishable. But as in pride and humility, we have easily\nbeen able to make the separation, and to prove, that every cause of\nthese passions, produces a separate pain or pleasure, I might here\nobserve the same method with the same success, in examining particularly\nthe several causes of love and hatred. But as I hasten a full and\ndecisive proof of these systems, I delay this examination for a moment:\nAnd in the mean time shall endeavour to convert to my present purpose\nall my reasonings concerning pride and humility, by an argument that\nis founded on unquestionable examination.\n\nThere are few persons, that are satisfyed with their own character, or\ngenius, or fortune, who are nor desirous of shewing themselves to the\nworld, and of acquiring the love and approbation of mankind. Now it is\nevident, that the very same qualities and circumstances, which are the\ncauses of pride or self-esteem, are also the causes of vanity or the\ndesire of reputation; and that we always put to view those particulars\nwith which in ourselves we are best satisfyed. But if love and esteem\nwere not produced by the same qualities as pride, according as these\nqualities are related to ourselves or others, this method of proceeding\nwould be very absurd, nor could men expect a correspondence in\nthe sentiments of every other person, with those themselves have\nentertained. It is true, few can form exact systems of the passions, or\nmake reflections on their general nature and resemblances. But without\nsuch a progress in philosophy, we are not subject to many mistakes in\nthis particular, but are sufficiently guided by common experience, as\nwell as by a kind of presentation; which tells us what will operate on\nothers, by what we feel immediately in ourselves. Since then the same\nqualities that produce pride or humility, cause love or hatred; all\nthe arguments that have been employed to prove, that the causes of the\nformer passions excite a pain or pleasure independent of the passion,\nwill be applicable with equal evidence to the causes of the latter.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. II EXPERIMENTS TO CONFIRM THIS SYSTEM\n\n\nUpon duly weighing these arguments, no one will make any scruple to\nassent to that conclusion I draw from them, concerning the transition\nalong related impressions and ideas, especially as it is a principle,\nin itself, so easy and natural. But that we may place this system beyond\ndoubt both with regard to love and hatred, pride and humility, it will\nbe proper to make some new experiments upon all these passions, as well\nas to recall a few of these observations, which I have formerly touched\nupon.\n\nIn order to make these experiments, let us suppose I am in company with\na person, whom I formerly regarded without any sentiments either of\nfriendship or enmity. Here I have the natural and ultimate object of all\nthese four passions placed before me. Myself am the proper object of\npride or humility; the other person of love or hatred.\n\nRegard now with attention the nature of these passions, and their\nsituation with respect to each other. It is evident here are four\naffections, placed, as it were, in a square or regular connexion with,\nand distance from each other. The passions of pride and humility, as\nwell as those of love and hatred, are connected together by the identity\nof their object, which to the first set of passions is self, to the\nsecond some other person. These two lines of communication or connexion\nform two opposite sides of the square. Again, pride and love are\nagreeable passions; hatred and humility uneasy. This similitude of\nsensation betwixt pride and love, and that betwixt humility and hatred\nform a new connexion, and may be considered as the other two sides of\nthe square. Upon the whole, pride is connected with humility, love\nwith hatred, by their objects or ideas: Pride with love, humility with\nhatred, by their sensations or impressions.\n\nI say then, that nothing can produce any of these passions without\nbearing it a double relation, viz, of ideas to the object of the\npassion, and of sensation to the passion itself. This we must prove by\nour experiments. First Experiment. To proceed with the greater order\nin these experiments, let us first suppose, that being placed in the\nsituation above-mentioned, viz, in company with some other person, there\nis an object presented, that has no relation either of impressions\nor ideas to any of these passions. Thus suppose we regard together an\nordinary stone, or other common object, belonging to neither of us, and\ncausing of itself no emotion, or independent pain and pleasure: It is\nevident such an object will produce none of these four passions. Let\nus try it upon each of them successively. Let us apply it to love, to\nhatred, to humility, to pride; none of them ever arises in the smallest\ndegree imaginable. Let us change the object, as oft as we please;\nprovided still we choose one, that has neither of these two relations.\nLet us repeat the experiment in all the dispositions, of which the mind\nis susceptible. No object, in the vast variety of nature, will, in any\ndisposition, produce any passion without these relations.\n\nSecond Experiment. Since an object, that wants both these relations\ncan never produce any passion, let us bestow on it only one of these\nrelations; and see what will follow. Thus suppose, I regard a stone or\nany common object, that belongs either to me or my companion, and by\nthat means acquires a relation of ideas to the object of the passions:\nIt is plain, that to consider the matter a priori, no emotion of any\nkind can reasonably be expected. For besides, that a relation of ideas\noperates secretly and calmly on the mind, it bestows an equal impulse\ntowards the opposite passions of pride and humility, love and hatred,\naccording as the object belongs to ourselves or others; which opposition\nof the passions must destroy both, and leave the mind perfectly free\nfrom any affection or emotion. This reasoning a priori is confirmed\nby experience. No trivial or vulgar object, that causes not a pain or\npleasure, independent of the passion, will ever, by its property or\nother relations either to ourselves or others, be able to produce the\naffections of pride or humility, love or hatred.\n\nThird Experiment. It is evident, therefore, that a relation of ideas is\nnot able alone to give rise to these affections. Let us now remove\nthis relation, and in its stead place a relation of impressions, by\npresenting an object, which is agreeable or disagreeable, but has\nno relation either to ourself or companion; and let us observe the\nconsequences. To consider the matter first a priori, as in the preceding\nexperiment; we may conclude, that the object will have a small, but an\nuncertain connexion with these passions. For besides, that this relation\nis not a cold and imperceptible one, it has not the inconvenience of\nthe relation of ideas, nor directs us with equal force to two contrary\npassions, which by their opposition destroy each other. But if we\nconsider, on the other hand, that this transition from the sensation\nto the affection is not forwarded by any principle, that produces\na transition of ideas; but, on the contrary, that though the one\nimpression be easily transfused into the other, yet the change of\nobjects is supposed contrary to all the principles, that cause a\ntransition of that kind; we may from thence infer, that nothing will\never be a steady or durable cause of any passion, that is connected with\nthe passion merely by a relation of impressions. What our reason would\nconclude from analogy, after balancing these arguments, would be, that\nan object, which produces pleasure or uneasiness, but has no manner of\nconnexion either with ourselves or others, may give such a turn to the\ndisposition, as that may naturally fall into pride or love, humility or\nhatred, and search for other objects, upon which by a double relation,\nit can found these affections; but that an object, which has only one of\nthese relations, though the most advantageous one, can never give rise\nto any constant and established passion.\n\nMost fortunately all this reasoning is found to be exactly conformable\nto experience, and the phaenomena of the passions. Suppose I were\ntravelling with a companion through a country, to which we are both\nutter strangers; it is evident, that if the prospects be beautiful,\nthe roads agreeable, and the inns commodious, this may put me into good\nhumour both with myself and fellow-traveller. But as we suppose, that\nthis country has no relation either to myself or friend it can never be\nthe immediate cause of pride or love; and therefore if I found not the\npassion on some other object, that bears either of us a closer relation,\nmy emotions are rather to be considerd as the overflowings of an elevate\nor humane disposition, than as an established passion. The case is the\nsame where the object produces uneasiness.\n\nFourth Experiment. Having found, that neither an object without any\nrelation of ideas or impressions, nor an object, that has only one\nrelation, can ever cause pride or humility, love or hatred; reason alone\nmay convince us, without any farther experiment, that whatever has a\ndouble relation must necessarily excite these passions; since it is\nevident they must have some cause. But to leave as little room for doubt\nas possible, let us renew our experiments, and see whether the event in\nthis case answers our expectation. I choose an object, such as virtue,\nthat causes a separate satisfaction: On this object I bestow a relation\nto self; and find, that from this disposition of affairs, there\nimmediately arises a passion. But what passion? That very one of pride,\nto which this object bears a double relation. Its idea is related\nto that of self, the object of the passion: The sensation it causes\nresembles the sensation of the passion. That I may be sure I am not\nmistaken in this experiment, I remove first one relation; then another;\nand find, that each removal destroys the passion, and leaves the object\nperfectly indifferent. But I am not content with this. I make a still\nfarther trial; and instead of removing the relation, I only change\nit for one of a different kind. I suppose the virtue to belong to my\ncompanion, not to myself; and observe what follows from this alteration.\nI immediately perceive the affections wheel to about, and leaving pride,\nwhere there is only one relation, viz, of impressions, fall to the side\nof love, where they are attracted by a double relation of impressions\nand ideas. By repeating the same experiment, in changing anew the\nrelation of ideas, I bring the affections back to pride; and by a new\nrepetition I again place them at love or kindness. Being fully convinced\nof the influence of this relation, I try the effects of the other; and\nby changing virtue for vice, convert the pleasant impression, which\narises from the former, into the disagreeable one, which proceeds from\nthe latter. The effect still answers expectation. Vice, when placed\non another, excites, by means of its double relations, the passion of\nhatred, instead of love, which for the same reason arises from virtue.\nTo continue the experiment, I change anew the relation of ideas, and\nsuppose the vice to belong to myself. What follows? What is usual. A\nsubsequent change of the passion from hatred to humility. This humility\nI convert into pride by a new change of the impression; and find after\nall that I have compleated the round, and have by these changes brought\nback the passion to that very situation, in which I first found it.\n\nBut to make the matter still more certain, I alter the object; and\ninstead of vice and virtue, make the trial upon beauty and deformity,\nriches and poverty, power and servitude. Each of these objects runs\nthe circle of the passions in the same manner, by a change of their\nrelations: And in whatever order we proceed, whether through pride,\nlove, hatred, humility, or through humility, hatred, love, pride, the\nexperiment is not in the least diversifyed. Esteem and contempt, indeed,\narise on some occasions instead of love and hatred; but these are at\nthe bottom the same passions, only diversifyed by some causes, which we\nshall explain afterwards.\n\nFifth Experiment. To give greater authority to these experiments, let\nus change the situation of affairs as much as possible, and place the\npassions and objects in all the different positions, of which they are\nsusceptible. Let us suppose, beside the relations above-mentioned, that\nthe person, along with whom I make all these experiments, is closely\nconnected with me either by blood or friendship. He is, we shall\nsuppose, my son or brother, or is united to me by a long and familiar\nacquaintance. Let us next suppose, that the cause of the passion\nacquires a double relation of impressions and ideas to this person; and\nlet us see what the effects are of all these complicated attractions and\nrelations.\n\nBefore we consider what they are in fact, let us determine what they\nought to be, conformable to my hypothesis. It is plain, that, according\nas the impression is either pleasant or uneasy, the passion of love or\nhatred must arise towards the person, who is thus connected to the cause\nof the impression by these double relations, which I have all along\nrequired. The virtue of a brother must make me love him; as his vice\nor infamy must excite the contrary passion. But to judge only from the\nsituation of affairs, I should not expect, that the affections would\nrest there, and never transfuse themselves into any other impression. As\nthere is here a person, who by means of a double relation is the object\nof my passion, the very same reasoning leads me to think the passion\nwill be carryed farther. The person has a relation of ideas to myself,\naccording to the supposition; the passion, of which he is the object, by\nbeing either agreeable or uneasy, has a relation of impressions to pride\nor humility. It is evident, then, that one of these passions must arise\nfrom the love or hatred.\n\nThis is the reasoning I form in conformity to my hypothesis; and am\npleased to find upon trial that every thing answers exactly to my\nexpectation. The virtue or vice of a son or brother not only excites\nlove or hatred, but by a new transition, from similar causes, gives rise\nto pride or humility. Nothing causes greater vanity than any shining\nquality in our relations; as nothing mortifies us more than their vice\nor infamy. This exact conformity of experience to our reasoning is\na convincing proof of the solidity of that hypothesis, upon which we\nreason.\n\nSixth Experiment. This evidence will be still augmented, if we reverse\nthe experiment, and preserving still the same relations, begin only with\na different passion. Suppose, that instead of the virtue or vice of a\nson or brother, which causes first love or hatred, and afterwards pride\nor humility, we place these good or bad qualities on ourselves,\nwithout any immediate connexion with the person, who is related to us:\nExperience shews us, that by this change of situation the whole chain is\nbroke, and that the mind is not conveyed from one passion to another,\nas in the preceding instance. We never love or hate a son or brother\nfor the virtue or vice we discern in ourselves; though it is evident\nthe same qualities in him give us a very sensible pride or humility. The\ntransition from pride or humility to love or hatred is not so natural\nas from love or hatred to pride or humility. This may at first sight be\nesteemed contrary to my hypothesis; since the relations of impressions\nand ideas are in both cases precisely the same. Pride and humility are\nimpressions related to love and hatred. Myself am related to the person.\nIt should, therefore, be expected, that like causes must produce like\neffects, and a perfect transition arise from the double relation, as in\nall other cases. This difficulty we may easily solve by the following\nreflections.\n\nIt is evident, that as we are at all times intimately conscious of\nourselves, our sentiments and passions, their ideas must strike upon us\nwith greater vivacity than the ideas of the sentiments and passions of\nany other person. But every thing, that strikes upon us with vivacity,\nand appears in a full and strong light, forces itself, in a manner, into\nour consideration, and becomes present to the mind on the smallest hint\nand most trivial relation. For the same reason, when it is once present,\nit engages the attention, and keeps it from wandering to other\nobjects, however strong may be their relation to our first object.\nThe imagination passes easily from obscure to lively ideas, but with\ndifficulty from lively to obscure. In the one case the relation is aided\nby another principle: In the other case, it is opposed by it.\n\nNow I have observed, that those two faculties of the mind, the\nimagination and passions, assist each other in their operations when\ntheir propensities are similar, and when they act upon the same object.\nThe mind has always a propensity to pass from a passion to any other\nrelated to it; and this propensity is forwarded when the object of the\none passion is related to that of the other. The two impulses concur\nwith each other, and render the whole transition more smooth and easy.\nBut if it should happen, that while the relation of ideas, strictly\nspeaking, continues the same, its influence, in causing a transition\nof the imagination, should no longer take place, it is evident its\ninfluence on the passions must also cease, as being dependent entirely\non that transition. This is the reason why pride or humility is not\ntransfused into love or hatred with the same ease, that the latter\npassions are changed into the former. If a person be my brother I am\nhis likewise: but though the relations be reciprocal they have very\ndifferent effects on the imagination. The passage is smooth and open\nfrom the consideration of any person related to us to that of ourself,\nof whom we are every moment conscious. But when the affections are once\ndirected to ourself, the fancy passes not with the same facility from\nthat object to any other person, how closely so ever connected with us.\nThis easy or difficult transition of the imagination operates upon the\npassions, and facilitates or retards their transition, which is a clear\nproof, that these two faculties of the passions and imagination are\nconnected together, and that the relations of ideas have an influence\nupon the affections. Besides innumerable experiments that prove this,\nwe here find, that even when the relation remains; if by any particular\ncircumstance its usual effect upon the fancy in producing an association\nor transition of ideas, is prevented; its usual effect upon the\npassions, in conveying us from one to another, is in like manner\nprevented.\n\nSome may, perhaps, find a contradiction betwixt this ph\u00e6nomenon\nand that of sympathy, where the mind passes easily from the idea of\nourselves to that of any other object related to us. But this difficulty\nwill vanish, if we consider that in sympathy our own person is not the\nobject of any passion, nor is there any thing, that fixes our attention\non ourselves; as in the present case, where we are supposed to be\nactuated with pride or humility. Ourself, independent of the perception\nof every other object, is in reality nothing: For which reason we must\nturn our view to external objects; and it is natural for us to consider\nwith most attention such as lie contiguous to us, or resemble us. But\nwhen self is the object of a passion, it is not natural to quit the\nconsideration of it, till the passion be exhausted: in which case the\ndouble relations of impressions and ideas can no longer operate.\n\nSeventh Experiment. To put this whole reasoning to a farther trial, let\nus make a new experiment; and as we have already seen the effects of\nrelated passions and ideas, let us here suppose an identity of passions\nalong with a relation of ideas; and let us consider the effects of this\nnew situation. It is evident a transition of the passions from the\none object to the other is here in all reason to be expected; since\nthe relation of ideas is supposed still to continue, and identity of\nimpressions must produce a stronger connexion, than the most perfect\nresemblance, that can be imagined. If a double relation, therefore, of\nimpressions and ideas is able to produce a transition from one to the\nother, much more an identity of impressions with a relation of ideas.\nAccordingly we find, that when we either love or hate any person,\nthe passions seldom continue within their first bounds; but extend\nthemselves towards all the contiguous objects, and comprehend the\nfriends and relations of him we love or hate. Nothing is more natural\nthan to bear a kindness to one brother on account of our friendship for\nanother, without any farther examination of his character. A quarrel\nwith one person gives us a hatred for the whole family, though entirely\ninnocent of that, which displeases us. Instances of this kind are\neverywhere to be met with.\n\nThere is only one difficulty in this experiment, which it will be\nnecessary to account for, before we proceed any farther. It is evident,\nthat though all passions pass easily from one object to another related\nto it, yet this transition is made with greater facility, where the more\nconsiderable object is first presented, and the lesser follows it, than\nwhere this order is reversed, and the lesser takes the precedence. Thus\nit is more natural for us to love the son upon account of the father,\nthan the father upon account of the son; the servant for the master,\nthan the master for the servant; the subject for the prince, than the\nprince for the subject. In like manner we more readily contract a hatred\nagainst a whole family, where our first quarrel is with the head of it,\nthan where we are displeased with a son, or servant, or some inferior\nmember. In short, our passions, like other objects, descend with greater\nfacility than they ascend.\n\nThat we may comprehend, wherein consists the difficulty of explaining\nthis ph\u00e6nomenon, we must consider, that the very same reason, which\ndetermines the imagination to pass from remote to contiguous objects,\nwith more facility than from contiguous to remote, causes it likewise\nto change with more ease, the less for the greater, than the greater for\nthe less. Whatever has the greatest influence is most taken notice of;\nand whatever is most taken notice of, presents itself most readily to\nthe imagination. We are more apt to over-look in any subject, what is\ntrivial, than what appears of considerable moment; but especially if the\nlatter takes the precedence, and first engages our attention. Thus if\nany accident makes us consider the Satellites of JUPITER, our fancy is\nnaturally determined to form the idea of that planet; but if we first\nreflect on the principal planet, it is more natural for us to overlook\nits attendants. The mention of the provinces of any empire conveys our\nthought to the seat of the empire; but the fancy returns not with the\nsame facility to the consideration of the provinces. The idea of the\nservant makes us think of the master; that of the subject carries our\nview to the prince. But the same relation has not an equal influence\nin conveying us back again. And on this is founded that reproach of\nCornelia to her sons, that they ought to be ashamed she should be more\nknown by the title of the daughter of Scipio than by that of the mother\nof the Gracchi. This was, in other words, exhorting them to render\nthemselves as illustrious and famous as their grandfather, otherwise the\nimagination of the people, passing from her who was intermediate,\nand placed in an equal relation to both, would always leave them, and\ndenominate her by what was more considerable and of greater moment. On\nthe same principle is founded that common custom of making wives bear\nthe name of their husbands, rather than husbands that of their wives; as\nalso the ceremony of giving the precedency to those, whom we honour and\nrespect. We might find many other instances to confirm this principle,\nwere it not already sufficiently evident.\n\nNow since the fancy finds the same facility in passing from the lesser\nto the greater, as from remote to contiguous, why does not this easy\ntransition of ideas assist the transition of passions in the former\ncase, as well as in the latter? The virtues of a friend or brother\nproduce first love, and then pride; because in that case the imagination\npasses from remote to contiguous, according to its propensity. Our own\nvirtues produce not first pride, and then love to a friend or brother;\nbecause the passage in that case would be from contiguous to remote,\ncontrary to its propensity. But the love or hatred of an inferior causes\nnot readily any passion to the superior, though that be the natural\npropensity of the imagination: While the love or hatred of a superior,\ncauses a passion to the inferior, contrary to its propensity. In short,\nthe same facility of transition operates not in the same manner\nupon superior and inferior as upon contiguous and remote. These two\nphaenomena appear contradictory, and require some attention to be\nreconciled.\n\nAs the transition of ideas is here made contrary to the natural\npropensity of the imagination, that faculty must be overpowered by some\nstronger principle of another kind; and as there is nothing ever present\nto the mind but impressions and ideas, this principle must necessarily\nlie in the impressions. Now it has been observed, that impressions or\npassions are connected only by their resemblance, and that where any two\npassions place the mind in the same or in similar dispositions, it\nvery naturally passes from the one to the other: As on the contrary, a\nrepugnance in the dispositions produces a difficulty in the transition\nof the passions. But it is observable, that this repugnance may arise\nfrom a difference of degree as well as of kind; nor do we experience a\ngreater difficulty in passing suddenly from a small degree of love to a\nsmall degree of hatred, than from a small to a great degree of either\nof these affections. A man, when calm or only moderately agitated, is so\ndifferent, in every respect, from himself, when disturbed with a violent\npassion, that no two persons can be more unlike; nor is it easy to\npass from the one extreme to the other, without a considerable interval\nbetwixt them.\n\nThe difficulty is not less, if it be not rather greater, in passing from\nthe strong passion to the weak, than in passing from the weak to the\nstrong, provided the one passion upon its appearance destroys the other,\nand they do not both of them exist at once. But the case is entirely\naltered, when the passions unite together, and actuate the mind at\nthe same time. A weak passion, when added to a strong, makes not so\nconsiderable a change in the disposition, as a strong when added to a\nweak; for which reason there is a closer connexion betwixt the great\ndegree and the small, than betwixt the small degree and the great.\n\nThe degree of any passion depends upon the nature of its object; and an\naffection directed to a person, who is considerable in our eyes, fills\nand possesses the mind much more than one, which has for its object\na person we esteem of less consequence. Here then the contradiction\nbetwixt the propensities of the imagination and passion displays itself.\nWhen we turn our thought to a great and a small object, the imagination\nfinds more facility in passing from the small to the great, than from\nthe great to the small; but the affections find a greater difficulty:\nAnd as the affections are a more powerful principle than the\nimagination, no wonder they prevail over it, and draw the mind to their\nside. In spite of the difficulty of passing from the idea of great to\nthat of little, a passion directed to the former, produces always\na similar passion towards the latter; when the great and little are\nrelated together. The idea of the servant conveys our thought most\nreadily to the master; but the hatred or love of the master produces\nwith greater facility anger or good-will to the servant. The strongest\npassion in this case takes the precedence; and the addition of the\nweaker making no considerable change on the disposition, the passage is\nby that means rendered more easy and natural betwixt them.\n\nAs in the foregoing experiment we found, that a relation of ideas,\nwhich, by any particular circumstance, ceases to produce its usual\neffect of facilitating the transition of ideas, ceases likewise to\noperate on the passions; so in the present experiment we find the same\nproperty of the impressions. Two different degrees of the same passion\nare surely related together; but if the smaller be first present, it\nhas little or no tendency to introduce the greater; and that because the\naddition of the great to the little, produces a more sensible alteration\non the temper, than the addition of the little to the great. These\nphaenomena, when duly weighed, will be found convincing proofs of this\nhypothesis.\n\nAnd these proofs will be confirmed, if we consider the manner in which\nthe mind here reconciles the contradiction, I have observed betwixt the\npassions and the imagination. The fancy passes with more facility from\nthe less to the greater, than from the greater to the less: But on the\ncontrary a violent passion produces more easily a feeble, than that does\na violent. In this opposition the passion in the end prevails over the\nimagination; but it is commonly by complying with it, and by seeking\nanother quality, which may counter-ballance that principle, from whence\nthe opposition arises. When we love the father or master of a family,\nwe little think of his children or servants. But when these are present\nwith us, or when it lies any ways in our power to serve them, the\nnearness and contiguity in this case encreases their magnitude, or at\nleast removes that opposition, which the fancy makes to the transition\nof the affections. If the imagination finds a difficulty in passing from\ngreater to less, it finds an equal facility in passing from remote to\ncontiguous, which brings the matter to an equality, and leaves the way\nopen from the one passion to the other.\n\nEighth Experiment. I have observed that the transition from love or\nhatred to pride or humility, is more easy than from pride or humility to\nlove or hatred; and that the difficulty, which the imagination finds in\npassing from contiguous to remote, is the cause why we scarce have any\ninstance of the latter transition of the affections. I must, however,\nmake one exception, viz, when the very cause of the pride and humility\nis placed in some other person. For in that case the imagination is\nnecessitated to consider the person, nor can it possibly confine its\nview to ourselves. Thus nothing more readily produces kindness and\naffection to any person, than his approbation of our conduct and\ncharacter: As on the other hand, nothing inspires us with a stronger\nhatred, than his blame or contempt. Here it is evident, that the\noriginal passion is pride or humility, whose object is self; and that\nthis passion is transfused into love or hatred, whose object is some\nother person, notwithstanding the rule I have already established, THAT\nTHE IMAGINATION PASSES WITH DIFFICULTY FROM CONTIGUOUS TO REMOTE.\nBut the transition in this case is not made merely on account of the\nrelation betwixt ourselves and the person; but because that very person\nis the real cause of our first passion, and of consequence is intimately\nconnected with it. It is his approbation that produces pride; and\ndisapprobation, humility. No wonder, then, the imagination returns back\nagain attended with the related passions of love and hatred. This is\nnot a contradiction, but an exception to the rule; and an exception that\narises from the same reason with the rule itself.\n\nSuch an exception as this is, therefore, rather a confirmation of the\nrule. And indeed, if we consider all the eight experiments I have\nexplained, we shall find that the same principle appears in all of\nthem, and that it is by means of a transition arising from a double\nrelation of impressions and ideas, pride and humility, love and hatred\nare produced. An object without[1] a relation, or[2] with but one,\nnever produces either of these passions; and it is[3] found that the\npassion always varies in conformity to the relation. Nay we may\nobserve, that where the relation, by any particular circumstance, has\nnot its usual effect of producing a transition either of[4] ideas or of\nimpressions, it ceases to operate upon the passions, and gives rise\nneither to pride nor love, humility nor hatred. This rule we find still\nto hold good,[5] even under the appearance of its contrary; and as\nrelation is frequently experienced to have no effect; which upon\nexamination is found to proceed from some particular circumstance, that\nprevents the transition; so even in instances, where that circumstance,\nthough present, prevents not the transition, it is found to arise from\nsome other circumstance, which counter-balances it. Thus not only the\nvariations resolve themselves into the general principle, but even the\nvariations of these variations.\n\n    [1] First Experiment.\n\n    [2] Second and Third Experiments.\n\n    [3] Fourth Experiment.\n\n    [4] Sixth Experiment.\n\n    [5] Seventh and Eighth Experiments.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. III DIFFICULTIES SOLVED\n\n\nAfter so many and such undeniable proofs drawn from daily experience\nand observation, it may seem superfluous to enter into a particular\nexamination of all the causes of love and hatred. I shall, therefore,\nemploy the sequel of this part, First, In removing some difficulties,\nconcerning particular causes of these passions. Secondly, In examining\nthe compound affections, which arise from the mixture of love and hatred\nwith other emotions.\n\nNothing is more evident, than that any person acquires our kindness, or\nis exposed to our ill-will, in proportion to the pleasure or uneasiness\nwe receive from him, and that the passions keep pace exactly with the\nsensations in all their changes and variations. Whoever can find the\nmeans either by his services, his beauty, or his flattery, to render\nhimself useful or agreeable to us, is sure of our affections: As on the\nother hand, whoever harms or displeases us never fails to excite our\nanger or hatred. When our own nation is at war with any other, we detest\nthem under the character of cruel, perfidious, unjust and violent: But\nalways esteem ourselves and allies equitable, moderate, and merciful. If\nthe general of our enemies be successful, it is with difficulty we\nallow him the figure and character of a man. He is a sorcerer: He has a\ncommunication with daemons; as is reported of OLIVER CROMWELL, and the\nDUKE OF LUXEMBOURG: He is bloody-minded, and takes a pleasure in death\nand destruction. But if the success be on our side, our commander has\nall the opposite good qualities, and is a pattern of virtue, as well as\nof courage and conduct. His treachery we call policy: His cruelty is an\nevil inseparable from war. In short, every one of his faults we either\nendeavour to extenuate, or dignify it with the name of that virtue,\nwhich approaches it. It is evident the same method of thinking runs\nthrough common life.\n\nThere are some, who add another condition, and require not only that\nthe pain and pleasure arise from the person, but likewise that it arise\nknowingly, and with a particular design and intention. A man, who wounds\nand harms us by accident, becomes not our enemy upon that account, nor\ndo we think ourselves bound by any ties of gratitude to one, who does\nus any service after the same manner. By the intention we judge of the\nactions, and according as that is good or bad, they become causes of\nlove or hatred.\n\nBut here we must make a distinction. If that quality in another, which\npleases or displeases, be constant and inherent in his person and\ncharacter, it will cause love or hatred independent of the intention:\nBut otherwise a knowledge and design is requisite, in order to give rise\nto these passions. One that is disagreeable by his deformity or folly is\nthe object of our aversion, though nothing be more certain, than that he\nhas not the least intention of displeasing us by these qualities. But\nif the uneasiness proceed not from a quality, but an action, which\nis produced and annihilated in a moment, it is necessary, in order to\nproduce some relation, and connect this action sufficiently with the\nperson, that it be derived from a particular fore-thought and design. It\nis not enough, that the action arise from the person, and have him for\nits immediate cause and author. This relation alone is too feeble and\ninconstant to be a foundation for these passions. It reaches not the\nsensible and thinking part, and neither proceeds from any thing durable\nin him, nor leaves any thing behind it; but passes in a moment, and is\nas if it had never been. On the other hand, an intention shews certain\nqualities, which remaining after the action is performed, connect it\nwith the person, and facilitate the transition of ideas from one to the\nother. We can never think of him without reflecting on these qualities;\nunless repentance and a change of life have produced an alteration\nin that respect: In which case the passion is likewise altered. This\ntherefore is one reason, why an intention is requisite to excite either\nlove or hatred.\n\nBut we must farther consider, that an intention, besides its\nstrengthening the relation of ideas, is often necessary to produce a\nrelation of impressions, and give rise to pleasure and uneasiness. For\nit is observable, that the principal part of an injury is the contempt\nand hatred, which it shews in the person, that injures us; and without\nthat, the mere harm gives us a less sensible uneasiness. In like manner,\na good office is agreeable, chiefly because it flatters our vanity, and\nis a proof of the kindness and esteem of the person, who performs it.\nThe removal of the intention, removes the mortification in the one\ncase, and vanity in the other, and must of course cause a remarkable\ndiminution in the passions of love and hatred.\n\nI grant, that these effects of the removal of design, in diminishing the\nrelations of impressions and ideas, are not entire, nor able to remove\nevery degree of these relations. But then I ask, if the removal of\ndesign be able entirely to remove the passion of love and hatred?\nExperience, I am sure, informs us of the contrary, nor is there any\nthing more certain, than that men often fall into a violent anger for\ninjuries, which they themselves must own to be entirely involuntary and\naccidental. This emotion, indeed, cannot be of long continuance; but\nstill is sufficient to shew, that there is a natural connexion betwixt\nuneasiness and anger, and that the relation of impressions will operate\nupon a very small relation of ideas. But when the violence of the\nimpression is once a little abated, the defect of the relation begins to\nbe better felt; and as the character of a person is no wise interested\nin such injuries as are casual and involuntary, it seldom happens that\non their account, we entertain a lasting enmity.\n\nTo illustrate this doctrine by a parallel instance, we may observe, that\nnot only the uneasiness, which proceeds from another by accident, has\nbut little force to excite our passion, but also that which arises\nfrom an acknowledged necessity and duty. One that has a real design of\nharming us, proceeding not from hatred and ill-will, but from justice\nand equity, draws not upon him our anger, if we be in any degree\nreasonable; notwithstanding he is both the cause, and the knowing cause\nof our sufferings. Let us examine a little this ph\u00e6nomenon.\n\nIt is evident in the first place, that this circumstance is not\ndecisive; and though it may be able to diminish the passions, it is\nseldom it can entirely remove them. How few criminals are there, who\nhave no ill-will to the person, that accuses them, or to the judge, that\ncondemns them, even though they be conscious of their own deserts? In\nlike manner our antagonist in a law-suit, and our competitor for\nany office, are commonly regarded as our enemies; though we must\nacknowledge, if we would but reflect a moment, that their motive is\nentirely as justifiable as our own.\n\nBesides we may consider, that when we receive harm from any person, we\nare apt to imagine him criminal, and it is with extreme difficulty\nwe allow of his justice and innocence. This is a clear proof, that,\nindependent of the opinion of iniquity, any harm or uneasiness has a\nnatural tendency to excite our hatred, and that afterwards we seek for\nreasons upon which we may justify and establish the passion. Here the\nidea of injury produces not the passion, but arises from it.\n\nNor is it any wonder that passion should produce the opinion of injury;\nsince otherwise it must suffer a considerable diminution, which all the\npassions avoid as much as possible. The removal of injury may remove the\nanger, without proving that the anger arises only from the injury. The\nharm and the justice are two contrary objects, of which the one has a\ntendency to produce hatred, and the other love; and it is according\nto their different degrees, and our particular turn of thinking, that\neither of the objects prevails, and excites its proper passion.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. IV OF THE LOVE OF RELATIONS\n\n\nHaving given a reason, why several actions, that cause a real pleasure\nor uneasiness, excite not any degree, or but a small one, of the passion\nof love or hatred towards the actors; it will be necessary to shew,\nwherein consists the pleasure or uneasiness of many objects, which we\nfind by experience to produce these passions.\n\nAccording to the preceding system there is always required a double\nrelation of impressions and ideas betwixt the cause and effect, in order\nto produce either love or hatred. But though this be universally true,\nit is remarkable that the passion of love may be excited by only one\nrelation of a different kind, viz, betwixt ourselves and the object; or\nmore properly speaking, that this relation is always attended with both\nthe others. Whoever is united to us by any connexion is always sure of a\nshare of our love, proportioned to the connexion, without enquiring into\nhis other qualities. Thus the relation of blood produces the strongest\ntie the mind is capable of in the love of parents to their children, and\na lesser degree of the same affection, as the relation lessens. Nor\nhas consanguinity alone this effect, but any other relation without\nexception. We love our country-men, our neighbours, those of the same\ntrade, profession, and even name with ourselves. Every one of these\nrelations is esteemed some tie, and gives a title to a share of our\naffection.\n\nThere is another ph\u00e6nomenon, which is parallel to this, viz, that\nacquaintance, without any kind of relation, gives rise to love and\nkindness. When we have contracted a habitude and intimacy with any\nperson; though in frequenting his company we have not been able to\ndiscover any very valuable quality, of which he is possessed; yet we\ncannot forebear preferring him to strangers, of whose superior merit we\nare fully convinced. These two phaenomena of the effects of relation\nand acquaintance will give mutual light to each other, and may be both\nexplained from the same principle.\n\nThose, who take a pleasure in declaiming against human nature, have\nobserved, that man is altogether insufficient to support himself; and\nthat when you loosen all the holds, which he has of external objects,\nhe immediately drops down into the deepest melancholy and despair.\nFrom this, say they, proceeds that continual search after amusement\nin gaming, in hunting, in business; by which we endeavour to forget\nourselves, and excite our spirits from the languid state, into which\nthey fall, when not sustained by some brisk and lively emotion. To\nthis method of thinking I so far agree, that I own the mind to be\ninsufficient, of itself, to its own entertainment, and that it naturally\nseeks after foreign objects, which may produce a lively sensation, and\nagitate the spirits. On the appearance of such an object it awakes, as\nit were, from a dream: The blood flows with a new tide: The heart is\nelevated: And the whole man acquires a vigour, which he cannot command\nin his solitary and calm moments. Hence company is naturally so\nrejoicing, as presenting the liveliest of all objects, viz, a rational\nand thinking Being like ourselves, who communicates to us all the\nactions of his mind; makes us privy to his inmost sentiments and\naffections; and lets us see, in the very instant of their production,\nall the emotions, which are caused by any object. Every lively idea\nis agreeable, but especially that of a passion, because such an idea\nbecomes a kind of passion, and gives a more sensible agitation to the\nmind, than any other image or conception.\n\nThis being once admitted, all the rest is easy. For as the company\nof strangers is agreeable to us for a short time, by inlivening our\nthought; so the company of our relations and acquaintance must be\npeculiarly agreeable, because it has this effect in a greater degree,\nand is of more durable influence. Whatever is related to us is conceived\nin a lively manner by the easy transition from ourselves to the related\nobject. Custom also, or acquaintance facilitates the entrance, and\nstrengthens the conception of any object. The first case is parallel to\nour reasonings from cause and effect; the second to education. And as\nreasoning and education concur only in producing a lively and strong\nidea of any object; so is this the only particular, which is common\nto relation and acquaintance. This must, therefore, be the influencing\nquality, by which they produce all their common effects; and love or\nkindness being one of these effects, it must be from the force and\nliveliness of conception, that the passion is derived. Such a conception\nis peculiarly agreeable, and makes us have an affectionate regard for\nevery thing, that produces it, when the proper object of kindness and\ngoodwill.\n\nIt is obvious, that people associate together according to their\nparticular tempers and dispositions, and that men of gay tempers\nnaturally love the gay; as the serious bear an affection to the serious.\nThis not only happens, where they remark this resemblance betwixt\nthemselves and others, but also by the natural course of the\ndisposition, and by a certain sympathy, which always arises betwixt\nsimilar characters. Where they remark the resemblance, it operates after\nthe manner of a relation, by producing a connexion of ideas. Where\nthey do not remark it, it operates by some other principle; and if this\nlatter principle be similar to the former, it must be received as a\nconfirmation of the foregoing reasoning.\n\nThe idea of ourselves is always intimately present to us, and conveys a\nsensible degree of vivacity to the idea of any other object, to which we\nare related. This lively idea changes by degrees into a real impression;\nthese two kinds of perception being in a great measure the same, and\ndiffering only in their degrees of force and vivacity. But this change\nmust be produced with the greater ease, that our natural temper gives\nus a propensity to the same impression, which we observe in others,\nand makes it arise upon any slight occasion. In that case resemblance\nconverts the idea into an impression, not only by means of the relation,\nand by transfusing the original vivacity into the related idea; but also\nby presenting such materials as take fire from the least spark. And as\nin both cases a love or affection arises from the resemblance, we may\nlearn that a sympathy with others is agreeable only by giving an emotion\nto the spirits, since an easy sympathy and correspondent emotions are\nalone common to RELATION, ACQUAINTANCE, and RESEMBLANCE.\n\nThe great propensity men have to pride may be considered as another\nsimilar ph\u00e6nomenon. It often happens, that after we have lived a\nconsiderable time in any city; however at first it might be disagreeable\nto us; yet as we become familiar with the objects, and contact an\nacquaintance, though merely with the streets and buildings, the aversion\ndiminishes by degrees, and at last changes into the opposite passion.\nThe mind finds a satisfaction and ease in the view of objects, to which\nit is accustomed, and naturally prefers them to others, which, though,\nperhaps, in themselves more valuable, are less known to it. By the same\nquality of the mind we are seduced into a good opinion of ourselves, and\nof all objects, that belong to us. They appear in a stronger light; are\nmore agreeable; and consequently fitter subjects of pride and vanity,\nthan any other.\n\nIt may not be amiss, in treating of the affection we bear our\nacquaintance and relations, to observe some pretty curious phaenomena,\nwhich attend it. It is easy to remark in common life, that children\nesteem their relation to their mother to be weakened, in a great\nmeasure, by her second marriage, and no longer regard her with the same\neye, as if she had continued in her state of widow-hood. Nor does this\nhappen only, when they have felt any inconveniences from her second\nmarriage, or when her husband is much her inferior; but even without\nany of these considerations, and merely because she has become part of\nanother family. This also takes place with regard to the second marriage\nof a father; but in a much less degree: And it is certain the ties of\nblood are not so much loosened in the latter case as by the marriage of\na mother. These two phaenomena are remarkable in themselves, but much\nmore so when compared.\n\nIn order to produce a perfect relation betwixt two objects, it is\nrequisite, not only that the imagination be conveyed from one to the\nother by resemblance, contiguity or causation, but also that it return\nback from the second to the first with the same ease and facility. At\nfirst sight this may seem a necessary and unavoidable consequence. If\none object resemble another, the latter object must necessarily resemble\nthe former. If one object be the cause of another, the second object is\neffect to its cause. It is the same case with contiguity: And therefore\nthe relation being always reciprocal, it may be thought, that the return\nof the imagination from the second to the first must also, in every\ncase, be equally natural as its passage from the first to the second.\nBut upon farther examination we shall easily discover our mistake.\nFor supposing the second object, beside its reciprocal relation to the\nfirst, to have also a strong relation to a third object; in that case\nthe thought, passing from the first object to the second, returns not\nback with the same facility, though the relation continues the same; but\nis readily carryed on to the third object, by means of the new relation,\nwhich presents itself, and gives a new impulse to the imagination. This\nnew relation, therefore, weakens the tie betwixt the first and second\nobjects. The fancy is by its very nature wavering and inconstant; and\nconsiders always two objects as more strongly related together, where it\nfinds the passage equally easy both in going and returning, than where\nthe transition is easy only in one of these motions. The double motion\nis a kind of a double tie, and binds the objects together in the closest\nand most intimate manner.\n\nThe second marriage of a mother breaks not the relation of child and\nparent; and that relation suffices to convey my imagination from myself\nto her with the greatest ease and facility. But after the imagination is\narrived at this point of view, it finds its object to be surrounded with\nso many other relations, which challenge its regard, that it knows not\nwhich to prefer, and is at a loss what new object to pitch upon. The\nties of interest and duty bind her to another family, and prevent that\nreturn of the fancy from her to myself, which is necessary to support\nthe union. The thought has no longer the vibration, requisite to set it\nperfectly at ease, and indulge its inclination to change. It goes with\nfacility, but returns with difficulty; and by that interruption finds\nthe relation much weakened from what it would be were the passage open\nand easy on both sides.\n\nNow to give a reason, why this effect follows not in the same degree\nupon the second marriage of a father: we may reflect on what has been\nproved already, that though the imagination goes easily from the view of\na lesser object to that of a greater, yet it returns not with the same\nfacility from the greater to the less. When my imagination goes from\nmyself to my father, it passes not so readily from him to his second\nwife, nor considers him as entering into a different family, but as\ncontinuing the head of that family, of which I am myself a part. His\nsuperiority prevents the easy transition of the thought from him to his\nspouse, but keeps the passage still open for a return to myself along\nthe same relation of child and parent. He is not sunk in the new\nrelation he acquires; so that the double motion or vibration of thought\nis still easy and natural. By this indulgence of the fancy in its\ninconstancy, the tie of child and parent still preserves its full force\nand influence. A mother thinks not her tie to a son weakened, because it\nis shared with her husband: Nor a son his with a parent, because it is\nshared with a brother. The third object is here related to the first, as\nwell as to the second; so that the imagination goes and comes along all\nof them with the greatest facility.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. V OF OUR ESTEEM FOR THE RICH AND POWERFUL\n\n\nNothing has a greater tendency to give us an esteem for any person, than\nhis power and riches; or a contempt, than his poverty and meanness:\nAnd as esteem and contempt are to be considered as species of love and\nhatred, it will be proper in this place to explain these phaenomena.\n\nHere it happens most fortunately, that the greatest difficulty is not to\ndiscover a principle capable of producing such an effect, but to choose\nthe chief and predominant among several, that present themselves. The\nsatisfaction we take in the riches of others, and the esteem we have for\nthe possessors may be ascribed to three different causes. FIRST, To the\nobjects they possess; such as houses, gardens, equipages; which, being\nagreeable in themselves, necessarily produce a sentiment of pleasure\nin every one; that either considers or surveys them. SECONDLY, To the\nexpectation of advantage from the rich and powerful by our sharing\ntheir possessions. THIRDLY, To sympathy, which makes us partake of the\nsatisfaction of every one, that approaches us. All these principles may\nconcur in producing the present ph\u00e6nomenon. The question is, to which\nof them we ought principally to ascribe it.\n\nIt is certain, that the first principle, viz, the reflection on\nagreeable objects, has a greater influence, than what, at first sight,\nwe may be apt to imagine. We seldom reflect on what is beautiful or\nugly, agreeable or disagreeable, without an emotion of pleasure or\nuneasiness; and though these sensations appear not much in our common\nindolent way of thinking, it is easy, either in reading or conversation,\nto discover them. Men of wit always turn the discourse on subjects that\nare entertaining to the imagination; and poets never present any objects\nbut such as are of the same nature. Mr Philips has chosen CYDER for the\nsubject of an excellent poem. Beer would not have been so proper, as\nbeing neither so agreeable to the taste nor eye. But he would certainly\nhave preferred wine to either of them, could his native country have\nafforded him so agreeable a liquor. We may learn from thence, that\nevery thing, which is agreeable to the senses, is also in some measure\nagreeable to the fancy, and conveys to the thought an image of that\nsatisfaction, which it gives by its real application to the bodily\norgans.\n\nBut though these reasons may induce us to comprehend this delicacy of\nthe imagination among the causes of the respect, which we pay the\nrich and powerful, there are many other reasons, that may keep us from\nregarding it as the sole or principal. For as the ideas of pleasure\ncan have an influence only by means of their vivacity, which makes them\napproach impressions, it is most natural those ideas should have that\ninfluence, which are favoured by most circumstances, and have a natural\ntendency to become strong and lively; such as our ideas of the passions\nand sensations of any human creature. Every human creature resembles\nourselves, and by that means has an advantage above any other object, in\noperating on the imagination.\n\nBesides, if we consider the nature of that faculty, and the great\ninfluence which all relations have upon it, we shall easily be\npersuaded, that however the ideas of the pleasant wines, music, or\ngardens, which the rich man enjoys, may become lively and agreeable, the\nfancy will not confine itself to them, but will carry its view to the\nrelated objects; and in particular, to the person, who possesses them.\nAnd this is the more natural, that the pleasant idea or image produces\nhere a passion towards the person, by means of his relation to the\nobject; so that it is unavoidable but he must enter into the original\nconception, since he makes the object of the derivative passion: But if\nhe enters into the original conception, and is considered as enjoying\nthese agreeable objects, it is sympathy, which is properly the cause of\nthe affection; and the third principle is more powerful and universal\nthan the first.\n\nAdd to this, that riches and power alone, even though unemployed,\nnaturally cause esteem and respect: And consequently these passions\narise not from the idea of any beautiful or agreeable objects. It is\ntrue; money implies a kind of representation of such objects, by the\npower it affords of obtaining them; and for that reason may still be\nesteemed proper to convey those agreeable images, which may give rise\nto the passion. But as this prospect is very distant, it is more natural\nfor us to take a contiguous object, viz, the satisfaction, which this\npower affords the person, who is possest of it. And of this we shall be\nfarther satisfyed, if we consider, that riches represent the goods of\nlife, only by means of the will; which employs them; and therefore imply\nin their very nature an idea of the person, and cannot be considered\nwithout a kind of sympathy with his sensations and enjoyments.\n\nThis we may confirm by a reflection, which to some will, perhaps,\nappear too subtile and refined. I have already observed, that power,\nas distinguished from its exercise, has either no meaning at all, or\nis nothing but a possibility or probability of existence; by which any\nobject approaches to reality, and has a sensible influence on the mind.\nI have also observed, that this approach, by an illusion of the fancy,\nappears much greater, when we ourselves are possest of the power, than\nwhen it is enjoyed by another; and that in the former case the objects\nseem to touch upon the very verge of reality, and convey almost an equal\nsatisfaction, as if actually in our possession. Now I assert, that where\nwe esteem a person upon account of his riches, we must enter into this\nsentiment of the proprietor, and that without such a sympathy the idea\nof the agreeable objects, which they give him the power to produce,\nwould have but a feeble influence upon us. An avaricious man is\nrespected for his money, though he scarce is possest of a power; that\nis, there scarce is a probability or even possibility of his employing\nit in the acquisition of the pleasures and conveniences of life. To\nhimself alone this power seems perfect and entire; and therefore we must\nreceive his sentiments by sympathy, before we can have a strong intense\nidea of these enjoyments, or esteem him upon account of them.\n\nThus we have found, that the first principle, viz, the agreeable idea of\nthose objects, which riches afford the enjoyment of; resolves itself in\na great measure into the third, and becomes a sympathy with the person\nwe esteem or love. Let us now examine the second principle, viz, the\nagreeable expectation of advantage, and see what force we may justly\nattribute to it.\n\nIt is obvious, that though riches and authority undoubtedly give\ntheir owner a power of doing us service, yet this power is not to be\nconsidered as on the same footing with that, which they afford him, of\npleasing himself, and satisfying his own appetites. Self-love approaches\nthe power and exercise very near each other in the latter case; but\nin order to produce a similar effect in the former, we must suppose a\nfriendship and good-will to be conjoined with the riches. Without that\ncircumstance it is difficult to conceive on what we can found our hope\nof advantage from the riches of others, though there is nothing more\ncertain, than that we naturally esteem and respect the rich, even before\nwe discover in them any such favourable disposition towards us.\n\nBut I carry this farther, and observe, not only that we respect the rich\nand powerful, where they shew no inclination to serve us, but also when\nwe lie so much out of the sphere of their activity, that they cannot\neven be supposed to be endowed with that power. Prisoners of war are\nalways treated with a respect suitable to their condition; and it is\ncertain riches go very far towards fixing the condition of any person.\nIf birth and quality enter for a share, this still affords us an\nargument of the same kind. For what is it we call a man of birth,\nbut one who is descended from a long succession of rich and powerful\nancestors, and who acquires our esteem by his relation to persons whom\nwe esteem? His ancestors, therefore, though dead, are respected, in some\nmeasure, on account of their riches, and consequently without any kind\nof expectation.\n\nBut not to go so far as prisoners of war and the dead to find instances\nof this disinterested esteem for riches, let us observe with a\nlittle attention those phaenomena that occur to us in common life and\nconversation. A man, who is himself of a competent fortune, upon coming\ninto a company of strangers, naturally treats them with different\ndegrees of respect and deference, as he is informed of their different\nfortunes and conditions; though it is impossible he can ever propose,\nand perhaps would not accept of any advantage from them. A traveller is\nalways admitted into company, and meets with civility, in proportion as\nhis train and equipage speak him a man of great or moderate fortune. In\nshort, the different ranks of men are, in a great measure, regulated\nby riches, and that with regard to superiors as well as inferiors,\nstrangers as well as acquaintance.\n\nThere is, indeed, an answer to these arguments, drawn from the influence\nof general rules. It may be pretended, that being accustomed to expect\nsuccour and protection from the rich and powerful, and to esteem them\nupon that account, we extend the same sentiments to those, who\nresemble them in their fortune, but from whom we can never hope for any\nadvantage. The general rule still prevails, and by giving a bent to the\nimagination draws along the passion, in the same manner as if its proper\nobject were real and existent.\n\nBut that this principle does not here take place, will easily appear,\nif we consider, that in order to establish a general rule, and extend it\nbeyond its proper bounds, there is required a certain uniformity in\nour experience, and a great superiority of those instances, which are\nconformable to the rule, above the contrary. But here the case is quite\notherwise. Of a hundred men of credit and fortune I meet with, there\nis not, perhaps, one from whom I can expect advantage; so that it is\nimpossible any custom can ever prevail in the present case.\n\nUpon the whole, there remains nothing, which can give us an esteem for\npower and riches, and a contempt for meanness and poverty, except the\nprinciple of sympathy, by which we enter into the sentiments of the\nrich and poor, and partake of their pleasure and uneasiness. Riches give\nsatisfaction to their possessor; and this satisfaction is conveyed to\nthe beholder by the imagination, which produces an idea resembling\nthe original impression in force and vivacity. This agreeable idea or\nimpression is connected with love, which is an agreeable passion. It\nproceeds from a thinking conscious being, which is the very object of\nlove. From this relation of impressions, and identity of ideas, the\npassion arises, according to my hypothesis.\n\nThe best method of reconciling us to this opinion is to take a general\nsurvey of the universe, and observe the force of sympathy through the\nwhole animal creation, and the easy communication of sentiments from one\nthinking being to another. In all creatures, that prey not upon others,\nand are not agitated with violent passions, there appears a remarkable\ndesire of company, which associates them together, without any\nadvantages they can ever propose to reap from their union. This is still\nmore conspicuous in man, as being the creature of the universe, who\nhas the most ardent desire of society, and is fitted for it by the most\nadvantages. We can form no wish, which has not a reference to society.\nA perfect solitude is, perhaps, the greatest punishment we can suffer.\nEvery pleasure languishes when enjoyed a-part from company, and every\npain becomes more cruel and intolerable. Whatever other passions we may\nbe actuated by; pride, ambition, avarice, curiosity, revenge or lust;\nthe soul or animating principle of them all is sympathy; nor would\nthey have any force, were we to abstract entirely from the thoughts and\nsentiments of others. Let all the powers and elements of nature conspire\nto serve and obey one man: Let the sun rise and set at his command: The\nsea and rivers roll as he pleases, and the earth furnish spontaneously\nwhatever may be useful or agreeable to him: He will still be miserable,\ntill you give him some one person at least, with whom he may share his\nhappiness, and whose esteem and friendship he may enjoy.\n\nThis conclusion from a general view of human nature, we may confirm by\nparticular instances, wherein the force of sympathy is very remarkable.\nMost kinds of beauty are derived from this origin; and though our first\nobject be some senseless inanimate piece of matter, it is seldom we rest\nthere, and carry not our view to its influence on sensible and rational\ncreatures. A man, who shews us any house or building, takes particular\ncare among other things to point out the convenience of the apartments,\nthe advantages of their situation, and the little room lost in the\nstairs, antichambers and passages; and indeed it is evident, the chief\npart of the beauty consists in these particulars. The observation of\nconvenience gives pleasure, since convenience is a beauty. But after\nwhat manner does it give pleasure? It is certain our own interest is\nnot in the least concerned; and as this is a beauty of interest, not of\nform, so to speak, it must delight us merely by communication, and by\nour sympathizing with the proprietor of the lodging. We enter into his\ninterest by the force of imagination, and feel the same satisfaction,\nthat the objects naturally occasion in him.\n\nThis observation extends to tables, chairs, scritoires, chimneys,\ncoaches, sadles, ploughs, and indeed to every work of art; it being an\nuniversal rule, that their beauty is chiefly derived from their utility,\nand from their fitness for that purpose, to which they are destined.\nBut this is an advantage, that concerns only the owner, nor is there any\nthing but sympathy, which can interest the spectator.\n\nIt is evident, that nothing renders a field more agreeable than its\nfertility, and that scarce any advantages of ornament or situation will\nbe able to equal this beauty. It is the same case with particular trees\nand plants, as with the field on which they grow. I know not but a\nplain, overgrown with furze and broom, may be, in itself, as beautiful\nas a hill covered with vines or olive-trees; though it will never appear\nso to one, who is acquainted with the value of each. But this is a\nbeauty merely of imagination, and has no foundation in what appears to\nthe senses. Fertility and value have a plain reference to use; and\nthat to riches, joy, and plenty; in which though we have no hope of\npartaking, yet we enter into them by the vivacity of the fancy, and\nshare them, in some measure, with the proprietor.\n\nThere is no rule in painting more reasonable than that of ballancing the\nfigures, and placing them with the greatest exactness on their proper\ncenters of gravity. A figure, which is not justly ballanced, is\ndisagreeable; and that because it conveys the ideas of its fall, of\nharm, and of pain: Which ideas are painful, when by sympathy they\nacquire any degree of force and vivacity.\n\nAdd to this, that the principal part of personal beauty is an air\nof health and vigour, and such a construction of members as promises\nstrength and activity. This idea of beauty cannot be accounted for but\nby sympathy.\n\nIn general we may remark, that the minds of men are mirrors to one\nanother, not only because they reflect each others emotions, but also\nbecause those rays of passions, sentiments and opinions may be often\nreverberated, and may decay away by insensible degrees. Thus the\npleasure, which a rich man receives from his possessions, being thrown\nupon the beholder, causes a pleasure and esteem; which sentiments again,\nbeing perceived and sympathized with, encrease the pleasure of the\npossessor; and being once more reflected, become a new foundation for\npleasure and esteem in the beholder. There is certainly an original\nsatisfaction in riches derived from that power, which they bestow, of\nenjoying all the pleasures of life; and as this is their very nature and\nessence, it must be the first source of all the passions, which arise\nfrom them. One of the most considerable of these passions is that of\nlove or esteem in others, which therefore proceeds from a sympathy with\nthe pleasure of the possessor. But the possessor has also a secondary\nsatisfaction in riches arising from the love and esteem he acquires by\nthem, and this satisfaction is nothing but a second reflexion of\nthat original pleasure, which proceeded from himself. This secondary\nsatisfaction or vanity becomes one of the principal recommendations\nof riches, and is the chief reason, why we either desire them for\nourselves, or esteem them in others. Here then is a third rebound of the\noriginal pleasure; after which it is difficult to distinguish the images\nand reflexions, by reason of their faintness and confusion.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. VI OF BENEVOLENCE AND ANGER\n\n\nIdeas may be compared to the extension and solidity of matter, and\nimpressions, especially reflective ones, to colours, tastes, smells and\nother sensible qualities. Ideas never admit of a total union, but are\nendowed with a kind of impenetrability, by which they exclude each\nother, and are capable of forming a compound by their conjunction,\nnot by their mixture. On the other hand, impressions and passions are\nsusceptible of an entire union; and like colours, may be blended so\nperfectly together, that each of them may lose itself, and contribute\nonly to vary that uniform impression, which arises from the whole. Some\nof the most curious phaenomena of the human mind are derived from this\nproperty of the passions.\n\nIn examining those ingredients, which are capable of uniting with love\nand hatred, I begin to be sensible, in some measure, of a misfortune,\nthat has attended every system of philosophy, with which the world has\nbeen yet acquainted. It is commonly found, that in accounting for the\noperations of nature by any particular hypothesis; among a number\nof experiments, that quadrate exactly with the principles we would\nendeavour to establish; there is always some ph\u00e6nomenon, which is more\nstubborn, and will not so easily bend to our purpose. We need not be\nsurprized, that this should happen in natural philosophy. The essence\nand composition of external bodies are so obscure, that we must\nnecessarily, in our reasonings, or rather conjectures concerning\nthem, involve ourselves in contradictions and absurdities. But as\nthe perceptions of the mind are perfectly known, and I have used all\nimaginable caution in forming conclusions concerning them, I have always\nhoped to keep clear of those contradictions, which have attended every\nother system. Accordingly the difficulty, which I have at present in\nmy eye, is nowise contrary to my system; but only departs a little from\nthat simplicity, which has been hitherto its principal force and beauty.\n\nThe passions of love and hatred are always followed by, or rather\nconjoined with benevolence and anger. It is this conjunction, which\nchiefly distinguishes these affections from pride and humility. For\npride and humility are pure emotions in the soul, unattended with any\ndesire, and not immediately exciting us to action. But love and hatred\nare not compleated within themselves, nor rest in that emotion, which\nthey produce, but carry the mind to something farther. Love is always\nfollowed by a desire of the happiness of the person beloved, and an\naversion to his misery: As hatred produces a desire of the misery and\nan aversion to the happiness of the person hated. So remarkable a\ndifference betwixt these two sets of passions of pride and humility,\nlove and hatred, which in so many other particulars correspond to each\nother, merits our attention.\n\nThe conjunction of this desire and aversion with love and hatred may be\naccounted for by two different hypotheses. The first is, that love and\nhatred have not only a cause, which excites them, viz, pleasure and\npain; and an object, to which they are directed, viz, a person or\nthinking being; but likewise an end, which they endeavour to attain,\nviz, the happiness or misery of the person beloved or hated; all which\nviews, mixing together, make only one passion. According to this system,\nlove is nothing but the desire of happiness to another person, and\nhatred that of misery. The desire and aversion constitute the very\nnature of love and hatred. They are not only inseparable but the same.\n\nBut this is evidently contrary to experience. For though it is certain\nwe never love any person without desiring his happiness, nor hate any\nwithout wishing his misery, yet these desires arise only upon the ideas\nof the happiness or misery of our friend or enemy being presented by the\nimagination, and are not absolutely essential to love and hatred. They\nare the most obvious and natural sentiments of these affections, but not\nthe only ones. The passions may express themselves in a hundred ways,\nand may subsist a considerable time, without our reflecting on the\nhappiness or misery of their objects; which clearly proves, that these\ndesires are not the same with love and hatred, nor make any essential\npart of them.\n\nWe may, therefore, infer, that benevolence and anger are passions\ndifferent from love and hatred, and only conjoined with them, by the\noriginal constitution of the mind. As nature has given to the body\ncertain appetites and inclinations, which she encreases, diminishes,\nor changes according to the situation of the fluids or solids; she\nhas proceeded in the same manner with the mind. According as we are\npossessed with love or hatred, the correspondent desire of the happiness\nor misery of the person, who is the object of these passions, arises\nin the mind, and varies with each variation of these opposite passions.\nThis order of things, abstractedly considered, is not necessary. Love\nand hatred might have been unattended with any such desires, or their\nparticular connexion might have been entirely reversed. If nature had\nso pleased, love might have had the same effect as hatred, and hatred as\nlove. I see no contradiction in supposing a desire of producing misery\nannexed to love, and of happiness to hatred. If the sensation of the\npassion and desire be opposite, nature could have altered the sensation\nwithout altering the tendency of the desire, and by that means made them\ncompatible with each other.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. VII OF COMPASSION\n\n\nBut though the desire of the happiness or misery of others, according to\nthe love or hatred we bear them, be an arbitrary and original instinct\nimplanted in our nature, we find it may be counterfeited on many\noccasions, and may arise from secondary principles. Pity is a concern\nfor, and malice a joy in the misery of others, without any friendship or\nenmity to occasion this concern or joy. We pity even strangers, and\nsuch as are perfectly indifferent to us: And if our ill-will to another\nproceed from any harm or injury, it is not, properly speaking, malice,\nbut revenge. But if we examine these affections of pity and malice we\nshall find them to be secondary ones, arising from original affections,\nwhich are varied by some particular turn of thought and imagination.\n\nIt will be easy to explain the passion of pity, from the precedent\nreasoning concerning sympathy. We have a lively idea of every thing\nrelated to us. All human creatures are related to us by resemblance.\nTheir persons, therefore, their interests, their passions, their pains\nand pleasures must strike upon us in a lively manner, and produce an\nemotion similar to the original one; since a lively idea is easily\nconverted into an impression. If this be true in general, it must be\nmore so of affliction and sorrow. These have always a stronger and more\nlasting influence than any pleasure or enjoyment.\n\nA spectator of a tragedy passes through a long train of grief, terror,\nindignation, and other affections, which the poet represents in the\npersons he introduces. As many tragedies end happily, and no excellent\none can be composed without some reverses of fortune, the spectator must\nsympathize with all these changes, and receive the fictitious joy as\nwell as every other passion. Unless, therefore, it be asserted, that\nevery distinct passion is communicated by a distinct original\nquality, and is not derived from the general principle of sympathy\nabove-explained, it must be allowed, that all of them arise from\nthat principle. To except any one in particular must appear highly\nunreasonable. As they are all first present in the mind of one person,\nand afterwards appear in the mind of another; and as the manner of their\nappearance, first as an idea, then as an impression, is in every case\nthe same, the transition must arise from the same principle. I am\nat least sure, that this method of reasoning would be considered as\ncertain, either in natural philosophy or common life.\n\nAdd to this, that pity depends, in a great measure, on the contiguity,\nand even sight of the object; which is a proof, that it is derived from\nthe imagination. Not to mention that women and children are most subject\nto pity, as being most guided by that faculty. The same infirmity, which\nmakes them faint at the sight of a naked sword, though in the hands of\ntheir best friend, makes them pity extremely those, whom they find in\nany grief or affliction. Those philosophers, who derive this passion\nfrom I know not what subtile reflections on the instability of fortune,\nand our being liable to the same miseries we behold, will find this\nobservation contrary to them among a great many others, which it were\neasy to produce.\n\nThere remains only to take notice of a pretty remarkable ph\u00e6nomenon\nof this passion; which is, that the communicated passion of sympathy\nsometimes acquires strength from the weakness of its original, and even\narises by a transition from affections, which have no existence.\nThus when a person obtains any honourable office, or inherits a great\nfortune, we are always the more rejoiced for his prosperity, the\nless sense he seems to have of it, and the greater equanimity and\nindifference he shews in its enjoyment. In like manner a man, who is\nnot dejected by misfortunes, is the more lamented on account of his\npatience; and if that virtue extends so far as utterly to remove all\nsense of uneasiness, it still farther encreases our compassion. When a\nperson of merit falls into what is vulgarly esteemed a great misfortune,\nwe form a notion of his condition; and carrying our fancy from the cause\nto the usual effect, first conceive a lively idea of his sorrow, and\nthen feel an impression of it, entirely over-looking that greatness of\nmind, which elevates him above such emotions, or only considering it so\nfar as to encrease our admiration, love and tenderness for him. We find\nfrom experience, that such a degree of passion is usually connected with\nsuch a misfortune; and though there be an exception in the present\ncase, yet the imagination is affected by the general rule, and makes\nus conceive a lively idea of the passion, or rather feel the passion\nitself, in the same manner, as if the person were really actuated by it.\nFrom the same principles we blush for the conduct of those, who behave\nthemselves foolishly before us; and that though they shew no sense of\nshame, nor seem in the least conscious of their folly. All this proceeds\nfrom sympathy; but it is of a partial kind, and views its objects only\non one side, without considering the other, which has a contrary effect,\nand would entirely destroy that emotion, which arises from the first\nappearance.\n\nWe have also instances, wherein an indifference and insensibility under\nmisfortune encreases our concern for the misfortunate, even though\nthe indifference proceed not from any virtue and magnanimity. It is an\naggravation of a murder, that it was committed upon persons asleep and\nin perfect security; as historians readily observe of any infant prince,\nwho is captive in the hands of his enemies, that he is the more worthy\nof compassion the less sensible he is of his miserable condition. As we\nourselves are here acquainted with the wretched situation of the person,\nit gives us a lively idea and sensation of sorrow, which is the passion\nthat generally attends it; and this idea becomes still more lively,\nand the sensation more violent by a contrast with that security and\nindifference, which we observe in the person himself. A contrast of any\nkind never fails to affect the imagination, especially when presented by\nthe subject; and it is on the imagination that pity entirely depends.[6]\n\n\n    [6] To prevent all ambiguity, I must observe, that where I oppose the\n    imagination to the memory, I mean in general the faculty that presents our\n    fainter ideas. In all other places, and particularly when it is opposed to\n    the understanding, I understand the same faculty, excluding only our\n    demonstrative and probable reasonings.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. VIII OF MALICE AND ENVY\n\n\nWe must now proceed to account for the passion of malice, which imitates\nthe effects of hatred, as pity does those of love; and gives us a joy in\nthe sufferings and miseries of others, without any offence or injury on\ntheir part.\n\nSo little are men governed by reason in their sentiments and opinions,\nthat they always judge more of objects by comparison than from their\nintrinsic worth and value. When the mind considers, or is accustomed\nto, any degree of perfection, whatever falls short of it, though really\nesteemable, has notwithstanding the same effect upon the passions; as\nwhat is defective and ill. This is an original quality of the soul, and\nsimilar to what we have every day experience of in our bodies. Let a man\nheat one hand and cool the other; the same water will, at the same time,\nseem both hot and cold, according to the disposition of the different\norgans. A small degree of any quality, succeeding a greater, produces\nthe same sensation, as if less than it really is, and even sometimes as\nthe opposite quality. Any gentle pain, that follows a violent one, seems\nas nothing, or rather becomes a pleasure; as on the other hand a violent\npain, succeeding a gentle one, is doubly grievous and uneasy.\n\nThis no one can doubt of with regard to our passions and sensations. But\nthere may arise some difficulty with regard to our ideas and objects.\nWhen an object augments or diminishes to the eye or imagination from a\ncomparison with others, the image and idea of the object are still the\nsame, and are equally extended in the retina, and in the brain or organ\nof perception. The eyes refract the rays of light, and the optic nerves\nconvey the images to the brain in the very same manner, whether a great\nor small object has preceded; nor does even the imagination alter the\ndimensions of its object on account of a comparison with others. The\nquestion then is, how from the same impression and the same idea we can\nform such different judgments concerning the same object, and at one\ntime admire its bulk, and at another despise its littleness. This\nvariation in our judgments must certainly proceed from a variation\nin some perception; but as the variation lies not in the immediate\nimpression or idea of the object, it must lie in some other impression,\nthat accompanies it.\n\nIn order to explain this matter, I shall just touch upon two\nprinciples, one of which shall be more fully explained in the progress\nof this treatise; the other has been already accounted for. I believe\nit may safely be established for a general maxim, that no object is\npresented to the senses, nor image formed in the fancy, but what is\naccompanyed with some emotion or movement of spirits proportioned to\nit; and however custom may make us insensible of this sensation and\ncause us to confound it with the object or idea, it will be easy, by\ncareful and exact experiments, to separate and distinguish them. For to\ninstance only in the cases of extension and number; it is evident, that\nany very bulky object, such as the ocean, an extended plain, a vast\nchain of mountains, a wide forest: or any very numerous collection of\nobjects, such as an army, a fleet, a crowd, excite in the mind a\nsensible emotion; and that the admiration, which arises on the\nappearance of such objects, is one of the most lively pleasures, which\nhuman nature is capable of enjoying. Now as this admiration encreases\nor diminishes by the encrease or diminution of the objects, we may\nconclude, according to our foregoing[7] principles, that it is a\ncompound effect, proceeding from the conjunction of the several\neffects, which arise from each part of the cause. Every part, then, of\nextension, and every unite of number has a separate emotion attending\nit; and though that emotion be not always agreeable, yet by its\nconjunction with others, and by its agitating the spirits to a just\npitch, it contributes to the production of admiration, which is always\nagreeable. If this be allowed with respect to extension and number, we\ncan make no difficulty with respect to virtue and vice, wit and folly,\nriches and poverty, happiness and misery, and other objects of that\nkind, which are always attended with an evident emotion.\n\n    [7] Book I. Part III. Sect. 15.\n\nThe second principle I shall take notice of is that of our adherence\nto general rules; which has such a mighty influence on the actions and\nunderstanding, and is able to impose on the very senses. When an object\nis found by experience to be always accompanyed with another; whenever\nthe first object appears, though changed in very material circumstances;\nwe naturally fly to the conception of the second, and form an idea of it\nin as lively and strong a manner, as if we had infered its existence by\nthe justest and most authentic conclusion of our understanding. Nothing\ncan undeceive us, not even our senses, which, instead of correcting this\nfalse judgment, are often perverted by it, and seem to authorize its\nerrors.\n\nThe conclusion I draw from these two principles, joined to the influence\nof comparison above-mentioned, is very short and decisive. Every object\nis attended with some emotion proportioned to it; a great object with\na great emotion, a small object with a small emotion. A great object,\ntherefore, succeeding a small one makes a great emotion succeed a small\none. Now a great emotion succeeding a small one becomes still greater,\nand rises beyond its ordinary proportion. But as there is a certain\ndegree of an emotion, which commonly attends every magnitude of an\nobject; when the emotion encreases, we naturally imagine that the object\nhas likewise encreased. The effect conveys our view to its usual cause,\na certain degree of emotion to a certain magnitude of the object; nor\ndo we consider, that comparison may change the emotion without changing\nanything in the object. Those who are acquainted with the metaphysical\npart of optics and know how we transfer the judgments and conclusions\nof the understanding to the senses, will easily conceive this whole\noperation.\n\nBut leaving this new discovery of an impression, that secretly attends\nevery idea; we must at least allow of that principle, from whence the\ndiscovery arose, that objects appear greater or less by a comparison\nwith others. We have so many instances of this, that it is impossible\nwe can dispute its veracity; and it is from this principle I derive the\npassions of malice and envy.\n\nIt is evident we must receive a greater or less satisfaction or\nuneasiness from reflecting on our own condition and circumstances,\nin proportion as they appear more or less fortunate or unhappy,\nin proportion to the degrees of riches, and power, and merit, and\nreputation, which we think ourselves possest of. Now as we seldom judge\nof objects from their intrinsic value, but form our notions of them\nfrom a comparison with other objects; it follows, that according as we\nobserve a greater or less share of happiness or misery in others,\nwe must make an estimate of our own, and feel a consequent pain or\npleasure. The misery of another gives us a more lively idea of our\nhappiness, and his happiness of our misery. The former, therefore,\nproduces delight; and the latter uneasiness.\n\nHere then is a kind of pity reverst, or contrary sensations arising\nin the beholder, from those which are felt by the person, whom he\nconsiders. In general we may observe, that in all kinds of comparison an\nobject makes us always receive from another, to which it is compared,\na sensation contrary to what arises from itself in its direct and\nimmediate survey. A small object makes a great one appear still greater.\nA great object makes a little one appear less. Deformity of itself\nproduces uneasiness; but makes us receive new pleasure by its contrast\nwith a beautiful object, whose beauty is augmented by it; as on the\nother hand, beauty, which of itself produces pleasure, makes us receive\na new pain by the contrast with any thing ugly, whose deformity it\naugments. The case, therefore, must be the same with happiness and\nmisery. The direct survey of another's pleasure naturally gives us\npleasure, and therefore produces pain when compared with our own. His\npain, considered in itself, is painful to us, but augments the idea of\nour own happiness, and gives us pleasure.\n\nNor will it appear strange, that we may feel a reverst sensation from\nthe happiness and misery of others; since we find the same comparison\nmay give us a kind of malice against ourselves, and make us rejoice for\nour pains, and grieve for our pleasures. Thus the prospect of past pain\nis agreeable, when we are satisfyed with our present condition; as on\nthe other hand our past pleasures give us uneasiness, when we enjoy\nnothing at present equal to them. The comparison being the same, as when\nwe reflect on the sentiments of others, must be attended with the same\neffects.\n\nNay a person may extend this malice against himself, even to his present\nfortune, and carry it so far as designedly to seek affliction, and\nencrease his pains and sorrows. This may happen upon two occasions.\nFirst, Upon the distress and misfortune of a friend, or person dear to\nhim. Secondly, Upon the feeling any remorses for a crime, of which he\nhas been guilty. It is from the principle of comparison that both these\nirregular appetites for evil arise. A person, who indulges himself\nin any pleasure, while his friend lies under affliction, feels the\nreflected uneasiness from his friend more sensibly by a comparison with\nthe original pleasure, which he himself enjoys. This contrast, indeed,\nought also to inliven the present pleasure. But as grief is here\nsupposed to be the predominant passion, every addition falls to that\nside, and is swallowed up in it, without operating in the least upon the\ncontrary affection. It is the same case with those penances, which men\ninflict on themselves for their past sins and failings. When a criminal\nreflects on the punishment he deserves, the idea of it is magnifyed by a\ncomparison with his present ease and satisfaction; which forces him,\nin a manner, to seek uneasiness, in order to avoid so disagreeable a\ncontrast.\n\nThis reasoning will account for the origin of envy as well as of malice.\nThe only difference betwixt these passions lies in this, that envy\nis excited by some present enjoyment of another, which by comparison\ndiminishes our idea of our own: Whereas malice is the unprovoked desire\nof producing evil to another, in order to reap a pleasure from the\ncomparison. The enjoyment, which is the object of envy, is commonly\nsuperior to our own. A superiority naturally seems to overshade us,\nand presents a disagreeable comparison. But even in the case of an\ninferiority, we still desire a greater distance, in order to augment,\nstill more the idea of ourself. When this distance diminishes, the\ncomparison is less to our advantage; and consequently gives us less\npleasure, and is even disagreeable. Hence arises that species of envy,\nwhich men feel, when they perceive their inferiors approaching or\novertaking them in the pursuits of glory or happiness. In this envy we\nmay see the effects of comparison twice repeated. A man, who compares\nhimself to his inferior, receives a pleasure from the comparison: And\nwhen the inferiority decreases by the elevation of the inferior, what\nshould only have been a decrease of pleasure, becomes a real pain, by a\nnew comparison with its preceding condition.\n\nIt is worthy of observation concerning that envy, which arises from a\nsuperiority in others, that it is not the great disproportion betwixt\nourself and another, which produces it; but on the contrary, our\nproximity. A common soldier bears no such envy to his general as to\nhis sergeant or corporal; nor does an eminent writer meet with so great\njealousy in common hackney scribblers, as in authors, that more\nnearly approach him. It may, indeed, be thought, that the greater\nthe disproportion is, the greater must be the uneasiness from the\ncomparison. But we may consider on the other hand, that the great\ndisproportion cuts off the relation, and either keeps us from comparing\nourselves with what is remote from us, or diminishes the effects of\nthe comparison. Resemblance and proximity always produce a relation of\nideas; and where you destroy these ties, however other accidents may\nbring two ideas together; as they have no bond or connecting quality\nto join them in the imagination; it is impossible they can remain long\nunited, or have any considerable influence on each other.\n\nI have observed in considering the nature of ambition, that the great\nfeel a double pleasure in authority from the comparison of their own\ncondition with that of their slaves; and that this comparison has a\ndouble influence, because it is natural, and presented by the subject.\nWhen the fancy, in the comparison of objects, passes not easily from the\none object to the other, the action of the mind is, in a great measure,\nbroke, and the fancy, in considering the second object, begins, as it\nwere, upon a new footing. The impression, which attends every object,\nseems not greater in that case by succeeding a less of the same kind;\nbut these two impressions are distinct, and produce their distinct\neffects, without any communication together. The want of relation in the\nideas breaks the relation of the impressions, and by such a separation\nprevents their mutual operation and influence.\n\nTo confirm this we may observe, that the proximity in the degree of\nmerit is not alone sufficient to give rise to envy, but must be assisted\nby other relations. A poet is not apt to envy a philosopher, or a poet\nof a different kind, of a different nation, or of a different age. All\nthese differences prevent or weaken the comparison, and consequently the\npassion.\n\nThis too is the reason, why all objects appear great or little, merely\nby a comparison with those of the same species. A mountain neither\nmagnifies nor diminishes a horse in our eyes; but when a Flemish and\na Welsh horse are seen together, the one appears greater and the other\nless, than when viewed apart.\n\nFrom the same principle we may account for that remark of historians,\nthat any party in a civil war always choose to call in a foreign enemy\nat any hazard rather than submit to their fellow-citizens. Guicciardin\napplies this remark to the wars in Italy, where the relations betwixt\nthe different states are, properly speaking, nothing but of name,\nlanguage, and contiguity. Yet even these relations, when joined with\nsuperiority, by making the comparison more natural, make it likewise\nmore grievous, and cause men to search for some other superiority, which\nmay be attended with no relation, and by that means may have a less\nsensible influence on the imagination. The mind quickly perceives its\nseveral advantages and disadvantages; and finding its situation to be\nmost uneasy, where superiority is conjoined with other relations, seeks\nits repose as much as possible, by their separation, and by breaking\nthat association of ideas, which renders the comparison so much more\nnatural and efficacious. When it cannot break the association, it feels\na stronger desire to remove the superiority; and this is the reason why\ntravellers are commonly so lavish of their praises to the Chinese and\nPersians, at the same time, that they depreciate those neighbouring\nnations, which may stand upon a foot of rivalship with their native\ncountry.\n\nThese examples from history and common experience are rich and curious;\nbut we may find parallel ones in the arts, which are no less remarkable.\nshould an author compose a treatise, of which one part was serious and\nprofound, another light and humorous, every one would condemn so strange\na mixture, and would accuse him of the neglect of all rules of art and\ncriticism. These rules of art are founded on the qualities of human\nnature; and the quality of human nature, which requires a consistency in\nevery performance is that which renders the mind incapable of passing\nin a moment from one passion and disposition to a quite different\none. Yet this makes us not blame Mr Prior for joining his Alma and his\nSolomon in the same volume; though that admirable poet has succeeded\nperfectly well in the gaiety of the one, as well as in the melancholy\nof the other. Even supposing the reader should peruse these two\ncompositions without any interval, he would feel little or no difficulty\nin the change of passions: Why, but because he considers these\nperformances as entirely different, and by this break in the ideas,\nbreaks the progress of the affections, and hinders the one from\ninfluencing or contradicting the other?\n\nAn heroic and burlesque design, united in one picture, would be\nmonstrous; though we place two pictures of so opposite a character in\nthe same chamber, and even close by each other, without any scruple or\ndifficulty.\n\nIn a word, no ideas can affect each other, either by comparison, or by\nthe passions they separately produce, unless they be united together\nby some relation, which may cause an easy transition of the ideas, and\nconsequently of the emotions or impressions, attending the ideas; and\nmay preserve the one impression in the passage of the imagination to the\nobject of the other. This principle is very remarkable, because it is\nanalogous to what we have observed both concerning the understanding and\nthe passions. Suppose two objects to be presented to me, which are not\nconnected by any kind of relation. Suppose that each of these objects\nseparately produces a passion; and that these two passions are in\nthemselves contrary: We find from experience, that the want of relation\nin the objects or ideas hinders the natural contrariety of the passions,\nand that the break in the transition of the thought removes the\naffections from each other, and prevents their opposition. It is the\nsame case with comparison; and from both these phaenomena we may safely\nconclude, that the relation of ideas must forward the transition of\nimpressions; since its absence alone is able to prevent it, and to\nseparate what naturally should have operated upon each other. When the\nabsence of an object or quality removes any usual or natural effect, we\nmay certainly conclude that its presence contributes to the production\nof the effect.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. IX OF THE MIXTURE OF BENEVOLENCE AND ANGER WITH COMPASSION AND MALICE\n\n\nThus we have endeavoured to account for pity and malice. Both these\naffections arise from the imagination, according to the light, in which\nit places its object. When our fancy considers directly the sentiments\nof others, and enters deep into them, it makes us sensible of all the\npassions it surveys, but in a particular manner of grief or sorrow. On\nthe contrary, when we compare the sentiments of others to our own, we\nfeel a sensation directly opposite to the original one, viz. a joy from\nthe grief of others, and a grief from their joy. But these are only the\nfirst foundations of the affections of pity and malice. Other passions\nare afterwards confounded with them. There is always a mixture of love\nor tenderness with pity, and of hatred or anger with malice. But it must\nbe confessed, that this mixture seems at first sight to be contradictory\nto my system. For as pity is an uneasiness, and malice a joy, arising\nfrom the misery of others, pity should naturally, as in all other cases,\nproduce hatred; and malice, love. This contradiction I endeavour to\nreconcile, after the following manner.\n\nIn order to cause a transition of passions, there is required a double\nrelation of impressions and ideas, nor is one relation sufficient to\nproduce this effect. But that we may understand the full force of this\ndouble relation, we must consider, that it is not the present sensation\nalone or momentary pain or pleasure, which determines the character of\nany passion, but the whole bent or tendency of it from the beginning to\nthe end. One impression may be related to another, not only when\ntheir sensations are resembling, as we have all along supposed in the\npreceding cases; but also when their impulses or directions are similar\nand correspondent. This cannot take place with regard to pride and\nhumility; because these are only pure sensations, without any direction\nor tendency to action. We are, therefore, to look for instances of\nthis peculiar relation of impressions only in such affections, as are\nattended with a certain appetite or desire; such as those of love and\nhatred.\n\nBenevolence or the appetite, which attends love, is a desire of the\nhappiness of the person beloved, and an aversion to his misery; as anger\nor the appetite, which attends hatred, is a desire of the misery of the\nperson hated, and an aversion to his happiness. A desire, therefore,\nof the happiness of another, and aversion to his misery, are similar to\nbenevolence; and a desire of his misery and aversion to his happiness\nare correspondent to anger. Now pity is a desire of happiness to\nanother, and aversion to his misery; as malice is the contrary appetite.\nPity, then, is related to benevolence; and malice to anger: And as\nbenevolence has been already found to be connected with love, by a\nnatural and original quality, and anger with hatred; it is by this chain\nthe passions of pity and malice are connected with love and hatred.\n\nThis hypothesis is founded on sufficient experience. A man, who from any\nmotives has entertained a resolution of performing an action, naturally\nruns into every other view or motive, which may fortify that resolution,\nand give it authority and influence on the mind. To confirm us in any\ndesign, we search for motives drawn from interest, from honour, from\nduty. What wonder, then, that pity and benevolence, malice, and anger,\nbeing the same desires arising from different principles, should so\ntotally mix together as to be undistinguishable? As to the connexion\nbetwixt benevolence and love, anger and hatred, being original and\nprimary, it admits of no difficulty.\n\nWe may add to this another experiment, viz, that benevolence and anger,\nand consequently love and hatred, arise when our happiness or misery\nhave any dependance on the happiness or misery of another person,\nwithout any farther relation. I doubt not but this experiment will\nappear so singular as to excuse us for stopping a moment to consider it.\n\nSuppose, that two persons of the same trade should seek employment in a\ntown, that is not able to maintain both, it is plain the success of one\nis perfectly incompatible with that of the other, and that whatever is\nfor the interest of either is contrary to that of his rival, and so vice\nversa. Suppose again, that two merchants, though living in different\nparts of the world, should enter into co-partnership together, the\nadvantage or loss of one becomes immediately the advantage or loss of\nhis partner, and the same fortune necessarily attends both. Now it\nis evident, that in the first case, hatred always follows upon the\ncontrariety of interests; as in the second, love arises from their\nunion. Let us consider to what principle we can ascribe these passions.\n\nIt is plain they arise not from the double relations of impressions and\nideas, if we regard only the present sensation. For takeing the first\ncase of rivalship; though the pleasure and advantage of an antagonist\nnecessarily causes my pain and loss, yet to counter-ballance this, his\npain and loss causes my pleasure and advantage; and supposing him to be\nunsuccessful, I may by this means receive from him a superior degree of\nsatisfaction. In the same manner the success of a partner rejoices me,\nbut then his misfortunes afflict me in an equal proportion; and it\nis easy to imagine, that the latter sentiment may in many cases\npreponderate. But whether the fortune of a rival or partner be good or\nbad, I always hate the former and love the latter.\n\nThis love of a partner cannot proceed from the relation or connexion\nbetwixt us; in the same manner as I love a brother or countryman. A\nrival has almost as close a relation to me as a partner. For as the\npleasure of the latter causes my pleasure, and his pain my pain; so the\npleasure of the former causes my pain, and his pain my pleasure. The\nconnexion, then, of cause and effect is the same in both cases; and\nif in the one case, the cause and effect have a farther relation of\nresemblance, they have that of contrariety in the other; which, being\nalso a species of resemblance, leaves the matter pretty equal.\n\nThe only explication, then, we can give of this ph\u00e6nomenon is derived\nfrom that principle of a parallel direction above-mentioned. Our concern\nfor our own interest gives us a pleasure in the pleasure, and a pain in\nthe pain of a partner, after the same manner as by sympathy we feel a\nsensation correspondent to those, which appear in any person, who is\npresent with us. On the other hand, the same concern for our interest\nmakes us feel a pain in the pleasure, and a pleasure in the pain of a\nrival; and in short the same contrariety of sentiments as arises from\ncomparison and malice. Since, therefore, a parallel direction of the\naffections, proceeding from interest, can give rise to benevolence or\nanger, no wonder the same parallel direction, derived from sympathy and\nfrom comparison, should have the same effect.\n\nIn general we may observe, that it is impossible to do good to others,\nfrom whatever motive, without feeling some touches of kindness and\ngood-will towards them; as the injuries we do, not only cause hatred in\nthe person, who suffers them, but even in ourselves. These phaenomena,\nindeed, may in part be accounted for from other principles.\n\nBut here there occurs a considerable objection, which it will be\nnecessary to examine before we proceed any farther. I have endeavoured\nto prove, that power and riches, or poverty and meanness; which give\nrise to love or hatred, without producing any original pleasure or\nuneasiness; operate upon us by means of a secondary sensation derived\nfrom a sympathy with that pain or satisfaction, which they produce in\nthe person, who possesses them. From a sympathy with his pleasure there\narises love; from that with his uneasiness, hatred. But it is a maxim,\nwhich I have just now established, and which is absolutely necessary to\nthe explication of the phaenomena of pity and malice, that it is not the\npresent sensation or momentary pain or pleasure, which determines the\ncharacter of any passion, but the general bent or tendency of it from\nthe beginning to the end. For this reason, pity or a sympathy with\npain produces love, and that because it interests us in the fortunes of\nothers, good or bad, and gives us a secondary sensation correspondent\nto the primary; in which it has the same influence with love and\nbenevolence. Since then this rule holds good in one case, why does it\nnot prevail throughout, and why does sympathy in uneasiness ever produce\nany passion beside good-will and kindness? Is it becoming a philosopher\nto alter his method of reasoning, and run from one principle to its\ncontrary, according to the particular ph\u00e6nomenon, which he would\nexplain?\n\nI have mentioned two different causes, from which a transition of\npassion may arise, viz, a double relation of ideas and impressions, and\nwhat is similar to it, a conformity in the tendency and direction of any\ntwo desires, which arise from different principles. Now I assert, that\nwhen a sympathy with uneasiness is weak, it produces hatred or contempt\nby the former cause; when strong, it produces love or tenderness by the\nlatter. This is the solution of the foregoing difficulty, which seems so\nurgent; and this is a principle founded on such evident arguments, that\nwe ought to have established it, even though it were not necessary to\nthe explication of any ph\u00e6nomenon.\n\nIt is certain, that sympathy is not always limited to the present\nmoment, but that we often feel by communication the pains and pleasures\nof others, which are not in being, and which we only anticipate by the\nforce of imagination. For supposing I saw a person perfectly unknown to\nme, who, while asleep in the fields, was in danger of being trod under\nfoot by horses, I should immediately run to his assistance; and in this\nI should be actuated by the same principle of sympathy, which makes me\nconcerned for the present sorrows of a stranger. The bare mention of\nthis is sufficient. Sympathy being nothing but a lively idea converted\ninto an impression, it is evident, that, in considering the future\npossible or probable condition of any person, we may enter into it with\nso vivid a conception as to make it our own concern; and by that means\nbe sensible of pains and pleasures, which neither belong to ourselves,\nnor at the present instant have any real existence.\n\nBut however we may look forward to the future in sympathizing with any\nperson, the extending of our sympathy depends in a great measure upon\nour sense of his present condition. It is a great effort of imagination,\nto form such lively ideas even of the present sentiments of others as\nto feel these very sentiments; but it is impossible we could extend this\nsympathy to the future, without being aided by some circumstance in\nthe present, which strikes upon us in a lively manner. When the present\nmisery of another has any strong influence upon me, the vivacity of the\nconception is not confined merely to its immediate object, but diffuses\nits influence over all the related ideas, and gives me a lively notion\nof all the circumstances of that person, whether past, present, or\nfuture; possible, probable or certain. By means of this lively notion\nI am interested in them; take part with them; and feel a sympathetic\nmotion in my breast, conformable to whatever I imagine in his. If I\ndiminish the vivacity of the first conception, I diminish that of the\nrelated ideas; as pipes can convey no more water than what arises at\nthe fountain. By this diminution I destroy the future prospect, which is\nnecessary to interest me perfectly in the fortune of another. I may\nfeel the present impression, but carry my sympathy no farther, and never\ntransfuse the force of the first conception into my ideas of the related\nobjects. If it be another's misery, which is presented in this feeble\nmanner, I receive it by communication, and am affected with all the\npassions related to it: But as I am not so much interested as to\nconcern myself in his good fortune, as well as his bad, I never feel the\nextensive sympathy, nor the passions related to it.\n\nNow in order to know what passions are related to these different kinds\nof sympathy, we must consider, that benevolence is an original pleasure\narising from the pleasure of the person beloved, and a pain proceeding\nfrom his pain: From which correspondence of impressions there arises a\nsubsequent desire of his pleasure, and aversion to his pain. In order,\nthen, to make a passion run parallel with benevolence, it is requisite\nwe should feel these double impressions, correspondent to those of the\nperson, whom we consider; nor is any one of them alone sufficient for\nthat purpose. When we sympathize only with one impression, and that\na painful one, this sympathy is related to anger and to hatred, upon\naccount of the uneasiness it conveys to us. But as the extensive or\nlimited sympathy depends upon the force of the first sympathy; it\nfollows, that the passion of love or hatred depends upon the same\nprinciple. A strong impression, when communicated, gives a double\ntendency of the passions; which is related to benevolence and love by a\nsimilarity of direction; however painful the first impression might have\nbeen. A weak impression, that is painful, is related to anger and hatred\nby the resemblance of sensations. Benevolence, therefore, arises from a\ngreat degree of misery, or any degree strongly sympathized with: Hatred\nor contempt from a small degree, or one weakly sympathized with; which\nis the principle I intended to prove and explain.\n\nNor have we only our reason to trust to for this principle, but also\nexperience. A certain degree of poverty produces contempt; but a degree\nbeyond causes compassion and good-will. We may under-value a peasant\nor servant; but when the misery of a beggar appears very great, or\nis painted in very lively colours, we sympathize with him in his\nafflictions; and feel in our heart evident touches of pity and\nbenevolence. The same object causes contrary passions according to its\ndifferent degrees. The passions, therefore, must depend upon principles,\nthat operate in such certain degrees, according to my hypothesis. The\nencrease of the sympathy has evidently the same effect as the encrease\nof the misery.\n\nA barren or desolate country always seems ugly and disagreeable, and\ncommonly inspires us with contempt for the inhabitants. This deformity,\nhowever, proceeds in a great measure from a sympathy with the\ninhabitants, as has been already observed; but it is only a weak\none, and reaches no farther than the immediate sensation, which is\ndisagreeable. The view of a city in ashes conveys benevolent sentiments;\nbecause we there enter so deep into the interests of the miserable\ninhabitants, as to wish for their prosperity, as well as feel their\nadversity.\n\nBut though the force of the impression generally produces pity and\nbenevolence, it is certain, that by being carryed too far it ceases\nto have that effect. This, perhaps, may be worth our notice. When the\nuneasiness is either small in itself, or remote from us, it engages not\nthe imagination, nor is able to convey an equal concern for the future\nand contingent good, as for the present and real evil Upon its acquiring\ngreater force, we become so interested in the concerns of the person, as\nto be sensible both of his good and had fortune; and from that compleat\nsympathy there arises pity and benevolence. But it will easily be\nimagined, that where the present evil strikes with more than ordinary\nforce, it may entirely engage our attention, and prevent that double\nsympathy, above-mentioned. Thus we find, that though every one, but\nespecially women, are apt to contract a kindness for criminals, who go\nto the scaffold, and readily imagine them to be uncommonly handsome and\nwellshaped; yet one, who is present at the cruel execution of the rack,\nfeels no such tender emotions; but is in a manner overcome with horror,\nand has no leisure to temper this uneasy sensation by any opposite\nsympathy.\n\nBut the instance, which makes the most clearly for my hypothesis, is\nthat wherein by a change of the objects we separate the double sympathy\neven from a midling degree of the passion; in which case we find, that\npity, instead of producing love and tenderness as usual, always gives\nrise to the contrary affection. When we observe a person in misfortunes,\nwe are affected with pity and love; but the author of that misfortune\nbecomes the object of our strongest hatred, and is the more detested in\nproportion to the degree of our compassion. Now for what reason should\nthe same passion of pity produce love to the person, who suffers the\nmisfortune, and hatred to the person, who causes it; unless it be\nbecause in the latter case the author bears a relation only to the\nmisfortune; whereas in considering the sufferer we carry our view on\nevery side, and wish for his prosperity, as well as are sensible of his\naffliction?\n\nI. shall just observe, before I leave the present subject, that this\nph\u00e6nomenon of the double sympathy, and its tendency to cause love, may\ncontribute to the production of the kindness, which we naturally bear\nour relations and acquaintance. Custom and relation make us enter deeply\ninto the sentiments of others; and whatever fortune we suppose to attend\nthem, is rendered present to us by the imagination, and operates as if\noriginally our own. We rejoice in their pleasures, and grieve for their\nsorrows, merely from the force of sympathy. Nothing that concerns them\nis indifferent to us; and as this correspondence of sentiments is the\nnatural attendant of love, it readily produces that affection.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. X OF RESPECT AND CONTEMPT\n\n\nThere now remains only to explain the passion of respect and contempt,\nalong with the amorous affection, in order to understand all the\npassions which have any mixture of love or hatred. Let us begin with\nrespect and contempt.\n\nIn considering the qualities and circumstances of others, we may either\nregard them as they really are in themselves; or may make a comparison\nbetwixt them and our own qualities and circumstances; or may join these\ntwo methods of consideration. The good qualities of others, from the\nfirst point of view, produce love; from the second, humility; and from\nthe third, respect; which is a mixture of these two passions. Their\nbad qualities, after the same manner, cause either hatred, or pride, or\ncontempt, according to the light in which we survey them.\n\nThat there is a mixture of pride in contempt, and of humility\nin respect, is, I think, too evident, from their very feeling or\nappearance, to require any particular proof. That this mixture arises\nfrom a tacit comparison of the person contemned or respected with\nourselves is no less evident. The same man may cause either respect,\nlove, or contempt by his condition and talents, according as the person,\nwho considers him, from his inferior becomes his equal or superior. In\nchanging the point of view, though the object may remain the same,\nits proportion to ourselves entirely alters; which is the cause of an\nalteration in the passions. These passions, therefore, arise from our\nobserving the proportion; that is, from a comparison.\n\nI have already observed, that the mind has a much stronger propensity\nto pride than to humility, and have endeavoured, from the principles\nof human nature, to assign a cause for this ph\u00e6nomenon. Whether my\nreasoning be received or not, the ph\u00e6nomenon is undisputed, and appears\nin many instances. Among the rest, it is the reason why there is a much\ngreater mixture of pride in contempt, than of humility in respect, and\nwhy we are more elevated with the view of one below us, than mortifyed\nwith the presence of one above us. Contempt or scorn has so strong a\ntincture of pride, that there scarce is any other passion discernable:\nWhereas in esteem or respect, love makes a more considerable ingredient\nthan humility. The passion of vanity is so prompt, that it rouzes at the\nleast call; while humility requires a stronger impulse to make it exert\nitself.\n\nBut here it may reasonably be asked, why this mixture takes place only\nin some cases, and appears not on every occasion. All those objects,\nwhich cause love, when placed on another person, are the causes of\npride, when transfered to ourselves; and consequently ought to be causes\nof humility, as well as love, while they belong to others, and are only\ncompared to those, which we ourselves possess. In like manner every\nquality, which, by being directly considered, produces hatred, ought\nalways to give rise to pride by comparison, and by a mixture of these\npassions of hatred and pride ought to excite contempt or scorn. The\ndifficulty then is, why any objects ever cause pure love or hatred, and\nproduce not always the mixt passions of respect and contempt.\n\nI have supposed all along, that the passions of love and pride, and\nthose of humility and hatred are similar in their sensations, and that\nthe two former are always agreeable, and the two latter painful.\nBut though this be universally true, it is observable, that the two\nagreeable, as well as the two painful passions, have some difference,\nand even contrarieties, which distinguish them. Nothing invigorates and\nexalts the mind equally with pride and vanity; though at the same time\nlove or tenderness is rather found to weaken and infeeble it. The same\ndifference is observable betwixt the uneasy passions. Anger and hatred\nbestow a new force on all our thoughts and actions; while humility and\nshame deject and discourage us. Of these qualities of the passions, it\nwill be necessary to form a distinct idea. Let us remember, that pride\nand hatred invigorate the soul; and love and humility infeeble it.\n\nFrom this it follows, that though the conformity betwixt love and hatred\nin the agreeableness of their sensation makes them always be excited by\nthe same objects, yet this other contrariety is the reason, why they are\nexcited in very different degrees. Genius and learning are pleasant\nand magnificent objects, and by both these circumstances are adapted to\npride and vanity; but have a relation to love by their pleasure only.\nIgnorance and simplicity are disagreeable and mean, which in the same\nmanner gives them a double connexion with humility, and a single one\nwith hatred. We may, therefore, consider it as certain, that though\nthe same object always produces love and pride, humility and hatred,\naccording to its different situations, yet it seldom produces either the\ntwo former or the two latter passions, in the same proportion.\n\nIt is here we must seek for a solution of the difficulty\nabove-mentioned, why any object ever excites pure love or hatred, and\ndoes not always produce respect or contempt, by a mixture of humility\nor pride. No quality in another gives rise to humility by comparison,\nunless it would have produced pride by being placed in ourselves; and\nvice versa no object excites pride by comparison, unless it would have\nproduced humility by the direct survey. This is evident, objects always\nproduce by comparison a sensation directly contrary to their original\none. Suppose, therefore, an object to be presented, which is peculiarly\nfitted to produce love, but imperfectly to excite pride; this object,\nbelonging to another, gives rise directly to a great degree of love, but\nto a small one of humility by comparison; and consequently that latter\npassion is scarce felt in the compound, nor is able to convert the love\ninto respect. This is the case with good nature, good humour, facility,\ngenerosity, beauty, and many other qualities. These have a peculiar\naptitude to produce love in others; but not so great a tendency to\nexcite pride in ourselves: For which reason the view of them, as\nbelonging to another person, produces pure love, with but a small\nmixture of humility and respect. It is easy to extend the same reasoning\nto the opposite passions.\n\nBefore we leave this subject, it may not be amiss to account for a\npretty curious ph\u00e6nomenon, viz, why we commonly keep at a distance such\nas we contemn, and allow not our inferiors to approach too near even\nin place and situation. It has already been observed, that almost every\nkind of idea is attended with some emotion, even the ideas of number\nand extension, much more those of such objects as are esteemed of\nconsequence in life, and fix our attention. It is not with entire\nindifference we can survey either a rich man or a poor one, but must\nfeel some faint touches at least, of respect in the former case, and of\ncontempt in the latter. These two passions are contrary to each other;\nbut in order to make this contrariety be felt, the objects must be\nsomeway related; otherwise the affections are totally separate and\ndistinct, and never encounter. The relation takes place wherever the\npersons become contiguous; which is a general reason why we are uneasy\nat seeing such disproportioned objects, as a rich man and a poor one, a\nnobleman and a porter, in that situation.\n\nThis uneasiness, which is common to every spectator, must be more\nsensible to the superior; and that because the near approach of the\ninferior is regarded as a piece of ill-breeding, and shews that he is not\nsensible of the disproportion, and is no way affected by it. A sense\nof superiority in another breeds in all men an inclination to keep\nthemselves at a distance from him, and determines them to redouble the\nmarks of respect and reverence, when they are obliged to approach him;\nand where they do not observe that conduct, it is a proof they are not\nsensible of his superiority. From hence too it proceeds, that any great\ndifference in the degrees of any quality is called a distance by a\ncommon metaphor, which, however trivial it may appear, is founded on\nnatural principles of the imagination. A great difference inclines us to\nproduce a distance. The ideas of distance and difference are, therefore,\nconnected together. Connected ideas are readily taken for each other;\nand this is in general the source of the metaphor, as we shall have\noccasion to observe afterwards.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. XI OF THE AMOROUS PASSION, OR LOVE BETWIXT THE SEXES\n\n\nOf all the compound passions, which proceed from a mixture of love and\nhatred with other affections, no one better deserves our attention, than\nthat love, which arises betwixt the sexes, as well on account of its\nforce and violence, as those curious principles of philosophy, for\nwhich it affords us an uncontestable argument. It is plain, that this\naffection, in its most natural state, is derived from the conjunction\nof three different impressions or passions, viz. The pleasing sensation\narising from beauty; the bodily appetite for generation; and a generous\nkindness or good-will. The origin of kindness from beauty may be\nexplained from the foregoing reasoning. The question is how the bodily\nappetite is excited by it.\n\nThe appetite of generation, when confined to a certain degree, is\nevidently of the pleasant kind, and has a strong connexion with, all the\nagreeable emotions. Joy, mirth, vanity, and kindness are all incentives\nto this desire; as well as music, dancing, wine, and good cheer. On the\nother hand, sorrow, melancholy, poverty, humility are destructive of it.\nFrom this quality it is easily conceived why it should be connected with\nthe sense of beauty.\n\nBut there is another principle that contributes to the same effect.\nI have observed that the parallel direction of the desires is a real\nrelation, and no less than a resemblance in their sensation, produces\na connexion among them. That we may fully comprehend the extent of this\nrelation, we must consider, that any principal desire may be attended\nwith subordinate ones, which are connected with it, and to which if\nother desires are parallel, they are by that means related to the\nprincipal one. Thus hunger may oft be considered as the primary\ninclination of the soul, and the desire of approaching the meat as the\nsecondary one; since it is absolutely necessary to the satisfying that\nappetite. If an object, therefore, by any separate qualities, inclines\nus to approach the meat, it naturally encreases our appetite; as on the\ncontrary, whatever inclines us to set our victuals at a distance, is\ncontradictory to hunger, and diminishes our inclination to them. Now\nit is plain that beauty has the first effect, and deformity the second:\nWhich is the reason why the former gives us a keener appetite for our\nvictuals, and the latter is sufficient to disgust us at the most savoury\ndish that cookery has invented. All this is easily applicable to the\nappetite for generation.\n\nFrom these two relations, viz, resemblance and a parallel desire,\nthere arises such a connexion betwixt the sense of beauty, the bodily\nappetite, and benevolence, that they become in a manner inseparable: And\nwe find from experience that it is indifferent which of them advances\nfirst; since any of them is almost sure to be attended with the related\naffections. One, who is inflamed with lust, feels at least a momentary\nkindness towards the object of it, and at the same time fancies her more\nbeautiful than ordinary; as there are many, who begin with kindness and\nesteem for the wit and merit of the person, and advance from that to the\nother passions. But the most common species of love is that which first\narises from beauty, and afterwards diffuses itself into kindness and\ninto the bodily appetite. Kindness or esteem, and the appetite to\ngeneration, are too remote to unite easily together. The one is,\nperhaps, the most refined passion of the soul; the other the most gross\nand vulgar. The love of beauty is placed in a just medium betwixt them,\nand partakes of both their natures: From whence it proceeds, that it is\nso singularly fitted to produce both.\n\nThis account of love is not peculiar to my system, but is unavoidable\non any hypothesis. The three affections, which compose this passion,\nare evidently distinct, and has each of them its distinct object. It is\ncertain, therefore, that it is only by their relation they produce\neach other. But the relation of passions is not alone sufficient. It is\nlikewise necessary, there should be a relation of ideas. The beauty\nof one person never inspires us with love for another. This then is a\nsensible proof of the double relation of impressions and ideas. From one\ninstance so evident as this we may form a judgment of the rest.\n\nThis may also serve in another view to illustrate what I have insisted\non concerning the origin of pride and humility, love and hatred. I have\nobserved, that though self be the object of the first set of passions,\nand some other person of the second, yet these objects cannot alone be\nthe causes of the passions; as having each of them a relation to two\ncontrary affections, which must from the very first moment destroy\neach other. Here then is the situation of the mind, as I have already\ndescribed it. It has certain organs naturally fitted to produce a\npassion; that passion, when produced, naturally turns the view to a\ncertain object. But this not being sufficient to produce the passion,\nthere is required some other emotion, which by a double relation of\nimpressions and ideas may set these principles in action, and bestow on\nthem their first impulse. This situation is still more remarkable with\nregard to the appetite of generation. Sex is not only the object, but\nalso the cause of the appetite. We not only turn our view to it, when\nactuated by that appetite; but the reflecting on it suffices to excite\nthe appetite. But as this cause loses its force by too great frequency,\nit is necessary it should be quickened by some new impulse; and that\nimpulse we find to arise from the beauty of the person; that is, from a\ndouble relation of impressions and ideas. Since this double relation is\nnecessary where an affection has both a distinct cause, and object,\nhow much more so, where it has only a distinct object, without any\ndeterminate cause?\n\n\n\n\nSECT. XII OF THE LOVE AND HATRED OF ANIMALS\n\n\nBut to pass from the passions of love and hatred, and from their\nmixtures and compositions, as they appear in man, to the same\naffections, as they display themselves in brutes; we may observe, not\nonly that love and hatred are common to the whole sensitive creation,\nbut likewise that their causes, as above-explained, are of so simple a\nnature, that they may easily be supposed to operate on mere animals.\nThere is no force of reflection or penetration required. Every thing\nis conducted by springs and principles, which are not peculiar to man,\nor any one species of animals. The conclusion from this is obvious in\nfavour of the foregoing system.\n\nLove in animals, has not for its only object animals of the same\nspecies, but extends itself farther, and comprehends almost every\nsensible and thinking being. A dog naturally loves a man above his own\nspecies, and very commonly meets with a return of affection.\n\nAs animals are but little susceptible either of the pleasures or pains\nof the imagination, they can judge of objects only by the sensible\ngood or evil, which they produce, and from that must regulate their\naffections towards them. Accordingly we find, that by benefits or\ninjuries we produce their love or hatred; and that by feeding and\ncherishing any animal, we quickly acquire his affections; as by beating\nand abusing him we never fail to draw on us his enmity and ill-will.\n\nLove in beasts is not caused so much by relation, as in our species;\nand that because their thoughts are not so active as to trace relations,\nexcept in very obvious instances. Yet it is easy to remark, that on some\noccasions it has a considerable influence upon them. Thus acquaintance,\nwhich has the same effect as relation, always produces love in animals\neither to men or to each other. For the same reason any likeness among\nthem is the source of affection. An ox confined to a park with horses,\nwill naturally join their company, if I may so speak, but always leaves\nit to enjoy that of his own species, where he has the choice of both.\n\nThe affection of parents to their young proceeds from a peculiar\ninstinct in animals, as well as in our species.\n\nIt is evident, that sympathy, or the communication of passions, takes\nplace among animals, no less than among men. Fear, anger, courage, and\nother affections are frequently communicated from one animal to another,\nwithout their knowledge of that cause, which produced the original\npassion. Grief likewise is received by sympathy; and produces almost all\nthe same consequences, and excites the same emotions as in our species.\nThe howlings and lamentations of a dog produce a sensible concern in\nhis fellows. And it is remarkable, that though almost all animals use in\nplay the same member, and nearly the same action as in fighting; a lion,\na tyger, a cat their paws; an ox his horns; a dog his teeth; a horse\nhis heels: Yet they most carefully avoid harming their companion,\neven though they have nothing to fear from his resentment; which is\nan evident proof of the sense brutes have of each other's pain and\npleasure.\n\nEvery one has observed how much more dogs are animated when they hunt in\na pack, than when they pursue their game apart; and it is evident this\ncan proceed from nothing but from sympathy. It is also well known to\nhunters, that this effect follows in a greater degree, and even in\ntoo great a degree, where two packs, that are strangers to each other,\nare joined together. We might, perhaps, be at a loss to explain this\nph\u00e6nomenon, if we had not experience of a similar in ourselves.\n\nEnvy and malice are passions very remarkable in animals. They are\nperhaps more common than pity; as requiring less effort of thought and\nimagination.\n\n\n\n\n\nPART III OF THE WILL AND DIRECT PASSIONS\n\n\n\n\nSECT. I OF LIBERTY AND NECESSITY\n\n\nWe come now to explain the direct passions, or the impressions, which\narise immediately from good or evil, from pain or pleasure. Of this kind\nare, desire and aversion, grief and joy, hope and fear.\n\nOf all the immediate effects of pain and pleasure, there is none more\nremarkable than the WILL; and though properly speaking, it be not\ncomprehended among the passions, yet as the full understanding of its\nnature and properties, is necessary to the explanation of them, we shall\nhere make it the subject of our enquiry. I desire it may be observed,\nthat by the will, I mean nothing but the internal impression we feel and\nare conscious of, when we knowingly give rise to any new motion of our\nbody, or new perception of our mind. This impression, like the preceding\nones of pride and humility, love and hatred, it is impossible to define,\nand needless to describe any farther; for which reason we shall cut off\nall those definitions and distinctions, with which philosophers are wont\nto perplex rather than dear up this question; and entering at first\nupon the subject, shall examine that long disputed question concerning\nliberty and necessity; which occurs so naturally in treating of the\nwill.\n\nIt is universally acknowledged, that the operations of external bodies\nare necessary, and that in the communication of their motion, in their\nattraction, and mutual cohesion, there are nor the least traces of\nindifference or liberty. Every object is determined by an absolute fate\nto a certain degree and direction of its motion, and can no more depart\nfrom that precise line, in which it moves, than it can convert itself\ninto an angel, or spirit, or any superior substance. The actions,\ntherefore, of matter are to be regarded as instances of necessary\nactions; and whatever is in this respect on the same footing with\nmatter, must be acknowledged to be necessary. That we may know whether\nthis be the case with the actions of the mind, we shall begin with\nexamining matter, and considering on what the idea of a necessity in its\noperations are founded, and why we conclude one body or action to be the\ninfallible cause of another.\n\nIt has been observed already, that in no single instance the ultimate\nconnexion of any objects is discoverable, either by our senses or\nreason, and that we can never penetrate so far into the essence and\nconstruction of bodies, as to perceive the principle, on which their\nmutual influence depends. It is their constant union alone, with which\nwe are acquainted; and it is from the constant union the necessity\narises. If objects had nor an uniform and regular conjunction with each\nother, we should never arrive at any idea of cause and effect; and even\nafter all, the necessity, which enters into that idea, is nothing but\na determination of the mind to pass from one object to its usual\nattendant, and infer the existence of one from that of the other. Here\nthen are two particulars, which we are to consider as essential to\nnecessity, viz, the constant union and the inference of the mind; and\nwherever we discover these we must acknowledge a necessity. As the\nactions of matter have no necessity, but what is derived from these\ncircumstances, and it is not by any insight into the essence of bodies\nwe discover their connexion, the absence of this insight, while\nthe union and inference remain, will never, in any case, remove the\nnecessity. It is the observation of the union, which produces the\ninference; for which reason it might be thought sufficient, if we prove\na constant union in the actions of the mind, in order to establish the\ninference, along with the necessity of these actions. But that I\nmay bestow a greater force on my reasoning, I shall examine these\nparticulars apart, and shall first prove from experience that\nour actions have a constant union with our motives, tempers, and\ncircumstances, before I consider the inferences we draw from it.\n\nTo this end a very slight and general view of the common course of human\naffairs will be sufficient. There is no light, in which we can take\nthem, that does nor confirm this principle. Whether we consider mankind\naccording to the difference of sexes, ages, governments, conditions,\nor methods of education; the same uniformity and regular operation\nof natural principles are discernible. Like causes still produce like\neffects; in the same manner as in the mutual action of the elements and\npowers of nature.\n\nThere are different trees, which regularly produce fruit, whose relish\nis different from each other; and this regularity will be admitted as\nan instance of necessity and causes in external bodies. But are the\nproducts of Guienne and of Champagne more regularly different than the\nsentiments, actions, and passions of the two sexes, of which the one are\ndistinguished by their force and maturity, the other by their delicacy\nand softness?\n\nAre the changes of our body from infancy to old age more regular and\ncertain than those of our mind and conduct? And would a man be more\nridiculous, who would expect that an infant of four years old will raise\na weight of three hundred pound, than one, who from a person of the\nsame age would look for a philosophical reasoning, or a prudent and\nwell-concerted action?\n\nWe must certainly allow, that the cohesion of the parts of matter arises\nfrom natural and necessary principles, whatever difficulty we may find\nin explaining them: And for a reason we must allow, that human society\nis founded on like principles; and our reason in the latter case, is\nbetter than even that in the former; because we not only observe, that\nmen always seek society, but can also explain the principles, on which\nthis universal propensity is founded. For is it more certain, that two\nflat pieces of marble will unite together, than that two young savages\nof different sexes will copulate? Do the children arise from this\ncopulation more uniformly, than does the parents care for their safety\nand preservation? And after they have arrived at years of discretion\nby the care of their parents, are the inconveniencies attending their\nseparation more certain than their foresight of these inconveniencies\nand their care of avoiding them by a close union and confederacy?\n\nThe skin, pores, muscles, and nerves of a day-labourer are different\nfrom those of a man of quality: So are his sentiments, actions and\nmanners. The different stations of life influence the whole fabric,\nexternal and internal; and different stations arise necessarily, because\nuniformly, from the necessary and uniform principles of human nature.\nMen cannot live without society, and cannot be associated without\ngovernment. Government makes a distinction of property, and establishes\nthe different ranks of men. This produces industry, traffic,\nmanufactures, law-suits, war, leagues, alliances, voyages, travels,\ncities, fleets, ports, and all those other actions and objects, which\ncause such a diversity, and at the same time maintain such an uniformity\nin human life.\n\nShould a traveller, returning from a far country, tell us, that he had\nseen a climate in the fiftieth degree of northern latitude, where all\nthe fruits ripen and come to perfection in the winter, and decay in the\nsummer, after the same manner as in England they are produced and decay\nin the contrary seasons, he would find few so credulous as to believe\nhim. I am apt to think a travellar would meet with as little credit, who\nshould inform us of people exactly of the same character with those in\nPlato's republic on the one hand, or those in Hobbes's Leviathan on the\nother. There is a general course of nature in human actions, as well as\nin the operations of the sun and the climate. There are also characters\npeculiar to different nations and particular persons, as well as\ncommon to mankind. The knowledge of these characters is founded on the\nobservation of an uniformity in the actions, that flow from them; and\nthis uniformity forms the very essence of necessity.\n\nI can imagine only one way of eluding this argument, which is by denying\nthat uniformity of human actions, on which it is founded. As long as\nactions have a constant union and connexion with the situation and\ntemper of the agent, however we may in words refuse to acknowledge the\nnecessity, we really allow the thing. Now some may, perhaps, find a\npretext to deny this regular union and connexion. For what is more\ncapricious than human actions? What more inconstant than the desires of\nman? And what creature departs more widely, not only from right reason,\nbut from his own character and disposition? An hour, a moment is\nsufficient to make him change from one extreme to another, and overturn\nwhat cost the greatest pain and labour to establish. Necessity is\nregular and certain. Human conduct is irregular and uncertain. The one,\ntherefore, proceeds not from the other.\n\nTo this I reply, that in judging of the actions of men we must proceed\nupon the same maxims, as when we reason concerning external objects.\nWhen any phaenomena are constantly and invariably conjoined together,\nthey acquire such a connexion in the imagination, that it passes from\none to the other, without any doubt or hesitation. But below this there\nare many inferior degrees of evidence and probability, nor does one\nsingle contrariety of experiment entirely destroy all our reasoning. The\nmind ballances the contrary experiments, and deducting the inferior from\nthe superior, proceeds with that degree of assurance or evidence, which\nremains. Even when these contrary experiments are entirely equal, we\nremove not the notion of causes and necessity; but supposing that the\nusual contrariety proceeds from the operation of contrary and concealed\ncauses, we conclude, that the chance or indifference lies only in\nour judgment on account of our imperfect knowledge, not in the things\nthemselves, which are in every case equally necessary, though to\nappearance not equally constant or certain. No union can be more\nconstant and certain, than that of some actions with some motives and\ncharacters; and if in other cases the union is uncertain, it is no more\nthan what happens in the operations of body, nor can we conclude any\nthing from the one irregularity, which will not follow equally from the\nother.\n\nIt is commonly allowed that mad-men have no liberty. But were we to\njudge by their actions, these have less regularity and constancy than\nthe actions of wise-men, and consequently are farther removed from\nnecessity. Our way of thinking in this particular is, therefore,\nabsolutely inconsistent; but is a natural consequence of these confused\nideas and undefined terms, which we so commonly make use of in our\nreasonings, especially on the present subject.\n\nWe must now shew, that as the union betwixt motives and actions has the\nsame constancy, as that in any natural operations, so its influence\non the understanding is also the same, in determining us to infer the\nexistence of one from that of another. If this shall appear, there is no\nknown circumstance, that enters into the connexion and production of the\nactions of matter, that is not to be found in all the operations of\nthe mind; and consequently we cannot, without a manifest absurdity,\nattribute necessity to the one, and refuse into the other.\n\nThere is no philosopher, whose judgment is so riveted to this\nfantastical system of liberty, as not to acknowledge the force of moral\nevidence, and both in speculation and practice proceed upon it, as upon\na reasonable foundation. Now moral evidence is nothing but a conclusion\nconcerning the actions of men, derived from the consideration of their\nmotives, temper and situation. Thus when we see certain characters or\nfigures described upon paper, we infer that the person, who produced\nthem, would affirm such facts, the death of Caesar, the success of\nAugustus, the cruelty of Nero; and remembering many other concurrent\ntestimonies we conclude, that those facts were once really existant, and\nthat so many men, without any interest, would never conspire to deceive\nus; especially since they must, in the attempt, expose themselves to the\nderision of all their contemporaries, when these facts were asserted to\nbe recent and universally known. The same kind of reasoning runs through\npolitics, war, commerce, economy, and indeed mixes itself so entirely\nin human life, that it is impossible to act or subsist a moment without\nhaving recourse to it. A prince, who imposes a tax upon his subjects,\nexpects their compliance. A general, who conducts an army, makes account\nof a certain degree of courage. A merchant looks for fidelity and skill\nin his factor or super-cargo. A man, who gives orders for his dinner,\ndoubts not of the obedience of his servants. In short, as nothing\nmore nearly interests us than our own actions and those of others, the\ngreatest part of our reasonings is employed in judgments concerning\nthem. Now I assert, that whoever reasons after this manner, does ipso\nfacto believe the actions of the will to arise from necessity, and that\nhe knows not what he means, when he denies it.\n\nAll those objects, of which we call the one cause and the other effect,\nconsidered in themselves, are as distinct and separate from each other,\nas any two things in nature, nor can we ever, by the most accurate\nsurvey of them, infer the existence of the one from that of the other.\nIt is only from experience and the observation of their constant\nunion, that we are able to form this inference; and even after all, the\ninference is nothing but the effects of custom on the imagination. We\nmust not here be content with saying, that the idea of cause and effect\narises from objects constantly united; but must affirm, that it is\nthe very same with the idea of those objects, and that the necessary\nconnexion is not discovered by a conclusion of the understanding, but\nis merely a perception of the mind. Wherever, therefore, we observe the\nsame union, and wherever the union operates in the same manner upon the\nbelief and opinion, we have the idea of causes and necessity, though\nperhaps we may avoid those expressions. Motion in one body in all past\ninstances, that have fallen under our observation, is followed upon\nimpulse by motion in another. It is impossible for the mind to penetrate\nfarther. From this constant union it forms the idea of cause and\neffect, and by its influence feels the necessity. As there is the same\nconstancy, and the same influence in what we call moral evidence, I ask\nno more. What remains can only be a dispute of words.\n\nAnd indeed, when we consider how aptly natural and moral evidence cement\ntogether, and form only one chain of argument betwixt them, we shall\nmake no scruple to allow, that they are of the same nature, and\nderived from the same principles. A prisoner, who has neither money nor\ninterest, discovers the impossibility of his escape, as well from the\nobstinacy of the goaler, as from the walls and bars with which he is\nsurrounded; and in all attempts for his freedom chuses rather to work\nupon the stone and iron of the one, than upon the inflexible nature of\nthe other. The same prisoner, when conducted to the scaffold, foresees\nhis death as certainly from the constancy and fidelity of his guards\nas from the operation of the ax or wheel. His mind runs along a certain\ntrain of ideas: The refusal of the soldiers to consent to his escape,\nthe action of the executioner; the separation of the head and body;\nbleeding, convulsive motions, and death. Here is a connected chain of\nnatural causes and voluntary actions; but the mind feels no difference\nbetwixt them in passing from one link to another; nor is less certain of\nthe future event than if it were connected with the present impressions\nof the memory and senses by a train of causes cemented together by what\nwe are pleased to call a physical necessity. The same experienced union\nhas the same effect on the mind, whether the united objects be motives,\nvolitions and actions; or figure and motion. We may change the names of\nthings; but their nature and their operation on the understanding never\nchange.\n\nI dare be positive no one will ever endeavour to refute these reasonings\notherwise than by altering my definitions, and assigning a different\nmeaning to the terms of cause, and effect, and necessity, and liberty,\nand chance. According to my definitions, necessity makes an essential\npart of causation; and consequently liberty, by removing necessity,\nremoves also causes, and is the very same thing with chance. As chance\nis commonly thought to imply a contradiction, and is at least directly\ncontrary to experience, there are always the same arguments against\nliberty or free-will. If any one alters the definitions, I cannot\npretend to argue with him, until I know the meaning he assigns to these\nterms.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. II THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUed\n\n\nI believe we may assign the three following reasons for the prevalance\nof the doctrine of liberty, however absurd it may be in one sense, and\nunintelligible in any other. First, After we have performed any action;\nthough we confess we were influenced by particular views and motives; it\nis difficult for us to persuade ourselves we were governed by necessity,\nand that it was utterly impossible for us to have acted otherwise; the\nidea of necessity seeming to imply something of force, and violence,\nand constraint, of which we are not sensible. Few are capable of\ndistinguishing betwixt the liberty of spontaniety, as it is called in\nthe schools, and the liberty of indifference; betwixt that which is\nopposed to violence, and that which means a negation of necessity and\ncauses. The first is even the most common sense of the word; and as it\nis only that species of liberty, which it concerns us to preserve,\nour thoughts have been principally turned towards it, and have almost\nuniversally confounded it with the other.\n\nSecondly, There is a false sensation or experience even of the\nliberty of indifference; which is regarded as an argument for its real\nexistence. The necessity of any action, whether of matter or of the\nmind, is not properly a quality in the agent, but in any thinking or\nintelligent being, who may consider the action, and consists in the\ndetermination of his thought to infer its existence from some preceding\nobjects: As liberty or chance, on the other hand, is nothing but the\nwant of that determination, and a certain looseness, which we feel in\npassing or not passing from the idea of one to that of the other. Now we\nmay observe, that though in reflecting on human actions we seldom feel\nsuch a looseness or indifference, yet it very commonly happens, that in\nperforming the actions themselves we are sensible of something like\nit: And as all related or resembling objects are readily taken for each\nother, this has been employed as a demonstrative or even an intuitive\nproof of human liberty. We feel that our actions are subject to our will\non most occasions, and imagine we feel that the will itself is subject\nto nothing; because when by a denial of it we are provoked to try, we\nfeel that it moves easily every way, and produces an image of itself\neven on that side, on which it did not settle. This image or faint\nmotion, we persuade ourselves, could have been compleated into the thing\nitself; because, should that be denyed, we find, upon a second trial,\nthat it can. But these efforts are all in vain; and whatever capricious\nand irregular actions we may perform; as the desire of showing our\nliberty is the sole motive of our actions; we can never free ourselves\nfrom the bonds of necessity. We may imagine we feel a liberty within\nourselves; but a spectator can commonly infer our actions from our\nmotives and character; and even where he cannot, he concludes in\ngeneral, that he might, were he perfectly acquainted with every\ncircumstance of our situation and temper, and the most secret springs\nof our complexion and disposition. Now this is the very essence of\nnecessity, according to the foregoing doctrine.\n\nA third reason why the doctrine of liberty has generally been better\nreceived in the world, than its antagonist, proceeds from religion,\nwhich has been very unnecessarily interested in this question. There is\nno method of reasoning more common, and yet none more blameable, than in\nphilosophical debates to endeavour to refute any hypothesis by a pretext\nof its dangerous consequences to religion and morality. When any opinion\nleads us into absurdities, it is certainly false; but it is not certain\nan opinion is false, because it is of dangerous consequence. Such\ntopics, therefore, ought entirely to be foreborn, as serving nothing\nto the discovery of truth, but only to make the person of an antagonist\nodious. This I observe in general, without pretending to draw any\nadvantage from it. I submit myself frankly to an examination of this\nkind, and dare venture to affirm, that the doctrine of necessity,\naccording to my explication of it, is not only innocent, but even\nadvantageous to religion and morality.\n\nI define necessity two ways, conformable to the two definitions of\ncause, of which it makes an essential part. I place it either in the\nconstant union and conjunction of like objects, or in the inference of\nthe mind from the one to the other. Now necessity, in both these senses,\nhas universally, though tacitly, in the schools, in the pulpit, and in\ncommon life, been allowed to belong to the will of man, and no one has\never pretended to deny, that we can draw inferences concerning human\nactions, and that those inferences are founded on the experienced union\nof like actions with like motives and circumstances. The only particular\nin which any one can differ from me, is either, that perhaps he will\nrefuse to call this necessity. But as long as the meaning is understood,\nI hope the word can do no harm. Or that he will maintain there is\nsomething else in the operations of matter. Now whether it be so or\nnot is of no consequence to religion, whatever it may be to natural\nphilosophy. I may be mistaken in asserting, that we have no idea of any\nother connexion in the actions of body, and shall be glad to be farther\ninstructed on that head: But sure I am, I ascribe nothing to the actions\nof the mind, but what must readily be allowed of. Let no one, therefore,\nput an invidious construction on my words, by saying simply, that\nI assert the necessity of human actions, and place them on the same\nfooting with the operations of senseless matter. I do not ascribe to the\nwill that unintelligible necessity, which is supposed to lie in matter.\nBut I ascribe to matter, that intelligible quality, call it necessity or\nnot, which the most rigorous orthodoxy does or must allow to belong to\nthe will. I change, therefore, nothing in the received systems, with\nregard to the will, but only with regard to material objects.\n\nNay I shall go farther, and assert, that this kind of necessity is so\nessential to religion and morality, that without it there must ensue\nan absolute subversion of both, and that every other supposition is\nentirely destructive to all laws both divine and human. It is indeed\ncertain, that as all human laws are founded on rewards and punishments,\nit is supposed as a fundamental principle, that these motives have an\ninfluence on the mind, and both produce the good and prevent the evil\nactions. We may give to this influence what name we please; but as it\nis usually conjoined with the action, common sense requires it should be\nesteemed a cause, and be booked upon as an instance of that necessity,\nwhich I would establish.\n\nThis reasoning is equally solid, when applied to divine laws, so far\nas the deity is considered as a legislator, and is supposed to inflict\npunishment and bestow rewards with a design to produce obedience. But I\nalso maintain, that even where he acts not in his magisterial capacity,\nbut is regarded as the avenger of crimes merely on account of their\nodiousness and deformity, not only it is impossible, without the\nnecessary connexion of cause and effect in human actions, that\npunishments could be inflicted compatible with justice and moral equity;\nbut also that it could ever enter into the thoughts of any reasonable\nbeing to inflict them. The constant and universal object of hatred or\nanger is a person or creature endowed with thought and consciousness;\nand when any criminal or injurious actions excite that passion, it\nis only by their relation to the person or connexion with him. But\naccording to the doctrine of liberty or chance, this connexion is\nreduced to nothing, nor are men more accountable for those actions,\nwhich are designed and premeditated, than for such as are the most\ncasual and accidental. Actions are by their very nature temporary and\nperishing; and where they proceed not from some cause in the characters\nand disposition of the person, who performed them, they infix not\nthemselves upon him, and can neither redound to his honour, if good, nor\ninfamy, if evil. The action itself may be blameable; it may be contrary\nto all the rules of morality and religion: But the person is not\nresponsible for it; and as it proceeded from nothing in him, that is\ndurable or constant, and leaves nothing of that nature behind it, it is\nimpossible he can, upon its account, become the object of punishment or\nvengeance. According to the hypothesis of liberty, therefore, a man is\nas pure and untainted, after having committed the most horrid crimes, as\nat the first moment of his birth, nor is his character any way concerned\nin his actions; since they are not derived from it, and the wickedness\nof the one can never be used as a proof of the depravity of the other.\nIt is only upon the principles of necessity, that a person acquires\nany merit or demerit from his actions, however the common opinion may\nincline to the contrary.\n\nBut so inconsistent are men with themselves, that though they often\nassert, that necessity utterly destroys all merit and demerit either\ntowards mankind or superior powers, yet they continue still to\nreason upon these very principles of necessity in all their judgments\nconcerning this matter. Men are not blamed for such evil actions as they\nperform ignorantly and casually, whatever may be their consequences.\nWhy? but because the causes of these actions are only momentary, and\nterminate in them alone. Men are less blamed for such evil actions, as\nthey perform hastily and unpremeditately, than for such as proceed from\nthought and deliberation. For what reason? but because a hasty temper,\nthough a constant cause in the mind, operates only by intervals, and\ninfects not the whole character. Again, repentance wipes off every\ncrime, especially if attended with an evident reformation of life and\nmanners. How is this to be accounted for? But by asserting that actions\nrender a person criminal, merely as they are proofs of criminal\npassions or principles in the mind; and when by any alteration of these\nprinciples they cease to be just proofs, they likewise cease to be\ncriminal. But according to the doctrine of liberty or chance they never\nwere just proofs, and consequently never were criminal.\n\nHere then I turn to my adversary, and desire him to free his own system\nfrom these odious consequences before he charge them upon others. Or if\nhe rather chuses, that this question should be decided by fair arguments\nbefore philosophers, than by declamations before the people, let him\nreturn to what I have advanced to prove that liberty and chance\nare synonimous; and concerning the nature of moral evidence and the\nregularity of human actions. Upon a review of these reasonings, I\ncannot doubt of an entire victory; and therefore having proved, that all\nactions of the will have particular causes, I proceed to explain what\nthese causes are, and how they operate.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. III OF THE INFLUENCING MOTIVES OF THE WILL\n\n\nNothing is more usual in philosophy, and even in common life, than to\ntalk of the combat of passion and reason, to give the preference to\nreason, and assert that men are only so far virtuous as they conform\nthemselves to its dictates. Every rational creature, it is said, is\nobliged to regulate his actions by reason; and if any other motive or\nprinciple challenge the direction of his conduct, he ought to oppose it,\ntill it be entirely subdued, or at least brought to a conformity with\nthat superior principle. On this method of thinking the greatest part of\nmoral philosophy, antient and modern, seems to be founded; nor is\nthere an ampler field, as well for metaphysical arguments, as popular\ndeclamations, than this supposed pre-eminence of reason above passion.\nThe eternity, invariableness, and divine origin of the former have\nbeen displayed to the best advantage: The blindness, unconstancy, and\ndeceitfulness of the latter have been as strongly insisted on. In order\nto shew the fallacy of all this philosophy, I shall endeavour to prove\nfirst, that reason alone can never be a motive to any action of the\nwill; and secondly, that it can never oppose passion in the direction of\nthe will.\n\nThe understanding exerts itself after two different ways, as it judges\nfrom demonstration or probability; as it regards the abstract relations\nof our ideas, or those relations of objects, of which experience only\ngives us information. I believe it scarce will be asserted, that the\nfirst species of reasoning alone is ever the cause of any action. As its\nproper province is the world of ideas, and as the will always places\nus in that of realities, demonstration and volition seem, upon that\naccount, to be totally removed, from each other. Mathematics, indeed,\nare useful in all mechanical operations, and arithmetic in almost every\nart and profession: But it is not of themselves they have any influence:\nMechanics are the art of regulating the motions of bodies to some\ndesigned end or purpose; and the reason why we employ arithmetic in\nfixing the proportions of numbers, is only that we may discover the\nproportions of their influence and operation. A merchant is desirous of\nknowing the sum total of his accounts with any person: Why? but that he\nmay learn what sum will have the same effects in paying his debt, and\ngoing to market, as all the particular articles taken together. Abstract\nor demonstrative reasoning, therefore, never influences any of our\nactions, but only as it directs our judgment concerning causes and\neffects; which leads us to the second operation of the understanding.\n\nIt is obvious, that when we have the prospect of pain or pleasure from\nany object, we feel a consequent emotion of aversion or propensity,\nand are carryed to avoid or embrace what will give us this uneasines or\nsatisfaction. It is also obvious, that this emotion rests not here, but\nmaking us cast our view on every side, comprehends whatever objects are\nconnected with its original one by the relation of cause and effect.\nHere then reasoning takes place to discover this relation; and according\nas our reasoning varies, our actions receive a subsequent variation. But\nit is evident in this case that the impulse arises not from reason, but\nis only directed by it. It is from the prospect of pain or pleasure that\nthe aversion or propensity arises towards any object: And these emotions\nextend themselves to the causes and effects of that object, as they are\npointed out to us by reason and experience. It can never in the least\nconcern us to know, that such objects are causes, and such others\neffects, if both the causes and effects be indifferent to us. Where the\nobjects themselves do not affect us, their connexion can never give\nthem any influence; and it is plain, that as reason is nothing but the\ndiscovery of this connexion, it cannot be by its means that the objects\nare able to affect us.\n\nSince reason alone can never produce any action, or give rise to\nvolition, I infer, that the same faculty is as incapable of preventing\nvolition, or of disputing the preference with any passion or emotion.\nThis consequence is necessary. It is impossible reason could have the\nlatter effect of preventing volition, but by giving an impulse in a\ncontrary direction to our passion; and that impulse, had it operated\nalone, would have been able to produce volition. Nothing can oppose\nor retard the impulse of passion, but a contrary impulse; and if this\ncontrary impulse ever arises from reason, that latter faculty must have\nan original influence on the will, and must be able to cause, as well as\nhinder any act of volition. But if reason has no original influence,\nit is impossible it can withstand any principle, which has such an\nefficacy, or ever keep the mind in suspence a moment. Thus it appears,\nthat the principle, which opposes our passion, cannot be the same\nwith reason, and is only called so in an improper sense. We speak not\nstrictly and philosophically when we talk of the combat of passion and\nof reason. Reason is, and ought only to be the slave of the passions,\nand can never pretend to any other office than to serve and obey\nthem. As this opinion may appear somewhat extraordinary, it may not be\nimproper to confirm it by some other considerations.\n\nA passion is an original existence, or, if you will, modification of\nexistence, and contains not any representative quality, which renders\nit a copy of any other existence or modification. When I am angry, I am\nactually possest with the passion, and in that emotion have no more a\nreference to any other object, than when I am thirsty, or sick, or more\nthan five foot high. It is impossible, therefore, that this passion\ncan be opposed by, or be contradictory to truth and reason; since this\ncontradiction consists in the disagreement of ideas, considered as\ncopies, with those objects, which they represent.\n\nWhat may at first occur on this head, is, that as nothing can be\ncontrary to truth or reason, except what has a reference to it, and as\nthe judgments of our understanding only have this reference, it must\nfollow, that passions can be contrary to reason only so far as they are\naccompanyed with some judgment or opinion. According to this principle,\nwhich is so obvious and natural, it is only in two senses, that any\naffection can be called unreasonable. First, When a passion, such as\nhope or fear, grief or joy, despair or security, is founded on the\nsupposition or the existence of objects, which really do not exist.\nSecondly, When in exerting any passion in action, we chuse means\ninsufficient for the designed end, and deceive ourselves in our judgment\nof causes and effects. Where a passion is neither founded on\nfalse suppositions, nor chuses means insufficient for the end, the\nunderstanding can neither justify nor condemn it. It is not contrary to\nreason to prefer the destruction of the whole world to the scratching of\nmy finger. It is not contrary to reason for me to chuse my total ruin,\nto prevent the least uneasiness of an Indian or person wholly unknown\nto me. It is as little contrary to reason to prefer even my own\nacknowledgeed lesser good to my greater, and have a more ardent\naffection for the former than the latter. A trivial good may, from\ncertain circumstances, produce a desire superior to what arises from\nthe greatest and most valuable enjoyment; nor is there any thing more\nextraordinary in this, than in mechanics to see one pound weight raise\nup a hundred by the advantage of its situation. In short, a passion\nmust be accompanyed with some false judgment in order to its being\nunreasonable; and even then it is not the passion, properly speaking,\nwhich is unreasonable, but the judgment.\n\nThe consequences are evident. Since a passion can never, in any sense,\nbe called unreasonable, but when founded on a false supposition or when\nit chuses means insufficient for the designed end, it is impossible,\nthat reason and passion can ever oppose each other, or dispute for the\ngovernment of the will and actions. The moment we perceive the falshood\nof any supposition, or the insufficiency of any means our passions yield\nto our reason without any opposition. I may desire any fruit as of an\nexcellent relish; but whenever you convince me of my mistake, my longing\nceases. I may will the performance of certain actions as means of\nobtaining any desired good; but as my willing of these actions is only\nsecondary, and founded on the supposition, that they are causes of the\nproposed effect; as soon as I discover the falshood of that supposition,\nthey must become indifferent to me.\n\nIt is natural for one, that does not examine objects with a strict\nphilosophic eye, to imagine, that those actions of the mind are\nentirely the same, which produce not a different sensation, and are not\nimmediately distinguishable to the feeling and perception. Reason, for\ninstance, exerts itself without producing any sensible emotion; and\nexcept in the more sublime disquisitions of philosophy, or in the\nfrivolous subtilties of the school, scarce ever conveys any pleasure\nor uneasiness. Hence it proceeds, that every action of the mind, which\noperates with the same calmness and tranquillity, is confounded with\nreason by all those, who judge of things from the first view and\nappearance. Now it is certain, there are certain calm desires and\ntendencies, which, though they be real passions, produce little emotion\nin the mind, and are more known by their effects than by the immediate\nfeeling or sensation. These desires are of two kinds; either certain\ninstincts originally implanted in our natures, such as benevolence and\nresentment, the love of life, and kindness to children; or the general\nappetite to good, and aversion to evil, considered merely as such. When\nany of these passions are calm, and cause no disorder in the soul,\nthey are very readily taken for the determinations of reason, and are\nsupposed to proceed from the same faculty, with that, which judges of\ntruth and falshood. Their nature and principles have been supposed the\nsame, because their sensations are not evidently different.\n\nBeside these calm passions, which often determine the will, there are\ncertain violent emotions of the same kind, which have likewise a great\ninfluence on that faculty. When I receive any injury from another, I\noften feel a violent passion of resentment, which makes me desire his\nevil and punishment, independent of all considerations of pleasure and\nadvantage to myself. When I am immediately threatened with any grievous\nill, my fears, apprehensions, and aversions rise to a great height, and\nproduce a sensible emotion.\n\nThe common error of metaphysicians has lain in ascribing the direction\nof the will entirely to one of these principles, and supposing the other\nto have no influence. Men often act knowingly against their interest:\nFor which reason the view of the greatest possible good does not always\ninfluence them. Men often counter-act a violent passion in prosecution\nof their interests and designs: It is not therefore the present\nuneasiness alone, which determines them. In general we may observe, that\nboth these principles operate on the will; and where they are contrary,\nthat either of them prevails, according to the general character or\npresent disposition of the person. What we call strength of mind,\nimplies the prevalence of the calm passions above the violent; though\nwe may easily observe, there is no man so constantly possessed of this\nvirtue, as never on any occasion to yield to the sollicitations of\npassion and desire. From these variations of temper proceeds the great\ndifficulty of deciding concerning the actions and resolutions of men,\nwhere there is any contrariety of motives and passions.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. IV OF THE CAUSES OF THE VIOLENT PASSIONS\n\n\nThere is not in philosophy a subject of more nice speculation than this\nof the different causes and effects of the calm and violent passions.\nIt is evident passions influence not the will in proportion to their\nviolence, or the disorder they occasion in the temper; but on the\ncontrary, that when a passion has once become a settled principle of\naction, and is the predominant inclination of the soul, it commonly\nproduces no longer any sensible agitation. As repeated custom and its\nown force have made every thing yield to it, it directs the actions and\nconduct without that opposition and emotion, which so naturally attend\nevery momentary gust of passion. We must, therefore, distinguish betwixt\na calm and a weak passion; betwixt a violent and a strong one. But\nnotwithstanding this, it is certain, that when we would govern a man,\nand push him to any action, it will commonly be better policy to work\nupon the violent than the calm passions, and rather take him by his\ninclination, than what is vulgarly called his reason. We ought to place\nthe object in such particular situations as are proper to encrease the\nviolence of the passion. For we may observe, that all depends upon the\nsituation of the object, and that a variation in this particular will be\nable to change the calm and the violent passions into each other. Both\nthese kinds of passions pursue good, and avoid evil; and both of them\nare encreased or diminished by the encrease or diminution of the good or\nevil. But herein lies the difference betwixt them: The same good, when\nnear, will cause a violent passion, which, when remote, produces only a\ncalm one. As this subject belongs very properly to the present question\nconcerning the will, we shall here examine it to the bottom, and shall\nconsider some of those circumstances and situations of objects, which\nrender a passion either calm or violent.\n\nIt is a remarkable property of human nature, that any emotion, which\nattends a passion, is easily converted into it, though in their natures\nthey be originally different from, and even contrary to each other.\nIt is true; in order to make a perfect union among passions, there is\nalways required a double relation of impressions and ideas; nor is one\nrelation sufficient for that purpose. But though this be confirmed by\nundoubted experience, we must understand it with its proper limitations,\nand must regard the double relation, as requisite only to make one\npassion produce another. When two passions are already produced by their\nseparate causes, and are both present in the mind, they readily mingle\nand unite, though they have but one relation, and sometimes without any.\nThe predominant passion swallows up the inferior, and converts it into\nitself. The spirits, when once excited, easily receive a change in their\ndirection; and it is natural to imagine this change will come from the\nprevailing affection. The connexion is in many respects closer betwixt\nany two passions, than betwixt any passion and indifference.\n\nWhen a person is once heartily in love, the little faults and caprices\nof his mistress, the jealousies and quarrels, to which that commerce is\nso subject; however unpleasant and related to anger and hatred; are yet\nfound to give additional force to the prevailing passion. It is a common\nartifice of politicians, when they would affect any person very much by\na matter of fact, of which they intend to inform him, first to excite\nhis curiosity; delay as long as possible the satisfying it; and by that\nmeans raise his anxiety and impatience to the utmost, before they give\nhim a full insight into the business. They know that his curiosity will\nprecipitate him into the passion they design to raise, and assist the\nobject in its influence on the mind. A soldier advancing to the battle,\nis naturally inspired with courage and confidence, when he thinks on his\nfriends and fellow-soldiers; and is struck with fear and terror, when\nhe reflects on the enemy. Whatever new emotion, therefore, proceeds\nfrom the former naturally encreases the courage; as the same emotion,\nproceeding from the latter, augments the fear; by the relation of ideas,\nand the conversion of the inferior emotion into the predominant. Hence\nit is that in martial discipline, the uniformity and lustre of our\nhabit, the regularity of our figures and motions, with all the pomp and\nmajesty of war, encourage ourselves and allies; while the same objects\nin the enemy strike terror into us, though agreeable and beautiful in\nthemselves.\n\nSince passions, however independent, are naturally transfused into each\nother, if they are both present at the same time; it follows, that when\ngood or evil is placed in such a situation, as to cause any particular\nemotion, beside its direct passion of desire or aversion, that latter\npassion must acquire new force and violence.\n\nThis happens, among other cases, whenever any object excites contrary\npassions. For it is observable that an opposition of passions commonly\ncauses a new emotion in the spirits, and produces more disorder, than\nthe concurrence of any two affections of equal force. This new emotion\nis easily converted into the predominant passion, and encreases its\nviolence, beyond the pitch it would have arrived at had it met with\nno opposition. Hence we naturally desire what is forbid, and take a\npleasure in performing actions, merely because they are unlawful.\nThe notion of duty, when opposite to the passions, is seldom able\nto overcome them; and when it fails of that effect, is apt rather to\nencrease them, by producing an opposition in our motives and principles.\nThe same effect follows whether the opposition arises from internal\nmotives or external obstacles. The passion commonly acquires new force\nand violence in both cases.\n\nThe efforts, which the mind makes to surmount the obstacle, excite the\nspirits and inliven the passion.\n\nUncertainty has the same influence as opposition. The agitation of the\nthought; the quick turns it makes from one view to another; the variety\nof passions, which succeed each other, according to the different views;\nAll these produce an agitation in the mind, and transfuse themselves\ninto the predominant passion.\n\nThere is not in my opinion any other natural cause, why security\ndiminishes the passions, than because it removes that uncertainty, which\nencreases them. The mind, when left to itself, immediately languishes;\nand in order to preserve its ardour, must be every moment supported by\na new flow of passion. For the same reason, despair, though contrary to\nsecurity, has a like influence.\n\nIt is certain nothing more powerfully animates any affection, than to\nconceal some part of its object by throwing it into a kind of shade,\nwhich at the same time that it chews enough to pre-possess us in favour\nof the object, leaves still some work for the imagination. Besides that\nobscurity is always attended with a kind of uncertainty; the effort,\nwhich the fancy makes to compleat the idea, rouzes the spirits, and\ngives an additional force to the passion.\n\nAs despair and security, though contrary to each other, produce the\nsame effects; so absence is observed to have contrary effects, and in\ndifferent circumstances either encreases or diminishes our affections.\nThe Duc de La Rochefoucault has very well observed, that absence\ndestroys weak passions, but encreases strong; as the wind extinguishes\na candle, but blows up a fire. Long absence naturally weakens our idea,\nand diminishes the passion: But where the idea is so strong and lively\nas to support itself, the uneasiness, arising from absence, encreases\nthe passion and gives it new force and violence.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. V OF THE EFFECTS OF CUSTOM\n\n\nBut nothing has a greater effect both to encrease and diminish our\npassions, to convert pleasure into pain, and pain into pleasure, than\ncustom and repetition. Custom has two original effects upon the mind, in\nbestowing a facility in the performance of any action or the conception\nof any object; and afterwards a tendency or inclination towards it;\nand from these we may account for all its other effects, however\nextraordinary.\n\nWhen the soul applies itself to the performance of any action, or the\nconception of any object, to which it is not accustomed, there is a\ncertain unpliableness in the faculties, and a difficulty of the spirit's\nmoving in their new direction. As this difficulty excites the spirits,\nit is the source of wonder, surprize, and of all the emotions, which\narise from novelty; and is in itself very agreeable, like every thing,\nwhich inlivens the mind to a moderate degree. But though surprize be\nagreeable in itself, yet as it puts the spirits in agitation, it not\nonly augments our agreeable affections, but also our painful, according\nto the foregoing principle, that every emotion, which precedes or\nattends a passion, is easily converted into it. Hence every thing, that\nis new, is most affecting, and gives us either more pleasure or pain,\nthan what, strictly speaking, naturally belongs to it. When it often\nreturns upon us, the novelty wears off; the passions subside; the\nhurry of the spirits is over; and we survey the objects with greater\ntranquillity.\n\nBy degrees the repetition produces a facility of the human mind, and\nan infallible source of pleasure, where the facility goes not beyond\na certain degree. And here it is remarkable that the pleasure, which\narises from a moderate facility, has not the same tendency with that\nwhich arises from novelty, to augment the painful, as well as the\nagreeable affections. The pleasure of facility does not so much consist\nin any ferment of the spirits, as in their orderly motion; which will\nsometimes be so powerful as even to convert pain into pleasure, and give\nus a relish in time what at first was most harsh and disagreeable.\n\nBut again, as facility converts pain into pleasure, so it often converts\npleasure into pain, when it is too great, and renders the actions of the\nmind so faint and languid, that they are no longer able to interest and\nsupport it. And indeed, scarce any other objects become disagreeable\nthrough custom; but such as are naturally attended with some emotion or\naffection, which is destroyed by the too frequent repetition. One\ncan consider the clouds, and heavens, and trees, and stones, however\nfrequently repeated, without ever feeling any aversion. But when the\nfair sex, or music, or good cheer, or any thing, that naturally ought\nto be agreeable, becomes indifferent, it easily produces the opposite\naffection.\n\nBut custom not only gives a facility to perform any action, but likewise\nan inclination and tendency towards it, where it is not entirely\ndisagreeable, and can never be the object of inclination. And this\nis the reason why custom encreases all active habits, but diminishes\npassive, according to the observation of a late eminent philosopher. The\nfacility takes off from the force of the passive habits by rendering\nthe motion of the spirits faint and languid. But as in the active, the\nspirits are sufficiently supported of themselves, the tendency of the\nmind gives them new force, and bends them more strongly to the action.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. VI OF THE INFLUENCE OF THE IMAGINATION ON THE PASSIONS\n\n\nIt is remarkable, that the imagination and affections have close union\ntogether, and that nothing, which affects the former, can be entirely\nindifferent to the latter. Wherever our ideas of good or evil acquire a\nnew vivacity, the passions become more violent; and keep pace with\nthe imagination in all its variations. Whether this proceeds from\nthe principle above-mentioned, that any attendant emotion is easily\nconverted into the predominant, I shall not determine. It is sufficient\nfor my present purpose, that we have many instances to confirm this\ninfluence of the imagination upon the passions.\n\nAny pleasure, with which we are acquainted, affects us more than any\nother, which we own to be superior, but of whose nature we are wholly\nignorant. Of the one we can form a particular and determinate idea:\nThe other we conceive under the general notion of pleasure; and it is\ncertain, that the more general and universal any of our ideas are, the\nless influence they have upon the imagination. A general idea, though\nit be nothing but a particular one considered in a certain view, is\ncommonly more obscure; and that because no particular idea, by which we\nrepresent a general one, is ever fixed or determinate, but may easily\nbe changed for other particular ones, which will serve equally in the\nrepresentation.\n\nThere is a noted passage in the history of Greece, which may serve for\nour present purpose. Themistocles told the Athenians, that he had formed\na design, which would be highly useful to the public, but which it was\nimpossible for him to communicate to them without ruining the execution,\nsince its success depended entirely on the secrecy with which it should\nbe conducted. The Athenians, instead of granting him full power to\nact as he thought fitting, ordered him to communicate his design to\nAristides, in whose prudence they had an entire confidence, and\nwhose opinion they were resolved blindly to submit to. The design of\nThemistocles was secretly to set fire to the fleet of all the Grecian\ncommonwealths, which was assembled in a neighbouring port, and which\nbeing once destroyed would give the Athenians the empire of the sea\nwithout any rival Aristides returned to the assembly, and told them,\nthat nothing could be more advantageous than the design of Themistocles\nbut at the same time that nothing could be more unjust: Upon which the\npeople unanimously rejected the project.\n\nA late celebrated historian[1] admires this passage of antient history,\nas one of the most singular that is any where to be met.\n\n    [1] Mons. Rollin {Charles Rollin, HISTOIRE ANCIENNE.(Paris 1730-38)}.\n\n\"Here,\" says he, \"they are not philosophers, to whom it is easy in\ntheir schools to establish the finest maxims and most sublime rules of\nmorality, who decide that interest ought never to prevail above justice.\nIt is a whole people interested in the proposal which is made to\nthem, who consider it as of importance to the public good, and who\nnotwithstanding reject it unanimously, and without hesitation, merely\nbecause it is contrary to justice.\"\n\nFor my part I see nothing so extraordinary in this proceeding of the\nAthenians. The same reasons, which render it so easy for philosophers to\nestablish these sublime maxims, tend, in part, to diminish the merit\nof such a conduct in that people. Philosophers never ballance betwixt\nprofit and honesty, because their decisions are general, and neither\ntheir passions nor imaginations are interested in the objects. And\nthough in the present case the advantage was immediate to the Athenians,\nyet as it was known only under the general notion of advantage,\nwithout being conceived by any particular idea, it must have had a\nless considerable influence on their imaginations, and have been a\nless violent temptation, than if they had been acquainted with all\nits circumstances: Otherwise it is difficult to conceive, that a whole\npeople, unjust and violent as men commonly are, should so unanimously\nhave adhered to justice, and rejected any considerable advantage.\n\nAny satisfaction, which we lately enjoyed, and of which the memory is\nfresh and recent, operates on the will with more violence, than another\nof which the traces are decayed, and almost obliterated. From whence\ndoes this proceed, but that the memory in the first case assists the\nfancy and gives an additional force and vigour to its conceptions?\nThe image of the past pleasure being strong and violent, bestows these\nqualities on the idea of the future pleasure, which is connected with it\nby the relation of resemblance.\n\nA pleasure, which is suitable to the way of life, in which we are\nengaged, excites more our desires and appetites than another, which\nis foreign to it. This ph\u00e6nomenon may be explained from the same\nprinciple.\n\nNothing is more capable of infusing any passion into the mind, than\neloquence, by which objects are represented in their strongest and most\nlively colours. We may of ourselves acknowledge, that such an object\nis valuable, and such another odious; but until an orator excites the\nimagination, and gives force to these ideas, they may have but a feeble\ninfluence either on the will or the affections.\n\nBut eloquence is not always necessary. The bare opinion of another,\nespecially when inforced with passion, will cause an idea of good or\nevil to have an influence upon us, which would otherwise have been\nentirely neglected. This proceeds from the principle of sympathy or\ncommunication; and sympathy, as I have already observed, is nothing\nbut the conversion of an idea into an impression by the force of\nimagination.\n\nIt is remarkable, that lively passions commonly attend a lively\nimagination. In this respect, as well as others, the force of the\npassion depends as much on the temper of the person, as the nature or\nsituation of the object.\n\nI have already observed, that belief is nothing but a lively idea\nrelated to a present impression. This vivacity is a requisite\ncircumstance to the exciting all our passions, the calm as well as the\nviolent; nor has a mere fiction of the imagination any considerable\ninfluence upon either of them. It is too weak to take hold of the mind,\nor be attended with emotion.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. VII OF CONTIGUITY AND DISTANCE IN SPACE AND TIME\n\n\nThere is an easy reason, why every thing contiguous to us, either in\nspace or time, should be conceived with a peculiar force and vivacity,\nand excel every other object, in its influence on the imagination.\nOurself is intimately present to us, and whatever is related to self\nmust partake of that quality. But where an object is so far removed\nas to have lost the advantage of this relation, why, as it is farther\nremoved, its idea becomes still fainter and more obscure, would,\nperhaps, require a more particular examination.\n\nIt is obvious, that the imagination can never totally forget the points\nof space and time, in which we are existent; but receives such frequent\nadvertisements of them from the passions and senses, that however it\nmay turn its attention to foreign and remote objects, it is necessitated\nevery moment to reflect on the present. It is also remarkable, that in\nthe conception of those objects, which we regard as real and existent,\nwe take them in their proper order and situation, and never leap from\none object to another, which is distant from it, without running over,\nat least in a cursory manner, all those objects, which are interposed\nbetwixt them. When we reflect, therefore, on any object distant from\nourselves, we are obliged not only to reach it at first by passing\nthrough all the intermediate space betwixt ourselves and the object, but\nalso to renew our progress every moment; being every moment recalled to\nthe consideration of ourselves and our present situation. It is easily\nconceived, that this interruption must weaken the idea by breaking the\naction of the mind, and hindering the conception from being so intense\nand continued, as when we reflect on a nearer object. The fewer steps\nwe make to arrive at the object, and the smoother the road is, this\ndiminution of vivacity is less sensibly felt, but still may be observed\nmore or less in proportion to the degrees of distance and difficulty.\n\nHere then we are to consider two kinds of objects, the contiguous and\nremote; of which the former, by means of their relation to ourselves,\napproach an impression in force and vivacity; the latter by reason of\nthe interruption in our manner of conceiving them, appear in a weaker\nand more imperfect light. This is their effect on the imagination. If\nmy reasoning be just, they must have a proportionable effect on the will\nand passions. Contiguous objects must have an influence much superior to\nthe distant and remote. Accordingly we find in common life, that men are\nprincipally concerned about those objects, which are not much removed\neither in space or time, enjoying the present, and leaving what is afar\noff to the care of chance and fortune. Talk to a man of his condition\nthirty years hence, and he will not regard you. Speak of what is to\nhappen tomorrow, and he will lend you attention. The breaking of a\nmirror gives us more concern when at home, than the burning of a house,\nwhen abroad, and some hundred leagues distant.\n\nBut farther; though distance both in space and time has a considerable\neffect on the imagination, and by that means on the will and passions,\nyet the consequence of a removal in space are much inferior to those of\na removal in time. Twenty years are certainly but a small distance\nof time in comparison of what history and even the memory of some may\ninform them of, and yet I doubt if a thousand leagues, or even the\ngreatest distance of place this globe can admit of, will so remarkably\nweaken our ideas, and diminish our passions. A West-Indian merchant will\ntell you, that he is not without concern about what passes in Jamaica;\nthough few extend their views so far into futurity, as to dread very\nremote accidents.\n\nThe cause of this ph\u00e6nomenon must evidently lie in the different\nproperties of space and time. Without having recourse to metaphysics,\nany one may easily observe, that space or extension consists of a number\nof co-existent parts disposed in a certain order, and capable of being\nat once present to the sight or feeling. On the contrary, time or\nsuccession, though it consists likewise of parts, never presents to us\nmore than one at once; nor is it possible for any two of them ever to\nbe co-existent. These qualities of the objects have a suitable effect on\nthe imagination. The parts of extension being susceptible of an union to\nthe senses, acquire an union in the fancy; and as the appearance of\none part excludes not another, the transition or passage of the thought\nthrough the contiguous parts is by that means rendered more smooth and\neasy. On the other hand, the incompatibility of the parts of time in\ntheir real existence separates them in the imagination, and makes it\nmore difficult for that faculty to trace any long succession or series\nof events. Every part must appear single and alone, nor can regularly\nhave entrance into the fancy without banishing what is supposed to have\nbeen immediately precedent. By this means any distance in time causes a\ngreater interruption in the thought than an equal distance in space, and\nconsequently weakens more considerably the idea, and consequently the\npassions; which depend in a great measure, on the imagination, according\nto my system.\n\nThere is another ph\u00e6nomenon of a like nature with the foregoing, viz,\nthe superior effects of the same distance in futurity above that in the\npast. This difference with respect to the will is easily accounted for.\nAs none of our actions can alter the past, it is not strange it should\nnever determine the will. But with respect to the passions the question\nis yet entire, and well worth the examining.\n\nBesides the propensity to a gradual progression through the points of\nspace and time, we have another peculiarity in our method of thinking,\nwhich concurs in producing this ph\u00e6nomenon. We always follow the\nsuccession of time in placing our ideas, and from the consideration of\nany object pass more easily to that, which follows immediately after\nit, than to that which went before it. We may learn this, among other\ninstances, from the order, which is always observed in historical\nnarrations. Nothing but an absolute necessity can oblige an historian to\nbreak the order of time, and in his narration give the precedence to an\nevent, which was in reality posterior to another.\n\nThis will easily be applied to the question in hand, if we reflect on\nwhat I have before observed, that the present situation of the person is\nalways that of the imagination, and that it is from thence we proceed\nto the conception of any distant object. When the object is past, the\nprogression of the thought in passing to it from the present is contrary\nto nature, as proceeding from one point of time to that which is\npreceding, and from that to another preceding, in opposition to the\nnatural course of the succession. On the other hand, when we turn our\nthought to a future object, our fancy flows along the stream of time,\nand arrives at the object by an order, which seems most natural, passing\nalways from one point of time to that which is immediately posterior to\nit. This easy progression of ideas favours the imagination, and makes\nit conceive its object in a stronger and fuller light, than when we\nare continually opposed in our passage, and are obliged to overcome the\ndifficulties arising from the natural propensity of the fancy. A small\ndegree of distance in the past has, therefore, a greater effect, in\ninterupting and weakening the conception, than a much greater in\nthe future. From this effect of it on the imagination is derived its\ninfluence on the will and passions.\n\nThere is another cause, which both contributes to the same effect, and\nproceeds from the same quality of the fancy, by which we are determined\nto trace the succession of time by a similar succession of ideas. When\nfrom the present instant we consider two points of time equally distant\nin the future and in the past, it is evident, that, abstractedly\nconsidered, their relation to the present is almost equal. For as the\nfuture will sometime be present, so the past was once present. If we\ncould, therefore, remove this quality of the imagination, an equal\ndistance in the past and in the future, would have a similar influence.\nNor is this only true, when the fancy remains fixed, and from the\npresent instant surveys the future and the past; but also when it\nchanges its situation, and places us in different periods of time. For\nas on the one hand, in supposing ourselves existent in a point of time\ninterposed betwixt the present instant and the future object, we find\nthe future object approach to us, and the past retire, and become more\ndistant: so on the other hand, in supposing ourselves existent in a\npoint of time interposed betwixt the present and the past, the past\napproaches to us, and the future becomes more distant. But from the\nproperty of the fancy above-mentioned we rather chuse to fix our thought\non the point of time interposed betwixt the present and the future, than\non that betwixt the present and the past. We advance, rather than retard\nour existence; and following what seems the natural succession of time,\nproceed from past to present, and from present to future. By which means\nwe conceive the future as flowing every moment nearer us, and the\npast as retiring. An equal distance, therefore, in the past and in the\nfuture, has not the same effect on the imagination; and that because we\nconsider the one as continually encreasing, and the other as continually\ndiminishing. The fancy anticipates the course of things, and surveys the\nobject in that condition, to which it tends, as well as in that, which\nis regarded as the present.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. VIII THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUed\n\n\nThus we have accounted for three phaenomena, which seem pretty\nremarkable. Why distance weakens the conception and passion: Why\ndistance in time has a greater effect than that in space: And why\ndistance in past time has still a greater effect than that in future. We\nmust now consider three phaenomena, which seem to be, in a manner, the\nreverse of these: Why a very great distance encreases our esteem and\nadmiration for an object; Why such a distance in time encreases it\nmore than that in space: And a distance in past time more than that in\nfuture. The curiousness of the subject will, I hope, excuse my dwelling\non it for some time.\n\nTo begin with the first ph\u00e6nomenon, why a great distance encreases our\nesteem and admiration for an object; it is evident that the mere view\nand contemplation of any greatness, whether successive or extended,\nenlarges the soul, and give it a sensible delight and pleasure. A wide\nplain, the ocean, eternity, a succession of several ages; all these are\nentertaining objects, and excel every thing, however beautiful, which\naccompanies not its beauty with a suitable greatness. Now when any very\ndistant object is presented to the imagination, we naturally reflect on\nthe interposed distance, and by that means, conceiving something great\nand magnificent, receive the usual satisfaction. But as the fancy passes\neasily from one idea to another related to it, and transports to the\nsecond all the passions excited by the first, the admiration, which is\ndirected to the distance, naturally diffuses itself over the distant\nobject. Accordingly we find, that it is not necessary the object should\nbe actually distant from us, in order to cause our admiration; but that\nit is sufficient, if, by the natural association of ideas, it conveys\nour view to any considerable distance. A great traveller, though in\nthe same chamber, will pass for a very extraordinary person; as a Greek\nmedal, even in our cabinet, is always esteemed a valuable curiosity.\nHere the object, by a natural transition, conveys our views to the\ndistance; and the admiration, which arises from that distance, by\nanother natural transition, returns back to the object.\n\nBut though every great distance produces an admiration for the distant\nobject, a distance in time has a more considerable effect than that in\nspace. Antient busts and inscriptions are more valued than Japan tables:\nAnd not to mention the Greeks and Romans, it is certain we regard with\nmore veneration the old Chaldeans and Egyptians, than the modern Chinese\nand Persians, and bestow more fruitless pains to dear up the history and\nchronology of the former, than it would cost us to make a voyage, and\nbe certainly informed of the character, learning and government of the\nlatter. I shall be obliged to make a digression in order to explain this\nph\u00e6nomenon.\n\nIt is a quality very observable in human nature, that any opposition,\nwhich does not entirely discourage and intimidate us, has rather a\ncontrary effect, and inspires us with a more than ordinary grandeur\nand magnanimity. In collecting our force to overcome the opposition, we\ninvigorate the soul, and give it an elevation with which otherwise it\nwould never have been acquainted. Compliance, by rendering our strength\nuseless, makes us insensible of it: but opposition awakens and employs\nit.\n\nThis is also true in the universe. Opposition not only enlarges the\nsoul; but the soul, when full of courage and magnanimity, in a manner\nseeks opposition.\n\n\n    Spumantemque dari pecora inter inertia votis\n    Optat aprum, aut fulvum descendere monte leonem.\n\n    [And, among the tamer beasts, [he] longs to be granted, in answer to his prayers,\n    a slavering boar, or to have a tawny lion come down from the mountain.]\n\n\nWhatever supports and fills the passions is agreeable to us; as on the\ncontrary, what weakens and infeebles them is uneasy. As opposition\nhas the first effect, and facility the second, no wonder the mind, in\ncertain dispositions, desires the former, and is averse to the latter.\n\nThese principles have an effect on the imagination as well as on the\npassions. To be convinced of this we need only consider the influence\nof heights and depths on that faculty. Any great elevation of place\ncommunicates a kind of pride or sublimity of imagination, and gives\na fancyed superiority over those that lie below; and, vice versa, a\nsublime and strong imagination conveys the idea of ascent and elevation.\nHence it proceeds, that we associate, in a manner, the idea of whatever\nis good with that of height, and evil with lowness. Heaven is supposed\nto be above, and hell below. A noble genius is called an elevate and\nsublime one. ATQUE UDAM SPERNIT HUMUM FUGIENTE PENNA. [Spurns the dank\nsoil in winged flight.] On the contrary, a vulgar and trivial conception\nis stiled indifferently low or mean. Prosperity is denominated ascent,\nand adversity descent. Kings and princes are supposed to be placed at\nthe top of human affairs; as peasants and day-labourers are said to be\nin the lowest stations. These methods of thinking, and of expressing\nourselves, are not of so little consequence as they may appear at first\nsight.\n\nIt is evident to common sense, as well as philosophy, that there is no\nnatural nor essential difference betwixt high and low, and that this\ndistinction arises only from the gravitation of matter, which produces a\nmotion from the one to the other. The very same direction, which in\nthis part of the globe is called ascent, is denominated descent in our\nantipodes; which can proceed from nothing but the contrary tendency\nof bodies. Now it is certain, that the tendency of bodies, continually\noperating upon our senses, must produce, from custom, a like tendency in\nthe fancy, and that when we consider any object situated in an ascent,\nthe idea of its weight gives us a propensity to transport it from the\nplace, in which it is situated, to the place immediately below it, and\nso on, until we come to the ground, which equally stops the body and\nour imagination. For a like reason we feel a difficulty in mounting, and\npass not without a kind of reluctance from the inferior to that which is\nsituated above it; as if our ideas acquired a kind of gravity from their\nobjects. As a proof of this, do we not find, that the facility, which\nis so much studyed in music and poetry, is called the fail or cadency of\nthe harmony or period; the idea of facility communicating to us that of\ndescent, in the same manner as descent produces a facility?\n\nSince the imagination, therefore, in running from low to high, finds an\nopposition in its internal qualities and principles, and since the soul,\nwhen elevated with joy and courage, in a manner seeks opposition, and\nthrows itself with alacrity into any scene of thought or action, where\nits courage meets with matter to nourish and employ it; it follows, that\neverything, which invigorates and inlivens the soul, whether by touching\nthe passions or imagination naturally conveys to the fancy this\ninclination for ascent, and determines it to run against the natural\nstream of its thoughts and conceptions. This aspiring progress of\nthe imagination suits the present disposition of the mind; and the\ndifficulty, instead of extinguishing its vigour and alacrity, has the\ncontrary affect, of sustaining and encreasing it. Virtue, genius, power,\nand riches are for this reason associated with height and sublimity; as\npoverty, slavery, and folly are conjoined with descent and lowness. Were\nthe case the same with us as Milton represents it to be with the angels,\nto whom descent is adverse, and who cannot sink without labour and\ncompulsion, this order of things would be entirely inverted; as appears\nhence, that the very nature of ascent and descent is derived from the\ndifficulty and propensity, and consequently every one of their effects\nproceeds from that origin.\n\nAll this is easily applied to the present question, why a considerable\ndistance in time produces a greater veneration for the distant objects\nthan a like removal in space. The imagination moves with more difficulty\nin passing from one portion of time to another, than in a transition\nthrough the parts of space; and that because space or extension appears\nunited to our senses, while time or succession is always broken and\ndivided. This difficulty, when joined with a small distance, interrupts\nand weakens the fancy: But has a contrary effect in a great removal. The\nmind, elevated by the vastness of its object, is still farther elevated\nby the difficulty of the conception; and being obliged every moment to\nrenew its efforts in the transition from one part of time to another,\nfeels a more vigorous and sublime disposition, than in a transition\nthrough the parts of space, where the ideas flow along with easiness and\nfacility. In this disposition, the imagination, passing, as is usual,\nfrom the consideration of the distance to the view of the distant\nobjects, gives us a proportionable veneration for it; and this is the\nreason why all the relicts of antiquity are so precious in our eyes, and\nappear more valuable than what is brought even from the remotest parts\nof the world.\n\nThe third ph\u00e6nomenon I have remarked will be a full confirmation of\nthis. It is not every removal in time, which has the effect of producing\nveneration and esteem. We are not apt to imagine our posterity\nwill excel us, or equal our ancestors. This ph\u00e6nomenon is the more\nremarkable, because any distance in futurity weakens not our ideas so\nmuch as an equal removal in the past. Though a removal in the past, when\nvery great, encreases our passions beyond a like removal in the future,\nyet a small removal has a greater influence in diminishing them.\n\nIn our common way of thinking we are placed in a kind of middle station\nbetwixt the past and future; and as our imagination finds a kind of\ndifficulty in running along the former, and a facility in following the\ncourse of the latter, the difficulty conveys the notion of ascent, and\nthe facility of the contrary. Hence we imagine our ancestors to be, in\na manner, mounted above us, and our posterity to lie below us. Our fancy\narrives not at the one without effort, but easily reaches the other:\nWhich effort weakens the conception, where the distance is small; but\nenlarges and elevates the imagination, when attended with a suitable\nobject. As on the other hand, the facility assists the fancy in a\nsmall removal, but takes off from its force when it contemplates any\nconsiderable distance.\n\nIt may not be improper, before we leave this subject of the will, to\nresume, in a few words, all that has been said concerning it, in order\nto set the whole more distinctly before the eyes of the reader. What\nwe commonly understand by passion is a violent and sensible emotion of\nmind, when any good or evil is presented, or any object, which, by the\noriginal formation of our faculties, is fitted to excite an appetite.\nBy reason we mean affections of the very same kind with the former; but\nsuch as operate more calmly, and cause no disorder in the temper: Which\ntranquillity leads us into a mistake concerning them, and causes us to\nregard them as conclusions only of our intellectual faculties. Both\nthe causes and effects of these violent and calm passions are pretty\nvariable, and depend, in a great measure, on the peculiar temper\nand disposition of every individual. Generally speaking, the violent\npassions have a more powerful influence on the will; though it is often\nfound, that the calm ones, when corroborated by reflection, and\nseconded by resolution, are able to controul them in their most furious\nmovements. What makes this whole affair more uncertain, is, that a calm\npassion may easily be changed into a violent one, either by a change of\ntemper, or of the circumstances and situation of the object, as by the\nborrowing of force from any attendant passion, by custom, or by exciting\nthe imagination. Upon the whole, this struggle of passion and of reason,\nas it is called, diversifies human life, and makes men so different\nnot only from each other, but also from themselves in different times.\nPhilosophy can only account for a few of the greater and more sensible\nevents of this war; but must leave all the smaller and more delicate\nrevolutions, as dependent on principles too fine and minute for her\ncomprehension.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. IX OF THE DIRECT PASSIONS\n\n\nIt is easy to observe, that the passions, both direct and indirect, are\nfounded on pain and pleasure, and that in order to produce an affection\nof any kind, it is only requisite to present some good or evil. Upon the\nremoval of pain and pleasure there immediately follows a removal of love\nand hatred, pride and humility, desire and aversion, and of most of our\nreflective or secondary impressions.\n\nThe impressions, which arise from good and evil most naturally, and with\nthe least preparation are the direct passions of desire and aversion,\ngrief and joy, hope and fear, along with volition. The mind by an\noriginal instinct tends to unite itself with the good, and to avoid the\nevil, though they be conceived merely in idea, and be considered as to\nexist in any future period of time.\n\nBut supposing that there is an immediate impression of pain or pleasure,\nand that arising from an object related to ourselves or others, this\ndoes not prevent the propensity or aversion, with the consequent\nemotions, but by concurring with certain dormant principles of the human\nmind, excites the new impressions of pride or humility, love or hatred.\nThat propensity, which unites us to the object, or separates us from\nit, still continues to operate, but in conjunction with the indirect\npassions, which arise from a double relation of impressions and ideas.\n\nThese indirect passions, being always agreeable or uneasy, give in their\nturn additional force to the direct passions, and encrease our desire\nand aversion to the object. Thus a suit of fine cloaths produces\npleasure from their beauty; and this pleasure produces the direct\npassions, or the impressions of volition and desire. Again, when these\ncloaths are considered as belonging to ourself, the double relation\nconveys to us the sentiment of pride, which is an indirect passion; and\nthe pleasure, which attends that passion, returns back to the direct\naffections, and gives new force to our desire or volition, joy or hope.\n\nWhen good is certain or probable, it produces joy. When evil is in the\nsame situation there arises GRIEF or SORROW.\n\nWhen either good or evil is uncertain, it gives rise to FEAR or HOPE,\naccording to the degrees of uncertainty on the one side or the other.\n\nDESIRE arises from good considered simply, and AVERSION is derived from\nevil. The WILL exerts itself, when either the good or the absence of the\nevil may be attained by any action of the mind or body.\n\nBeside good and evil, or in other words, pain and pleasure, the direct\npassions frequently arise from a natural impulse or instinct, which is\nperfectly unaccountable. Of this kind is the desire of punishment to our\nenemies, and of happiness to our friends; hunger, lust, and a few other\nbodily appetites. These passions, properly speaking, produce good and\nevil, and proceed not from them, like the other affections.\n\nNone of the direct affections seem to merit our particular attention,\nexcept hope and fear, which we shall here endeavour to account for.\nIt is evident that the very same event, which by its certainty would\nproduce grief or joy, gives always rise to fear or hope, when only\nprobable and uncertain. In order, therefore, to understand the reason\nwhy this circumstance makes such a considerable difference, we must\nreflect on what I have already advanced in the preceding book concerning\nthe nature of probability.\n\nProbability arises from an opposition of contrary chances or causes, by\nwhich the mind is not allowed to fix on either side, but is incessantly\ntost from one to another, and at one moment is determined to consider\nan object as existent, and at another moment as the contrary. The\nimagination or understanding, call it which you please, fluctuates\nbetwixt the opposite views; and though perhaps it may be oftener turned\nto the one side than the other, it is impossible for it, by reason of\nthe opposition of causes or chances, to rest on either. The pro and con\nof the question alternately prevail; and the mind, surveying the object\nin its opposite principles, finds such a contrariety as utterly destroys\nall certainty and established opinion.\n\nSuppose, then, that the object, concerning whose reality we are\ndoubtful, is an object either of desire or aversion, it is evident,\nthat, according as the mind turns itself either to the one side or the\nother, it must feel a momentary impression of joy or sorrow. An object,\nwhose existence we desire, gives satisfaction, when we reflect on those\ncauses, which produce it; and for the same reason excites grief\nor uneasiness from the opposite consideration: So that as the\nunderstanding, in all probable questions, is divided betwixt the\ncontrary points of view, the affections must in the same manner be\ndivided betwixt opposite emotions.\n\nNow if we consider the human mind, we shall find, that with regard to\nthe passions, it is not the nature of a wind-instrument of music, which\nin running over all the notes immediately loses the sound after the\nbreath ceases; but rather resembles a string-instrument, where after\neach stroke the vibrations still retain some sound, which gradually and\ninsensibly decays. The imagination is extreme quick and agile; but the\npassions are slow and restive: For which reason, when any object is\npresented, that affords a variety of views to the one, and emotions to\nthe other; though the fancy may change its views with great celerity;\neach stroke will not produce a clear and distinct note of passion,\nbut the one passion will always be mixt and confounded with the other.\nAccording as the probability inclines to good or evil, the passion of\njoy or sorrow predominates in the composition: Because the nature of\nprobability is to cast a superior number of views or chances on one\nside; or, which is the same thing, a superior number of returns of\none passion; or since the dispersed passions are collected into one, a\nsuperior degree of that passion. That is, in other words, the grief and\njoy being intermingled with each other, by means of the contrary views\nof the imagination, produce by their union the passions of hope and\nfear.\n\nUpon this head there may be started a very curious question concerning\nthat contrariety of passions, which is our present subject. It is\nobservable, that where the objects of contrary passions are presented\nat once, beside the encrease of the predominant passion (which has\nbeen already explained, and commonly arises at their first shock\nor rencounter) it sometimes happens, that both the passions exist\nsuccessively, and by short intervals; sometimes, that they destroy each\nother, and neither of them takes place; and sometimes that both of them\nremain united in the mind. It may, therefore, be asked, by what theory\nwe can explain these variations, and to what general principle we can\nreduce them.\n\nWhen the contrary passions arise from objects entirely different, they\ntake place alternately, the want of relation in the ideas separating the\nimpressions from each other, and preventing their opposition. Thus when\na man is afflicted for the loss of a law-suit, and joyful for the birth\nof a son, the mind running from the agreeable to the calamitous object,\nwith whatever celerity it may perform this motion, can scarcely temper\nthe one affection with the other, and remain betwixt them in a state of\nindifference.\n\nIt more easily attains that calm situation, when the same event is of a\nmixt nature, and contains something adverse and something prosperous\nin its different circumstances. For in that case, both the passions,\nmingling with each other by means of the relation, become mutually\ndestructive, and leave the mind in perfect tranquility.\n\nBut suppose, in the third place, that the object is not a compound of\ngood or evil, but is considered as probable or improbable in any degree;\nin that case I assert, that the contrary passions will both of them be\npresent at once in the soul, and instead of destroying and tempering\neach other, will subsist together, and produce a third impression\nor affection by their union. Contrary passions are not capable of\ndestroying each other, except when their contrary movements exactly\nrencounter, and are opposite in their direction, as well as in the\nsensation they produce. This exact rencounter depends upon the relations\nof those ideas, from which they are derived, and is more or less\nperfect, according to the degrees of the relation. In the case of\nprobability the contrary chances are so far related, that they determine\nconcerning the existence or non-existence of the same object. But this\nrelation is far from being perfect; since some of the chances lie on\nthe side of existence, and others on that of non-existence; which are\nobjects altogether incompatible. It is impossible by one steady view to\nsurvey the opposite chances, and the events dependent on them; but it is\nnecessary, that the imagination should run alternately from the one to\nthe other. Each view of the imagination produces its peculiar passion,\nwhich decays away by degrees, and is followed by a sensible vibration\nafter the stroke. The incompatibility of the views keeps the passions\nfrom shocking in a direct line, if that expression may be allowed; and\nyet their relation is sufficient to mingle their fainter emotions. It is\nafter this manner that hope and fear arise from the different mixture of\nthese opposite passions of grief and joy, and from their imperfect union\nand conjunction.\n\nUpon the whole, contrary passions succeed each other alternately, when\nthey arise from different objects: They mutually destroy each other,\nwhen they proceed from different parts of the same: And they subsist\nboth of them and mingle together, when they are derived from the\ncontrary and incompatible chances or possibilities, on which any one\nobject depends. The influence of the relations of ideas is plainly seen\nin this whole affair. If the objects of the contrary passions be totally\ndifferent, the passions are like two opposite liquors in different\nbottles, which have no influence on each other. If the objects be\nintimately connected, the passions are like an alcali and an acid,\nwhich, being mingled, destroy each other. If the relation be more\nimperfect, and consists in the contradictory views of the same object,\nthe passions are like oil and vinegar, which, however mingled, never\nperfectly unite and incorporate.\n\nAs the hypothesis concerning hope and fear carries its own evidence\nalong with it, we shall be the more concise in our proofs. A few strong\narguments are better than many weak ones.\n\nThe passions of fear and hope may arise when the chances are equal on\nboth sides, and no superiority can be discovered in the one above the\nother. Nay, in this situation the passions are rather the strongest, as\nthe mind has then the least foundation to rest upon, and is tossed with\nthe greatest uncertainty. Throw in a superior degree of probability to\nthe side of grief, you immediately see that passion diffuse itself over\nthe composition, and tincture it into fear. Encrease the probability,\nand by that means the grief, the fear prevails still more and more, till\nat last it runs insensibly, as the joy continually diminishes, into pure\ngrief. After you have brought it to this situation, diminish the\ngrief, after the same manner that you encreased it; by diminishing the\nprobability on that side, and you'll see the passion clear every moment,\nuntil it changes insensibly into hope; which again runs, after the same\nmanner, by slow degrees, into joy, as you encrease that part of the\ncomposition by the encrease of the probability. Are not these as plain\nproofs, that the passions of fear and hope are mixtures of grief and\njoy, as in optics it is a proof, that a coloured ray of the sun passing\nthrough a prism, is a composition of two others, when, as you diminish\nor encrease the quantity of either, you find it prevail proportionably\nmore or less in the composition? I am sure neither natural nor moral\nphilosophy admits of stronger proofs.\n\nProbability is of two kinds, either when the object is really in itself\nuncertain, and to be determined by chance; or when, though the object\nbe already certain, yet it is uncertain to our judgment, which finds\na number of proofs on each side of the question. Both these kinds of\nprobabilities cause fear and hope; which can only proceed from that\nproperty, in which they agree, viz, the uncertainty and fluctuation they\nbestow on the imagination by that contrariety of views, which is common\nto both.\n\nIt is a probable good or evil, that commonly produces hope or fear;\nbecause probability, being a wavering and unconstant method of surveying\nan object, causes naturally a like mixture and uncertainty of passion.\nBut we may observe, that wherever from other causes this mixture can be\nproduced, the passions of fear and hope will arise, even though there\nbe no probability; which must be allowed to be a convincing proof of the\npresent hypothesis. We find that an evil, barely conceived as possible,\ndoes sometimes produce fear; especially if the evil be very great. A man\ncannot think of excessive pains and tortures without trembling, if he be\nin the least danger of suffering them. The smallness of the probability\nis compensated by the greatness of the evil; and the sensation is\nequally lively, as if the evil were more probable. One view or glimpse\nof the former, has the same effect as several of the latter.\n\nBut they are not only possible evils, that cause fear, but even\nsome allowed to be impossible; as when we tremble on the brink of a\nprecipice, though we know ourselves to be in perfect security, and have\nit in our choice whether we will advance a step farther. This\nproceeds from the immediate presence of the evil, which influences the\nimagination in the same manner as the certainty of it would do; but\nbeing encountered by the reflection on our security, is immediately\nretracted, and causes the same kind of passion, as when from a\ncontrariety of chances contrary passions are produced.\n\nEvils, that are certain, have sometimes the same effect in producing\nfear, as the possible or impossible. Thus a man in a strong prison\nwell-guarded, without the least means of escape, trembles at the thought\nof the rack, to which he is sentenced. This happens only when the\ncertain evil is terrible and confounding; in which case the mind\ncontinually rejects it with horror, while it continually presses in\nupon the thought. The evil is there fixed and established, but the mind\ncannot endure to fix upon it; from which fluctuation and uncertainty\nthere arises a passion of much the same appearance with fear.\n\nBut it is not only where good or evil is uncertain, as to its existence,\nbut also as to its kind, that fear or hope arises. Let one be told by\na person, whose veracity he cannot doubt of, that one of his sons is\nsuddenly killed, it is evident the passion this event would occasion,\nwould not settle into pure grief, till he got certain information, which\nof his sons he had lost. Here there is an evil certain, but the kind of\nit uncertain. Consequently the fear we feel on this occasion is without\nthe least mixture of joy, and arises merely from the fluctuation of the\nfancy betwixt its objects. And though each side of the question produces\nhere the same passion, yet that passion cannot settle, but receives\nfrom the imagination a tremulous and unsteady motion, resembling in its\ncause, as well as in its sensation, the mixture and contention of grief\nand joy.\n\nFrom these principles we may account for a ph\u00e6nomenon in the passions,\nwhich at first sight seems very extraordinary, viz, that surprize is apt\nto change into fear, and every thing that is unexpected affrights\nus. The most obvious conclusion from this is, that human nature is in\ngeneral pusillanimous; since upon the sudden appearance of any object.\nwe immediately conclude it to be an evil, and without waiting till we\ncan examine its nature, whether it be good or bad, are at first affected\nwith fear. This I say is the most obvious conclusion; but upon farther\nexamination we shall find that the ph\u00e6nomenon is otherwise to be\naccounted for. The suddenness and strangeness of an appearance naturally\nexcite a commotion in the mind, like every thing for which we are not\nprepared, and to which we are not accustomed. This commotion, again,\nnaturally produces a curiosity or inquisitiveness, which being very\nviolent, from the strong and sudden impulse of the object, becomes\nuneasy, and resembles in its fluctuation and uncertainty, the sensation\nof fear or the mixed passions of grief and joy. This image of\nfear naturally converts into the thing itself, and gives us a real\napprehension of evil, as the mind always forms its judgments more from\nits present disposition than from the nature of its objects.\n\nThus all kinds of uncertainty have a strong connexion with fear, even\nthough they do not cause any opposition of passions by the opposite\nviews and considerations they present to us. A person, who has left his\nfriend in any malady, will feel more anxiety upon his account, than if\nhe were present, though perhaps he is not only incapable of giving him\nassistance, but likewise of judging of the event of his sickness. In\nthis case, though the principal object of the passion, viz, the life or\ndeath of his friend, be to him equally uncertain when present as when\nabsent; yet there are a thousand little circumstances of his friend's\nsituation and condition, the knowledge of which fixes the idea, and\nprevents that fluctuation and uncertainty so near allyed to fear.\nUncertainty is, indeed, in one respect as near allyed to hope as to\nfear, since it makes an essential part in the composition of the former\npassion; but the reason, why it inclines not to that side, is, that\nuncertainty alone is uneasy, and has a relation of impressions to the\nuneasy passions.\n\nIt is thus our uncertainty concerning any minute circumstance relating\nto a person encreases our apprehensions of his death or misfortune.\nHorace has remarked this ph\u00e6nomenon.\n\n\n    Ut assidens implumibus pullis avis\n        Serpentium allapsus timet,\n    Magis relictis; non, ut adsit, auxil\u00ee\n        Latura plus pr\u00e6sentibus.\n\n[As a bird, watching over her fledgelings, is more afraid of their being\nattacked by snakes if she were to leave them even though, were she to\nstay, she would not be any more capable of helping them, when they were\nwith her.]\n\n\nBut this principle of the connexion of fear with uncertainty I carry\nfarther, and observe that any doubt produces that passion, even though\nit presents nothing to us on any side but what is good and desireable. A\nvirgin, on her bridalnight goes to bed full of fears and apprehensions,\nthough she expects nothing but pleasure of the highest kind, and what\nshe has long wished for. The newness and greatness of the event, the\nconfusion of wishes and joys so embarrass the mind, that it knows not\non what passion to fix itself; from whence arises a fluttering or\nunsettledness of the spirits which being, in some degree, uneasy, very\nnaturally degenerates into fear.\n\nThus we still find, that whatever causes any fluctuation or mixture of\npassions, with any degree of uneasiness, always produces fear, or at\nleast a passion so like it, that they are scarcely to be distinguished.\n\nI have here confined myself to the examination of hope and fear in\ntheir most simple and natural situation, without considering all the\nvariations they may receive from the mixture of different views and\nreflections. Terror, consternation, astonishment, anxiety, and other\npassions of that kind, are nothing but different species and degrees of\nfear. It is easy to imagine how a different situation of the object, or\na different turn of thought, may change even the sensation of a passion;\nand this may in general account for all the particular sub-divisions of\nthe other affections, as well as of fear. Love may shew itself in the\nshape of tenderness, friendship, intimacy, esteem, good-will, and in\nmany other appearances; which at the bottom are the same affections; and\narise from the same causes, though with a small variation, which it is\nnot necessary to give any particular account of. It is for this reason I\nhave all along confined myself to the principal passion.\n\nThe same care of avoiding prolixity is the reason why I wave the\nexamination of the will and direct passions, as they appear in animals;\nsince nothing is more evident, than that they are of the same nature,\nand excited by the same causes as in human creatures. I leave this to\nthe reader's own observation; desiring him at the same time to consider\nthe additional force this bestows on the present system.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. X OF CURIOSITY, OR THE LOVE OF TRUTH\n\n\nBut methinks we have been not a little inattentive to run over so many\ndifferent parts of the human mind, and examine so many passions, without\ntaking once into the consideration that love of truth, which was the\nfirst source of all our enquiries. Twill therefore be proper, before\nwe leave this subject, to bestow a few reflections on that passion, and\nshew its origin in human nature. It is an affection of so peculiar a\nkind, that it would have been impossible to have treated of it under any\nof those heads, which we have examined, without danger of obscurity and\nconfusion.\n\nTruth is of two kinds, consisting either in the discovery of the\nproportions of ideas, considered as such, or in the conformity of our\nideas of objects to their real existence. It is certain, that the former\nspecies of truth, is not desired merely as truth, and that it is not the\njustness of our conclusions, which alone gives the pleasure. For these\nconclusions are equally just, when we discover the equality of two\nbodies by a pair of compasses, as when we learn it by a mathematical\ndemonstration; and though in the one case the proofs be demonstrative,\nand in the other only sensible, yet generally speaking, the mind\nacquiesces with equal assurance in the one as in the other. And in an\narithmetical operation, where both the truth and the assurance are\nof the same nature, as in the most profound algebraical problem, the\npleasure is very inconsiderable, if rather it does not degenerate\ninto pain: Which is an evident proof, that the satisfaction, which we\nsometimes receive from the discovery of truth, proceeds not from it,\nmerely as such, but only as endowed with certain qualities.\n\nThe first and most considerable circumstance requisite to render\ntruth agreeable, is the genius and capacity, which is employed in its\ninvention and discovery. What is easy and obvious is never valued; and\neven what is in itself difficult, if we come to the knowledge of it\nwithout difficulty, and without any stretch of thought or judgment,\nis but little regarded. We love to trace the demonstrations of\nmathematicians; but should receive small entertainment from a person,\nwho should barely inform us of the proportions of lines and angles,\nthough we reposed the utmost confidence both in his judgment and\nveracity. In this case it is sufficient to have ears to learn the truth.\nWe never are obliged to fix our attention or exert our genius; which of\nall other exercises of the mind is the most pleasant and agreeable.\n\nBut though the exercise of genius be the principal source of that\nsatisfaction we receive from the sciences, yet I doubt, if it be alone\nsufficient to give us any considerable enjoyment. The truth we discover\nmust also be of some importance. It is easy to multiply algebraical\nproblems to infinity, nor is there any end in the discovery of the\nproportions of conic sections; though few mathematicians take any\npleasure in these researches, but turn their thoughts to what is more\nuseful and important. Now the question is, after what manner this\nutility and importance operate upon us? The difficulty on this head\narises from hence, that many philosophers have consumed their time, have\ndestroyed their health, and neglected their fortune, in the search of\nsuch truths, as they esteemed important and useful to the world, though\nit appeared from their whole conduct and behaviour, that they were not\nendowed with any share of public spirit, nor had any concern for the\ninterests of mankind. Were they convinced, that their discoveries\nwere of no consequence, they would entirely lose all relish for their\nstudies, and that though the consequences be entirely indifferent to\nthem; which seems to be a contradiction.\n\nTo remove this contradiction, we must consider, that there are certain\ndesires and inclinations, which go no farther than the imagination,\nand are rather the faint shadows and images of passions, than any\nreal affections. Thus, suppose a man, who takes a survey of the\nfortifications of any city; considers their strength and advantages,\nnatural or acquired; observes the disposition and contrivance of the\nbastions, ramparts, mines, and other military works; it is plain, that\nin proportion as all these are fitted to attain their ends he will\nreceive a suitable pleasure and satisfaction. This pleasure, as it\narises from the utility, not the form of the objects, can be no other\nthan a sympathy with the inhabitants, for whose security all this art is\nemployed; though it is possible, that this person, as a stranger or an\nenemy, may in his heart have no kindness for them, or may even entertain\na hatred against them.\n\nIt may indeed be objected, that such a remote sympathy is a very slight\nfoundation for a passion, and that so much industry and application,\nas we frequently observe in philosophers, can never be derived from so\ninconsiderable an original. But here I return to what I have already\nremarked, that the pleasure of study conflicts chiefly in the action\nof the mind, and the exercise of the genius and understanding in the\ndiscovery or comprehension of any truth. If the importance of the truth\nbe requisite to compleat the pleasure, it is not on account of any\nconsiderable addition, which of itself it brings to our enjoyment, but\nonly because it is, in some measure, requisite to fix our attention.\nWhen we are careless and inattentive, the same action of the\nunderstanding has no effect upon us, nor is able to convey any of that\nsatisfaction, which arises from it, when we are in another disposition.\n\nBut beside the action of the mind, which is the principal foundation\nof the pleasure, there is likewise required a degree of success in the\nattainment of the end, or the discovery of that truth we examine. Upon\nthis head I shall make a general remark, which may be useful on many\noccasions, viz, that where the mind pursues any end with passion; though\nthat passion be not derived originally from the end, but merely from\nthe action and pursuit; yet by the natural course of the affections,\nwe acquire a concern for the end itself, and are uneasy under any\ndisappointment we meet with in the pursuit of it. This proceeds from the\nrelation and parallel direction of the passions above-mentioned.\n\nTo illustrate all this by a similar instance, I shall observe, that\nthere cannot be two passions more nearly resembling each other, than\nthose of hunting and philosophy, whatever disproportion may at first\nsight appear betwixt them. It is evident, that the pleasure of hunting\nconflicts in the action of the mind and body; the motion, the attention,\nthe difficulty, and the uncertainty. It is evident likewise, that these\nactions must be attended with an idea of utility, in order to their\nhaving any effect upon us. A man of the greatest fortune, and the\nfarthest removed from avarice, though he takes a pleasure in hunting\nafter patridges and pheasants, feels no satisfaction in shooting crows\nand magpies; and that because he considers the first as fit for the\ntable, and the other as entirely useless. Here it is certain, that the\nutility or importance of itself causes no real passion, but is\nonly requisite to support the imagination; and the same person, who\nover-looks a ten times greater profit in any other subject, is pleased\nto bring home half a dozen woodcocks or plovers, after having employed\nseveral hours in hunting after them. To make the parallel betwixt\nhunting and philosophy more compleat, we may observe, that though in\nboth cases the end of our action may in itself be despised, yet in the\nheat of the action we acquire such an attention to this end, that we are\nvery uneasy under any disappointments, and are sorry when we either miss\nour game, or fall into any error in our reasoning.\n\nIf we want another parallel to these affections, we may consider the\npassion of gaming, which affords a pleasure from the same principles\nas hunting and philosophy. It has been remarked, that the pleasure of\ngaming arises not from interest alone; since many leave a sure gain for\nthis entertainment: Neither is it derived from the game alone; since\nthe same persons have no satisfaction, when they play for nothing: But\nproceeds from both these causes united, though separately they have\nno effect. It is here, as in certain chymical preparations, where the\nmixture of two clear and transparent liquids produces a third, which is\nopaque and coloured..\n\nThe interest, which we have in any game, engages our attention, without\nwhich we can have no enjoyment, either in that or in any other action.\nOur attention being once engaged, the difficulty, variety, and sudden\nreverses of fortune, still farther interest us; and it is from that\nconcern our satisfaction arises. Human life is so tiresome a scene, and\nmen generally are of such indolent dispositions, that whatever amuses\nthem, though by a passion mixt with pain, does in the main give them a\nsensible pleasure. And this pleasure is here encreased by the nature of\nthe objects, which being sensible, and of a narrow compass, are entered\ninto with facility, and are agreeable to the imagination.\n\nThe same theory, that accounts for the love of truth in mathematics and\nalgebra may be extended to morals, politics, natural philosophy, and\nother studies, where we consider not the other abstract relations of\nideas, but their real connexions and existence. But beside the love of\nknowledge, which displays itself in the sciences, there is a certain\ncuriosity implanted in human nature, which is a passion derived from\na quite different principle. Some people have an insatiable desire of\nknowing the actions and circumstances of their neighbours, though their\ninterest be no way concerned in them, and they must entirely depend on\nothers for their information; in which case there is no room for study\nor application. Let us search for the reason of this ph\u00e6nomenon.\n\nIt has been proved at large, that the influence of belief is at once to\ninliven and infix any idea in the imagination, and prevent all kind\nof hesitation and uncertainty about it. Both these circumstances are\nadvantageous. By the vivacity of the idea we interest the fancy, and\nproduce, though in a lesser degree, the same pleasure, which arises from\na moderate passion. As the vivacity of the idea gives pleasure, so its\ncertainty prevents uneasiness, by fixing one particular idea in the\nmind, and keeping it from wavering in the choice of its objects. It is a\nquality of human nature, which is conspicuous on many occasions, and is\ncommon both to the mind and body, that too sudden and violent a change\nis unpleasant to us, and that however any objects may in themselves be\nindifferent, yet their alteration gives uneasiness. As it is the nature\nof doubt to cause a variation in the thought, and transport us suddenly\nfrom one idea to another, it must of consequence be the occasion of\npain. This pain chiefly takes place, where interest, relation, or the\ngreatness and novelty of any event interests us in it. It is not every\nmatter of fact, of which we have a curiosity to be informed; neither are\nthey such only as we have an interest to know. It is sufficient if the\nidea strikes on us with such force, and concerns us so nearly, as to\ngive us an uneasiness in its instability and inconstancy. A stranger,\nwhen he arrives first at any town, may be entirely indifferent about\nknowing the history and adventures of the inhabitants; but as he becomes\nfarther acquainted with them, and has lived any considerable time among\nthem, he acquires the same curiosity as the natives. When we are reading\nthe history of a nation, we may have an ardent desire of clearing up\nany doubt or difficulty, that occurs in it; but become careless in such\nresearches, when the ideas of these events are, in a great measure,\nobliterated.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBOOK III OF MORALS\n\n\n\n\n\nPART I OF VIRTUE AND VICE IN GENERAL\n\n\n\n\nSECT. I MORAL DISTINCTIONS NOT DERIVED FROM REASON\n\n\nThere is an inconvenience which attends all abstruse reasoning that\nit may silence, without convincing an antagonist, and requires the\nsame intense study to make us sensible of its force, that was at first\nrequisite for its invention. When we leave our closet, and engage in\nthe common affairs of life, its conclusions seem to vanish, like the\nphantoms of the night on the appearance of the morning; and it is\ndifficult for us to retain even that conviction, which we had attained\nwith difficulty. This is still more conspicuous in a long chain of\nreasoning, where we must preserve to the end the evidence of the first\npropositions, and where we often lose sight of all the most received\nmaxims, either of philosophy or common life. I am not, however, without\nhopes, that the present system of philosophy will acquire new force as\nit advances; and that our reasonings concerning morals will corroborate\nwhatever has been said concerning the UNDERSTANDING and the PASSIONS.\nMorality is a subject that interests us above all others: We fancy the\npeace of society to be at stake in every decision concerning it; and\nit is evident, that this concern must make our speculations appear\nmore real and solid, than where the subject is, in a great measure,\nindifferent to us. What affects us, we conclude can never be a chimera;\nand as our passion is engaged on the one side or the other, we naturally\nthink that the question lies within human comprehension; which, in other\ncases of this nature, we are apt to entertain some doubt of. Without\nthis advantage I never should have ventured upon a third volume of such\nabstruse philosophy, in an age, wherein the greatest part of men seem\nagreed to convert reading into an amusement, and to reject every thing\nthat requires any considerable degree of attention to be comprehended.\n\nIt has been observed, that nothing is ever present to the mind but\nits perceptions; and that all the actions of seeing, hearing, judging,\nloving, hating, and thinking, fall under this denomination. The mind can\nnever exert itself in any action, which we may not comprehend under the\nterm of perception; and consequently that term is no less applicable to\nthose judgments, by which we distinguish moral good and evil, than\nto every other operation of the mind. To approve of one character, to\ncondemn another, are only so many different perceptions.\n\nNow as perceptions resolve themselves into two kinds, viz. impressions\nand ideas, this distinction gives rise to a question, with which we\nshall open up our present enquiry concerning morals. WHETHER IT IS\nBY MEANS OF OUR IDEAS OR IMPRESSIONS WE DISTINGUISH BETWIXT VICE AND\nVIRTUE, AND PRONOUNCE AN ACTION BLAMEABLE OR PRAISEWORTHY? This will\nimmediately cut off all loose discourses and declamations, and reduce us\nto something precise and exact on the present subject.\n\nThose who affirm that virtue is nothing but a conformity to reason; that\nthere are eternal fitnesses and unfitnesses of things, which are the\nsame to every rational being that considers them; that the immutable\nmeasures of right and wrong impose an obligation, not only on human\ncreatures, but also on the Deity himself: All these systems concur in\nthe opinion, that morality, like truth, is discerned merely by ideas,\nand by their juxta-position and comparison. In order, therefore, to\njudge of these systems, we need only consider, whether it be possible,\nfrom reason alone, to distinguish betwixt moral good and evil, or\nwhether there must concur some other principles to enable us to make\nthat distinction.\n\nIf morality had naturally no influence on human passions and actions,\nit were in vain to take such pains to inculcate it; and nothing would be\nmore fruitless than that multitude of rules and precepts, with which all\nmoralists abound. Philosophy is commonly divided into speculative and\npractical; and as morality is always comprehended under the latter\ndivision, it is supposed to influence our passions and actions, and to\ngo beyond the calm and indolent judgments of the understanding. And this\nis confirmed by common experience, which informs us, that men are often\ngoverned by their duties, and are detered from some actions by the\nopinion of injustice, and impelled to others by that of obligation.\n\nSince morals, therefore, have an influence on the actions and\naffections, it follows, that they cannot be derived from reason; and\nthat because reason alone, as we have already proved, can never have any\nsuch influence. Morals excite passions, and produce or prevent actions.\nReason of itself is utterly impotent in this particular. The rules of\nmorality therefore, are not conclusions of our reason.\n\nNo one, I believe, will deny the justness of this inference; nor is\nthere any other means of evading it, than by denying that principle,\non which it is founded. As long as it is allowed, that reason has no\ninfluence on our passions and action, it is in vain to pretend,\nthat morality is discovered only by a deduction of reason. An active\nprinciple can never be founded on an inactive; and if reason be inactive\nin itself, it must remain so in all its shapes and appearances, whether\nit exerts itself in natural or moral subjects, whether it considers the\npowers of external bodies, or the actions of rational beings.\n\nIt would be tedious to repeat all the arguments, by which I have\nproved,[1] that reason is perfectly inert, and can never either prevent\nor produce any action or affection, it will be easy to recollect what\nhas been said upon that subject. I shall only recall on this occasion\none of these arguments, which I shall endeavour to render still more\nconclusive, and more applicable to the present subject.\n\n    [1] Book II. Part III. Sect 3.\n\nReason is the discovery of truth or falshood. Truth or falshood consists\nin an agreement or disagreement either to the real relations of ideas,\nor to real existence and matter of fact. Whatever, therefore, is not\nsusceptible of this agreement or disagreement, is incapable of being\ntrue or false, and can never be an object of our reason. Now it is\nevident our passions, volitions, and actions, are not susceptible of\nany such agreement or disagreement; being original facts and realities,\ncompleat in themselves, and implying no reference to other passions,\nvolitions, and actions. It is impossible, therefore, they can be\npronounced either true or false, and be either contrary or conformable\nto reason.\n\nThis argument is of double advantage to our present purpose. For\nit proves DIRECTLY, that actions do not derive their merit from a\nconformity to reason, nor their blame from a contrariety to it; and it\nproves the same truth more INDIRECTLY, by shewing us, that as reason\ncan never immediately prevent or produce any action by contradicting or\napproving of it, it cannot be the source of moral good and evil, which\nare found to have that influence. Actions may be laudable or blameable;\nbut they cannot be reasonable: Laudable or blameable, therefore, are\nnot the same with reasonable or unreasonable. The merit and demerit\nof actions frequently contradict, and sometimes controul our natural\npropensities. But reason has no such influence. Moral distinctions,\ntherefore, are not the offspring of reason. Reason is wholly inactive,\nand can never be the source of so active a principle as conscience, or a\nsense of morals.\n\nBut perhaps it may be said, that though no will or action can\nbe immediately contradictory to reason, yet we may find such a\ncontradiction in some of the attendants of the action, that is, in its\ncauses or effects. The action may cause a judgment, or may be obliquely\ncaused by one, when the judgment concurs with a passion; and by an\nabusive way of speaking, which philosophy will scarce allow of, the same\ncontrariety may, upon that account, be ascribed to the action. How\nfar this truth or falsehood may be the source of morals, it will now be\nproper to consider.\n\nIt has been observed, that reason, in a strict and philosophical sense,\ncan have influence on our conduct only after two ways: Either when it\nexcites a passion by informing us of the existence of something which is\na proper object of it; or when it discovers the connexion of causes and\neffects, so as to afford us means of exerting any passion. These are the\nonly kinds of judgment, which can accompany our actions, or can be\nsaid to produce them in any manner; and it must be allowed, that these\njudgments may often be false and erroneous. A person may be affected\nwith passion, by supposing a pain or pleasure to lie in an object, which\nhas no tendency to produce either of these sensations, or which produces\nthe contrary to what is imagined. A person may also take false measures\nfor the attaining his end, and may retard, by his foolish conduct,\ninstead of forwarding the execution of any project. These false\njudgments may be thought to affect the passions and actions, which are\nconnected with them, and may be said to render them unreasonable, in\na figurative and improper way of speaking. But though this be\nacknowledged, it is easy to observe, that these errors are so far\nfrom being the source of all immorality, that they are commonly\nvery innocent, and draw no manner of guilt upon the person who is so\nunfortunate as to fail into them. They extend not beyond a mistake of\nfact, which moralists have not generally supposed criminal, as being\nperfectly involuntary. I am more to be lamented than blamed, if I am\nmistaken with regard to the influence of objects in producing pain or\npleasure, or if I know not the proper means of satisfying my desires.\nNo one can ever regard such errors as a defect in my moral character.\nA fruit, for instance, that is really disagreeable, appears to me at a\ndistance, and through mistake I fancy it to be pleasant and delicious.\nHere is one error. I choose certain means of reaching this fruit, which\nare not proper for my end. Here is a second error; nor is there any\nthird one, which can ever possibly enter into our reasonings concerning\nactions. I ask, therefore, if a man, in this situation, and guilty of\nthese two errors, is to be regarded as vicious and criminal, however\nunavoidable they might have been? Or if it be possible to imagine, that\nsuch errors are the sources of all immorality?\n\nAnd here it may be proper to observe, that if moral distinctions be\nderived from the truth or falshood of those judgments, they must take\nplace wherever we form the judgments; nor will there be any difference,\nwhether the question be concerning an apple or a kingdom, or whether the\nerror be avoidable or unavoidable. For as the very essence of morality\nis supposed to consist in an agreement or disagreement to reason, the\nother circumstances are entirely arbitrary, and can never either bestow\non any action the character of virtuous or vicious, or deprive it\nof that character. To which we may add, that this agreement or\ndisagreement, not admitting of degrees, all virtues and vices would of\ncourse be equal.\n\nShould it be pretended, that though a mistake of fact be not criminal,\nyet a mistake of right often is; and that this may be the source of\nimmorality: I would answer, that it is impossible such a mistake can\never be the original source of immorality, since it supposes a real\nright and wrong; that is, a real distinction in morals, independent of\nthese judgments. A mistake, therefore, of right may become a species\nof immorality; but it is only a secondary one, and is founded on some\nother, antecedent to it.\n\nAs to those judgments which are the effects of our actions, and which,\nwhen false, give occasion to pronounce the actions contrary to truth\nand reason; we may observe, that our actions never cause any judgment,\neither true or false, in ourselves, and that it is only on others\nthey have such an influence. It is certain, that an action, on many\noccasions, may give rise to false conclusions in others; and that a\nperson, who through a window sees any lewd behaviour of mine with my\nneighbour's wife, may be so simple as to imagine she is certainly my\nown. In this respect my action resembles somewhat a lye or falshood;\nonly with this difference, which is material, that I perform not the\naction with any intention of giving rise to a false judgment in another,\nbut merely to satisfy my lust and passion. It causes, however, a mistake\nand false judgment by accident; and the falshood of its effects may be\nascribed, by some odd figurative way of speaking, to the action itself.\nBut still I can see no pretext of reason for asserting, that the\ntendency to cause such an error is the first spring or original source\nof all immorality.\n\n\n\n    [2] One might think it were entirely superfluous to prove this, if\n    a late author [William Wollaston, THE RELIGION OF NATURE DELINEATED\n    (London 1722)], who has had the good fortune to obtain some\n    reputation, had not seriously affirmed, that such a falshood is the\n    foundation of all guilt and moral deformity. That we may discover\n    the fallacy of his hypothesis, we need only consider, that a false\n    conclusion is drawn from an action, only by means of an obscurity\n    of natural principles, which makes a cause be secretly interrupted\n    in its operation, by contrary causes, and renders the connexion\n    betwixt two objects uncertain and variable. Now, as a like\n    uncertainty and variety of causes take place, even in natural\n    objects, and produce a like error in our judgment, if that tendency\n    to produce error were the very essence of vice and immorality, it\n    should follow, that even inanimate objects might be vicious and\n    immoral.\n\n     One might think it were entirely superfluous to prove this, if a\n     late author [William Wollaston, THE RELIGION OF NATURE DELINEATED\n     (London 1722)], who has had the good fortune to obtain some\n     reputation, had not seriously affirmed, that such a falshood is\n     the foundation of all guilt and moral deformity. That we may\n     discover the fallacy of his hypothesis, we need only consider,\n     that a false conclusion is drawn from an action, only by means of\n     an obscurity of natural principles, which makes a cause be\n     secretly interrupted In its operation, by contrary causes, and\n     renders the connexion betwixt two objects uncertain and variable.\n     Now, as a like uncertainty and variety of causes take place, even\n     in natural objects, and produce a like error in our judgment, if\n     that tendency to produce error were the very essence of vice and\n     immorality, it should follow, that even inanimate objects might be\n     vicious and immoral.\n\n     It is in vain to urge, that inanimate objects act without liberty\n     and choice. For as liberty and choice are not necessary to make an\n     action produce in us an erroneous conclusion, they can be, in no\n     respect, essential to morality; and I do not readily perceive,\n     upon this system, how they can ever come to be regarded by it. If\n     the tendency to cause error be the origin of immorality, that\n     tendency and immorality would in every case be inseparable.\n\n     Add to this, that if I had used the precaution of shutting the\n     windows, while I indulged myself in those liberties with my\n     neighbour's wife, I should have been guilty of no immorality; and\n     that because my action, being perfectly concealed, would have had\n     no tendency to produce any false conclusion.\n\n     For the same reason, a thief, who steals in by a ladder at a\n     window, and takes all imaginable care to cause no disturbance, is\n     in no respect criminal. For either he will not be perceived, or if\n     he be, it is impossible he can produce any error, nor will any\n     one, from these circumstances, take him to be other than what he\n     really is.\n\n     It is well known, that those who are squint-sighted, do very\n     readily cause mistakes in others, and that we imagine they salute\n     or are talking to one person, while they address themselves to\n     another. Are they therefore, upon that account, immoral?\n\n     Besides, we may easily observe, that in all those arguments there\n     is an evident reasoning in a circle. A person who takes possession\n     of another's goods, and uses them as his own, in a manner declares\n     them to be his own; and this falshood is the source of the\n     immorality of injustice. But is property, or right, or obligation,\n     intelligible, without an antecedent morality?\n\n     A man that is ungrateful to his benefactor, in a manner affirms,\n     that he never received any favours from him. But in what manner?\n     Is it because it is his duty to be grateful? But this supposes,\n     that there is some antecedent rule of duty and morals. Is it\n     because human nature is generally grateful, and makes us conclude,\n     that a man who does any harm never received any favour from the\n     person he harmed? But human nature is not so generally grateful,\n     as to justify such a conclusion. Or if it were, is an exception to\n     a general rule in every case criminal, for no other reason than\n     because it is an exception?\n\n     But what may suffice entirely to destroy this whimsical system is,\n     that it leaves us under the same difficulty to give a reason why\n     truth is virtuous and falshood vicious, as to account for the\n     merit or turpitude of any other action. I shall allow, if you\n     please, that all immorality is derived from this supposed falshood\n     in action, provided you can give me any plausible reason, why such\n     a falshood is immoral. If you consider rightly of the matter, you\n     will find yourself in the same difficulty as at the beginning.\n\n     This last argument is very conclusive; because, if there be not an\n     evident merit or turpitude annexed to this species of truth or\n     falahood, It can never have any influence upon our actions. For,\n     who ever thought of forbearing any action, because others might\n     possibly draw false conclusions from it? Or, who ever performed\n     any, that he might give rise to true conclusions?\n\n\nThus upon the whole, it is impossible, that the distinction betwixt\nmoral good and evil, can be made to reason; since that distinction\nhas an influence upon our actions, of which reason alone is incapable.\nReason and judgment may, indeed, be the mediate cause of an action, by\nprompting, or by directing a passion: But it is not pretended, that a\njudgment of this kind, either in its truth or falshood, is attended\nwith virtue or vice. And as to the judgments, which are caused by our\njudgments, they can still less bestow those moral qualities on the\nactions, which are their causes.\n\nBut to be more particular, and to shew, that those eternal immutable\nfitnesses and unfitnesses of things cannot be defended by sound\nphilosophy, we may weigh the following considerations.\n\nIf the thought and understanding were alone capable of fixing the\nboundaries of right and wrong, the character of virtuous and vicious\neither must lie in some relations of objects, or must be a matter of\nfact, which is discovered by our reasoning. This consequence is evident.\nAs the operations of human understanding divide themselves into two\nkinds, the comparing of ideas, and the inferring of matter of fact; were\nvirtue discovered by the understanding; it must be an object of one of\nthese operations, nor is there any third operation of the understanding.\nwhich can discover it. There has been an opinion very industriously\npropagated by certain philosophers, that morality is susceptible of\ndemonstration; and though no one has ever been able to advance a single\nstep in those demonstrations; yet it is taken for granted, that this\nscience may be brought to an equal certainty with geometry or algebra.\nUpon this supposition vice and virtue must consist in some relations;\nsince it is allowed on all hands, that no matter of fact is capable\nof being demonstrated. Let us, therefore, begin with examining this\nhypothesis, and endeavour, if possible, to fix those moral qualities,\nwhich have been so long the objects of our fruitless researches. Point\nout distinctly the relations, which constitute morality or obligation,\nthat we may know wherein they consist, and after what manner we must\njudge of them.\n\nIf you assert, that vice and virtue consist in relations susceptible\nof certainty and demonstration, you must confine yourself to those four\nrelations, which alone admit of that degree of evidence; and in that\ncase you run into absurdities, from which you will never be able to\nextricate yourself. For as you make the very essence of morality to lie\nin the relations, and as there is no one of these relations but what is\napplicable, not only to an irrational, but also to an inanimate object;\nit follows, that even such objects must be susceptible of merit or\ndemerit. RESEMBLANCE, CONTRARIETY, DEGREES IN QUALITY, and PROPORTIONS\nIN QUANTITY AND NUMBER; all these relations belong as properly\nto matter, as to our actions, passions, and volitions. It is\nunquestionable, therefore, that morality lies not in any of these\nrelations, nor the sense of it in their discovery.[3]\n\n\n    [3] As a proof, how confused our way of thinking on this subject\n    commonly is, we may observe, that those who assert, that morality\n    is demonstrable, do not say, that morality lies in the relations,\n    and that the relations are distinguishable by reason. They only\n    say, that reason can discover such an action, in such relations, to\n    be virtuous, and such another vicious. It seems they thought it\n    sufficient, if they could bring the word, Relation, into the\n    proposition, without troubling themselves whether it was to the\n    purpose or not. But here, I think, is plain argument. Demonstrative\n    reason discovers only relations. But that reason, according to this\n    hypothesis, discovers also vice and virtue. These moral qualities,\n    therefore, must be relations. When we blame any action, in any\n    situation, the whole complicated object, of action and situation,\n    must form certain relations, wherein the essence of vice consists.\n    This hypothesis is not otherwise intelligible. For what does reason\n    discover, when it pronounces any action vicious? Does it discover a\n    relation or a matter of fact? These questions are decisive, and\n    must not be eluded.\n\nShould it be asserted, that the sense of morality consists in\nthe discovery of some relation, distinct from these, and that our\nenumeration was not compleat, when we comprehended all demonstrable\nrelations under four general heads: To this I know not what to reply,\ntill some one be so good as to point out to me this new relation. It is\nimpossible to refute a system, which has never yet been explained. In\nsuch a manner of fighting in the dark, a man loses his blows in the air,\nand often places them where the enemy is not present.\n\nI must, therefore, on this occasion, rest contented with requiring the\ntwo following conditions of any one that would undertake to clear up\nthis system. First, As moral good and evil belong only to the actions\nof the mind, and are derived from our situation with regard to external\nobjects, the relations, from which these moral distinctions arise, must\nlie only betwixt internal actions, and external objects, and must not be\napplicable either to internal actions, compared among themselves, or to\nexternal objects, when placed in opposition to other external objects.\nFor as morality is supposed to attend certain relations, if these\nrelations could belong to internal actions considered singly, it would\nfollow, that we might be guilty of crimes in ourselves, and independent\nof our situation, with respect to the universe: And in like manner, if\nthese moral relations could be applied to external objects, it would\nfollow, that even inanimate beings would be susceptible of moral beauty\nand deformity. Now it seems difficult to imagine, that any relation can\nbe discovered betwixt our passions, volitions and actions, compared\nto external objects, which relation might not belong either to these\npassions and volitions, or to these external objects, compared among\nthemselves. But it will be still more difficult to fulfil the second\ncondition, requisite to justify this system. According to the principles\nof those who maintain an abstract rational difference betwixt moral good\nand evil, and a natural fitness and unfitness of things, it is not only\nsupposed, that these relations, being eternal and immutable, are the\nsame, when considered by every rational creature, but their effects are\nalso supposed to be necessarily the same; and it is concluded they have\nno less, or rather a greater, influence in directing the will of the\ndeity, than in governing the rational and virtuous of our own species.\nThese two particulars are evidently distinct. It is one thing to know\nvirtue, and another to conform the will to it. In order, therefore, to\nprove, that the measures of right and wrong are eternal laws, obligatory\non every rational mind, it is not sufficient to shew the relations upon\nwhich they are founded: We must also point out the connexion betwixt\nthe relation and the will; and must prove that this connexion is so\nnecessary, that in every well-disposed mind, it must take place and have\nits influence; though the difference betwixt these minds be in other\nrespects immense and infinite. Now besides what I have already proved,\nthat even in human nature no relation can ever alone produce any\naction: besides this, I say, it has been shewn, in treating of the\nunderstanding, that there is no connexion of cause and effect, such\nas this is supposed to be, which is discoverable otherwise than by\nexperience, and of which we can pretend to have any security by the\nsimple consideration of the objects. All beings in the universe,\nconsidered in themselves, appear entirely loose and independent of each\nother. It is only by experience we learn their influence and connexion;\nand this influence we ought never to extend beyond experience.\n\nThus it will be impossible to fulfil the first condition required to the\nsystem of eternal measures of right and wrong; because it is impossible\nto shew those relations, upon which such a distinction may be founded:\nAnd it is as impossible to fulfil the second condition; because we\ncannot prove A PRIORI, that these relations, if they really existed and\nwere perceived, would be universally forcible and obligatory.\n\nBut to make these general reflections more clear and convincing, we may\nillustrate them by some particular instances, wherein this character of\nmoral good or evil is the most universally acknowledged. Of all crimes\nthat human creatures are capable of committing, the most horrid and\nunnatural is ingratitude, especially when it is committed against\nparents, and appears in the more flagrant instances of wounds and death.\nThis is acknowledged by all mankind, philosophers as well as the people;\nthe question only arises among philosophers, whether the guilt or moral\ndeformity of this action be discovered by demonstrative reasoning, or\nbe felt by an internal sense, and by means of some sentiment, which the\nreflecting on such an action naturally occasions. This question will\nsoon be decided against the former opinion, if we can shew the same\nrelations in other objects, without the notion of any guilt or iniquity\nattending them. Reason or science is nothing but the comparing of ideas,\nand the discovery of their relations; and if the same relations have\ndifferent characters, it must evidently follow, that those characters\nare not discovered merely by reason. To put the affair, therefore, to\nthis trial, let us chuse any inanimate object, such as an oak or elm;\nand let us suppose, that by the dropping of its seed, it produces a\nsapling below it, which springing up by degrees, at last overtops and\ndestroys the parent tree: I ask, if in this instance there be wanting\nany relation, which is discoverable in parricide or ingratitude? Is\nnot the one tree the cause of the other's existence; and the latter the\ncause of the destruction of the former, in the same manner as when a\nchild murders his parent? It is not sufficient to reply, that a choice\nor will is wanting. For in the case of parricide, a will does not give\nrise to any DIFFERENT relations, but is only the cause from which the\naction is derived; and consequently produces the same relations, that in\nthe oak or elm arise from some other principles. It is a will or choice,\nthat determines a man to kill his parent; and they are the laws of\nmatter and motion, that determine a sapling to destroy the oak, from\nwhich it sprung. Here then the same relations have different causes; but\nstill the relations are the same: And as their discovery is not in both\ncases attended with a notion of immorality, it follows, that that notion\ndoes not arise from such a discovery.\n\nBut to chuse an instance, still more resembling; I would fain ask any\none, why incest in the human species is criminal, and why the very same\naction, and the same relations in animals have not the smallest moral\nturpitude and deformity? If it be answered, that this action is innocent\nin animals, because they have not reason sufficient to discover its\nturpitude; but that man, being endowed with that faculty which ought to\nrestrain him to his duty, the same action instantly becomes criminal to\nhim; should this be said, I would reply, that this is evidently\narguing in a circle. For before reason can perceive this turpitude, the\nturpitude must exist; and consequently is independent of the decisions\nof our reason, and is their object more properly than their effect.\nAccording to this system, then, every animal, that has sense, and\nappetite, and will; that is, every animal must be susceptible of all the\nsame virtues and vices, for which we ascribe praise and blame to human\ncreatures. All the difference is, that our superior reason may serve to\ndiscover the vice or virtue, and by that means may augment the blame\nor praise: But still this discovery supposes a separate being in these\nmoral distinctions, and a being, which depends only on the will and\nappetite, and which, both in thought and reality, may be distinguished\nfrom the reason. Animals are susceptible of the same relations, with\nrespect to each other, as the human species, and therefore would also be\nsusceptible of the same morality, if the essence of morality consisted\nin these relations. Their want of a sufficient degree of reason may\nhinder them from perceiving the duties and obligations of morality,\nbut can never hinder these duties from existing; since they must\nantecedently exist, in order to their being perceived. Reason must find\nthem, and can never produce them. This argument deserves to be weighed,\nas being, in my opinion, entirely decisive.\n\nNor does this reasoning only prove, that morality consists not in any\nrelations, that are the objects of science; but if examined, will prove\nwith equal certainty, that it consists not in any matter of fact, which\ncan be discovered by the understanding. This is the second part of our\nargument; and if it can be made evident, we may conclude, that morality\nis not an object of reason. But can there be any difficulty in proving,\nthat vice and virtue are not matters of fact, whose existence we can\ninfer by reason? Take any action allowed to be vicious: Wilful murder,\nfor instance. Examine it in all lights, and see if you can find that\nmatter of fact, or real existence, which you call vice. In which-ever\nway you take it, you find only certain passions, motives, volitions\nand thoughts. There is no other matter of fact in the case. The vice\nentirely escapes you, as long as you consider the object. You never can\nfind it, till you turn your reflection into your own breast, and find a\nsentiment of disapprobation, which arises in you, towards this action.\nHere is a matter of fact; but it is the object of feeling, not of\nreason. It lies in yourself, not in the object. So that when you\npronounce any action or character to be vicious, you mean nothing,\nbut that from the constitution of your nature you have a feeling or\nsentiment of blame from the contemplation of it. Vice and virtue,\ntherefore, may be compared to sounds, colours, heat and cold, which,\naccording to modern philosophy, are not qualities in objects, but\nperceptions in the mind: And this discovery in morals, like that other\nin physics, is to be regarded as a considerable advancement of the\nspeculative sciences; though, like that too, it has little or no\ninfluence on practice. Nothing can be more real, or concern us more,\nthan our own sentiments of pleasure and uneasiness; and if these be\nfavourable to virtue, and unfavourable to vice, no more can be requisite\nto the regulation of our conduct and behaviour.\n\nI cannot forbear adding to these reasonings an observation, which may,\nperhaps, be found of some importance. In every system of morality,\nwhich I have hitherto met with, I have always remarked, that the author\nproceeds for some time in the ordinary way of reasoning, and establishes\nthe being of a God, or makes observations concerning human affairs;\nwhen of a sudden I am surprized to find, that instead of the usual\ncopulations of propositions, is, and is not, I meet with no proposition\nthat is not connected with an ought, or an ought not. This change is\nimperceptible; but is, however, of the last consequence. For as this\nought, or ought not, expresses some new relation or affirmation, it is\nnecessary that it should be observed and explained; and at the same time\nthat a reason should be given, for what seems altogether inconceivable,\nhow this new relation can be a deduction from others, which are entirely\ndifferent from it. But as authors do not commonly use this precaution,\nI shall presume to recommend it to the readers; and am persuaded, that\nthis small attention would subvert all the vulgar systems of morality,\nand let us see, that the distinction of vice and virtue is not founded\nmerely on the relations of objects, nor is perceived by reason.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. II MORAL DISTINCTIONS DERIVED FROM A MORAL SENSE\n\n\nThus the course of the argument leads us to conclude, that since vice\nand virtue are not discoverable merely by reason, or the comparison\nof ideas, it must be by means of some impression or sentiment they\noccasion, that we are able to mark the difference betwixt them. Our\ndecisions concerning moral rectitude and depravity are evidently\nperceptions; and as all perceptions are either impressions or ideas, the\nexclusion of the one is a convincing argument for the other. Morality,\ntherefore, is more properly felt than judged of; though this feeling or\nsentiment is commonly so soft and gentle, that we are apt to confound\nit with an idea, according to our common custom of taking all things for\nthe same, which have any near resemblance to each other.\n\nThe next question is, of what nature are these impressions, and after\nwhat manner do they operate upon us? Here we cannot remain long in\nsuspense, but must pronounce the impression arising from virtue, to\nbe agreeable, and that proceding from vice to be uneasy. Every moments\nexperience must convince us of this. There is no spectacle so fair and\nbeautiful as a noble and generous action; nor any which gives us more\nabhorrence than one that is cruel and treacherous. No enjoyment equals\nthe satisfaction we receive from the company of those we love and\nesteem; as the greatest of all punishments is to be obliged to pass our\nlives with those we hate or contemn. A very play or romance may afford\nus instances of this pleasure, which virtue conveys to us; and pain,\nwhich arises from vice.\n\nNow since the distinguishing impressions, by which moral good or evil is\nknown, are nothing but particular pains or pleasures; it follows,\nthat in all enquiries concerning these moral distinctions, it will be\nsufficient to shew the principles, which make us feel a satisfaction or\nuneasiness from the survey of any character, in order to satisfy us\nwhy the character is laudable or blameable. An action, or sentiment,\nor character is virtuous or vicious; why? because its view causes\na pleasure or uneasiness of a particular kind. In giving a reason,\ntherefore, for the pleasure or uneasiness, we sufficiently explain the\nvice or virtue. To have the sense of virtue, is nothing but to feel a\nsatisfaction of a particular kind from the contemplation of a character.\nThe very feeling constitutes our praise or admiration. We go no farther;\nnor do we enquire into the cause of the satisfaction. We do not infer\na character to be virtuous, because it pleases: But in feeling that it\npleases after such a particular manner, we in effect feel that it is\nvirtuous. The case is the same as in our judgments concerning all kinds\nof beauty, and tastes, and sensations. Our approbation is implyed in the\nimmediate pleasure they convey to us.\n\nI have objected to the system, which establishes eternal rational\nmeasures of right and wrong, that it is impossible to shew, in the\nactions of reasonable creatures, any relations, which are not found\nin external objects; and therefore, if morality always attended these\nrelations, it were possible for inanimate matter to become virtuous or\nvicious. Now it may, in like manner, be objected to the present system,\nthat if virtue and vice be determined by pleasure and pain, these\nqualities must, in every case, arise from the sensations; and\nconsequently any object, whether animate or inanimate, rational or\nirrational, might become morally good or evil, provided it can excite\na satisfaction or uneasiness. But though this objection seems to be the\nvery same, it has by no means the same force, in the one case as in\nthe other. For, first, tis evident, that under the term pleasure, we\ncomprehend sensations, which are very different from each other, and\nwhich have only such a distant resemblance, as is requisite to make them\nbe expressed by the same abstract term. A good composition of music and\na bottle of good wine equally produce pleasure; and what is more, their\ngoodness is determined merely by the pleasure. But shall we say upon\nthat account, that the wine is harmonious, or the music of a good\nflavour? In like manner an inanimate object, and the character or\nsentiments of any person may, both of them, give satisfaction; but as\nthe satisfaction is different, this keeps our sentiments concerning them\nfrom being confounded, and makes us ascribe virtue to the one, and not\nto the other. Nor is every sentiment of pleasure or pain, which arises\nfrom characters and actions, of that peculiar kind, which makes us\npraise or condemn. The good qualities of an enemy are hurtful to us; but\nmay still command our esteem and respect. It is only when a character\nis considered in general, without reference to our particular interest,\nthat it causes such a feeling or sentiment, as denominates it morally\ngood or evil. It is true, those sentiments, from interest and morals,\nare apt to be confounded, and naturally run into one another. It seldom\nhappens, that we do not think an enemy vicious, and can distinguish\nbetwixt his opposition to our interest and real villainy or baseness.\nBut this hinders not, but that the sentiments are, in themselves,\ndistinct; and a man of temper and judgment may preserve himself from\nthese illusions. In like manner, though it is certain a musical voice is\nnothing but one that naturally gives a particular kind of pleasure; yet\nit is difficult for a man to be sensible, that the voice of an enemy is\nagreeable, or to allow it to be musical. But a person of a fine ear, who\nhas the command of himself, can separate these feelings, and give praise\nto what deserves it.\n\nSECONDLY, We may call to remembrance the preceding system of the\npassions, in order to remark a still more considerable difference\namong our pains and pleasures. Pride and humility, love and hatred are\nexcited, when there is any thing presented to us, that both bears a\nrelation to the object of the passion, and produces a separate sensation\nrelated to the sensation of the passion. Now virtue and vice are\nattended with these circumstances. They must necessarily be placed\neither in ourselves or others, and excite either pleasure or uneasiness;\nand therefore must give rise to one of these four passions; which\nclearly distinguishes them from the pleasure and pain arising from\ninanimate objects, that often bear no relation to us: And this is,\nperhaps, the most considerable effect that virtue and vice have upon the\nhuman mind.\n\nIt may now be asked in general, concerning this pain or pleasure, that\ndistinguishes moral good and evil, FROM WHAT PRINCIPLES IS IT DERIVED,\nAND WHENCE DOES IT ARISE IN THE HUMAN MIND? To this I reply, first,\nthat it is absurd to imagine, that in every particular instance, these\nsentiments are produced by an original quality and primary constitution.\nFor as the number of our duties is, in a manner, infinite, it is\nimpossible that our original instincts should extend to each of them,\nand from our very first infancy impress on the human mind all that\nmultitude of precepts, which are contained in the compleatest system\nof ethics. Such a method of proceeding is not conformable to the usual\nmaxims, by which nature is conducted, where a few principles produce all\nthat variety we observe in the universe, and every thing is carryed on\nin the easiest and most simple manner. It is necessary, therefore, to\nabridge these primary impulses, and find some more general principles,\nupon which all our notions of morals are founded.\n\nBut in the second place, should it be asked, Whether we ought to search\nfor these principles in nature, or whether we must look for them in some\nother origin? I would reply, that our answer to this question depends\nupon the definition of the word, Nature, than which there is none more\nambiguous and equivocal. If nature be opposed to miracles, not only the\ndistinction betwixt vice and virtue is natural, but also every event,\nwhich has ever happened in the world, EXCEPTING THOSE MIRACLES, ON WHICH\nOUR RELIGION IS FOUNDED. In saying, then, that the sentiments of vice\nand virtue are natural in this sense, we make no very extraordinary\ndiscovery.\n\nBut nature may also be opposed to rare and unusual; and in this sense\nof the word, which is the common one, there may often arise disputes\nconcerning what is natural or unnatural; and one may in general affirm,\nthat we are not possessed of any very precise standard, by which these\ndisputes can be decided. Frequent and rare depend upon the number of\nexamples we have observed; and as this number may gradually encrease\nor diminish, it will be impossible to fix any exact boundaries betwixt\nthem. We may only affirm on this head, that if ever there was any thing,\nwhich could be called natural in this sense, the sentiments of morality\ncertainly may; since there never was any nation of the world, nor any\nsingle person in any nation, who was utterly deprived of them, and\nwho never, in any instance, shewed the least approbation or dislike of\nmanners. These sentiments are so rooted in our constitution and temper,\nthat without entirely confounding the human mind by disease or madness,\nit is impossible to extirpate and destroy them.\n\nBut nature may also be opposed to artifice, as well as to what is rare\nand unusual; and in this sense it may be disputed, whether the notions\nof virtue be natural or not. We readily forget, that the designs,\nand projects, and views of men are principles as necessary in their\noperation as heat and cold, moist and dry: But taking them to be free\nand entirely our own, it is usual for us to set them in opposition\nto the other principles of nature should it, therefore, be demanded,\nwhether the sense of virtue be natural or artificial, I am of opinion,\nthat it is impossible for me at present to give any precise answer to\nthis question. Perhaps it will appear afterwards, that our sense of some\nvirtues is artificial, and that of others natural. The discussion of\nthis question will be more proper, when we enter upon an exact detail of\neach particular vice and virtue.[4]\n\n\n    [4] In the following discourse natural is also opposed sometimes to\n    civil, sometimes to moral. The opposition will always discover the\n    sense, in which it is taken.\n\nMeanwhile it may not be amiss to observe from these definitions of\nnatural and unnatural, that nothing can be more unphilosophical than\nthose systems, which assert, that virtue is the same with what is\nnatural, and vice with what is unnatural. For in the first sense of the\nword, Nature, as opposed to miracles, both vice and virtue are equally\nnatural; and in the second sense, as opposed to what is unusual, perhaps\nvirtue will be found to be the most unnatural. At least it must be\nowned, that heroic virtue, being as unusual, is as little natural as the\nmost brutal barbarity. As to the third sense of the word, it is certain,\nthat both vice and virtue are equally artificial, and out of nature. For\nhowever it may be disputed, whether the notion of a merit or demerit\nin certain actions be natural or artificial, it is evident, that the\nactions themselves are artificial, and are performed with a certain\ndesign and intention; otherwise they could never be ranked under any of\nthese denominations. It is impossible, therefore, that the character\nof natural and unnatural can ever, in any sense, mark the boundaries of\nvice and virtue.\n\nThus we are still brought back to our first position, that virtue is\ndistinguished by the pleasure, and vice by the pain, that any action,\nsentiment or character gives us by the mere view and contemplation.\nThis decision is very commodious; because it reduces us to this simple\nquestion, Why any action or sentiment upon the general view or survey,\ngives a certain satisfaction or uneasiness, in order to shew the\norigin of its moral rectitude or depravity, without looking for any\nincomprehensible relations and qualities, which never did exist\nin nature, nor even in our imagination, by any clear and distinct\nconception. I flatter myself I have executed a great part of my present\ndesign by a state of the question, which appears to me so free from\nambiguity and obscurity.\n\n\n\n\n\nPART II OF JUSTICE AND INJUSTICE\n\n\n\n\nSECT. I JUSTICE, WHETHER A NATURAL OR ARTIFICIAL VIRTUE?\n\n\nI have already hinted, that our sense of every kind of virtue is not\nnatural; but that there are some virtues, that produce pleasure and\napprobation by means of an artifice or contrivance, which arises from\nthe circumstances and necessity of mankind. Of this kind I assert\njustice to be; and shall endeavour to defend this opinion by a short,\nand, I hope, convincing argument, before I examine the nature of the\nartifice, from which the sense of that virtue is derived.\n\nIt is evident, that when we praise any actions, we regard only the\nmotives that produced them, and consider the actions as signs or\nindications of certain principles in the mind and temper. The external\nperformance has no merit. We must look within to find the moral quality.\nThis we cannot do directly; and therefore fix our attention on actions,\nas on external signs. But these actions are still considered as signs;\nand the ultimate object of our praise and approbation is the motive,\nthat produced them.\n\nAfter the same manner, when we require any action, or blame a person for\nnot performing it, we always suppose, that one in that situation should\nbe influenced by the proper motive of that action, and we esteem it\nvicious in him to be regardless of it. If we find, upon enquiry, that\nthe virtuous motive was still powerful over his breast, though checked\nin its operation by some circumstances unknown to us, we retract our\nblame, and have the same esteem for him, as if he had actually performed\nthe action, which we require of him.\n\nIt appears, therefore, that all virtuous actions derive their merit\nonly from virtuous motives, and are considered merely as signs of those\nmotives. From this principle I conclude, that the first virtuous motive,\nwhich bestows a merit on any action, can never be a regard to the virtue\nof that action, but must be some other natural motive or principle. To\nsuppose, that the mere regard to the virtue of the action may be the\nfirst motive, which produced the action, and rendered it virtuous, is to\nreason in a circle. Before we can have such a regard, the action must\nbe really virtuous; and this virtue must be derived from some virtuous\nmotive: And consequently the virtuous motive must be different from the\nregard to the virtue of the action. A virtuous motive is requisite to\nrender an action virtuous. An action must be virtuous, before we can\nhave a regard to its virtue. Some virtuous motive, therefore, must be\nantecedent to that regard.\n\nNor is this merely a metaphysical subtilty; but enters into all our\nreasonings in common life, though perhaps we may not be able to place it\nin such distinct philosophical terms. We blame a father for neglecting\nhis child. Why? because it shews a want of natural affection, which is\nthe duty of every parent. Were not natural affection a duty, the care of\nchildren could not be a duty; and it were impossible we could have the\nduty in our eye in the attention we give to our offspring. In this case,\ntherefore, all men suppose a motive to the action distinct from a sense\nof duty.\n\nHere is a man, that does many benevolent actions; relieves the\ndistressed, comforts the afflicted, and extends his bounty even to the\ngreatest strangers. No character can be more amiable and virtuous. We\nregard these actions as proofs of the greatest humanity. This humanity\nbestows a merit on the actions. A regard to this merit is, therefore,\na secondary consideration, and derived from the antecedent principle of\nhumanity, which is meritorious and laudable.\n\nIn short, it may be established as an undoubted maxim, THAT NO ACTION\nCAN BE VIRTUOUS, OR MORALLY GOOD, UNLESS THERE BE IN HUMAN NATURE SOME\nMOTIVE TO PRODUCE IT, DISTINCT FROM THE SENSE OF ITS MORALITY.\n\nBut may not the sense of morality or duty produce an action, without any\nother motive? I answer, It may: But this is no objection to the present\ndoctrine. When any virtuous motive or principle is common in human\nnature, a person, who feels his heart devoid of that motive, may hate\nhimself upon that account, and may perform the action without the\nmotive, from a certain sense of duty, in order to acquire by practice,\nthat virtuous principle, or at least, to disguise to himself, as much\nas possible, his want of it. A man that really feels no gratitude in his\ntemper, is still pleased to perform grateful actions, and thinks he has,\nby that means, fulfilled his duty. Actions are at first only considered\nas signs of motives: But it is usual, in this case, as in all others, to\nfix our attention on the signs, and neglect, in some measure, the thing\nsignifyed. But though, on some occasions, a person may perform an action\nmerely out of regard to its moral obligation, yet still this supposes\nin human nature some distinct principles, which are capable of producing\nthe action, and whose moral beauty renders the action meritorious.\n\nNow to apply all this to the present case; I suppose a person to have\nlent me a sum of money, on condition that it be restored in a few days;\nand also suppose, that after the expiration of the term agreed on, he\ndemands the sum: I ask, What reason or motive have I to restore the\nmoney? It will, perhaps, be said, that my regard to justice, and\nabhorrence of villainy and knavery, are sufficient reasons for me, if\nI have the least grain of honesty, or sense of duty and obligation. And\nthis answer, no doubt, is just and satisfactory to man in his civilized\nstate, and when trained up according to a certain discipline and\neducation. But in his rude and more natural condition, if you are\npleased to call such a condition natural, this answer would be rejected\nas perfectly unintelligible and sophistical. For one in that situation\nwould immediately ask you, WHEREIN CONSISTS THIS HONESTY AND JUSTICE,\nWHICH YOU FIND IN RESTORING A LOAN, AND ABSTAINING FROM THE PROPERTY\nOF OTHERS? It does not surely lie in the external action. It must,\ntherefore be placed in the motive, from which the external action is\nderived. This motive can never be a regard to the honesty of the action.\nFor it is a plain fallacy to say, that a virtuous motive is requisite\nto render an action honest, and at the same time that a regard to the\nhonesty is the motive of the action. We can never have a regard to the\nvirtue of an action, unless the action be antecedently virtuous. No\naction can be virtuous, but so far as it proceeds from a virtuous\nmotive. A virtuous motive, therefore, must precede the regard to the\nvirtue, and it is impossible, that the virtuous motive and the regard to\nthe virtue can be the same.\n\nIt is requisite, then, to find some motive to acts of justice and\nhonesty, distinct from our regard to the honesty; and in this lies the\ngreat difficulty. For should we say, that a concern for our private\ninterest or reputation is the legitimate motive to all honest actions;\nit would follow, that wherever that concern ceases, honesty can no\nlonger have place. But it is certain, that self-love, when it acts at\nits liberty, instead of engaging us to honest actions, is the source\nof all injustice and violence; nor can a man ever correct those vices,\nwithout correcting and restraining the natural movements of that\nappetite.\n\nBut should it be affirmed, that the reason or motive of such actions is\nthe regard to publick interest, to which nothing is more contrary than\nexamples of injustice and dishonesty; should this be said, I would\npropose the three following considerations, as worthy of our attention.\nFirst, public interest is not naturally attached to the observation of\nthe rules of justice; but is only connected with it, after an artificial\nconvention for the establishment of these rules, as shall be shewn more\nat large hereafter. Secondly, if we suppose, that the loan was secret,\nand that it is necessary for the interest of the person, that the money\nbe restored in the same manner (as when the lender would conceal his\nriches) in that case the example ceases, and the public is no longer\ninterested in the actions of the borrower; though I suppose there is no\nmoralist, who will affirm, that the duty and obligation ceases. Thirdly,\nexperience sufficiently proves, that men, in the ordinary conduct\nof life, look not so far as the public interest, when they pay their\ncreditors, perform their promises, and abstain from theft, and robbery,\nand injustice of every kind. That is a motive too remote and too sublime\nto affect the generality of mankind, and operate with any force in\nactions so contrary to private interest as are frequently those of\njustice and common honesty.\n\nIn general, it may be affirmed, that there is no such passion in human\nminds, as the love of mankind, merely as such, independent of personal\nqualities, of services, or of relation to ourself. It is true, there is\nno human, and indeed no sensible, creature, whose happiness or misery\ndoes not, in some measure, affect us when brought near to us, and\nrepresented in lively colours: But this proceeds merely from sympathy,\nand is no proof of such an universal affection to mankind, since this\nconcern extends itself beyond our own species. An affection betwixt the\nsexes is a passion evidently implanted in human nature; and this passion\nnot only appears in its peculiar symptoms, but also in inflaming every\nother principle of affection, and raising a stronger love from beauty,\nwit, kindness, than what would otherwise flow from them. Were there an\nuniversal love among all human creatures, it would appear after the same\nmanner. Any degree of a good quality would cause a stronger affection\nthan the same degree of a bad quality would cause hatred; contrary to\nwhat we find by experience. Men's tempers are different, and some have a\npropensity to the tender, and others to the rougher, affections: But\nin the main, we may affirm, that man in general, or human nature, is\nnothing but the object both of love and hatred, and requires some other\ncause, which by a double relation of impressions and ideas, may excite\nthese passions. In vain would we endeavour to elude this hypothesis.\nThere are no phaenomena that point out any such kind affection to\nmen, independent of their merit, and every other circumstance. We\nlove company in general; but it is as we love any other amusement. An\nEnglishman in Italy is a friend: A Euro paean in China; and perhaps a\nman would be beloved as such, were we to meet him in the moon. But\nthis proceeds only from the relation to ourselves; which in these cases\ngathers force by being confined to a few persons.\n\nIf public benevolence, therefore, or a regard to the interests of\nmankind, cannot be the original motive to justice, much less can private\nbenevolence, or a regard to the interests of the party concerned, be\nthis motive. For what if he be my enemy, and has given me just cause to\nhate him? What if he be a vicious man, and deserves the hatred of all\nmankind? What if he be a miser, and can make no use of what I would\ndeprive him of? What if he be a profligate debauchee, and would rather\nreceive harm than benefit from large possessions? What if I be in\nnecessity, and have urgent motives to acquire something to my family?\nIn all these cases, the original motive to justice would fail; and\nconsequently the justice itself, and along with it all property, tight,\nand obligation.\n\nA rich man lies under a moral obligation to communicate to those in\nnecessity a share of his superfluities. Were private benevolence the\noriginal motive to justice, a man would not be obliged to leave others\nin the possession of more than he is obliged to give them. At least\nthe difference would be very inconsiderable. Men generally fix their\naffections more on what they are possessed of, than on what they never\nenjoyed: For this reason, it would be greater cruelty to dispossess a\nman of any thing, than not to give it him. But who will assert, that\nthis is the only foundation of justice?\n\nBesides, we must consider, that the chief reason, why men attach\nthemselves so much to their possessions is, that they consider them\nas their property, and as secured to them inviolably by the laws of\nsociety. But this is a secondary consideration, and dependent on the\npreceding notions of justice and property.\n\nA man's property is supposed to be fenced against every mortal, in every\npossible case. But private benevolence is, and ought to be, weaker in\nsome persons, than in others: And in many, or indeed in most persons,\nmust absolutely fail. Private benevolence, therefore, is not the\noriginal motive of justice.\n\nFrom all this it follows, that we have no real or universal motive for\nobserving the laws of equity, but the very equity and merit of that\nobservance; and as no action can be equitable or meritorious, where\nit cannot arise from some separate motive, there is here an evident\nsophistry and reasoning in a circle. Unless, therefore, we will allow,\nthat nature has established a sophistry, and rendered it necessary and\nunavoidable, we must allow, that the sense of justice and injustice is\nnot derived from nature, but arises artificially, though necessarily\nfrom education, and human conventions.\n\nI shall add, as a corollary to this reasoning, that since no action can\nbe laudable or blameable, without some motives or impelling passions,\ndistinct from the sense of morals, these distinct passions must have a\ngreat influence on that sense. It is according to their general force\nin human nature, that we blame or praise. In judging of the beauty of\nanimal bodies, we always carry in our eye the economy of a certain\nspecies; and where the limbs and features observe that proportion, which\nis common to the species, we pronounce them handsome and beautiful.\nIn like manner we always consider the natural and usual force of the\npassions, when we determine concerning vice and virtue; and if the\npassions depart very much from the common measures on either side, they\nare always disapproved as vicious. A man naturally loves his children\nbetter than his nephews, his nephews better than his cousins, his\ncousins better than strangers, where every thing else is equal. Hence\narise our common measures of duty, in preferring the one to the other.\nOur sense of duty always follows the common and natural course of our\npassions.\n\nTo avoid giving offence, I must here observe, that when I deny justice\nto be a natural virtue, I make use of the word, natural, only as opposed\nto artificial. In another sense of the word; as no principle of the\nhuman mind is more natural than a sense of virtue; so no virtue is more\nnatural than justice. Mankind is an inventive species; and where an\ninvention is obvious and absolutely necessary, it may as properly be\nsaid to be natural as any thing that proceeds immediately from original\nprinciples, without the intervention of thought or reflection. Though\nthe rules of justice be artificial, they are not arbitrary. Nor is\nthe expression improper to call them Laws of Nature; if by natural we\nunderstand what is common to any species, or even if we confine it to\nmean what is inseparable from the species.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. II OF THE ORIGIN OF JUSTICE AND PROPERTY\n\n\nWe now proceed to examine two questions, viz, CONCERNING THE MANNER, IN\nWHICH THE RULES OF JUSTICE ARE ESTABLISHED BY THE ARTIFICE OF MEN;\nand CONCERNING THE REASONS, WHICH DETERMINE US TO ATTRIBUTE TO THE\nOBSERVANCE OR NEGLECT OF THESE RULES A MORAL BEAUTY AND DEFORMITY. These\nquestions will appear afterwards to be distinct. We shall begin with the\nformer.\n\nOf all the animals, with which this globe is peopled, there is none\ntowards whom nature seems, at first sight, to have exercised more\ncruelty than towards man, in the numberless wants and necessities, with\nwhich she has loaded him, and in the slender means, which she affords\nto the relieving these necessities. In other creatures these two\nparticulars generally compensate each other. If we consider the lion as\na voracious and carnivorous animal, we shall easily discover him to be\nvery necessitous; but if we turn our eye to his make and temper, his\nagility, his courage, his arms, and his force, we shall find, that his\nadvantages hold proportion with his wants. The sheep and ox are deprived\nof all these advantages; but their appetites are moderate, and their\nfood is of easy purchase. In man alone, this unnatural conjunction of\ninfirmity, and of necessity, may be observed in its greatest perfection.\nNot only the food, which is required for his sustenance, flies his\nsearch and approach, or at least requires his labour to be produced, but\nhe must be possessed of cloaths and lodging, to defend him against the\ninjuries of the weather; though to consider him only in himself, he\nis provided neither with arms, nor force, nor other natural abilities,\nwhich are in any degree answerable to so many necessities.\n\nIt is by society alone he is able to supply his defects, and raise\nhimself up to an equality with his fellow-creatures, and even acquire a\nsuperiority above them. By society all his infirmities are compensated;\nand though in that situation his wants multiply every moment upon him,\nyet his abilities are still more augmented, and leave him in every\nrespect more satisfied and happy, than it is possible for him, in his\nsavage and solitary condition, ever to become. When every individual\nperson labours apart, and only for himself, his force is too small to\nexecute any considerable work; his labour being employed in supplying\nall his different necessities, he never attains a perfection in any\nparticular art; and as his force and success are not at all times equal,\nthe least failure in either of these particulars must be attended with\ninevitable ruin and misery. Society provides a remedy for these three\ninconveniences. By the conjunction of forces, our power is augmented:\nBy the partition of employments, our ability encreases: And by mutual\nsuccour we are less exposed to fortune and accidents. It is by\nthis additional force, ability, and security, that society becomes\nadvantageous.\n\nBut in order to form society, it is requisite not only that it be\nadvantageous, but also that men be sensible of these advantages; and\nit is impossible, in their wild uncultivated state, that by study and\nreflection alone, they should ever be able to attain this knowledge.\nMost fortunately, therefore, there is conjoined to those necessities,\nwhose remedies are remote and obscure, another necessity, which having a\npresent and more obvious remedy, may justly be regarded as the first\nand original principle of human society. This necessity is no other than\nthat natural appetite betwixt the sexes, which unites them together, and\npreserves their union, till a new tye takes place in their concern for\ntheir common offspring. This new concern becomes also a principle of\nunion betwixt the parents and offspring, and forms a more numerous\nsociety; where the parents govern by the advantage of their superior\nstrength and wisdom, and at the same time are restrained in the exercise\nof their authority by that natural affection, which they bear their\nchildren. In a little time, custom and habit operating on the tender\nminds of the children, makes them sensible of the advantages, which they\nmay reap from society, as well as fashions them by degrees for it, by\nrubbing off those rough corners and untoward affections, which prevent\ntheir coalition.\n\nFor it must be confest, that however the circumstances of human nature\nmay render an union necessary, and however those passions of lust and\nnatural affection may seem to render it unavoidable; yet there are other\nparticulars in our natural temper, and in our outward circumstances,\nwhich are very incommodious, and are even contrary to the requisite\nconjunction. Among the former, we may justly esteem our selfishness to\nbe the most considerable. I am sensible, that generally speaking, the\nrepresentations of this quality have been carried much too far; and that\nthe descriptions, which certain philosophers delight so much to form\nof mankind in this particular, are as wide of nature as any accounts\nof monsters, which we meet with in fables and romances. So far from\nthinking, that men have no affection for any thing beyond themselves,\nI am of opinion, that though it be rare to meet with one, who loves any\nsingle person better than himself; yet it is as rare to meet with one,\nin whom all the kind affections, taken together, do not overbalance all\nthe selfish. Consult common experience: Do you not see, that though\nthe whole expence of the family be generally under the direction of the\nmaster of it, yet there are few that do not bestow the largest part of\ntheir fortunes on the pleasures of their wives, and the education of\ntheir children, reserving the smallest portion for their own proper use\nand entertainment. This is what we may observe concerning such as have\nthose endearing ties; and may presume, that the case would be the same\nwith others, were they placed in a like situation.\n\nBut though this generosity must be acknowledged to the honour of human\nnature, we may at the same time remark, that so noble an affection,\ninstead of fitting men for large societies, is almost as contrary\nto them, as the most narrow selfishness. For while each person loves\nhimself better than any other single person, and in his love to others\nbears the greatest affection to his relations and acquaintance, this\nmust necessarily produce an oppositon of passions, and a consequent\nopposition of actions; which cannot but be dangerous to the\nnew-established union.\n\nIt is however worth while to remark, that this contrariety of passions\nwould be attended with but small danger, did it not concur with\na peculiarity in our outward circumstances, which affords it an\nopportunity of exerting itself. There are different species of goods,\nwhich we are possessed of; the internal satisfaction of our minds, the\nexternal advantages of our body, and the enjoyment of such possessions\nas we have acquired by our industry and good fortune. We are perfectly\nsecure in the enjoyment of the first. The second may be ravished from\nus, but can be of no advantage to him who deprives us of them. The last\nonly are both exposed to the violence of others, and may be transferred\nwithout suffering any loss or alteration; while at the same time, there\nis not a sufficient quantity of them to supply every one's desires and\nnecessities. As the improvement, therefore, of these goods is the chief\nadvantage of society, so the instability of their possession, along with\ntheir scarcity, is the chief impediment.\n\nIn vain should we expect to find, in uncultivated nature, a remedy to\nthis inconvenience; or hope for any inartificial principle of the\nhuman mind, which might controul those partial affections, and make us\novercome the temptations arising from our circumstances. The idea of\njustice can never serve to this purpose, or be taken for a natural\nprinciple, capable of inspiring men with an equitable conduct towards\neach other. That virtue, as it is now understood, would never have\nbeen dreamed of among rude and savage men. For the notion of injury or\ninjustice implies an immorality or vice committed against some\nother person: And as every immorality is derived from some defect or\nunsoundness of the passions, and as this defect must be judged of, in a\ngreat measure, from the ordinary course of nature in the constitution\nof the mind; it will be easy to know, whether we be guilty of any\nimmorality, with regard to others, by considering the natural, and usual\nforce of those several affections, which are directed towards them.\nNow it appears, that in the original frame of our mind, our strongest\nattention is confined to ourselves; our next is extended to our\nrelations and acquaintance; and it is only the weakest which reaches to\nstrangers and indifferent persons. This partiality, then, and unequal\naffection, must not only have an influence on our behaviour and conduct\nin society, but even on our ideas of vice and virtue; so as to make\nus regard any remarkable transgression of such a degree of partiality,\neither by too great an enlargement, or contraction of the affections,\nas vicious and immoral. This we may observe in our common judgments\nconcerning actions, where we blame a person, who either centers all\nhis affections in his family, or is so regardless of them, as, in any\nopposition of interest, to give the preference to a stranger, or\nmere chance acquaintance. From all which it follows, that our natural\nuncultivated ideas of morality, instead of providing a remedy for the\npartiality of our affections, do rather conform themselves to that\npartiality, and give it an additional force and influence.\n\nThe remedy, then, is not derived from nature, but from artifice; or\nmore properly speaking, nature provides a remedy in the judgment and\nunderstanding, for what is irregular and incommodious in the affections.\nFor when men, from their early education in society, have become\nsensible of the infinite advantages that result from it, and have\nbesides acquired a new affection to company and conversation; and when\nthey have observed, that the principal disturbance in society arises\nfrom those goods, which we call external, and from their looseness and\neasy transition from one person to another; they must seek for a remedy\nby putting these goods, as far as possible, on the same footing with\nthe fixed and constant advantages of the mind and body. This can be\ndone after no other manner, than by a convention entered into by all the\nmembers of the society to bestow stability on the possession of those\nexternal goods, and leave every one in the peaceable enjoyment of what\nhe may acquire by his fortune and industry. By this means, every one\nknows what he may safely possess; and the passions ale restrained\nin their partial and contradictory motions. Nor is such a restraint\ncontrary to these passions; for if so, it could never be entered into,\nnor maintained; but it is only contrary to their heedless and impetuous\nmovement. Instead of departing from our own interest, or from that of\nour nearest friends, by abstaining from the possessions of others, we\ncannot better consult both these interests, than by such a convention;\nbecause it is by that means we maintain society, which is so necessary\nto their well-being and subsistence, as well as to our own.\n\nThis convention is not of the nature of a promise: For even promises\nthemselves, as we shall see afterwards, arise from human conventions. It\nis only a general sense of common interest; which sense all the members\nof the society express to one another, and which induces them to\nregulate their conduct by certain rules. I observe, that it will be for\nmy interest to leave another in the possession of his goods, provided he\nwill act in the same manner with regard to me. He is sensible of a like\ninterest in the regulation of his conduct. When this common sense of\ninterest is mutually expressed, and is known to both, it produces a\nsuitable resolution and behaviour. And this may properly enough\nbe called a convention or agreement betwixt us, though without the\ninterposition of a promise; since the actions of each of us have a\nreference to those of the other, and are performed upon the supposition,\nthat something is to be performed on the other part. Two men, who pull\nthe oars of a boat, do it by an agreement or convention, though they\nhave never given promises to each other. Nor is the rule concerning the\nstability of possession the less derived from human conventions, that it\narises gradually, and acquires force by a slow progression, and by our\nrepeated experience of the inconveniences of transgressing it. On the\ncontrary, this experience assures us still more, that the sense of\ninterest has become common to all our fellows, and gives us a confidence\nof the future regularity of their conduct: And it is only on the\nexpectation of this, that our moderation and abstinence are founded.\nIn like manner are languages gradually established by human conventions\nwithout any promise. In like manner do gold and silver become the common\nmeasures of exchange, and are esteemed sufficient payment for what is of\na hundred times their value.\n\nAfter this convention, concerning abstinence from the possessions of\nothers, is entered into, and every one has acquired a stability in his\npossessions, there immediately arise the ideas of justice and injustice;\nas also those of property, right, and obligation. The latter are\naltogether unintelligible without first understanding the former.\nOur property is nothing but those goods, whose constant possession is\nestablished by the laws of society; that is, by the laws of justice.\nThose, therefore, who make use of the words property, or right, or\nobligation, before they have explained the origin of justice, or\neven make use of them in that explication, are guilty of a very gross\nfallacy, and can never reason upon any solid foundation. A man's\nproperty is some object related to him. This relation is not natural,\nbut moral, and founded on justice. It is very preposterous, therefore,\nto imagine, that we can have any idea of property, without fully\ncomprehending the nature of justice, and shewing its origin in the\nartifice and contrivance of man. The origin of justice explains that of\nproperty. The same artifice gives rise to both. As our first and most\nnatural sentiment of morals is founded on the nature of our passions,\nand gives the preference to ourselves and friends, above strangers; it\nis impossible there can be naturally any such thing as a fixed right\nor property, while the opposite passions of men impel them in contrary\ndirections, and are not restrained by any convention or agreement.\n\nNo one can doubt, that the convention for the distinction of property,\nand for the stability of possession, is of all circumstances the most\nnecessary to the establishment of human society, and that after the\nagreement for the fixing and observing of this rule, there remains\nlittle or nothing to be done towards settling a perfect harmony and\nconcord. All the other passions, besides this of interest, are either\neasily restrained, or are not of such pernicious consequence, when\nindulged. Vanity is rather to be esteemed a social passion, and a bond\nof union among men. Pity and love are to be considered in the same\nlight. And as to envy and revenge, though pernicious, they operate\nonly by intervals, and are directed against particular persons, whom we\nconsider as our superiors or enemies. This avidity alone, of acquiring\ngoods and possessions for ourselves and our nearest friends, is\ninsatiable, perpetual, universal, and directly destructive of society.\nThere scarce is any one, who is not actuated by it; and there is no one,\nwho has not reason to fear from it, when it acts without any restraint,\nand gives way to its first and most natural movements. So that upon\nthe whole, we are to esteem the difficulties in the establishment of\nsociety, to be greater or less, according to those we encounter in\nregulating and restraining this passion.\n\nIt is certain, that no affection of the human mind has both a\nsufficient force, and a proper direction to counterbalance the love of\ngain, and render men fit members of society, by making them abstain from\nthe possessions of others. Benevolence to strangers is too weak for this\npurpose; and as to the other passions, they rather inflame this avidity,\nwhen we observe, that the larger our possessions are, the more ability\nwe have of gratifying all our appetites. There is no passion, therefore,\ncapable of controlling the interested affection, but the very affection\nitself, by an alteration of its direction. Now this alteration must\nnecessarily take place upon the least reflection; since it is evident,\nthat the passion is much better satisfyed by its restraint, than by its\nliberty, and that in preserving society, we make much greater advances\nin the acquiring possessions, than in the solitary and forlorn\ncondition, which must follow upon violence and an universal licence.\nThe question, therefore, concerning the wickedness or goodness of human\nnature, enters not in the least into that other question concerning\nthe origin of society; nor is there any thing to be considered but\nthe degrees of men's sagacity or folly. For whether the passion of\nself-interest be esteemed vicious or virtuous, it is all a case; since\nitself alone restrains it: So that if it be virtuous, men become social\nby their virtue; if vicious, their vice has the same effect.\n\nNow as it is by establishing the rule for the stability of possession,\nthat this passion restrains itself; if that rule be very abstruse,\nand of difficult invention; society must be esteemed, in a manner,\naccidental, and the effect of many ages. But if it be found, that\nnothing can be more simple and obvious than that rule; that every\nparent, in order to preserve peace among his children, must establish\nit; and that these first rudiments of justice must every day be\nimproved, as the society enlarges: If all this appear evident, as it\ncertainly must, we may conclude, that it is utterly impossible for men\nto remain any considerable time in that savage condition, which precedes\nsociety; but that his very first state and situation may justly be\nesteemed social. This, however, hinders not, but that philosophers may,\nif they please, extend their reasoning to the supposed state of nature;\nprovided they allow it to be a mere philosophical fiction, which never\nhad, and never could have any reality. Human nature being composed\nof two principal parts, which are requisite in all its actions, the\naffections and understanding; it is certain, that the blind motions of\nthe former, without the direction of the latter, incapacitate men for\nsociety: And it may be allowed us to consider separately the effects,\nthat result from the separate operations of these two component parts of\nthe mind. The same liberty may be permitted to moral, which is allowed\nto natural philosophers; and it is very usual with the latter to\nconsider any motion as compounded and consisting of two parts separate\nfrom each other, though at the same time they acknowledge it to be in\nitself uncompounded and inseparable.\n\nThis state of nature, therefore, is to be regarded as a mere fiction,\nnot unlike that of the golden age, which poets have invented; only with\nthis difference, that the former is described as full of war, violence\nand injustice; whereas the latter is pointed out to us, as the most\ncharming and most peaceable condition, that can possibly be imagined.\nThe seasons, in that first age of nature, were so temperate, if we\nmay believe the poets, that there was no necessity for men to provide\nthemselves with cloaths and houses as a security against the violence\nof heat and cold. The rivers flowed with wine and milk: The oaks yielded\nhoney; and nature spontaneously produced her greatest delicacies.\nNor were these the chief advantages of that happy age. The storms and\ntempests were not alone removed from nature; but those more furious\ntempests were unknown to human breasts, which now cause such uproar, and\nengender such confusion. Avarice, ambition, cruelty, selfishness, were\nnever heard of: Cordial affection, compassion, sympathy, were the\nonly movements, with which the human mind was yet acquainted. Even\nthe distinction of mine and thine was banished from that happy race\nof mortals, and carryed with them the very notions of property and\nobligation, justice and injustice.\n\nThis, no doubt, is to be regarded as an idle fiction; but yet deserves\nour attention, because nothing can more evidently shew the origin of\nthose virtues, which are the subjects of our present enquiry. I have\nalready observed, that justice takes its rise from human conventions;\nand that these are intended as a remedy to some inconveniences, which\nproceed from the concurrence of certain qualities of the human mind\nwith the situation of external objects. The qualities of the mind\nare selfishness and limited generosity: And the situation of external\nobjects is their easy change, joined to their scarcity in comparison\nof the wants and desires of men. But however philosophers may have\nbeen bewildered in those speculations, poets have been guided more\ninfallibly, by a certain taste or common instinct, which in most kinds\nof reasoning goes farther than any of that art and philosophy, with\nwhich we have been yet acquainted. They easily perceived, if every man\nhad a tender regard for another, or if nature supplied abundantly all\nour wants and desires, that the jealousy of interest, which justice\nsupposes, could no longer have place; nor would there be any occasion\nfor those distinctions and limits of property and possession, which at\npresent are in use among mankind. Encrease to a sufficient degree the\nbenevolence of men, or the bounty of nature, and you render justice\nuseless, by supplying its place with much nobler virtues, and more\nvaluable blessings. The selfishness of men is animated by the few\npossessions we have, in proportion to our wants; and it is to restrain\nthis selfishness, that men have been obliged to separate themselves from\nthe community, and to distinguish betwixt their own goods and those of\nothers.\n\nNor need we have recourse to the fictions of poets to learn this; but\nbeside the reason of the thing, may discover the same truth by common\nexperience and observation. It is easy to remark, that a cordial\naffection renders all things common among friends; and that married\npeople in particular mutually lose their property, and are unacquainted\nwith the mine and thine, which are so necessary, and yet cause such\ndisturbance in human society. The same effect arises from any alteration\nin the circumstances of mankind; as when there is such a plenty of any\nthing as satisfies all the desires of men: In which case the distinction\nof property is entirely lost, and every thing remains in common. This\nwe may observe with regard to air and water, though the most valuable of\nall external objects; and may easily conclude, that if men were supplied\nwith every thing in the same abundance, or if every one had the same\naffection and tender regard for every one as for himself; justice and\ninjustice would be equally unknown among mankind.\n\nHere then is a proposition, which, I think, may be regarded as certain,\nthat it is only from the selfishness and confined generosity of men,\nalong with the scanty provision nature has made for his wants, that\njustice derives its origin. If we look backward we shall find, that this\nproposition bestows an additional force on some of those observations,\nwhich we have already made on this subject.\n\nFirst, we may conclude from it, that a regard to public interest, or a\nstrong extensive benevolence, is not our first and original motive for\nthe observation of the rules of justice; since it is allowed, that if\nmen were endowed with such a benevolence, these rules would never have\nbeen dreamt of.\n\nSecondly, we may conclude from the same principle, that the sense\nof justice is not founded on reason, or on the discovery of certain\nconnexions and relations of ideas, which are eternal, immutable, and\nuniversally obligatory. For since it is confest, that such an alteration\nas that above-mentioned, in the temper and circumstances of mankind,\nwould entirely alter our duties and obligations, it is necessary upon\nthe common system, that the sense of virtue is derived from reason, to\nshew the change which this must produce in the relations and ideas. But\nit is evident, that the only cause, why the extensive generosity of man,\nand the perfect abundance of every thing, would destroy the very idea of\njustice, is because they render it useless; and that, on the other hand,\nhis confined benevolence, and his necessitous condition, give rise to\nthat virtue, only by making it requisite to the publick interest, and to\nthat of every individual. Twas therefore a concern for our own, and\nthe publick interest, which made us establish the laws of justice; and\nnothing can be more certain, than that it is not any relation of ideas,\nwhich gives us this concern, but our impressions and sentiments, without\nwhich every thing in nature is perfectly indifferent to us, and can\nnever in the least affect us. The sense of justice, therefore, is not\nfounded on our ideas, but on our impressions.\n\nThirdly, we may farther confirm the foregoing proposition, THAT THOSE\nIMPRESSIONS, WHICH GIVE RISE TO THIS SENSE OF JUSTICE, ARE NOT NATURAL\nTO THE MIND OF MAN, BUT ARISE FROM ARTIFICE AND HUMAN CONVENTIONS. For\nsince any considerable alteration of temper and circumstances destroys\nequally justice and injustice; and since such an alteration has an\neffect only by changing our own and the publick interest; it follows,\nthat the first establishment of the rules of justice depends on these\ndifferent interests. But if men pursued the publick interest naturally,\nand with a hearty affection, they would never have dreamed of\nrestraining each other by these rules; and if they pursued their own\ninterest, without any precaution, they would run head-long into every\nkind of injustice and violence. These rules, therefore, are artificial,\nand seek their end in an oblique and indirect manner; nor is the\ninterest, which gives rise to them, of a kind that could be pursued by\nthe natural and inartificial passions of men.\n\nTo make this more evident, consider, that though the rules of justice\nare established merely by interest, their connexion with interest is\nsomewhat singular, and is different from what may be observed on other\noccasions. A single act of justice is frequently contrary to public\ninterest; and were it to stand alone, without being followed by other\nacts, may, in itself, be very prejudicial to society. When a man of\nmerit, of a beneficent disposition, restores a great fortune to a miser,\nor a seditious bigot, he has acted justly and laudably, but the public\nis a real sufferer. Nor is every single act of justice, considered\napart, more conducive to private interest, than to public; and it is\neasily conceived how a man may impoverish himself by a signal instance\nof integrity, and have reason to wish, that with regard to that single\nact, the laws of justice were for a moment suspended in the universe.\nBut however single acts of justice may be contrary, either to public or\nprivate interest, it is certain, that the whole plan or scheme is\nhighly conducive, or indeed absolutely requisite, both to the support\nof society, and the well-being of every individual. It is impossible\nto separate the good from the ill. Property must be stable, and must be\nfixed by general rules. Though in one instance the public be a sufferer,\nthis momentary ill is amply compensated by the steady prosecution of the\nrule, and by the peace and order, which it establishes in society. And\neven every individual person must find himself a gainer, on ballancing\nthe account; since, without justice society must immediately dissolve,\nand every one must fall into that savage and solitary condition, which\nis infinitely worse than the worst situation that can possibly be\nsupposed in society. When therefore men have had experience enough\nto observe, that whatever may be the consequence of any single act of\njustice, performed by a single person, yet the whole system of actions,\nconcurred in by the whole society, is infinitely advantageous to the\nwhole, and to every part; it is not long before justice and property\ntake place. Every member of society is sensible of this interest: Every\none expresses this sense to his fellows, along with the resolution he\nhas taken of squaring his actions by it, on condition that others will\ndo the same. No more is requisite to induce any one of them to perform\nan act of justice, who has the first opportunity. This becomes an\nexample to others. And thus justice establishes itself by a kind of\nconvention or agreement; that is, by a sense of interest, supposed to\nbe common to all, and where every single act is performed in expectation\nthat others are to perform the like. Without such a convention, no one\nwould ever have dreamed, that there was such a virtue as justice, or\nhave been induced to conform his actions to it. Taking any single act,\nmy justice may be pernicious in every respect; and it is only upon\nthe supposition that others are to imitate my example, that I can be\ninduced to embrace that virtue; since nothing but this combination can\nrender justice advantageous, or afford me any motives to conform my self\nto its rules.\n\nWe come now to the second question we proposed, viz. Why we annex the\nidea of virtue to justice, and of vice to injustice. This question\nwill not detain us long after the principles, which we have already\nestablished, All we can say of it at present will be dispatched in a few\nwords: And for farther satisfaction, the reader must wait till we come\nto the third part of this book. The natural obligation to justice, viz,\ninterest, has been fully explained; but as to the moral obligation, or\nthe sentiment of right and wrong, it will first be requisite to examine\nthe natural virtues, before we can give a full and satisfactory account\nof it. After men have found by experience, that their selfishness and\nconfined generosity, acting at their liberty, totally incapacitate\nthem for society; and at the same time have observed, that society is\nnecessary to the satisfaction of those very passions, they are naturally\ninduced to lay themselves under the restraint of such rules, as may\nrender their commerce more safe and commodious. To the imposition then,\nand observance of these rules, both in general, and in every particular\ninstance, they are at first induced only by a regard to interest; and\nthis motive, on the first formation of society, is sufficiently strong\nand forcible. But when society has become numerous, and has encreased to\na tribe or nation, this interest is more remote; nor do men so readily\nperceive, that disorder and confusion follow upon every breach of these\nrules, as in a more narrow and contracted society. But though in our own\nactions we may frequently lose sight of that interest, which we have in\nmaintaining order, and may follow a lesser and more present interest,\nwe never fail to observe the prejudice we receive, either mediately or\nimmediately, from the injustice of others; as not being in that case\neither blinded by passion, or byassed by any contrary temptation.\nNay when the injustice is so distant from us, as no way to affect our\ninterest, it still displeases us; because we consider it as prejudicial\nto human society, and pernicious to every one that approaches the person\nguilty of it. We partake of their uneasiness by sympathy; and as every\nthing, which gives uneasiness in human actions, upon the general survey,\nis called Vice, and whatever produces satisfaction, in the same manner,\nis denominated Virtue; this is the reason why the sense of moral good\nand evil follows upon justice and injustice. And though this sense,\nin the present case, be derived only from contemplating the actions\nof others, yet we fail not to extend it even to our own actions. The\ngeneral rule reaches beyond those instances, from which it arose; while\nat the same time we naturally sympathize with others in the sentiments\nthey entertain of us. Thus self-interest is the original motive to the\nestablishment of justice: but a sympathy with public interest is the\nsource of the moral approbation, which attends that virtue.\n\nThough this progress of the sentiments be natural, and even necessary,\nit is certain, that it is here forwarded by the artifice of politicians,\nwho, in order to govern men more easily, and preserve peace in human\nsociety, have endeavoured to produce an esteem for justice, and an\nabhorrence of injustice. This, no doubt, must have its effect; but\nnothing can be more evident, than that the matter has been carryed too\nfar by certain writers on morals, who seem to have employed their\nutmost efforts to extirpate all sense of virtue from among mankind.\nAny artifice of politicians may assist nature in the producing of those\nsentiments, which she suggests to us, and may even on some occasions,\nproduce alone an approbation or esteem for any particular action; but\nit is impossible it should be the sole cause of the distinction we\nmake betwixt vice and virtue. For if nature did not aid us in this\nparticular, it would be in vain for politicians to talk of honourable or\ndishonourable, praiseworthy or blameable. These words would be perfectly\nunintelligible, and would no more have any idea annexed to them, than\nif they were of a tongue perfectly unknown to us. The utmost politicians\ncan perform, is, to extend the natural sentiments beyond their original\nbounds; but still nature must furnish the materials, and give us some\nnotion of moral distinctions.\n\nAs publick praise and blame encrease our esteem for justice; so private\neducation and instruction contribute to the same effect. For as parents\neasily observe, that a man is the more useful, both to himself and\nothers, the greater degree of probity and honour he is endowed with;\nand that those principles have greater force, when custom and education\nassist interest and reflection: For these reasons they are induced to\ninculcate on their children, from their earliest infancy, the principles\nof probity, and teach them to regard the observance of those rules,\nby which society is maintained, as worthy and honourable, and their\nviolation as base and infamous. By this means the sentiments of honour\nmay take root in their tender minds, and acquire such firmness and\nsolidity, that they may fall little short of those principles, which are\nthe most essential to our natures, and the most deeply radicated in our\ninternal constitution.\n\nWhat farther contributes to encrease their solidity, is the interest\nof our reputation, after the opinion, that a merit or demerit attends\njustice or injustice, is once firmly established among mankind. There is\nnothing, which touches us more nearly than our reputation, and nothing\non which our reputation more depends than our conduct, with relation to\nthe property of others. For this reason, every one, who has any regard\nto his character, or who intends to live on good terms with mankind,\nmust fix an inviolable law to himself, never, by any temptation, to be\ninduced to violate those principles, which are essential to a man of\nprobity and honour.\n\nI shall make only one observation before I leave this subject, viz, that\nthough I assert, that in the state of nature, or that imaginary state,\nwhich preceded society, there be neither justice nor injustice, yet\nI assert not, that it was allowable, in such a state, to violate the\nproperty of others. I only maintain, that there was no such thing\nas property; and consequently could be no such thing as justice or\ninjustice. I shall have occasion to make a similar reflection with\nregard to promises, when I come to treat of them; and I hope this\nreflection, when duly weighed, will suffice to remove all odium from the\nforegoing opinions, with regard to justice and injustice.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. III OF THE RULES WHICH DETERMINE PROPERTY\n\n\nThough the establishment of the rule, concerning the stability of\npossession, be not only useful, but even absolutely necessary to human\nsociety, it can never serve to any purpose, while it remains in such\ngeneral terms. Some method must be shewn, by which we may distinguish\nwhat particular goods are to be assigned to each particular person,\nwhile the rest of mankind are excluded from their possession and\nenjoyment. Our next business, then, must be to discover the reasons\nwhich modify this general rule, and fit it to the common use and\npractice of the world.\n\nIt is obvious, that those reasons are not derived from any utility or\nadvantage, which either the particular person or the public may reap\nfrom his enjoyment of any particular goods, beyond what would result\nfrom the possession of them by any other person. Twere better, no doubt,\nthat every one were possessed of what is most suitable to him, and\nproper for his use: But besides, that this relation of fitness may be\ncommon to several at once, it is liable to so many controversies, and\nmen are so partial and passionate in judging of these controversies,\nthat such a loose and uncertain rule would be absolutely incompatible\nwith the peace of human society. The convention concerning the stability\nof possession is entered into, in order to cut off all occasions of\ndiscord and contention; and this end would never be attained, were\nwe allowed to apply this rule differently in every particular case,\naccording to every particular utility, which might be discovered in such\nan application. Justice, in her decisions, never regards the fitness or\nunfitness of objects to particular persons, but conducts herself by more\nextensive views. Whether a man be generous, or a miser, he is equally\nwell received by her, and obtains with the same facility a decision in\nhis favours, even for what is entirely useless to him.\n\nIt follows therefore, that the general rule, that possession must be\nstable, is not applied by particular judgments, but by other general\nrules, which must extend to the whole society, and be inflexible\neither by spite or favour. To illustrate this, I propose the following\ninstance. I first consider men in their savage and solitary condition;\nand suppose, that being sensible of the misery of that state, and\nforeseeing the advantages that would result from society, they seek each\nother's company, and make an offer of mutual protection and assistance.\nI also suppose, that they are endowed with such sagacity as immediately\nto perceive, that the chief impediment to this project of society and\npartnership lies in the avidity and selfishness of their natural temper;\nto remedy which, they enter into a convention for the stability of\npossession, and for mutual restraint and forbearance. I am sensible,\nthat this method of proceeding is not altogether natural; but besides\nthat I here only suppose those reflections to be formed at once, which\nin fact arise insensibly and by degrees; besides this, I say, it is very\npossible, that several persons, being by different accidents separated\nfrom the societies, to which they formerly belonged, may be obliged to\nform a new society among themselves; in which case they are entirely in\nthe situation above-mentioned.\n\nIt is evident, then, that their first difficulty, in this situation,\nafter the general convention for the establishment of society, and for\nthe constancy of possession, is, how to separate their possessions,\nand assign to each his particular portion, which he must for the future\ninalterably enjoy. This difficulty will not detain them long; but it\nmust immediately occur to them, as the most natural expedient, that\nevery one continue to enjoy what he is at present master of, and\nthat property or constant possession be conjoined to the immediate\npossession. Such is the effect of custom, that it not only reconciles\nus to any thing we have long enjoyed, but even gives us an affection for\nit, and makes us prefer it to other objects, which may be more valuable,\nbut are less known to us. What has long lain under our eye, and has\noften been employed to our advantage, that we are always the most\nunwilling to part with; but can easily live without possessions,\nwhich we never have enjoyed, and are not accustomed to. It is evident,\ntherefore, that men would easily acquiesce in this expedient, that every\none continue to enjoy what he is at present possessed of; and this is\nthe reason, why they would so naturally agree in preferring it.[1]\n\n\n    [1] No questions in philosophy are more difficult, than when a\n    number of causes present themselves for the same ph\u00e6nomenon, to\n    determine which is the principal and predominant. There seldom is\n    any very precise argument to fix our choice, and men must be\n    contented to be guided by a kind of taste or fancy, arising from\n    analogy, and a comparison of familiar instances. Thus, in the\n    present case, there are, no doubt, motives of public interest for\n    most of the rules, which determine property; but still I suspect,\n    that these rules are principally fixed by the imagination, or the\n    more frivolous properties of our thought and conception. I shall\n    continue to explain these causes, leaving it to the reader's\n    choice, whether he will prefer those derived from publick utility,\n    or those derived from the imagination. We shall begin with the\n    right of the present possessor.\n\n    It is a quality, which I have already observed in human nature,\n    that when two objects appear in a close relation to each other, the\n    mind is apt to ascribe to them any additional relation, in order to\n    compleat the union; and this inclination is so strong, as often to\n    make us run into errors (such as that of the conjunction of thought\n    and matter) if we find that they can serve to that purpose. Many of\n    our impressions are incapable of place or local position; and yet\n    those very impressions we suppose to have a local conjunction with\n    the impressions of sight and touch, merely because they are\n    conjoined by causation, and are already united in the imagination.\n    Since, therefore, we can feign a new relation, and even an absurd\n    one, in order to compleat any union, it will easily be imagined,\n    that if there be any relations, which depend on the mind, it will\n    readily conjoin them to any preceding relation, and unite, by a new\n    bond, such objects as have already an union in the fancy. Thus for\n    instance, we never fail, in our arrangement of bodies, to place\n    those which are resembling in contiguity to each other, or at least\n    in correspondent points of view; because we feel a satisfaction in\n    joining the relation of contiguity to that of resemblance, or the\n    resemblance of situation to that of qualities. And this is easily\n    accounted for from the known properties of human nature. When the\n    mind is determined to join certain objects, but undetermined in its\n    choice of the particular objects, It naturally turns its eye to\n    such as are related together. They are already united in the mind:\n    They present themselves at the same time to the conception; and\n    instead of requiring any new reason for their conjunction, it would\n    require a very powerful reason to make us over-look this natural\n    affinity. This we shall have occasion to explain more fully\n    afterwards, when we come to treat of beauty. In the mean time, we\n    may content ourselves with observing, that the same love of order\n    and uniformity, which arranges the books in a library, and the\n    chairs in a parlour, contribute to the formation of society, and to\n    the well-being of mankind, by modifying the general rule concerning\n    the stability of possession. And as property forms a relation\n    betwixt a person and an object, it is natural to found it on some\n    preceding relation; and as property Is nothing but a constant\n    possession, secured by the laws of society, it is natural to add it\n    to the present possession, which is a relation that resembles it.\n    For this also has its influence. If it be natural to conjoin all\n    sorts of relations, it is more so, to conjoin such relations as are\n    resembling, and are related together.\n\n\nBut we may observe, that though the rule of the assignment of property\nto the present possessor be natural, and by that means useful, yet its\nutility extends not beyond the first formation of society; nor would any\nthing be more pernicious, than the constant observance of it; by which\nrestitution would be excluded, and every injustice would be authorized\nand rewarded. We must, therefore, seek for some other circumstance, that\nmay give rise to property after society is once established; and of\nthis kind, I find four most considerable, viz. Occupation, Prescription,\nAccession, and Succession. We shall briefly examine each of these,\nbeginning with Occupation.\n\nThe possession of all external goods is changeable and uncertain; which\nis one of the most considerable impediments to the establishment of\nsociety, and is the reason why, by universal agreement, express or\ntacite, men restrain themselves by what we now call the rules of justice\nand equity. The misery of the condition, which precedes this restraint,\nis the cause why we submit to that remedy as quickly as possible; and\nthis affords us an easy reason, why we annex the idea of property to the\nfirst possession, or to occupation. Men are unwilling to leave property\nin suspense, even for the shortest time, or open the least door to\nviolence and disorder. To which we may add, that the first possession\nalways engages the attention most; and did we neglect it, there would be\nno colour of reason for assigning property to any succeeding\npossession.[2]\n\n\n    [2] Some philosophers account for the right of occupation, by\n    saying, that every one has a property in his own labour; and when\n    he joins that labour to any thing, it gives him the property of the\n    whole: But, 1. There are several kinds of occupation, where we\n    cannot be said to join our labour to the object we acquire: As when\n    we possess a meadow by grazing our cattle upon it. 2. This accounts\n    for the matter by means of accession; which is taking a needless\n    circuit. 3. We cannot be said to join our labour to any thing but\n    in a figurative sense. Properly speaking, we only make an\n    alteration on it by our labour. This forms a relation betwixt us\n    and the object; and thence arises the property, according to the\n    preceding principles.\n\nThere remains nothing, but to determine exactly, what is meant by\npossession; and this is not so easy as may at first sight be imagined.\nWe are said to be in possession of any thing, not only when we\nimmediately touch it, but also when we are so situated with respect\nto it, as to have it in our power to use it; and may move, alter,\nor destroy it, according to our present pleasure or advantage. This\nrelation, then, is a species of cause and effect; and as property is\nnothing but a stable possession, derived from the rules of justice, or\nthe conventions of men, it is to be considered as the same species of\nrelation. But here we may observe, that as the power of using any object\nbecomes more or less certain, according as the interruptions we may meet\nwith are more or less probable; and as this probability may increase\nby insensible degrees; it is in many cases impossible to determine when\npossession begins or ends; nor is there any certain standard, by which\nwe can decide such controversies. A wild boar, that falls into our\nsnares, is deemed to be in our possession, if it be impossible for him\nto escape. But what do we mean by impossible? How do we separate this\nimpossibility from an improbability? And how distinguish that exactly\nfrom a probability? Mark the precise limits of the one and the other,\nand shew the standard, by which we may decide all disputes that may\narise, and, as we find by experience, frequently do arise upon this\nsubject.[3]\n\n\n    [3] If we seek a solution of these difficulties in reason and\n    public interest, we never shall find satisfaction; and if we look\n    for it in the imagination, it is evident, that the qualities, which\n    operate upon that faculty, run so insensibly and gradually into\n    each other, that it is impossible to give them any precise bounds\n    or termination. The difficulties on this head must encrease, when\n    we consider, that our judgment alters very sensibly, according to\n    the subject, and that the same power and proximity will be deemed\n    possession in one case, which is not esteemed such in another. A\n    person, who has hunted a hare to the last degree of weariness,\n    would look upon it as an injustice for another to rush in before\n    him, and seize his prey. But the same person advancing to pluck an\n    apple, that hangs within his reach, has no reason to complain, if\n    another, more alert, passes him, and takes possession. What is the\n    reason of this difference, but that immobility, not being natural\n    to the hare, but the effect of industry, forms in that case a\n    strong relation with the hunter, which is wanting in the other?\n\n    Here then it appears, that a certain and infallible power of\n    enjoyment, without touch or some other sensible relation, often\n    produces not property: And I farther observe, that a sensible\n    relation, without any present power, is sometimes sufficient to\n    give a title to any object. The sight of a thing is seldom a\n    considerable relation, and is only regarded as such, when the\n    object is hidden, or very obscure; in which case we find, that the\n    view alone conveys a property; according to that maxim, THAT EVEN A\n    WHOLE CONTINENT BELONGS TO THE NATION, WHICH FIRST DISCOVERED IT.\n    It is however remarkable that both in the case of discovery and\n    that of possession, the first discoverer and possessor must join to\n    the relation an intention of rendering himself proprietor,\n    otherwise the relation will not have its effect; and that because\n    the connexion in our fancy betwixt the property and the relation is\n    not so great, but that it requires to be helped by such an\n    intention.\n\n    From all these circumstances, it is easy to see how perplexed many\n    questions may become concerning the acquisition of property by\n    occupation; and the least effort of thought may present us with\n    instances, which are not susceptible of any reasonable decision. If\n    we prefer examples, which are real, to such as are feigned, we may\n    consider the following one, which is to be met with in almost every\n    writer, that has treated of the laws of nature. Two Grecian\n    colonies, leaving their native country, in search of new feats,\n    were informed that a city near them was deserted by its\n    inhabitants. To know the truth of this report, they dispatched at\n    once two messengers, one from each colony; who finding on their\n    approach, that their information was true, begun a race together\n    with an intention to take possession of the city, each of them for\n    his countrymen. One of these messengers, finding that he was not an\n    equal match for the other, launched his spear at the gates of the\n    city, and was so fortunate as to fix it there before the arrival of\n    his companion. This produced a dispute betwixt the two colonies,\n    which of them was the proprietor of the empty city and this dispute\n    still subsists among philosophers. For my part I find the dispute\n    impossible to be decided, and that because the whole question hangs\n    upon the fancy, which in this case is not possessed of any precise\n    or determinate standard, upon which it can give sentence. To make\n    this evident, let us consider, that if these two persons had been\n    simply members of the colonies, and not messengers or deputies,\n    their actions would not have been of any consequence; since in that\n    case their relation to the colonies would have been but feeble and\n    imperfect. Add to this, that nothing determined them to run to the\n    gates rather than the walls, or any other part of the city, but\n    that the gates, being the most obvious and remarkable part, satisfy\n    the fancy best in taking them for the whole; as we find by the\n    poets, who frequently draw their images and metaphors from them.\n    Besides we may consider, that the touch or contact of the one\n    messenger is not properly possession, no more than the piercing the\n    gates with a spear; but only forms a relation; and there is a\n    relation, in the other case, equally obvious, tho' not, perhaps, of\n    equal force. Which of these relations, then, conveys a right and\n    property, or whether any of them be sufficient for that effect, I\n    leave to the decision of such as are wiser than myself.\n\n\nBut such disputes may not only arise concerning the real existence of\nproperty and possession, but also concerning their extent; and these\ndisputes are often susceptible of no decision, or can be decided by no\nother faculty than the imagination. A person who lands on the shore of\na small island, that is desart and uncultivated, is deemed its possessor\nfrom the very first moment, and acquires the property of the whole;\nbecause the object is there bounded and circumscribed in the fancy, and\nat the same time is proportioned to the new possessor. The same person\nlanding on a desart island, as large as Great Britain, extends his\nproperty no farther than his immediate possession; though a numerous\ncolony are esteemed the proprietors of the whole from the instant of\ntheir debarkment.\n\nBut it often happens, that the title of first possession becomes obscure\nthrough time; and that it is impossible to determine many controversies,\nwhich may arise concerning it. In that case long possession or\nprescription naturally takes place, and gives a person a sufficient\nproperty in any thing he enjoys. The nature of human society admits not\nof any great accuracy; nor can we always remount to the first origin of\nthings, in order to determine their present condition. Any considerable\nspace of time sets objects at such a distance, that they seem, in a\nmanner, to lose their reality, and have as little influence on the mind,\nas if they never had been in being. A man's title, that is clear and\ncertain at present, will seem obscure and doubtful fifty years hence,\neven though the facts, on which it is founded, should be proved with\nthe greatest evidence and certainty. The same facts have not the same\ninfluence after so long an interval of time. And this may be received as\na convincing argument for our preceding doctrine with regard to property\nand justice. Possession during a long tract of time conveys a title to\nany object. But as it is certain, that, however every thing be produced\nin time, there is nothing real that is produced by time; it follows,\nthat property being produced by time, is not any thing real in the\nobjects, but is the off-spring of the sentiments, on which alone time is\nfound to have any influence.[4]\n\n\n    [4] Present possession is plainly a relation betwixt a person and\n    an object; but is not sufficient to counter-ballance the relation\n    of first possession, unless the former be long and uninterrupted:\n    In which case the relation is encreased on the side of the present\n    possession, by the extent of time, and diminished on that of first\n    possession, by the distance, This change in the relation produces a\n    consequent change in the property.\n\nWe acquire the property of objects by accession, when they are\nconnected in an intimate manner with objects that are already our\nproperty, and at the same time are inferior to them. Thus the fruits of\nour garden, the offspring of our cattle, and the work of our slaves,\nare all of them esteemed our property, even before possession. Where\nobjects are connected together in the imagination, they are apt to be\nput on the same footing, and are commonly supposed to be endowed with\nthe same qualities. We readily pass from one to the other, and make no\ndifference in our judgments concerning them; especially if the latter\nbe inferior to the former.[5]\n\n\n    [5] This source of property can never be explained but from the\n    imaginations; and one may affirm, that the causes are here unmixed.\n    We shall proceed to explain them more particularly, and illustrate\n    them by examples from common life and experience.\n\n    It has been observed above, that the mind has a natural propensity\n    to join relations, especially resembling ones, and finds a hind of\n    fitness and uniformity in such an union. From this propensity are\n    derived these laws of nature, that upon the first formation of\n    society, property always follows the present possession; and\n    afterwards, that it arises from first or from long possession. Now\n    we may easily observe, that relation is not confined merely to one\n    degree; but that from an object, that is related to us, we acquire\n    a relation to every other object, which is related to it, and so\n    on, till the thought loses the chain by too long a progress,\n    However the relation may weaken by each remove, it is not\n    immediately destroyed; but frequently connects two objects by means\n    of an intermediate one, which is related to both. And this\n    principle is of such force as to give rise to the right of\n    accession, and causes us to acquire the property not only of such\n    objects as we are immediately possessed of; but also of such as are\n    closely connected with them.\n\n    Suppose a German, a Frenchman, and a Spaniard to come into a room,\n    where there are placed upon the table three bottles of wine,\n    Rhenish, Burgundy and Port; and suppose they shoued fall a\n    quarrelling about the division of them; a person, who was chosen\n    for umpire would naturally, to shew his impartiality, give every\n    one the product of his own country: And this from a principle,\n    which, in some measure, is the source of those laws of nature, that\n    ascribe property to occupation, prescription and accession.\n\n    In all these Cases, and particularly that of accession, there is\n    first a natural union betwixt the idea of the person and that of\n    the object, and afterwards a new and moral union produced by that\n    right or property, which we ascribe to the person. But here there\n    occurs a difficulty, which merits our attention, and may afford us\n    an opportunity of putting to tryal that singular method of\n    reasoning, which has been employed on the present subject. I have\n    already observed that the imagination passes with greater facility\n    from little to great, than from great to little, and that the\n    transition of ideas is always easier and smoother in the former\n    case than in the latter. Now as the right of accession arises from\n    the easy transition of ideas, by which related objects are\n    connected together, it shoued naturally be imagined, that the right\n    of accession must encrease in strength, in proportion as the\n    transition of ideas is performed with greater facility. It may,\n    therefore, be thought, that when we have acquired the property of\n    any small object, we shall readily consider any great object\n    related to it as an accession, and as belonging to the proprietor\n    of the small one; since the transition is in that case very easy\n    from the small object to the great one, and shoued connect them\n    together in the closest manner. But In fact the case is always\n    found to be otherwise, The empire of Great Britain seems to draw\n    along with it the dominion of the Orkneys, the Hebrides, the isle\n    of Man, and the Isle of Wight; but the authority over those lesser\n    islands does not naturally imply any title to Great Britain. In\n    short, a small object naturally follows a great one as its\n    accession; but a great one Is never supposed to belong to the\n    proprietor of a small one related to it, merely on account of that\n    property and relation. Yet in this latter case the transition of\n    ideas is smoother from the proprietor to the small object, which is\n    his property, and from the small object to the great one, than in\n    the former case from the proprietor to the great object, and from\n    the great one to the small. It may therefore be thought, that these\n    phaenomena are objections to the foregoing hypothesis, THAT THE\n    ASCRIBING OF PROPERTY TO ACCESSION IS NOTHING BUT AN AFFECT OF THE\n    RELATIONS OF IDEAS, AND OF THE SMOOTH TRANSITION OF THE\n    IMAGINATION.\n\n    It will be easy to solve this objection, if we consider the agility\n    and unsteadiness of the imagination, with the different views, in\n    which it is continually placing its objects. When we attribute to a\n    person a property in two objects, we do not always pass from the\n    person to one object, and from that to the other related to it. The\n    objects being here to be considered as the property of the person,\n    we are apt to join them together, and place them in the same light.\n    Suppose, therefore, a great and a small object to be related\n    together; if a person be strongly related to the great object, he\n    will likewise be strongly related to both the objects, considered\n    together, because he Is related to the most considerable part. On\n    the contrary, if he be only related to the small object, he will\n    not be strongly related to both, considered together, since his\n    relation lies only with the most trivial part, which is not apt to\n    strike us in any great degree, when we consider the whole. And this\n    Is the reason, why small objects become accessions to great ones,\n    and not great to small.\n\n    It is the general opinion of philosophers and civilians, that the\n    sea is incapable of becoming the property of any nation; and that\n    because it is impossible to take possession of it, or form any such\n    distinct relation with it, as may be the foundation of property.\n    Where this reason ceases, property immediately takes place. Thus\n    the most strenuous advocates for the liberty of the seas\n    universally allow, that friths and hays naturally belong as an\n    accession to the proprietors of the surrounding continent. These\n    have properly no more bond or union with the land, than the pacific\n    ocean would have; but having an union in the fancy, and being at\n    the same time inferior, they are of course regarded as an\n    accession.\n\n    The property of rivers, by the laws of most nations, and by the\n    natural turn of our thought, Is attributed to the proprietors of\n    their banks, excepting such vast rivers as the Rhine or the Danube,\n    which seem too large to the imagination to follow as an accession\n    the property of the neighbouring fields. Yet even these rivers are\n    considered as the property of that nation, thro' whose dominions\n    they run; the idea of a nation being of a suitable bulk to\n    correspond with them, and bear them such a relation in the fancy.\n\n    The accessions, which are made to lands bordering upon rivers,\n    follow the land, say the civilians, provided it be made by what\n    they call alluvion, that is, Insensibly and Imperceptibly; which\n    are circumstances that mightily assist the imagination in the\n    conjunction. Where there Is any considerable portion torn at once\n    from one bank, and joined to another, it becomes not his property,\n    whose land it falls on, till it unite with the land, and till the\n    trees or plants have spread their roots into both. Before that, the\n    imagination does not sufficiently join them.\n\n    There are other cases, which somewhat resemble this of accession,\n    but which, at the bottom, are considerably different, and merit our\n    attention. Of this kind Is the conjunction of the properties of\n    different persons, after such a manner as not to admit of\n    separation. The question is, to whom the united mass must belong.\n\n    Where this conjunction is of such a nature as to admit of division,\n    but not of separation, the decision is natural and easy. The whole\n    mass must be supposed to be common betwixt the proprietors of the\n    several parts, and afterwards must be divided according to the\n    proportions of these parts. But here I cannot forbear taking notice\n    of a remarkable subtilty of the Roman law, in distinguishing\n    betwixt confusion and commixtion. Confusion is an union of two\n    bodies, such as different liquors, where the parts become entirely\n    undistinguishable. Commixtion is the blending of two bodies, such\n    as two bushels of corn, where the parts remain separate in an\n    obvious and visible manner. As in the latter case the imagination\n    discovers not so entire an union as in the former, but is able to\n    trace and preserve a distinct idea of the property of each; this is\n    the reason, why the civil law, tho' it established an entire\n    community in the case of confusion, and after that a proportional\n    division, yet in the case of commixtion, supposes each of the\n    proprietors to maintain a distinct right; however necessity may at\n    last force them to submit to the same division.\n\n    QUOD SI FRUMENTUM TITII FRUMENTO TUO MISTUM FUERIT: SIQUIDEM EX\n    VOLUNTATE VESTRA, COMMUNE EST: QUIA SINGULA CORPORA, ID EST,\n    SINGULA GRANA, QUAE CUJUSQUE PRO PRIA FUERUNT, EX CONSENSU VESTRO\n    COMMUNICATA SUNT. QUOD SI CASU ID MISTUM FUERIT, VEL TITIUS ID\n    MISCUERIT SINE TUA VOLUNT ATE, NON VIDETUR ID COMMUNE ESSE; QUIA\n    SINGULA CORPORA IN SUA SUBSTANTIA DURANT. SED NEC MAGIS ISTIS\n    CASIBUS COMMUNE SIT FRUMENTUM QUAM GREX INTELLIGITUR ESSE CORN\n    MUNIS, SI PECORA TITII TUIS PECORIBUS MISTA FUERINT. SED SI AB\n    ALTERUTRO VESTRUM TOTUM ID FRUMENTUM RETINEATUR, IN REM QUIDEM\n    ACTIO PRO MODO FRUMENTI CUJUSQUE CORN PETIT. ARBITRIO AUTEM\n    JUDICIS, UT IPSE AESTIMET QUALE CUJUSQUE FRUMENTUM FUERIT. Inst.\n    Lib. IL Tit. i. Sect 28.\n\n    (In the case that your grain was mixed with that of Titius, if it\n    was done voluntarily on the part of both of you, it is common\n    property, inasmuch as the individual items, i.e., the single\n    grains, which were the peculiar property of either of you, were\n    combined with your joint consent. If, however, the mixture was\n    accidental, or if Titius mixed it without your consent, it does not\n    appear that it is common property, Inasmuch as the several\n    components retain their original identity. Rather, in circumstances\n    of this sort the grain does not become common property, any more\n    than a herd of cattle is regarded as common property, If Titius\n    beasts should have become mixed up with yours.\n\n    However, if all of the aforesaid corn is kept by either of you,\n    this gives rise to a suit to determine the ownership of property,\n    in respect of the amount of corn belonging to each. It is in the\n    discretion of the judge to determine which is the corn belonging to\n    either party.)\n\n    Where the properties of two persons are united after such a manner\n    as neither to admit of division nor separation, as when one builds\n    a house on another's ground, in that case, the whole must belong to\n    one of the proprietors: And here I assert, that it naturally is\n    conceived to belong to the proprietor of the most considerable\n    part. For however the compound object may have a relation to two\n    different persons, and carry our view at once to both of them, yet\n    as the most considerable part principally engages our attention,\n    and by the strict union draws the inferior along it; for this\n    reason, the whole bears a relation to the proprietor of that part,\n    and is regarded as his property. The only difficulty is, what we\n    shall be pleased to call the most considerable part, and most\n    attractive to the imagination.\n\n    This quality depends on several different circumstances, which have\n    little connexion with each other. One part of a compound object may\n    become more considerable than another, either because it is more\n    constant and durable; because it is of greater value; because it is\n    more obvious and remarkable; because it is of greater extent; or\n    because its existence is more separate and independent. It will be\n    easy to conceive, that, as these circumstances may be conjoined and\n    opposed in all the different ways, and according to all the\n    different degrees, which can be imagined, there will result many\n    cases, where the reasons on both sides are so equally balanced,\n    that it is impossible for us to give any satisfactory decision.\n    Here then is the proper business of municipal laws, to fix what the\n    principles of human nature have left undetermined.\n\n    The superficies yields to the soil, says the civil law: The writing\n    to the paper: The canvas to the picture. These decisions do not\n    well agree together, and are a proof of the contrariety of those\n    principles, from which they are derived.\n\n    But of all the questions of this kind the most curious is that,\n    which for so many ages divided the disciples of Proculus and\n    Sabinus. Suppose a person shoued make a cup from the metal of\n    another, or a ship from his wood, and suppose the proprietor of the\n    metal or wood shoued demand his goods, the question is, whether he\n    acquires a title to the cup or ship. Sabinus maintained the\n    affirmative, and asserted that the substance or matter is the\n    foundation of all the qualities; that it is incorruptible and\n    immortal, and therefore superior to the form, which is casual and\n    dependent. On the other hand, Proculus observed, that the form is\n    the most obvious and remarkable part, and that from it bodies are\n    denominated of this or that particular species. To which he might\n    have added, that the matter or substance is in most bodies so\n    fluctuating and uncertain, that it is utterly impossible to trace\n    it in all its changes. For my part, I know not from what principles\n    such a controversy can be certainly determined. I shall therefore\n    content my self with observing, that the decision of Trebonian\n    seems to me pretty ingenious; that the cup belongs to the\n    proprietor of the metal, because it can be brought back to its\n    first form: But that the ship belongs to the author of its form for\n    a contrary reason. But however ingenious this reason may seem, it\n    plainly depends upon the fancy, which by the possibility of such a\n    reduction, finds a closer connexion and relation betwixt a cup and\n    the proprietor of its metal, than betwixt a ship and the proprietor\n    of its wood, where the substance is more fixed and unalterable.\n\n\nThe right of succession is a very natural one, from the presumed\nconsent of the parent or near relation, and from the general interest\nof mankind, which requires, that men's possessions should pass to those,\nwho are dearest to them, in order to render them more industrious and\nfrugal. Perhaps these causes are seconded by the influence of relation,\nor the association of ideas, by which we are naturally directed to\nconsider the son after the parent's decease, and ascribe to him a title\nto his father's possessions. Those goods must become the property of\nsome body: But of whom is the question. Here it is evident the persons\nchildren naturally present themselves to the mind; and being already.\nconnected to those possessions by means of their deceased parent, we are\napt to connect them still farther by the relation of property. Of this\nthere are many parallel instances.[6]\n\n\n    [6] In examining the different titles to authority in government,\n    we shall meet with many reasons to convince us, that the right of\n    succession depends, in a great measure on the imagination. Mean\n    while I shall rest contented with observing one example, which\n    belongs to the present subject. Suppose that a person die without\n    children, and that a dispute arises among his relations concerning\n    his inheritance; it is evident, that if his riches be deriv'd\n    partly from his father, partly from his mother, the most natural\n    way of determining such a dispute, is, to divide his possessions,\n    and assign each part to the family, from whence it is deriv'd. Now\n    as the person is suppos'd to have been once the full and entire\n    proprietor of those goods; I ask, what is it makes us find a\n    certain equity and natural reason in this partition, except it be\n    the imagination? His affection to these families does not depend\n    upon his possessions; for which reason his consent can never be\n    presum'd precisely for such a partition. And as to the public\n    interest, it seems not to be in the least concern'd on the one side\n    or the other.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. IV OF THE TRANSFERENCE OF PROPERTY BY CONSENT\n\n\nHowever useful, or even necessary, the stability of possession may be to\nhuman society, it is attended with very considerable inconveniences.\nThe relation of fitness or suitableness ought never to enter into\nconsideration, in distributing the properties of mankind; but we must\ngovern ourselves by rules, which are more general in their application,\nand more free from doubt and uncertainty. Of this kind is present\npossession upon the first establishment of society; and afterwards\noccupation, prescription, accession, and succession. As these depend\nvery much on chance, they must frequently prove contradictory both to\nmen's wants and desires; and persons and possessions must often be very\nill adjusted. This is a grand inconvenience, which calls for a remedy.\nTo apply one directly, and allow every man to seize by violence what he\njudges to be fit for him, would destroy society; and therefore the\nrules of justice seek some medium betwixt a rigid stability, and this\nchangeable and uncertain adjustment. But there is no medium better than\nthat obvious one, that possession and property should always be stable,\nexcept when the proprietor consents to bestow them on some other\nperson. This rule can have no ill consequence, in occasioning wars and\ndissentions; since the proprietor's consent, who alone is concerned, is\ntaken along in the alienation: And it may serve to many good purposes\nin adjusting property to persons. Different parts of the earth produce\ndifferent commodities; and not only so, but different men both are\nby nature fitted for different employments, and attain to greater\nperfection in any one, when they confine themselves to it alone. All\nthis requires a mutual exchange and commerce; for which reason the\ntranslation of property by consent is founded on a law of nature, as\nwell as its stability without such a consent.\n\nSo far is determined by a plain utility and interest. But perhaps it is\nfrom more trivial reasons, that delivery, or a sensible transference of\nthe object is commonly required by civil laws, and also by the laws of\nnature, according to most authors, as a requisite circumstance in the\ntranslation of property. The property of an object, when taken for\nsomething real, without any reference to morality, or the sentiments of\nthe mind, is a quality perfectly insensible, and even inconceivable; nor\ncan we form any distinct notion, either of its stability or translation.\nThis imperfection of our ideas is less sensibly felt with regard to its\nstability, as it engages less our attention, and is easily past over by\nthe mind, without any scrupulous examination. But as the translation\nof property from one person to another is a more remarkable event, the\ndefect of our ideas becomes more sensible on that occasion, and obliges\nus to turn ourselves on every side in search of some remedy. Now as\nnothing more enlivens any idea than a present impression, and a relation\nbetwixt that impression and the idea; it is natural for us to seek\nsome false light from this quarter. In order to aid the imagination in\nconceiving the transference of property, we take the sensible object,\nand actually transfer its possession to the person, on whom we would\nbestow the property. The supposed resemblance of the actions, and the\npresence of this sensible delivery, deceive the mind, and make it fancy,\nthat it conceives the mysterious transition of the property. And that\nthis explication of the matter is just, appears hence, that men have\ninvented a symbolical delivery, to satisfy the fancy, where the real one\nis impracticable. Thus the giving the keys of a granary is understood\nto be the delivery of the corn contained in it: The giving of stone\nand earth represents the delivery of a manor. This is a kind of\nsuperstitious practice in civil laws, and in the laws of nature,\nresembling the Roman catholic superstitions in religion. As the Roman\ncatholics represent the inconceivable mysteries of the Christian\nreligion, and render them more present to the mind, by a taper, or\nhabit, or grimace, which is supposed to resemble them; so lawyers and\nmoralists have run into like inventions for the same reason, and\nhave endeavoured by those means to satisfy themselves concerning the\ntransference of property by consent.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. V OF THE OBLIGATION OF PROMISES\n\n\nThat the rule of morality, which enjoins the performance of promises, is\nnot natural, will sufficiently appear from these two propositions,\nwhich I proceed to prove, viz, that a promise would not be intelligible,\nbefore human conventions had established it; and that even if it were\nintelligible, it would not be attended with any moral obligation.\n\nI say, first, that a promise is not intelligible naturally, nor\nantecedent to human conventions; and that a man, unacquainted with\nsociety, could never enter into any engagements with another, even\nthough they could perceive each other's thoughts by intuition. If\npromises be natural and intelligible, there must be some act of the mind\nattending these words, I promise; and on this act of the mind must the\nobligation depend. Let us, therefore, run over all the faculties of the\nsoul, and see which of them is exerted in our promises.\n\nThe act of the mind, exprest by a promise, is not a resolution to\nperform any thing: For that alone never imposes any obligation. Nor is\nit a desire of such a performance: For we may bind ourselves without\nsuch a desire, or even with an aversion, declared and avowed. Neither\nis it the willing of that action, which we promise to perform: For a\npromise always regards some future time, and the will has an influence\nonly on present actions. It follows, therefore, that since the act of\nthe mind, which enters into a promise, and produces its obligation, is\nneither the resolving, desiring, nor willing any particular performance,\nit must necessarily be the willing of that obligation, which arises\nfrom the promise. Nor is this only a conclusion of philosophy; but is\nentirely conformable to our common ways of thinking and of expressing\nourselves, when we say that we are bound by our own consent, and that\nthe obligation arises from our mere will and pleasure. The only question\nthen is, whether there be not a manifest absurdity in supposing this\nact of the mind, and such an absurdity as no man could fall into,\nwhose ideas are not confounded with prejudice and the fallacious use of\nlanguage.\n\nAll morality depends upon our sentiments; and when any action, or\nquality of the mind, pleases us after a certain manner, we say it is\nvirtuous; and when the neglect, or nonperformance of it, displeases us\nafter a like manner, we say that we lie under an obligation to perform\nit. A change of the obligation supposes a change of the sentiment; and\na creation of a new obligation supposes some new sentiment to arise. But\nit is certain we can naturally no more change our own sentiments, than\nthe motions of the heavens; nor by a single act of our will, that is,\nby a promise, render any action agreeable or disagreeable, moral\nor immoral; which, without that act, would have produced contrary\nimpressions, or have been endowed with different qualities. It would\nbe absurd, therefore, to will any new obligation, that is, any new\nsentiment of pain or pleasure; nor is it possible, that men could\nnaturally fall into so gross an absurdity. A promise, therefore, is\nnaturally something altogether unintelligible, nor is there any act of\nthe mind belonging to it.[7]\n\n\n    [7] Were morality discoverable by reason, and not by sentiment, it\n    would be still more evident, that promises cou'd make no alteration\n    upon it. Morality is suppos'd to consist in relation. Every new\n    imposition of morality, therefore, must arise from some new\n    relation of objects; and consequently the will could not produce\n    immediately any change in morals, but cou'd have that effect only\n    by producing a change upon the objects. But as the moral obligation\n    of a promise is the pure effect of the will, without the least\n    change in any part of the universe; it follows, that promises have\n    no natural obligation.\n\n    Shou'd it be said, that this act of the will being in effect a new\n    object, produces new relations and new duties; I wou'd answer, that\n    this is a pure sophism, which may be detected by a very moderate\n    share of accuracy and exactness. To will a new obligation, is to\n    will a new relation of objects; and therefore, if this new relation\n    of objects were form'd by the volition itself, we should in effect\n    will the volition; which is plainly absurd and impossible. The will\n    has here no object to which it cou'd tend; but must return upon\n    itself in infinitum. The new obligation depends upon new relations.\n    The new relations depend upon a new volition. The new volition has\n    for object a new obligation, and consequently new relations, and\n    consequently a new volition; which volition again has in view a new\n    obligation, relation and volition, without any termination. It is\n    impossible, therefore, we cou'd ever will a new obligation; and\n    consequently it is impossible the will cou'd ever accompany a\n    promise, or produce a new obligation of morality.\n\nBut, secondly, if there was any act of the mind belonging to it, it\ncould not naturally produce any obligation. This appears evidently\nfrom the foregoing reasoning. A promise creates a new obligation. A new\nobligation supposes new sentiments to arise. The will never creates new\nsentiments. There could not naturally, therefore, arise any obligation\nfrom a promise, even supposing the mind could fall into the absurdity of\nwilling that obligation.\n\nThe same truth may be proved still more evidently by that reasoning,\nwhich proved justice in general to be an artificial virtue. No action\ncan be required of us as our duty, unless there be implanted in\nhuman nature some actuating passion or motive, capable of producing\nthe action. This motive cannot be the sense of duty. A sense of\nduty supposes an antecedent obligation: And where an action is not\nrequired by any natural passion, it cannot be required by any natural\nobligation; since it may be omitted without proving any defect or\nimperfection in the mind and temper, and consequently without any vice.\nNow it is evident we have no motive leading us to the performance of\npromises, distinct from a sense of duty. If we thought, that promises\nhad no moral obligation, we never should feel any inclination to\nobserve them. This is not the case with the natural virtues. Though\nthere was no obligation to relieve the miserable, our humanity would\nlead us to it; and when we omit that duty, the immorality of the\nomission arises from its being a proof, that we want the natural\nsentiments of humanity. A father knows it to be his duty to take care\nof his children: But he has also a natural inclination to it. And if\nno human creature had that inclination, no one could lie under any\nsuch obligation. But as there is naturally no inclination to observe\npromises, distinct from a sense of their obligation; it follows,\nthat fidelity is no natural virtue, and that promises have no force,\nantecedent to human conventions.\n\nIf any one dissent from this, he must give a regular proof of these two\npropositions, viz. THAT THERE IS A PECULIAR ACT OF THE MIND, ANNEXT TO\nPROMISES; AND THAT CONSEQUENT TO THIS ACT OF THE MIND, THERE ARISES AN\nINCLINATION TO PERFORM, DISTINCT FROM A SENSE OF DUTY. I presume, that\nit is impossible to prove either of these two points; and therefore I\nventure to conclude that promises are human inventions, founded on the\nnecessities and interests of society.\n\nIn order to discover these necessities and interests, we must consider\nthe same qualities of human nature, which we have already found to give\nrise to the preceding laws of society. Men being naturally selfish, or\nendowed only with a confined generosity, they are not easily induced to\nperform any action for the interest of strangers, except with a view to\nsome reciprocal advantage, which they had no hope of obtaining but by\nsuch a performance. Now as it frequently happens, that these mutual\nperformances cannot be finished at the same instant, it is necessary,\nthat one party be contented to remain in uncertainty, and depend\nupon the gratitude of the other for a return of kindness. But so much\ncorruption is there among men, that, generally speaking, this becomes\nbut a slender security; and as the benefactor is here supposed to bestow\nhis favours with a view to self-interest, this both takes off from the\nobligation, and sets an example to selfishness, which is the true mother\nof ingratitude. Were we, therefore, to follow the natural course of our\npassions and inclinations, we should perform but few actions for the\nadvantage of others, from distinterested views; because we are naturally\nvery limited in our kindness and affection: And we should perform as few\nof that kind, out of a regard to interest; because we cannot depend upon\ntheir gratitude. Here then is the mutual commerce of good offices in a\nmanner lost among mankind, and every one reduced to his own skill and\nindustry for his well-being and subsistence. The invention of the law of\nnature, concerning the stability of possession, has already rendered\nmen tolerable to each other; that of the transference of property and\npossession by consent has begun to render them mutually advantageous:\nBut still these laws of nature, however strictly observed, are not\nsufficient to render them so serviceable to each other, as by nature\nthey are fitted to become. Though possession be stable, men may often\nreap but small advantage from it, while they are possessed of a greater\nquantity of any species of goods than they have occasion for, and at the\nsame time suffer by the want of others. The transference of property,\nwhich is the proper remedy for this inconvenience, cannot remedy it\nentirely; because it can only take place with regard to such objects as\nare present and individual, but not to such as are absent or general.\nOne cannot transfer the property of a particular house, twenty leagues\ndistant; because the consent cannot be attended with delivery, which is\na requisite circumstance. Neither can one transfer the property of ten\nbushels of corn, or five hogsheads of wine, by the mere expression\nand consent; because these are only general terms, and have no direct\nrelation to any particular heap of corn, or barrels of wine. Besides,\nthe commerce of mankind is not confined to the barter of commodities,\nbut may extend to services and actions, which we may exchange to our\nmutual interest and advantage. Your corn is ripe to-day; mine will be\nso tomorrow. It is profitable for us both, that I should labour with\nyou to-day, and that you should aid me to-morrow. I have no kindness for\nyou, and know you have as little for me. I will not, therefore, take\nany pains upon your account; and should I labour with you upon my own\naccount, in expectation of a return, I know I should be disappointed,\nand that I should in vain depend upon your gratitude. Here then I\nleave you to labour alone: You treat me in the same manner. The seasons\nchange; and both of us lose our harvests for want of mutual confidence\nand security.\n\nAll this is the effect of the natural and inherent principles and\npassions of human nature; and as these passions and principles are\ninalterable, it may be thought, that our conduct, which depends on them,\nmust be so too, and that it would be in vain, either for moralists or\npoliticians, to tamper with us, or attempt to change the usual course of\nour actions, with a view to public interest. And indeed, did the success\nof their designs depend upon their success in correcting the selfishness\nand ingratitude of men, they would never make any progress, unless aided\nby omnipotence, which is alone able to new-mould the human mind, and\nchange its character in such fundamental articles. All they can pretend\nto, is, to give a new direction to those natural passions, and teach us\nthat we can better satisfy our appetites in an oblique and artificial\nmanner, than by their headlong and impetuous motion. Hence I learn to do\na service to another, without bearing him any real kindness; because I\nforsee, that he will return my service, in expectation of another of\nthe same kind, and in order to maintain the same correspondence of good\noffices with me or with others. And accordingly, after I have served\nhim, and he is in possession of the advantage arising from my action,\nhe is induced to perform his part, as foreseeing the consequences of his\nrefusal.\n\nBut though this self-interested commerce of man begins to take place,\nand to predominate in society, it does not entirely abolish the more\ngenerous and noble intercourse of friendship and good offices. I may\nstill do services to such persons as I love, and am more particularly\nacquainted with, without any prospect of advantage; and they may make me\na return in the same manner, without any view but that of recompensing\nmy past services. In order, therefore, to distinguish those two\ndifferent sorts of commerce, the interested and the disinterested, there\nis a certain form of words invented for the former, by which we\nbind ourselves to the performance of any action. This form of words\nconstitutes what we call a promise, which is the sanction of the\ninterested commerce of mankind. When a man says he promises any thing,\nhe in effect expresses a resolution of performing it; and along with\nthat, by making use of this form of words, subjects himself to the\npenalty of never being trusted again in case of failure. A resolution is\nthe natural act of the mind, which promises express: But were there\nno more than a resolution in the case, promises would only declare our\nformer motives, and would not create any new motive or obligation. They\nare the conventions of men, which create a new motive, when experience\nhas taught us, that human affairs would be conducted much more for\nmutual advantage, were there certain symbols or signs instituted,\nby which we might give each, other security of our conduct in any\nparticular incident, After these signs are instituted, whoever uses them\nis immediately bound by his interest to execute his engagements, and\nmust never expect to be trusted any more, if he refuse to perform what\nhe promised.\n\nNor is that knowledge, which is requisite to make mankind sensible\nof this interest in the institution and observance of promises, to be\nesteemed superior to the capacity of human nature, however savage and\nuncultivated. There needs but a very little practice of the world, to\nmake us perceive all these consequences and advantages. The shortest\nexperience of society discovers them to every mortal; and when each\nindividual perceives the same sense of interest in all his fellows, he\nimmediately performs his part of any contract, as being assured, that\nthey will not be wanting in theirs. All of them, by concert, enter into\na scheme of actions, calculated for common benefit, and agree to be true\nto their word; nor is there any thing requisite to form this concert or\nconvention, but that every one have a sense of interest in the faithful\nfulfilling of engagements, and express that sense to other members of\nthe society. This immediately causes that interest to operate upon them;\nand interest is the first obligation to the performance of promises.\n\nAfterwards a sentiment of morals concurs with interest, and becomes\na new obligation upon mankind. This sentiment of morality, in the\nperformance of promises, arises from the same principles as that in the\nabstinence from the property of others. Public interest, education, and\nthe artifices of politicians, have the same effect in both cases. The\ndifficulties, that occur to us, in supposing a moral obligation\nto attend promises, we either surmount or elude. For instance; the\nexpression of a resolution is not commonly supposed to be obligatory;\nand we cannot readily conceive how the making use of a certain form of\nwords should be able to cause any material difference. Here, therefore,\nwe feign a new act of the mind, which we call the willing an obligation;\nand on this we suppose the morality to depend. But we have proved\nalready, that there is no such act of the mind, and consequently that\npromises impose no natural obligation.\n\nTo confirm this, we may subjoin some other reflections concerning\nthat will, which is supposed to enter into a promise, and to cause its\nobligation. It is evident, that the will alone is never supposed to\ncause the obligation, but must be expressed by words or signs, in order\nto impose a tye upon any man. The expression being once brought in as\nsubservient to the will, soon becomes the principal part of the promise;\nnor will a man be less bound by his word, though he secretly give a\ndifferent direction to his intention, and with-hold himself both from\na resolution, and from willing an obligation. But though the expression\nmakes on most occasions the whole of the promise, yet it does not always\nso; and one, who should make use of any expression, of which he knows\nnot the meaning, and which he uses without any intention of binding\nhimself, would not certainly be bound by it. Nay, though he knows its\nmeaning, yet if he uses it in jest only, and with such signs as shew\nevidently he has no serious intention of binding himself, he would not\nlie under any obligation of performance; but it is necessary, that the\nwords be a perfect expression of the will, without any contrary signs.\nNay, even this we must not carry so far as to imagine, that one, whom,\nby our quickness of understanding, we conjecture, from certain signs,\nto have an intention of deceiving us, is not bound by his expression or\nverbal promise, if we accept of it; but must limit this conclusion\nto those cases, where the signs are of a different kind from those\nof deceit. All these contradictions are easily accounted for, if the\nobligation of promises be merely a human invention for the convenience\nof society; but will never be explained, if it be something real and\nnatural, arising from any action of the mind or body.\n\nI shall farther observe, that since every new promise imposes a new\nobligation of morality on the person who promises, and since this new\nobligation arises from his will; it is one of the most mysterious and\nincomprehensible operations that can possibly be imagined, and may even\nbe compared to TRANSUBSTANTIATION, or HOLY ORDERS,[8] where a certain\nform of words, along with a certain intention, changes entirely the\nnature of an external object, and even of a human nature. But though\nthese mysteries be so far alike, it is very remarkable, that they\ndiffer widely in other particulars, and that this difference may be\nregarded as a strong proof of the difference of their origins. As the\nobligation of promises is an invention for the interest of society, it\nis warped into as many different forms as that interest requires, and\neven runs into direct contradictions, rather than lose sight of its\nobject. But as those other monstrous doctines are mere priestly\ninventions, and have no public interest in view, they are less\ndisturbed in their progress by new obstacles; and it must be owned,\nthat, after the first absurdity, they follow more directly the current\nof reason and good sense. Theologians clearly perceived, that the\nexternal form of words, being mere sound, require an intention to make\nthem have any efficacy; and that this intention being once considered\nas a requisite circumstance, its absence must equally prevent the\neffect, whether avowed or concealed, whether sincere or deceitful.\nAccordingly they have commonly determined, that the intention of the\npriest makes the sacrament, and that when he secretly withdraws his\nintention, he is highly criminal in himself; but still destroys the\nbaptism, or communion, or holy orders. The terrible consequences of\nthis doctrine were not able to hinder its taking place; as the\ninconvenience of a similar doctrine, with regard to promises, have\nprevented that doctrine from establishing itself. Men are always more\nconcerned about the present life than the future; and are apt to think\nthe smallest evil, which regards the former, more important than the\ngreatest, which regards the latter.\n\n    [8] I mean so far, as holy orders are suppos'd to produce the\n    indelible character. In other respects they are only a legal\n    qualification.\n\nWe may draw the same conclusion, concerning the origin of promises, from\nthe force, which is supposed to invalidate all contracts, and to free us\nfrom their obligation. Such a principle is a proof, that promises have\nno natural obligation, and are mere artificial contrivances for the\nconvenience and advantage of society. If we consider aright of the\nmatter, force is not essentially different from any other motive of hope\nor fear, which may induce us to engage our word, and lay ourselves under\nany obligation. A man, dangerously wounded, who promises a competent\nsum to a surgeon to cure him, would certainly be bound to performance;\nthough the case be not so much different from that of one, who promises\na sum to a robber, as to produce so great a difference in our sentiments\nof morality, if these sentiments were not built entirely on public\ninterest and convenience.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. VI SOME FARTHER REFLECTIONS CONCERNING JUSTICE AND INJUSTICE\n\n\nWe have now run over the three fundamental laws of nature, that of the\nstability of possession, of its transference by consent, and of the\nperformance of promises. It is on the strict observance of those three\nlaws, that the peace and security of human society entirely depend; nor\nis there any possibility of establishing a good correspondence among\nmen, where these are neglected. Society is absolutely necessary for the\nwell-being of men; and these are as necessary to the support of society.\nWhatever restraint they may impose on the passions of men, they are the\nreal offspring of those passions, and are only a more artful and more\nrefined way of satisfying them. Nothing is more vigilant and inventive\nthan our passions; and nothing is more obvious, than the convention\nfor the observance of these rules. Nature has, therefore, trusted this\naffair entirely to the conduct of men, and has not placed in the mind\nany peculiar original principles, to determine us to a set of actions,\ninto which the other principles of our frame and constitution were\nsufficient to lead us. And to convince us the more fully of this truth,\nwe may here stop a moment, and from a review of the preceding reasonings\nmay draw some new arguments, to prove that those laws, however\nnecessary, are entirely artificial, and of human invention; and\nconsequently that justice is an artificial, and not a natural virtue.\n\n(1) The first argument I shall make use of is derived from the vulgar\ndefinition of justice. Justice is commonly defined to be a constant and\nperpetual will of giving every one his due. In this definition it is\nsupposed, that there are such things as right and property, independent\nof justice, and antecedent to it; and that they would have subsisted,\nthough men had never dreamt of practising such a virtue. I have already\nobserved, in a cursory manner, the fallacy of this opinion, and shall\nhere continue to open up a little more distinctly my sentiments on that\nsubject.\n\nI shall begin with observing, that this quality, which we shall call\nproperty, is like many of the imaginary qualities of the peripatetic\nphilosophy, and vanishes upon a more accurate inspection into the\nsubject, when considered a-part from our moral sentiments. It is evident\nproperty does not consist in any of the sensible qualities of the\nobject. For these may continue invariably the same, while the property\nchanges. Property, therefore, must consist in some relation of the\nobject. But it is not in its relation with regard to other external\nand inanimate objects. For these may also continue invariably the same,\nwhile the property changes. This quality, therefore, consists in the\nrelations of objects to intelligent and rational beings. But it is\nnot the external and corporeal relation, which forms the essence of\nproperty. For that relation may be the same betwixt inanimate objects,\nor with regard to brute creatures; though in those cases it forms no\nproperty. It is, therefore, in some internal relation, that the property\nconsists; that is, in some influence, which the external relations of\nthe object have on the mind and actions. Thus the external relation,\nwhich we call occupation or first possession, is not of itself imagined\nto be the property of the object, but only to cause its property. Now it\nis evident, this external relation causes nothing in external objects,\nand has only an influence on the mind, by giving us a sense of duty in\nabstaining from that object, and in restoring it to the first possessor.\nThese actions are properly what we call justice; and consequently it is\non that virtue that the nature of property depends, and not the virtue\non the property.\n\nIf any one, therefore, would assert, that justice is a natural virtue,\nand injustice a natural vice, he must assert, that abstracting from the\nnations of property, and right and obligation, a certain conduct\nand train of actions, in certain external relations of objects, has\nnaturally a moral beauty or deformity, and causes an original pleasure\nor uneasiness. Thus the restoring a man's goods to him is considered as\nvirtuous, not because nature has annexed a certain sentiment of pleasure\nto such a conduct, with regard to the property of others, but because\nshe has annexed that sentiment to such a conduct, with regard to those\nexternal objects, of which others have had the first or long possession,\nor which they have received by the consent of those, who have had first\nor long possession. If nature has given us no such sentiment, there is\nnot, naturally, nor antecedent to human conventions, any such thing as\nproperty. Now, though it seems sufficiently evident, in this dry and\naccurate consideration of the present subject, that nature has annexed\nno pleasure or sentiment of approbation to such a conduct; yet that I\nmay leave as little room for doubt as possible, I shall subjoin a few\nmore arguments to confirm my opinion.\n\nFirst, If nature had given us a pleasure of this kind, it would have\nbeen as evident and discernible as on every other occasion; nor should\nwe have found any difficulty to perceive, that the consideration of such\nactions, in such a situation, gives a certain pleasure and sentiment of\napprobation. We should not have been obliged to have recourse to notions\nof property in the definition of justice, and at the same time make use\nof the notions of justice in the definition of property. This deceitful\nmethod of reasoning is a plain proof, that there are contained in the\nsubject some obscurities and difficulties, which we are not able to\nsurmount, and which we desire to evade by this artifice.\n\nSecondly, Those rules, by which properties, rights, and obligations\nare determined, have in them no marks of a natural origin but many of\nartifice and contrivance. They are too numerous to have proceeded from\nnature: They are changeable by human laws: And have all of them a direct\nand evident tendency to public good, and the support, of civil society.\nThis last circumstance is remarkable upon two accounts. First, because,\nthough the cause of the establishment of these laws had been a regard\nfor the public good, as much as the public good is their natural\ntendency, they would still have been artificial, as being purposely\ncontrived and directed to a certain end. Secondly, because, if men had\nbeen endowed with such a strong regard for public good, they would never\nhave restrained themselves by these rules; so that the laws of justice\narise from natural principles in a manner still more oblique and\nartificial. It is self-love which is their real origin; and as the\nself-love of one person is naturally contrary to that of another, these\nseveral interested passions are obliged to adjust themselves after such\na manner as to concur in some system of conduct and behaviour. This\nsystem, therefore, comprehending the interest of each individual, is of\ncourse advantageous to the public; though it be not intended for that\npurpose by die inventors.\n\n(2) In the second place we may observe, that all kinds of vice and\nvirtue run insensibly into each other, and may approach by such\nimperceptible degrees as will make it very difficult, if not absolutely\nimpossible, to determine when the one ends, and the other begins; and\nfrom this observation we may derive a new argument for the foregoing\nprinciple. For whatever may be the case, with regard to all kinds\nof vice and virtue, it is certain, that rights, and obligations, and\nproperty, admit of no such insensible gradation, but that a man either\nhas a full and perfect property, or none at all; and is either entirely\nobliged to perform any action, or lies under no manner of obligation.\nHowever civil laws may talk of a perfect dominion, and of an imperfect,\nit is easy to observe, that this arises from a fiction, which has no\nfoundation in reason, and can never enter into our notions of natural\njustice and equity. A man that hires a horse, though but for a day, has\nas full a right to make use of it for that time, as he whom we call its\nproprietor has to make use of it any other day; and it was evident, that\nhowever the use may be bounded in time or degree, the right itself is\nnot susceptible of any such gradation, but is absolute and entire, so\nfar as it extends. Accordingly we may observe, that this right both\narises and perishes in an instant; and that a man entirely acquires the\nproperty of any object by occupation, or the consent of the proprietor;\nand loses it by his own consent; without any of that insensible\ngradation, which is remarkable in other qualities and relations, Since,\ntherefore, this is die case with regard to property, and rights, and\nobligations, I ask, how it stands with regard to justice and\ninjustice? After whatever manner you answer this question, you run into\ninextricable difficulties. If you reply, that justice and injustice\nadmit of degree, and run insensibly into each other, you expressly\ncontradict the foregoing position, that obligation and property are not\nsusceptible of such a gradation. These depend entirely upon justice and\ninjustice, and follow them in all their variations. Where the justice is\nentire, the property is also entire: Where the justice is imperfect, the\nproperty must also be imperfect And vice versa, if the property admit of\nno such variations, they must also be incompatible with justice. If you\nassent, therefore, to this last proposition, and assert, that justice\nand injustice are not susceptible of degrees, you in effect assert,\nthat they are not naturally either vicious or virtuous; since vice\nand virtue, moral good and evil, and indeed all natural qualities,\nrun insensibly into each other, and are, on many occasions,\nundistinguishable.\n\nAnd here it may be worth while to observe, that though abstract\nreasoning, and the general maxims of philosophy and law establish this\nposition, that property, and right, and obligation admit not of\ndegrees, yet in our common and negligent way of thinking, we find great\ndifficulty to entertain that opinion, and do even secretly embrace the\ncontrary principle. An object must either be in the possession of\none person or another. An action must either be performed or not. The\nnecessity there is of choosing one side in these dilemmas, and the\nimpossibility there often is of finding any just medium, oblige us,\nwhen we reflect on the matter, to acknowledge, that all property and\nobligations are entire. But on the other hand, when we consider the\norigin of property and obligation, and find that they depend on public\nutility, and sometimes on the propensities of the imagination, which are\nseldom entire on any side; we are naturally inclined to imagine, that\nthese moral relations admit of an insensible gradation. Hence it is,\nthat in references, where the consent of the parties leave the referees\nentire masters of the subject, they commonly discover so much equity and\njustice on both sides, as induces them to strike a medium, and divide\nthe difference betwixt the parties. Civil judges, who have not this\nliberty, but are obliged to give a decisive sentence on some one side,\nare often at a loss how to determine, and are necessitated to proceed\non the most frivolous reasons in the world. Half rights and obligations,\nwhich seem so natural in common life, are perfect absurdities in their\ntribunal; for which reason they are often obliged to take half arguments\nfor whole ones, in order to terminate the affair one way or other.\n\n(3) The third argument of this kind I shall make use of may be explained\nthus. If we consider the ordinary course of human actions, we shall\nfind, that the mind restrains not itself by any general and universal\nrules; but acts on most occasions as it is determined by its present\nmotives and inclination. As each action is a particular individual\nevent, it must proceed from particular principles, and from our\nimmediate situation within ourselves, and with respect to the rest of\nthe universe. If on some occasions we extend our motives beyond those\nvery circumstances, which gave rise to them, and form something like\ngeneral rules for our conduct, it is easy to observe, that these rules\nare not perfectly inflexible, but allow of many exceptions. Since,\ntherefore, this is the ordinary course of human actions, we may\nconclude, that the laws of justice, being universal and perfectly\ninflexible, can never be derived from nature, nor be the immediate\noffspring of any natural motive or inclination. No action can be either\nmorally good or evil, unless there be some natural passion or motive\nto impel us to it, or deter us from it; and it is evident, that die\nmorality must be susceptible of all the same variations, which are\nnatural to the passion. Here are two persons, who dispute for an estate;\nof whom one is rich, a fool, and a batchelor; the other poor, a man of\nsense, and has a numerous family: The first is my enemy; the second\nmy friend. Whether I be actuated in this affair by a view to public or\nprivate interest, by friendship or enmity, I must be induced to do my\nutmost to procure the estate to the latter. Nor would any consideration\nof the right and property of the persons be able to restrain me, were I\nactuated only by natural motives, without any combination or convention\nwith others. For as all property depends on morality; and as all\nmorality depends on the ordinary course of our passions and actions; and\nas these again are only directed by particular motives; it is evident,\nsuch a partial conduct must be suitable to the strictest morality, and\ncould never be a violation of property. Were men, therefore, to take\nthe liberty of acting with regard to the laws of society, as they do in\nevery other affair, they would conduct themselves, on most occasions, by\nparticular judgments, and would take into consideration the characters\nand circumstances of the persons, as well as the general nature of the\nquestion. But it is easy to observe, that this would produce an infinite\nconfusion in human society, and that the avidity and partiality of men\nwould quickly bring disorder into the world, if not restrained by some\ngeneral and inflexible principles. Twas, therefore, with a view to this\ninconvenience, that men have established those principles, and have\nagreed to restrain themselves by general rules, which are unchangeable\nby spite and favour, and by particular views of private or public\ninterest. These rules, then, are artificially invented for a certain\npurpose, and are contrary to the common principles of human nature,\nwhich accommodate themselves to circumstances, and have no stated\ninvariable method of operation.\n\nNor do I perceive how I can easily be mistaken in this matter. I see\nevidently, that when any man imposes on himself general inflexible\nrules in his conduct with others, he considers certain objects as\ntheir property, which he supposes to be sacred and inviolable. But\nno proposition can be more evident, than that property is perfectly\nunintelligible without first supposing justice and injustice; and that\nthese virtues and vices are as unintelligible, unless we have motives,\nindependent of the morality, to impel us to just actions, and deter us\nfrom unjust ones. Let those motives, therefore, be what they will, they\nmust accommodate themselves to circumstances, and must admit of all the\nvariations, which human affairs, in their incessant revolutions, are\nsusceptible of. They are consequently a very improper foundation for\nsuch rigid inflexible rules as the laws of nature; and it is evident\nthese laws can only be derived from human conventions, when men have\nperceived the disorders that result from following their natural and\nvariable principles.\n\nUpon the whole, then, we are to consider this distinction betwixt\njustice and injustice, as having two different foundations, viz, that\nof interest, when men observe, that it is impossible to live in society\nwithout restraining themselves by certain rules; and that of morality,\nwhen this interest is once observed and men receive a pleasure from the\nview of such actions as tend to the peace of society, and an uneasiness\nfrom such as are contrary to it. It is the voluntary convention\nand artifice of men, which makes the first interest take place;\nand therefore those laws of justice are so far to be considered as\nartificial. After that interest is once established and acknowledged, the\nsense of morality in the observance of these rules follows naturally,\nand of itself; though it is certain, that it is also augmented by a\nnew artifice, and that the public instructions of politicians, and the\nprivate education of parents, contribute to the giving us a sense of\nhonour and duty in the strict regulation of our actions with regard to\nthe properties of others.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. VII OF THE ORIGIN OF GOVERNMENT\n\n\nNothing is more certain, than that men are, in a great measure, governed\nby interest, and that even when they extend their concern beyond\nthemselves, it is not to any great distance; nor is it usual for\nthem, in common life, to look farther than their nearest friends and\nacquaintance. It is no less certain, that it is impossible for men to\nconsult, their interest in so effectual a manner, as by an universal and\ninflexible observance of the rules of justice, by which alone they can\npreserve society, and keep themselves from falling into that wretched\nand savage condition, which is commonly represented as the state of\nnature. And as this interest, which all men have in the upholding of\nsociety, and the observation of the rules of justice, is great, so is\nit palpable and evident, even to the most rude and uncultivated of human\nrace; and it is almost impossible for any one, who has had experience of\nsociety, to be mistaken in this particular. Since, therefore, men are\nso sincerely attached to their interest, and their interest is so much\nconcerned in the observance of justice, and this interest is so certain\nand avowed; it may be asked, how any disorder can ever arise in\nsociety, and what principle there is in human nature so powerful as to\novercome so strong a passion, or so violent as to obscure so clear a\nknowledge?\n\nIt has been observed, in treating of the passions, that men are mightily\ngoverned by the imagination, and proportion their affections more to\nthe light, under which any object appears to them, than to its real and\nintrinsic value. What strikes upon them with a strong and lively idea\ncommonly prevails above what lies in a more obscure light; and it\nmust be a great superiority of value, that is able to compensate this\nadvantage. Now as every thing, that is contiguous to us, either in space\nor time, strikes upon us with such an idea, it has a proportional effect\non the will and passions, and commonly operates with more force than any\nobject, that lies in a more distant and obscure light. Though we may be\nfully convinced, that the latter object excels the former, we are\nnot able to regulate our actions by this judgment; but yield to the\nsollicitations of our passions, which always plead in favour of whatever\nis near and contiguous.\n\nThis is the reason why men so often act in contradiction to their known\ninterest; and in particular why they prefer any trivial advantage,\nthat is present, to the maintenance of order in society, which so much\ndepends on the observance of justice. The consequences of every breach\nof equity seem to lie very remote, and are not able to counter-ballance\nany immediate advantage, that may be reaped from it. They are, however,\nnever the less real for being remote; and as all men are, in some\ndegree, subject to the same weakness, it necessarily happens, that\nthe violations of equity must become very frequent in society, and\nthe commerce of men, by that means, be rendered very dangerous and\nuncertain. You have the same propension, that I have, in favour of\nwhat is contiguous above what is remote. You are, therefore, naturally\ncarried to commit acts of injustice as well as me. Your example both\npushes me forward in this way by imitation, and also affords me a new\nreason for any breach of equity, by shewing me, that I should be the\ncully of my integrity, if I alone should impose on myself a severe\nrestraint amidst the licentiousness of others.\n\nThis quality, therefore, of human nature, not only is very dangerous\nto society, but also seems, on a cursory view, to be incapable of any\nremedy. The remedy can only come from the consent of men; and if men be\nincapable of themselves to prefer remote to contiguous, they will never\nconsent to any thing, which would oblige them to such a choice, and\ncontradict, in so sensible a manner, their natural principles and\npropensities. Whoever chuses the means, chuses also the end; and if it\nbe impossible for us to prefer what is remote, it is equally impossible\nfor us to submit to any necessity, which would oblige us to such a\nmethod of acting.\n\nBut here it is observable, that this infirmity of human nature becomes\na remedy to itself, and that we provide against our negligence about\nremote objects, merely because we are naturally inclined to that\nnegligence. When we consider any objects at a distance, all their minute\ndistinctions vanish, and we always give the preference to whatever is in\nitself preferable, without considering its situation and circumstances.\nThis gives rise to what in an improper sense we call reason, which is\na principle, that is often contradictory to those propensities that\ndisplay themselves upon the approach of the object. In reflecting on any\naction, which I am to perform a twelve-month hence, I always resolve to\nprefer the greater good, whether at that time it will be more contiguous\nor remote; nor does any difference in that particular make a difference\nin my present intentions and resolutions. My distance from the final\ndetermination makes all those minute differences vanish, nor am I\naffected by any thing, but the general and more discernible qualities of\ngood and evil. But on my nearer approach, those circumstances, which\nI at first over-looked, begin to appear, and have an influence on my\nconduct and affections. A new inclination to the present good springs\nup, and makes it difficult for me to adhere inflexibly to my first\npurpose and resolution. This natural infirmity I may very much regret,\nand I may endeavour, by all possible means, to free my self from it. I\nmay have recourse to study and reflection within myself; to the advice\nof friends; to frequent meditation, and repeated resolution: And having\nexperienced how ineffectual all these are, I may embrace with pleasure\nany other expedient, by which I may impose a restraint upon myself, and\nguard against this weakness.\n\nThe only difficulty, therefore, is to find out this expedient, by which\nmen cure their natural weakness, and lay themselves under the necessity\nof observing the laws of justice and equity, notwithstanding their\nviolent propension to prefer contiguous to remote. It is evident such a\nremedy can never be effectual without correcting this propensity; and as\nit is impossible to change or correct any thing material in our nature,\nthe utmost we can do is to change our circumstances and situation, and\nrender the observance of the laws of justice our nearest interest,\nand their violation our most remote. But this being impracticable with\nrespect to all mankind, it can only take place with respect to a few,\nwhom we thus immediately interest in the execution of justice. There are\nthe persons, whom we call civil magistrates, kings and their ministers,\nour governors and rulers, who being indifferent persons to the greatest\npart of the state, have no interest, or but a remote one, in any act of\ninjustice; and being satisfied with their present condition, and with\ntheir part in society, have an immediate interest in every execution of\njustice, which is so necessary to the upholding of society. Here then is\nthe origin of civil government and society. Men are not able radically\nto cure, either in themselves or others, that narrowness of soul, which\nmakes them prefer the present to the remote. They cannot change their\nnatures. All they can do is to change their situation, and render the\nobservance of justice the immediate interest of some particular persons,\nand its violation their more remote. These persons, then, are not\nonly induced to observe those rules in their own conduct, but also\nto constrain others to a like regularity, and inforce the dictates of\nequity through the whole society. And if it be necessary, they may also\ninterest others more immediately in the execution of justice, and\ncreate a number of officers, civil and military, to assist them in their\ngovernment.\n\nBut this execution of justice, though the principal, is not the only\nadvantage of government. As violent passion hinder men from seeing\ndistinctly the interest they have in an equitable behaviour towards\nothers; so it hinders them from seeing that equity itself, and gives\nthem a remarkable partiality in their own favours. This inconvenience is\ncorrected in the same manner as that above-mentioned. The same persons,\nwho execute the laws of justice, will also decide all controversies\nconcerning them; and being indifferent to the greatest part of the\nsociety, will decide them more equitably than every one would in his own\ncase.\n\nBy means of these two advantages, in the execution and decision of\njustice, men acquire a security against each others weakness and\npassion, as well as against their own, and under the shelter of their\ngovernors, begin to taste at ease the sweets of society and mutual\nassistance. But government extends farther its beneficial influence; and\nnot contented to protect men in those conventions they make for their\nmutual interest, it often obliges them to make such conventions, and\nforces them to seek their own advantage, by a concurrence in some common\nend or purpose. There is no quality in human nature, which causes more\nfatal errors in our conduct, than that which leads us to prefer whatever\nis present to the distant and remote, and makes us desire objects more\naccording to their situation than their intrinsic value. Two neighbours\nmay agree to drain a meadow, which they possess in common; because it is\neasy for them to know each others mind; and each must perceive, that the\nimmediate consequence of his failing in his part, is, the abandoning the\nwhole project. But it is very difficult, and indeed impossible, that a\nthousand persons should agree in any such action; it being difficult for\nthem to concert so complicated a design, and still more difficult for\nthem to execute it; while each seeks a pretext to free himself of the\ntrouble and expence, and would lay the whole burden on others. Political\nsociety easily remedies both these inconveniences. Magistrates find an\nimmediate interest in the interest of any considerable part of their\nsubjects. They need consult no body but themselves to form any scheme\nfor the promoting of that interest. And as the failure of any one piece\nin the execution is connected, though not immediately, with the failure\nof the whole, they prevent that failure, because they find no interest\nin it, either immediate or remote. Thus bridges are built; harbours\nopened; ramparts raised; canals formed; fleets equiped; and armies\ndisciplined every where, by the care of government, which, though\ncomposed of men subject to all human infirmities, becomes, by one of the\nfinest and most subtle inventions imaginable, a composition, which is,\nin some measure, exempted from all these infirmities.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. VIII OF THE SOURCE OF ALLEGIANCE\n\n\nThough government be an invention very advantageous, and even in some\ncircumstances absolutely necessary to mankind; it is not necessary in\nall circumstances, nor is it impossible for men to preserve society\nfor some time, without having recourse to such an invention. Men, it is\ntrue, are always much inclined to prefer present interest to distant\nand remote; nor is it easy for them to resist the temptation of any\nadvantage, that they may immediately enjoy, in apprehension of an evil\nthat lies at a distance from them: But still this weakness is less\nconspicuous where the possessions, and the pleasures of life are few,\nand of little value, as they always are in the infancy of society. An\nIndian is but little tempted to dispossess another of his hut, or to\nsteal his bow, as being already provided of the same advantages; and as\nto any superior fortune, which may attend one above another in hunting\nand fishing, it is only casual and temporary, and will have but small\ntendency to disturb society. And so far am I from thinking with\nsome philosophers, that men are utterly incapable of society without\ngovernment, that I assert the first rudiments of government to arise\nfrom quarrels, not among men of the same society, but among those of\ndifferent societies. A less degree of riches will suffice to this latter\neffect, than is requisite for the former. Men fear nothing from public\nwar and violence but the resistance they meet with, which, because\nthey share it in common, seems less terrible; and because it comes from\nstrangers, seems less pernicious in its consequences, than when they are\nexposed singly against one whose commerce is advantageous to them, and\nwithout whose society it is impossible they can subsist. Now foreign war\nto a society without government necessarily produces civil war. Throw\nany considerable goods among men, they instantly fall a quarrelling,\nwhile each strives to get possession of what pleases him, without regard\nto the consequences. In a foreign war the most considerable of all\ngoods, life and limbs, are at stake; and as every one shuns dangerous\nports, seizes the best arms, seeks excuse for the slightest wounds, the\nlaws, which may be well enough observed while men were calm, can now no\nlonger take place, when they are in such commotion.\n\nThis we find verified in the American tribes, where men live in concord\nand amity among themselves without any established government and never\npay submission to any of their fellows, except in time of war, when\ntheir captain enjoys a shadow of authority, which he loses after\ntheir return from the field, and the establishment of peace with the\nneighbouring tribes. This authority, however, instructs them in the\nadvantages of government, and teaches them to have recourse to it,\nwhen either by the pillage of war, by commerce, or by any fortuitous\ninventions, their riches and possessions have become so considerable as\nto make them forget, on every emergence, the interest they have in the\npreservation of peace and justice. Hence we may give a plausible reason,\namong others, why all governments are at first monarchical, without any\nmixture and variety; and why republics arise only from the abuses of\nmonarchy and despotic power. Camps are the true mothers of cities; and\nas war cannot be administered, by reason of the suddenness of every\nexigency, without some authority in a single person, the same kind of\nauthority naturally takes place in that civil government, which succeeds\nthe military. And this reason I take to be more natural, than the common\none derived from patriarchal government, or the authority of a father,\nwhich is said first to take place in one family, and to accustom the\nmembers of it to the government of a single person. The state of society\nwithout government is one of the most natural states of men, and must\nsubmit with the conjunction of many families, and long after the first\ngeneration. Nothing but an encrease of riches and possessions could\noblige men to quit it; and so barbarous and uninstructed are all\nsocieties on their first formation, that many years must elapse before\nthese can encrease to such a degree, as to disturb men in the enjoyment\nof peace and concord. But though it be possible for men to maintain a\nsmall uncultivated society without government, it is impossible\nthey should maintain a society of any kind without justice, and the\nobservance of those three fundamental laws concerning the stability of\npossession, its translation by consent, and the performance of promises.\nThese are, therefore, antecedent to government, and are supposed to\nimpose an obligation before the duty of allegiance to civil magistrates\nhas once been thought of. Nay, I shall go farther, and assert, that\ngovernment, upon its first establishment, would naturally be supposed.\nto derive its obligation from those laws of nature, and, in particular,\nfrom that concerning the performance of promises. When men have once\nperceived the necessity of government to maintain peace, and\nexecute justice, they would naturally assemble together, would chuse\nmagistrates, determine power, and promise them obedience. As a promise\nis supposed to be a bond or security already in use, and attended with\na moral obligation, it is to be considered as the original sanction of\ngovernment, and as the source of the first obligation to obedience. This\nreasoning appears so natural, that it has become the foundation of our\nfashionable system of politics, and is in a manner the creed of a party\namongst us, who pride themselves, with reason, on the soundness of their\nphilosophy, and their liberty of thought. All men, say they, are born\nfree and equal: Government and superiority can only be established by\nconsent: The consent of men, in establishing government, imposes on them\na new obligation, unknown to the laws of nature. Men, therefore, are\nbound to obey their magistrates, only because they promise it; and if\nthey had not given their word, either expressly or tacitly, to preserve\nallegiance, it would never have become a part of their moral duty. This\nconclusion, however, when carried so far as to comprehend government in\nall its ages and situations, is entirely erroneous; and I maintain, that\nthough the duty of allegiance be at first grafted on the obligation\nof promises, and be for some time supported by that obligation, yet\nit quickly takes root of itself, and has an original obligation and\nauthority, independent of all contracts. This is a principle of moment,\nwhich we must examine with care and attention, before we proceed any\nfarther.\n\nIt is reasonable for those philosophers, who assert justice to be a\nnatural virtue, and antecedent to human conventions, to resolve all\ncivil allegiance into the obligation of a promise, and assert that it is\nour own consent alone, which binds us to any submission to magistracy.\nFor as all government is plainly an invention of men, and the origin of\nmost governments is known in history, it is necessary to mount higher,\nin order to find the source of our political duties, if we would assert\nthem to have any natural obligation of morality. These philosophers,\ntherefore, quickly observe, that society is as antient as the human\nspecies, and those three fundamental laws of nature as antient as\nsociety: So that taking advantage of the antiquity, and obscure origin\nof these laws, they first deny them to be artificial and voluntary\ninventions of men, and then seek to ingraft on them those other duties,\nwhich are more plainly artificial. But being once undeceived in this\nparticular, and having found that natural, as well as civil justice,\nderives its origin from human conventions, we shall quickly perceive,\nhow fruitless it is to resolve the one into the other, and seek, in\nthe laws of nature, a stronger foundation for our political duties than\ninterest, and human conventions; while these laws themselves are built\non the very same foundation. On which ever side we turn this subject,\nwe shall find, that these two kinds of duty are exactly on the same\nfooting, and have the same source both of their first invention and\nmoral obligation. They are contrived to remedy like inconveniences, and\nacquire their moral sanction in the same manner, from their remedying\nthose inconveniences. These are two points, which we shall endeavour to\nprove as distinctly as possible.\n\nWe have already shewn, that men invented the three fundamental laws of\nnature, when they observed the necessity of society to their mutual\nsubsistance, and found, that it was impossible to maintain any\ncorrespondence together, without some restraint on their natural\nappetites. The same self-love, therefore, which renders men so\nincommodious to each other, taking a new and more convenient direction,\nproduces the rules of justice, and is the first motive of their\nobservance. But when men have observed, that though the rules of\njustice be sufficient to maintain any society, yet it is impossible for\nthem, of themselves, to observe those rules, in large and polished\nsocieties; they establish government, as a new invention to attain\ntheir ends, and preserve the old, or procure new advantages, by a more\nstrict execution of justice. So far, therefore, our civil duties are\nconnected with our natural, that the former are invented chiefly for\nthe sake of the latter; and that the principal object of government is\nto constrain men to observe the laws of nature. In this respect,\nhowever, that law of nature, concerning the performance of promises, is\nonly comprized along with the rest; and its exact observance is to be\nconsidered as an effect of the institution of government, and not the\nobedience to government as an effect of the obligation of a promise.\nThough the object of our civil duties be the enforcing of our natural,\nyet the first[9] motive of the invention, as well as performance of\nboth, is nothing but self-interest: and since there is a separate\ninterest in the obedience to government, from that in the performance\nof promises, we must also allow of a separate obligation. To obey the\ncivil magistrate is requisite to preserve order and concord in society.\nTo perform promises is requisite to beget mutual trust and confidence\nin the common offices of life. The ends, as well as the means, are\nperfectly distinct; nor is the one subordinate to the other.\n\n    [9] First in time, not in dignity or force.\n\nTo make this more evident, let us consider, that men will often bind\nthemselves by promises to the performance of what it would have been\ntheir interest to perform, independent of these promises; as when they\nwould give others a fuller security, by super-adding a new obligation\nof interest to that which they formerly lay under. The interest in\nthe performance of promises, besides its moral obligation, is general,\navowed, and of the last consequence in life. Other interests may be\nmore particular and doubtful; and we are apt to entertain a greater\nsuspicion, that men may indulge their humour, or passion, in acting\ncontrary to them. Here, therefore, promises come naturally in play, and\nare often required for fuller satisfaction and security. But supposing\nthose other interests to be as general and avowed as the interest in the\nperformance of a promise, they will be regarded as on the same footing,\nand men will begin to repose the same confidence in them. Now this is\nexactly the case with regard to our civil duties, or obedience to the\nmagistrate; without which no government could subsist, nor any peace\nor order be maintained in large societies, where there are so many\npossessions on the one hand, and so many wants, real or imaginary, on\nthe other. Our civil duties, therefore, must soon detach themselves from\nour promises, and acquire a separate force and influence. The interest\nin both is of the very same kind: It is general, avowed, and prevails in\nall times and places. There is, then, no pretext of reason for founding\nthe one upon the other; while each of them has a foundation peculiar\nto itself. We might as well resolve the obligation to abstain from the\npossessions of others, into the obligation of a promise, as that of\nallegiance. The interests are not more distinct in the one case than the\nother. A regard to property is not more necessary to natural society,\nthan obedience is to civil society or government; nor is the former\nsociety more necessary to the being of mankind, than the latter to their\nwell-being and happiness. In short, if the performance of promises be\nadvantageous, so is obedience to government: If the former interest be\ngeneral, so is the latter: If the one interest be obvious and avowed, so\nis the other. And as these two rules are founded on like obligations of\ninterest, each of them must have a peculiar authority, independent of\nthe other.\n\nBut it is not only the natural obligations of interest, which are\ndistinct in promises and allegiance; but also the moral obligations of\nhonour and conscience: Nor does the merit or demerit of the one depend\nin the least upon that of the other. And indeed, if we consider the\nclose connexion there is betwixt the natural and moral obligations, we\nshall find this conclusion to be entirely unavoidable. Our interest\nis always engaged on the side of obedience to magistracy; and there is\nnothing but a great present advantage, that can lead us to rebellion, by\nmaking us over-look the remote interest, which we have in the preserving\nof peace and order in society. But though a present interest may thus\nblind us with regard to our own actions, it takes not place with regard\nto those of others; nor hinders them from appearing in their true\ncolours, as highly prejudicial to public interest, and to our own in\nparticular. This naturally gives us an uneasiness, in considering such\nseditious and disloyal actions, and makes us attach to them the idea of\nvice and moral deformity. It is the same principle, which causes us to\ndisapprove of all kinds of private injustice, and in particular of the\nbreach of promises. We blame all treachery and breach of faith; because\nwe consider, that the freedom and extent of human commerce depend\nentirely on a fidelity with regard to promises. We blame all disloyalty\nto magistrates; because we perceive, that the execution of justice,\nin the stability of possession, its translation by consent, and\nthe performance of promises, is impossible, without submission to\ngovernment. As there are here two interests entirely distinct from each\nother, they must give rise to two moral obligations, equally separate\nand independent. Though there was no such thing as a promise in the\nworld, government would still be necessary in all large and civilized\nsocieties; and if promises had only their own proper obligation, without\nthe separate sanction of government, they would have but little efficacy\nin such societies. This separates the boundaries of our public and\nprivate duties, and shews that the latter are more dependant on the\nformer, than the former on the latter. Education, and the artifice of\npoliticians, concur to bestow a farther morality on loyalty, and to\nbrand all rebellion with a greater degree of guilt and infamy. Nor is\nit a wonder, that politicians should be very industrious in inculcating\nsuch notions, where their interest is so particularly concerned.\n\nLest those arguments should not appear entirely conclusive (as I think\nthey are) I shall have recourse to authority, and shall prove, from the\nuniversal consent of mankind, that the obligation of submission to\ngovernment is not derived from any promise of the subjects. Nor need\nany one wonder, that though I have all along endeavoured to establish\nmy system on pure reason, and have scarce ever cited the judgment even\nof philosophers or historians on any article, I should now appeal to\npopular authority, and oppose the sentiments of the rabble to any\nphilosophical reasoning. For it must be observed, that the opinions of\nmen, in this case, carry with them a peculiar authority, and are, in a\ngreat measure, infallible. The distinction of moral good and evil is\nfounded on the pleasure or pain, which results from the view of any\nsentiment, or character; and as that pleasure or pain cannot be unknown\nto the person who feels it, it follows,[10] that there is just so much\nvice or virtue in any character, as every one places in it, and that it\nis impossible in this particular we can ever be mistaken. And though\nour judgments concerning the origin of any vice or virtue, be not so\ncertain as those concerning their degrees; yet, since the question in\nthis case regards not any philosophical origin of an obligation, but a\nplain matter of fact, it is not easily conceived how we can fall into\nan error. A man, who acknowledges himself to be bound to another, for a\ncertain sum, must certainly know whether it be by his own bond, or that\nof his father; whether it be of his mere good-will, or for money lent\nhim; and under what conditions, and for what purposes he has bound\nhimself. In like manner, it being certain, that there is a moral\nobligation to submit to government, because every one thinks so; it\nmust be as certain, that this obligation arises not from a promise;\nsince no one, whose judgment has not been led astray by too strict\nadherence to a system of philosophy, has ever yet dreamt of ascribing\nit to that origin. Neither magistrates nor subjects have formed this\nidea of our civil duties.\n\n\n    [10] This proposition must hold strictly true, with regard to every\n    quality, that is determin'd merely by sentiment. In what sense we\n    can talk either of a right or a wrong taste in morals, eloquence,\n    or beauty, shall be considerd afterwards. In the mean time, it may\n    be observ'd, that there is such an uniformity in the GENERAL\n    sentiments of mankind, as to render such questions of but small\n    importance.\n\nWe find, that magistrates are so far from deriving their authority, and\nthe obligation to obedience in their subjects, from the foundation of\na promise or original contract, that they conceal, as far as possible,\nfrom their people, especially from the vulgar, that they have their\norigin from thence. Were this the sanction of government, our rulers\nwould never receive it tacitly, which is the utmost that can be\npretended; since what is given tacitly and insensibly can never have\nsuch influence on mankind, as what is performed expressly and openly.\nA tacit promise is, where the will is signified by other more diffuse\nsigns than those of speech; but a will there must certainly be in the\ncase, and that can never escape the person's notice, who exerted it,\nhowever silent or tacit. But were you to ask the far greatest part of\nthe nation, whether they had ever consented to the authority of their\nrulers, or promised to obey them, they would be inclined to think very\nstrangely of you; and would certainly reply, that the affair depended\nnot on their consent, but that they were born to such an obedience. In\nconsequence of this opinion, we frequently see them imagine such persons\nto be their natural rulers, as are at that time deprived of all power\nand authority, and whom no man, however foolish, would voluntarily\nchuse; and this merely because they are in that line, which ruled\nbefore, and in that degree of it, which used to succeed; though perhaps\nin so distant a period, that scarce any man alive could ever have given\nany promise of obedience. Has a government, then, no authority over such\nas these, because they never consented to it, and would esteem the very\nattempt of such a free choice a piece of arrogance and impiety? We\nfind by experience, that it punishes them very freely for what it\ncalls treason and rebellion, which, it seems, according to this system,\nreduces itself to common injustice. If you say, that by dwelling in its\ndominions, they in effect consented to the established government; I\nanswer, that this can only be, where they think the affair depends on\ntheir choice, which few or none, beside those philosophers, have ever\nyet imagined. It never was pleaded as an excuse for a rebel, that the\nfirst act he performed, after he came to years of discretion, was to\nlevy war against the sovereign of the state; and that while he was a\nchild he could not bind himself by his own consent, and having become\na man, showed plainly, by the first act he performed, that he had no\ndesign to impose on himself any obligation to obedience. We find, on\nthe contrary, that civil laws punish this crime at the same age as any\nother, which is criminal, of itself, without our consent; that is, when\nthe person is come to the full use of reason: Whereas to this crime\nthey ought in justice to allow some intermediate time, in which a tacit\nconsent at least might be supposed. To which we may add, that a man\nliving under an absolute government, would owe it no allegiance; since,\nby its very nature, it depends not on consent. But as that is as\nnatural and common a government as any, it must certainly occasion some\nobligation; and it is plain from experience, that men, who are subjected\nto it, do always think so. This is a clear proof, that we do not\ncommonly esteem our allegiance to be derived from our consent or\npromise; and a farther proof is, that when our promise is upon any\naccount expressly engaged, we always distinguish exactly betwixt the two\nobligations, and believe the one to add more force to the other, than in\na repetition of the same promise. Where no promise is given, a man\nlooks not on his faith as broken in private matters, upon account of\nrebellion; but keeps those two duties of honour and allegiance perfectly\ndistinct and separate. As the uniting of them was thought by these\nphilosophers a very subtile invention, this is a convincing proof, that\nit is not a true one; since no man can either give a promise, or be\nrestrained by its sanction and obligation unknown to himself.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. IX OF THE MEASURES OF ALLEGIANCE\n\n\nThose political writers, who have had recourse to a promise, or original\ncontract, as the source of our allegiance to government, intended to\nestablish a principle, which is perfectly just and reasonable; though\nthe reasoning, upon which they endeavoured to establish it, was\nfallacious and sophistical. They would prove, that our submission to\ngovernment admits of exceptions, and that an egregious tyranny in the\nrulers is sufficient to free the subjects from all ties of allegiance.\nSince men enter into society, say they, and submit themselves to\ngovernment, by their free and voluntary consent, they must have in view\ncertain advantages, which they propose to reap from it, and for which\nthey are contented to resign their native liberty. There is, therefore,\nsomething mutual engaged on the part of the magistrate, viz, protection\nand security; and it is only by the hopes he affords of these\nadvantages, that he can ever persuade men to submit to him. But\nwhen instead of protection and security, they meet with tyranny and\noppression, they are freed from their promises, (as happens in all\nconditional contracts) and return to that state of liberty, which\npreceded the institution of government. Men would never be so foolish as\nto enter into such engagements as should turn entirely to the advantage\nof others, without any view of bettering their own condition. Whoever\nproposes to draw any profit from our submission, must engage himself,\neither expressly or tacitly, to make us reap some advantage from his\nauthority; nor ought he to expect, that without the performance of his\npart we will ever continue in obedience.\n\nI repeat it: This conclusion is just, though the principles be\nerroneous; and I flatter myself, that I can establish the same\nconclusion on more reasonable principles. I shall not take such a\ncompass, in establishing our political duties, as to assert, that men\nperceive the advantages of government; that they institute government\nwith a view to those advantages; that this institution requires a\npromise of obedience; which imposes a moral obligation to a certain\ndegree, but being conditional, ceases to be binding, whenever the other\ncontracting party performs not his part of the engagement. I perceive,\nthat a promise itself arises entirely from human conventions, and is\ninvented with a view to a certain interest. I seek, therefore, some such\ninterest more immediately connected with government, and which may be\nat once the original motive to its institution, and the source of our\nobedience to it. This interest I find to consist in the security and\nprotection, which we enjoy in political society, and which we can never\nattain, when perfectly free and independent. As interest, therefore, is\nthe immediate sanction of government, the one can have no longer being\nthan the other; and whenever the civil magistrate carries his oppression\nso far as to render his authority perfectly intolerable, we are no\nlonger bound to submit to it. The cause ceases; the effect must cease\nalso.\n\nSo far the conclusion is immediate and direct, concerning the natural\nobligation which we have to allegiance. As to the moral obligation, we\nmay observe, that the maxim would here be false, that when the cause\nceases, the effect must cease also. For there is a principle of human\nnature, which we have frequently taken notice of, that men are mightily\naddicted to general rules, and that we often carry our maxims beyond\nthose reasons, which first induced us to establish them. Where cases\nare similar in many circumstances, we are apt to put them on the same\nfooting, without considering, that they differ in the most material\ncircumstances, and that the resemblance is more apparent than real. It\nmay, therefore, be thought, that in the case of allegiance our moral\nobligation of duty will not cease, even though the natural obligation of\ninterest, which is its cause, has ceased; and that men may be bound by\nconscience to submit to a tyrannical government against their own and\nthe public interest. And indeed, to the force of this argument I so far\nsubmit, as to acknowledge, that general rules commonly extend beyond\nthe principles, on which they are founded; and that we seldom make any\nexception to them, unless that exception have the qualities of a general\nrule, and be founded on very numerous and common instances. Now this I\nassert to be entirely the present case. When men submit to the authority\nof others, it is to procure themselves some security against the\nwickedness and injustice of men, who are perpetually carried, by their\nunruly passions, and by their present and immediate interest, to the\nviolation of all the laws of society. But as this imperfection is\ninherent in human nature, we know that it must attend men in all their\nstates and conditions; and that these, whom we chuse for rulers, do not\nimmediately become of a superior nature to the rest of mankind, upon\naccount of their superior power and authority. What we expect from them\ndepends not on a change of their nature but of their situation, when\nthey acquire a more immediate interest in the preservation of order and\nthe execution of justice. But besides that this interest is only more\nimmediate in the execution of justice among their subjects; besides\nthis, I say, we may often expect, from the irregularity of human nature,\nthat they will neglect even this immediate interest, and be transported\nby their passions into all the excesses of cruelty and ambition.. Our\ngeneral knowledge of human nature, our observation of the past history\nof mankind, our experience of present times; all these causes must\ninduce us to open the door to exceptions, and must make us conclude,\nthat we may resist the more violent effects of supreme power, without\nany crime or injustice.\n\nAccordingly we may observe, that this is both the general practice and\nprinciple of mankind, and that no nation, that could find any remedy,\never yet suffered the cruel ravages of a tyrant, or were blamed for\ntheir resistance. Those who took up arms against Dionysius or Nero, or\nPhilip the second, have the favour of every reader in the perusal of\ntheir history: and nothing but the most violent perversion of common\nsense can ever lead us to condemn them. It is certain, therefore, that\nin all our notions of morals we never entertain such an absurdity as\nthat of passive obedience, but make allowances for resistance in the\nmore flagrant instances of tyranny and oppression. The general opinion\nof mankind has some authority in all cases; but in this of morals it\nis perfectly infallible. Nor is it less infallible, because men cannot\ndistinctly explain the principles, on which it is founded. Few persons\ncan carry on this train of reasoning:\n\nGovernment is a mere human invention for the interest of society. Where\nthe tyranny of the governor removes this interest, it also removes the\nnatural obligation to obedience. The moral obligation is founded on the\nnatural, and therefore must cease where that ceases; especially where\nthe subject is such as makes us foresee very many occasions wherein the\nnatural obligation may cease, and causes us to form a kind of general\nrule for the regulation of our conduct in such occurrences.\n\nBut though this train of reasoning be too subtile for the vulgar, it is\ncertain, that all men have an implicit notion of it, and are sensible,\nthat they owe obedience to government merely on account of the public\ninterest; and at the same time, that human nature is so subject to\nfrailties and passions, as may easily pervert this institution, and\nchange their governors into tyrants and public enemies. If the sense of\ncommon interest were not our original motive to obedience, I would fain\nask, what other principle is there in human nature capable of subduing\nthe natural ambition of men, and forcing them to such a submission?\nImitation and custom are not sufficient. For the question still recurs,\nwhat motive first produces those instances of submission, which we\nimitate, and that train of actions, which produces the custom? There\nevidently is no other principle than public interest; and if interest\nfirst produces obedience to government, the obligation to obedience\nmust cease, whenever the interest ceases, in any great degree, and in a\nconsiderable number of instances.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. X OF THE OBJECTS OF ALLEGIANCE\n\n\nBut though, on some occasions, it may be justifiable, both in sound\npolitics and morality, to resist supreme power, it is certain, that in\nthe ordinary course of human affairs nothing can be more pernicious\nand criminal; and that besides the convulsions, which always attend\nrevolutions, such a practice tends directly to the subversion of all\ngovernment, and the causing an universal anarchy and confusion among\nmankind. As numerous and civilized societies cannot subsist without\ngovernment, so government is entirely useless without an exact\nobedience. We ought always to weigh the advantages, which we reap from\nauthority, against the disadvantages; and by this means we shall become\nmore scrupulous of putting in practice the doctrine of resistance. The\ncommon rule requires submission; and it is only in cases of grievous\ntyranny and oppression, that the exception can take place.\n\nSince then such a blind submission is commonly due to magistracy, the\nnext question is, to whom it is due, and whom we are to regard as our\nlawful magistrates? In order to answer this question, let us recollect\nwhat we have already established concerning the origin of government and\npolitical society. When men have once experienced the impossibility\nof preserving any steady order in society, while every one is his own\nmaster, and violates or observes the laws of society, according to his\npresent interest or pleasure, they naturally run into the invention of\ngovernment, and put it out of their own power, as far as possible, to\ntransgress the laws of society. Government, therefore, arises from the\nsame voluntary conversation of men; and it is evident, that the same\nconvention, which establishes government, will also determine the\npersons who are to govern, and will remove all doubt and ambiguity in\nthis particular. And the voluntary consent of men must here have the\ngreater efficacy, that the authority of the magistrate does at first\nstand upon the foundation of a promise of the subjects, by which they\nbind themselves to obedience; as in every other contract or engagement.\nThe same promise, then, which binds them to obedience, ties them down to\na particular person, and makes him the object of their allegiance.\n\nBut when government has been established on this footing for some\nconsiderable time, and the separate interest, which we have in\nsubmission, has produced a separate sentiment of morality, the case\nis entirely altered, and a promise is no longer able to determine the\nparticular magistrate since it is no longer considered as the foundation\nof government. We naturally suppose ourselves born to submission; and\nimagine, that such particular persons have a right to command, as we on\nour part are bound to obey. These notions of right and obligation are\nderived from nothing but the advantage we reap from government, which\ngives us a repugnance to practise resistance ourselves, and makes us\ndispleased with any instance of it in others. But here it is remarkable,\nthat in this new state of affairs, the original sanction of government,\nwhich is interest, is not admitted to determine the persons, whom we are\nto obey, as the original sanction did at first, when affairs were on\nthe footing of a promise. A promise fixes and determines the persons,\nwithout any uncertainty: But it is evident, that if men were to regulate\ntheir conduct in this particular, by the view of a peculiar interest,\neither public or private, they would involve themselves in endless\nconfusion, and would render all government, in a great measure,\nineffectual. The private interest of every one is different; and though\nthe public interest in itself be always one and the same, yet it becomes\nthe source of as great dissentions, by reason of the different opinions\nof particular persons concerning it. The same interest, therefore,\nwhich causes us to submit to magistracy, makes us renounce itself in\nthe choice of our magistrates, and binds us down to a certain form of\ngovernment, and to particular persons, without allowing us to aspire to\nthe utmost perfection in either. The case is here the same as in that\nlaw of nature concerning the stability of possession. It is highly\nadvantageous, and even absolutely necessary to society, that possession\nshould be stable; and this leads us to the establishment of such a rule:\nBut we find, that were we to follow the same advantage, in assigning\nparticular possessions to particular persons, we should disappoint\nour end, and perpetuate the confusion, which that rule is intended to\nprevent. We must, therefore, proceed by general rules, and regulate\nourselves by general interests, in modifying the law of nature\nconcerning the stability of possession. Nor need we fear, that our\nattachment to this law will diminish upon account of the seeming\nfrivolousness of those interests, by which it is determined. The impulse\nof the mind is derived from a very strong interest; and those other more\nminute interests serve only to direct the motion, without adding\nany thing to it, or diminishing from it. It is the same case with\ngovernment. Nothing is more advantageous to society than such an\ninvention; and this interest is sufficient to make us embrace it with\nardour and alacrity; though we are obliged afterwards to regulate and\ndirect our devotion to government by several considerations, which are\nnot of the same importance, and to chuse our magistrates without having\nin view any particular advantage from the choice.\n\nThe first of those principles I shall take notice of, as a foundation of\nthe right of magistracy, is that which gives authority to all the most\nestablished governments of the world without exception: I mean, long\npossession in any one form of government, or succession of princes. It\nis certain, that if we remount to the first origin of every nation,\nwe shall find, that there scarce is any race of kings, or form of a\ncommonwealth, that is not primarily founded on usurpation and rebellion,\nand whose title is not at first worse than doubtful and uncertain. Time\nalone gives solidity to their right; and operating gradually on the\nminds of men, reconciles them to any authority, and makes it seem just\nand reasonable. Nothing causes any sentiment to have a greater influence\nupon us than custom, or turns our imagination more strongly to any\nobject. When we have been long accustomed to obey any set of men,\nthat general instinct or tendency, which we have to suppose a moral\nobligation attending loyalty, takes easily this direction, and chuses\nthat set of men for its objects. It is interest which gives the general\ninstinct; but it is custom which gives the particular direction.\n\nAnd here it is observable, that the same length of time has a different\ninfluence on our sentiments of morality, according to its different\ninfluence on the mind. We naturally judge of every thing by comparison;\nand since in considering the fate of kingdoms and republics, we embrace\na long extent of time, a small duration has not in this case a like\ninfluence on our sentiments, as when we consider any other object. One\nthinks he acquires a right to a horse, or a suit of cloaths, in a very\nshort time; but a century is scarce sufficient to establish any\nnew government, or remove all scruples in the minds of the subjects\nconcerning it. Add to this, that a shorter period of time will suffice\nto give a prince a title to any additional power he may usurp, than will\nserve to fix his right, where the whole is an usurpation. The kings of\nFrance have not been possessed of absolute power for above two reigns;\nand yet nothing will appear more extravagant to Frenchmen than to\ntalk of their liberties. If we consider what has been said concerning\naccession, we shall easily account for this ph\u00e6nomenon.\n\nWhen there is no form of government established by long possession,\nthe present possession is sufficient to supply its place, and may\nbe regarded as the second source of all public authority. Right\nto authority is nothing but the constant possession of authority,\nmaintained by the laws of society and the interests of mankind; and\nnothing can be more natural than to join this constant possession to the\npresent one, according to the principles above-mentioned. If the same\nprinciples did not take place with regard to the property of private\npersons, it was because these principles were counter-ballanced by\nvery strong considerations of interest; when we observed, that all\nrestitution would by that means be prevented, and every violence be\nauthorized and protected. And though the same motives may seem to\nhave force, with regard to public authority, yet they are opposed by a\ncontrary interest; which consists in the preservation of peace, and the\navoiding of all changes, which, however they may be easily produced in\nprivate affairs, are unavoidably attended with bloodshed and confusion,\nwhere the public is interested.\n\nAny one, who finding the impossibility of accounting for the right of\nthe present possessor, by any received system of ethics, should resolve\nto deny absolutely that right, and assert, that it is not authorized\nby morality, would be justly thought to maintain a very extravagant\nparadox, and to shock the common sense and judgment of mankind. No maxim\nis more conformable, both to prudence and morals, than to submit quietly\nto the government, which we find established in the country where we\nhappen to live, without enquiring too curiously into its origin and\nfirst establishment. Few governments will bear being examined so\nrigorously. How many kingdoms are there at present in the world, and\nhow many more do we find in history, whose governors have no better\nfoundation for their authority than that of present possession? To\nconfine ourselves to the Roman and Grecian empire; is it not evident,\nthat the long succession of emperors, from the dissolution of the Roman\nliberty, to the final extinction of that empire by the Turks, could not\nso much as pretend to any other title to the empire? The election of the\nsenate was a mere form, which always followed the choice of the legions;\nand these were almost always divided in the different provinces, and\nnothing but the sword was able to terminate the difference. It was by\nthe sword, therefore, that every emperor acquired, as well as defended\nhis right; and we must either say, that all the known world, for so\nmany ages, had no government, and owed no allegiance to any one, or\nmust allow, that the right of the stronger, in public affairs, is to be\nreceived as legitimate, and authorized by morality, when not opposed by\nany other title.\n\nThe right of conquest may be considered as a third source of the\ntitle of sovereigns. This right resembles very much that of present\npossession; but has rather a superior force, being seconded by the\nnotions of glory and honour, which we ascribe to conquerors, instead\nof the sentiments of hatred and detestation, which attend usurpers. Men\nnaturally favour those they love; and therefore are more apt to ascribe\na right to successful violence, betwixt one sovereign and another, than\nto the successful rebellion of a subject against his sovereign.[11]\n\n\n    [11] It is not here asserted, that present possession or conquest\n    are sufficient to give a title against long possession and positive\n    laws but only that they have some force, and will be able to call\n    the ballance where the titles are otherwise equal, and will even be\n    sufficient sometimes to sanctify the weaker title. What degree of\n    force they have is difficult to determine. I believe all moderate\n    men will allow, that they have great force in all disputes\n    concerning the rights of princes.\n\nWhen neither long possession, nor present possession, nor conquest take\nplace, as when the first sovereign, who founded any monarchy, dies; in\nthat case, the right of succession naturally prevails in their stead,\nand men are commonly induced to place the son of their late monarch\non the throne, and suppose him to inherit his father's authority. The\npresumed consent of the father, the imitation of the succession to\nprivate families, the interest, which the state has in chusing the\nperson, who is most powerful, and has the most numerous followers; all\nthese reasons lead men to prefer the son of their late monarch to any\nother person.[12]\n\n\n    [12] To prevent mistakes I must observe, that this case of\n    succession is not the same with that of hereditary monarchies,\n    where custom has fix'd the right of succession. These depend upon\n    the principle of long possession above explain'd.\n\nThese reasons have some weight; but I am persuaded, that to one, who\nconsiders impartially of the matter, it will appear, that there concur\nsome principles of the imagination, along with those views of interest.\nThe royal authority seems to be connected with the young prince even in\nhis father's life-time, by the natural transition of the thought; and\nstill more after his death: So that nothing is more natural than to\ncompleat this union by a new relation, and by putting him actually in\npossession of what seems so naturally to belong to him.\n\nTo confirm this we may weigh the following phaenomena, which are pretty\ncurious in their kind. In elective monarchies the right of succession\nhas no place by the laws and settled custom; and yet its influence is\nso natural, that it is impossible entirely to exclude it from the\nimagination, and render the subjects indifferent to the son of their\ndeceased monarch. Hence in some governments of this kind, the choice\ncommonly falls on one or other of the royal family; and in some\ngovernments they are all excluded. Those contrary phaenomena proceed\nfrom the same principle. Where the royal family is excluded, it is\nfrom a refinement in politics, which makes people sensible of their\npropensity to chuse a sovereign in that family, and gives them a\njealousy of their liberty, lest their new monarch, aided by this\npropensity, should establish his family, and destroy the freedom of\nelections for the future.\n\nThe history of Artaxerxes, and the younger Cyrus, may furnish us with\nsome reflections to the same purpose. Cyrus pretended a right to the\nthrone above his elder brother, because he was born after his father's\naccession. I do not pretend, that this reason was valid. I would only\ninfer from it, that he would never have made use of such a pretext, were\nit not for the qualities of the imagination above-mentioned, by which\nwe are naturally inclined to unite by a new relation whatever objects we\nfind already united. Artaxerxes had an advantage above his brother, as\nbeing the eldest son, and the first in succession: But Cyrus was more\nclosely related to the royal authority, as being begot after his father\nwas invested with it.\n\nShould it here be pretended, that the view of convenience may be\nthe source of all the right of succession, and that men gladly take\nadvantage of any rule, by which they can fix the successor of their late\nsovereign, and prevent that anarchy and confusion, which attends all\nnew elections? To this I would answer, that I readily allow, that this\nmotive may contribute something to the effect; but at the same time I\nassert, that without another principle, it is impossible such a\nmotive should take place. The interest of a nation requires, that the\nsuccession to the crown should be fixed one way or other; but it is\nthe same thing to its interest in what way it be fixed: So that if the\nrelation of blood had not an effect independent of public interest, it\nwould never have been regarded, without a positive law; and it would\nhave been impossible, that so many positive laws of different nations\ncould ever have concured precisely in the same views and intentions.\n\nThis leads us to consider the fifth source of authority, viz. positive\nlaws; when the legislature establishes a certain form of government and\nsuccession of princes. At first sight it may be thought, that this must\nresolve into some of the preceding titles of authority. The legislative\npower, whence the positive law is derived, must either be established\nby original contract, long possession, present possession, conquest, or\nsuccession; and consequently the positive law must derive its force\nfrom some of those principles. But here it is remarkable, that though\na positive law can only derive its force from these principles, yet it\nacquires not all the force of the principle from whence it is derived,\nbut loses considerably in the transition; as it is natural to imagine.\nFor instance; a government is established for many centuries on\na certain system of laws, forms, and methods of succession. The\nlegislative power, established by this long succession, changes all on a\nsudden the whole system of government, and introduces a new constitution\nin its stead. I believe few of the subjects will think themselves bound\nto comply with this alteration, unless it have an evident tendency to\nthe public good: But men think themselves still at liberty to return to\nthe antient government. Hence the notion of fundamental laws; which are\nsupposed to be inalterable by the will of the sovereign: And of this\nnature the Salic law is understood to be in France. How far these\nfundamental laws extend is not determined in any government; nor is it\npossible it ever should. There is such an indefensible gradation from\nthe most material laws to the most trivial, and from the most ancient\nlaws to the most modern, that it will be impossible to set bounds to\nthe legislative power, and determine how far it may innovate in the\nprinciples of government. That is the work more of imagination and\npassion than of reason.\n\nWhoever considers the history of the several nations of the world; their\nrevolutions, conquests, increase, and diminution; the manner in which\ntheir particular governments are established, and the successive right\ntransmitted from one person to another, will soon learn to treat very\nlightly all disputes concerning the rights of princes, and will be\nconvinced, that a strict adherence to any general rules, and the rigid\nloyalty to particular persons and families, on which some people set so\nhigh a value, are virtues that hold less of reason, than of bigotry\nand superstition. In this particular, the study of history confirms the\nreasonings of true philosophy; which, shewing us the original qualities\nof human nature, teaches us to regard the controversies in politics as\nincapable of any decision in most cases, and as entirely subordinate\nto the interests of peace and liberty. Where the public good does not\nevidently demand a change; it is certain, that the concurrence of all\nthose titles, original contract, long possession, present possession,\nsuccession, and positive laws, forms the strongest title to sovereignty,\nand is justly regarded as sacred and inviolable. But when these titles\nare mingled and opposed in different degrees, they often occasion\nperplexity; and are less capable of solution from the arguments of\nlawyers and philosophers, than from the swords of the soldiery. Who\nshall tell me, for instance, whether Germanicus, or Drufus, ought to\nhave succeeded Tiberius, had he died while they were both alive, without\nnaming any of them for his successor? Ought the right of adoption to be\nreceived as equivalent to that of blood in a nation, where it had the\nsame effect in private families, and had already, in two instances,\ntaken place in the public? Ought Germanicus to be esteemed the eldest\nson, because he was born before Drufus; or the younger, because he was\nadopted after the birth of his brother? Ought the right of the elder to\nbe regarded in a nation, where the eldest brother had no advantage in\nthe succession to private families? Ought the Roman empire at that time\nto be esteemed hereditary, because of two examples; or ought it, even\nso early, to be regarded as belonging to the stronger, or the present\npossessor, as being founded on so recent an usurpation? Upon whatever\nprinciples we may pretend to answer these and such like questions, I\nam afraid we shall never be able to satisfy an impartial enquirer, who\nadopts no party in political controversies, and will be satisfied with\nnothing but sound reason and philosophy.\n\nBut here an English reader will be apt to enquire concerning that famous\nrevolution, which has had such a happy influence on our constitution,\nand has been attended with such mighty consequences. We have already\nremarked, that in the case of enormous tyranny and oppression, it is\nlawful to take arms even against supreme power; and that as government\nis a mere human invention for mutual advantage and security, it no\nlonger imposes any obligation, either natural or moral, when once it\nceases to have that tendency. But though this general principle\nbe authorized by common sense, and the practice of all ages, it is\ncertainly impossible for the laws, or even for philosophy, to establish\nany particular rules, by which we may know when resistance is lawful;\nand decide all controversies, which may arise on that subject. This may\nnot only happen with regard to supreme power; but it is possible, even\nin some constitutions, where the legislative authority is not lodged in\none person, that there may be a magistrate so eminent and powerful, as\nto oblige the laws to keep silence in this particular. Nor would this\nsilence be an effect only of their respect, but also of their prudence;\nsince it is certain, that in the vast variety of circumstances,\nwhich occur in all governments, an exercise of power, in so great\na magistrate, may at one time be beneficial to the public, which at\nanother time would be pernicious and tyrannical. But notwithstanding\nthis silence of the laws in limited monarchies, it is certain, that the\npeople still retain the right of resistance; since it is impossible,\neven in the most despotic governments, to deprive them of it. The same\nnecessity of self-preservation, and the same motive of public good,\ngive them the same liberty in the one case as in the other. And we may\nfarther observe, that in such mixed governments, the cases, wherein\nresistance is lawful, must occur much oftener, and greater indulgence\nbe given to the subjects to defend themselves by force of arms, than in\narbitrary governments. Not only where the chief magistrate enters into\nmeasures, in themselves, extremely pernicious to the public, but even\nwhen he would encroach on the other parts of the constitution, and\nextend his power beyond the legal bounds, it is allowable to resist and\ndethrone him; though such resistance and violence may, in the general\ntenor of the laws, be deemed unlawful and rebellious. For besides that\nnothing is more essential to public interest, than the preservation of\npublic liberty; it is evident, that if such a mixed government be once\nsupposed to be established, every part or member of the constitution\nmust have a right of self-defence, and of maintaining its ancient bounds\nagainst the encroachment of every other authority. As matter would have\nbeen created in vain, were it deprived of a power of resistance, without\nwhich no part of it could preserve a distinct existence, and the whole\nmight be crowded up into a single point: So it is a gross absurdity to\nsuppose, in any government, a right without a remedy, or allow, that the\nsupreme power is shared with the people, without allowing, that it is\nlawful for them to defend their share against every invader. Those,\ntherefore, who would seem to respect our free government, and yet deny\nthe right of resistance, have renounced all pretensions to common sense,\nand do not merit a serious answer.\n\nIt does not belong to my present purpose to shew, that these general\nprinciples are applicable to the late revolution; and that all the\nrights and privileges, which ought to be sacred to a free nation, were\nat that time threatened with the utmost danger. I am better pleased to\nleave this controverted subject, if it really admits of controversy;\nand to indulge myself in some philosophical reflections, which naturally\narise from that important event.\n\nFirst, We may observe, that should the lords and commons in our\nconstitution, without any reason from public interest, either depose the\nking in being, or after his death exclude the prince, who, by laws and\nsettled custom, ought to succeed, no one would esteem their proceedings\nlegal, or think themselves bound to comply with them. But should the\nking, by his unjust practices, or his attempts for a tyrannical and\ndespotic power, justly forfeit his legal, it then not only becomes\nmorally lawful and suitable to the nature of political society to\ndethrone him; but what is more, we are apt likewise to think, that the\nremaining members of the constitution acquire a right of excluding his\nnext heir, and of chusing whom they please for his successor. This is\nfounded on a very singular quality of our thought and imagination. When\na king forfeits his authority, his heir ought naturally to remain in the\nsame situation, as if the king were removed by death; unless by mixing\nhimself in the tyranny, he forfeit it for himself. But though this\nmay seem reasonable, we easily comply with the contrary opinion. The\ndeposition of a king, in such a government as ours, is certainly an act\nbeyond all common authority, and an illegal assuming a power for public\ngood, which, in the ordinary course of government, can belong to no\nmember of the constitution. When the public good is so great and so\nevident as to justify the action, the commendable use of this licence\ncauses us naturally to attribute to the parliament a right of using\nfarther licences; and the antient bounds of the laws being once\ntransgressed with approbation, we are not apt to be so strict in\nconfining ourselves precisely within their limits. The mind naturally\nruns on with any train of action, which it has begun; nor do we commonly\nmake any scruple concerning our duty, after the first action of any\nkind, which we perform. Thus at the revolution, no one who thought the\ndeposition of the father justifiable, esteemed themselves to be confined\nto his infant son; though had that unhappy monarch died innocent at that\ntime, and had his son, by any accident, been conveyed beyond seas, there\nis no doubt but a regency would have been appointed till he should\ncome to age, and could be restored to his dominions. As the slightest\nproperties of the imagination have an effect on the judgments of the\npeople, it shews the wisdom of the laws and of the parliament to take\nadvantage of such properties, and to chuse the magistrates either in\nor out of a line, according as the vulgar will most naturally attribute\nauthority and right to them.\n\nSecondly, Though the accession of the Prince of Orange to the throne\nmight at first give occasion to many disputes, and his title be\ncontested, it ought not now to appear doubtful, but must have acquired\na sufficient authority from those three princes, who have succeeded him\nupon the same title. Nothing is more usual, though nothing may, at first\nsight, appear more unreasonable, than this way of thinking. Princes\noften seem to acquire a right from their successors, as well as from\ntheir ancestors; and a king, who during his life-time might justly be\ndeemed an usurper, will be regarded by posterity as a lawful prince,\nbecause he has had the good fortune to settle his family on the throne,\nand entirely change the antient form of government. Julius Caesar is\nregarded as the first Roman emperor; while Sylla and Marius, whose\ntitles were really the same as his, are treated as tyrants and usurpers.\nTime and custom give authority to all forms of government, and all\nsuccessions of princes; and that power, which at first was founded only\non injustice and violence, becomes in time legal and obligatory.\nNor does the mind rest there; but returning back upon its footsteps,\ntransfers to their predecessors and ancestors that right, which it\nnaturally ascribes to the posterity, as being related together, and\nunited in the imagination. The present king of France makes Hugh Capet\na more lawful prince than Cromwell; as the established liberty of the\nDutch is no inconsiderable apology for their obstinate resistance to\nPhilip the second.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. XI OF THE LAWS OF NATIONS\n\n\nWhen civil government has been established over the greatest part of\nmankind, and different societies have been formed contiguous to each\nother, there arises a new set of duties among the neighbouring states,\nsuitable to the nature of that commerce, which they carry on with each\nother. Political writers tell us, that in every kind of intercourse,\na body politic is to be considered as one person; and indeed this\nassertion is so far just, that different nations, as well as private\npersons, require mutual assistance; at the same time that their\nselfishness and ambition are perpetual sources of war and discord. But\nthough nations in this particular resemble individuals, yet as they are\nvery different in other respects, no wonder they regulate themselves by\ndifferent maxims, and give rise to a new set of rules, which we call the\nlaws of nations. Under this head we may comprize the sacredness of the\npersons of ambassadors, the declaration of war, the abstaining from\npoisoned arms, with other duties of that kind, which are evidently\ncalculated for the commerce, that is peculiar to different societies.\n\nBut though these rules be super-added to the laws of nature, the former\ndo not entirely abolish the latter; and one may safely affirm, that the\nthree fundamental rules of justice, the stability of possession, its\ntransference by consent, and the performance of promises, are duties\nof princes, as well as of subjects. The same interest produces the same\neffect in both cases. Where possession has no stability, there must be\nperpetual war. Where property is not transferred by consent, there can\nbe no commerce. Where promises are not observed, there can be no leagues\nnor alliances. The advantages, therefore, of peace, commerce, and\nmutual succour, make us extend to different kingdoms the same notions of\njustice, which take place among individuals.\n\nThere is a maxim very current in the world, which few politicians are\nwilling to avow, but which has been authorized by the practice of all\nages, that there is a system of morals calculated for princes, much more\nfree than that which ought to govern private persons. It is evident\nthis is not to be understood of the lesser extent of public duties and\nobligations; nor will any one be so extravagant as to assert, that\nthe most solemn treaties ought to have no force among princes. For as\nprinces do actually form treaties among themselves, they must propose\nsome advantage from the execution of them; and the prospect of such\nadvantage for the future must engage them to perform their part, and\nmust establish that law of nature. The meaning, therefore, of this\npolitical maxim is, that though the morality of princes has the same\nextent, yet it has not the same force as that of private persons, and\nmay lawfully be trangressed from a more trivial motive. However shocking\nsuch a proposition may appear to certain philosophers, it will be easy\nto defend it upon those principles, by which we have accounted for the\norigin of justice and equity.\n\nWhen men have found by experience, that it is impossible to subsist\nwithout society, and that it is impossible to maintain society, while\nthey give free course to their appetites; so urgent an interest quickly\nrestrains their actions, and imposes an obligation to observe those\nrules, which we call the laws of justice. This obligation of interest\nrests nor here; but by the necessary course of the passions and\nsentiments, gives rise to the moral obligation of duty; while we approve\nof such actions as tend to the peace of society, and disapprove of such\nas tend to its disturbance. The same natural obligation of interest\ntakes place among independent kingdoms, and gives rise to the same\nmorality; so that no one of ever so corrupt morals will approve of a\nprince, who voluntarily, and of his own accord, breaks his word,\nor violates any treaty. But here we may observe, that though the\nintercourse of different states be advantageous, and even sometimes\nnecessary, yet it is nor so necessary nor advantageous as that among\nindividuals, without which it is utterly impossible for human nature\never to subsist. Since, therefore, the natural obligation to justice,\namong different states, is not so strong as among individuals, the moral\nobligation, which arises from it, must partake of its weakness; and we\nmust necessarily give a greater indulgence to a prince or minister, who\ndeceives another; than to a private gentleman, who breaks his word of\nhonour.\n\nShould it be asked, what proportion these two species of morality bear\nto each other? I would answer, that this is a question, to which we can\nnever give any precise answer; nor is it possible to reduce to numbers\nthe proportion, which we ought to fix betwixt them. One may safely\naffirm, that this proportion finds itself, without any art or study\nof men; as we may observe on many other occasions. The practice of the\nworld goes farther in teaching us the degrees of our duty, than the most\nsubtile philosophy, which was ever yet invented. And this may serve as a\nconvincing proof, that all men have an implicit notion of the foundation\nof those moral rules concerning natural and civil justice, and are\nsensible, that they arise merely from human conventions, and from the\ninterest, which we have in the preservation of peace and order.\nFor otherwise the diminution of the interest would never produce\na relaxation of the morality, and reconcile us more easily to any\ntransgression of justice among princes and republics, than in the\nprivate commerce of one subject with another.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. XII OF CHASTITY AND MODESTY\n\n\nIf any difficulty attend this system concerning the laws of nature and\nnations, it will be with regard to the universal approbation or blame,\nwhich follows their observance or transgression, and which some may not\nthink sufficiently explained from the general interests of society.\nTo remove, as far as possible, all scruples of this kind, I shall here\nconsider another set of duties, viz, the modesty and chastity which\nbelong to the fair sex: And I doubt not but these virtues will be\nfound to be still more conspicuous instances of the operation of those\nprinciples, which I have insisted on.\n\nThere are some philosophers, who attack the female virtues with great\nvehemence, and fancy they have gone very far in detecting popular\nerrors, when they can show, that there is no foundation in nature for\nall that exterior modesty, which we require in the expressions, and\ndress, and behaviour of the fair sex. I believe I may spare myself the\ntrouble of insisting on so obvious a subject, and may proceed, without\nfarther preparation, to examine after what manner such notions arise\nfrom education, from the voluntary conventions of men, and from the\ninterest of society.\n\nWhoever considers the length and feebleness of human infancy, with the\nconcern which both sexes naturally have for their offspring, will\neasily perceive, that there must be an union of male and female for\nthe education of the young, and that this union must be of considerable\nduration. But in order to induce the men to impose on themselves this\nrestraint, and undergo chearfully all the fatigues and expences, to\nwhich it subjects them, they must believe, that the children are their\nown, and that their natural instinct is not directed to a wrong object,\nwhen they give a loose to love and tenderness. Now if we examine the\nstructure of the human body, we shall find, that this security is very\ndifficult to be attained on our part; and that since, in the copulation\nof the sexes, the principle of generation goes from the man to the\nwoman, an error may easily take place on the side of the former, though\nit be utterly impossible with regard to the latter. From this trivial\nand anatomical observation is derived that vast difference betwixt the\neducation and duties of the two sexes.\n\nWere a philosopher to examine the matter a priori, he would reason after\nthe following manner. Men are induced to labour for the maintenance\nand education of their children, by the persuasion that they are really\ntheir own; and therefore it is reasonable, and even necessary, to give\nthem some security in this particular. This security cannot consist\nentirely in the imposing of severe punishments on any transgressions\nof conjugal fidelity on the part of the wife; since these public\npunishments cannot be inflicted without legal proof, which it is\ndifficult to meet with in this subject. What restraint, therefore, shall\nwe impose on women, in order to counter-balance so strong a temptation\nas they have to infidelity? There seems to be no restraint possible, but\nin the punishment of bad fame or reputation; a punishment, which has a\nmighty influence on the human mind, and at the same time is inflicted by\nthe world upon surmizes, and conjectures, and proofs, that would never\nbe received in any court of judicature. In order, therefore, to impose\na due restraint on the female sex, we must attach a peculiar degree of\nshame to their infidelity, above what arises merely from its injustice,\nand must bestow proportionable praises on their chastity.\n\nBut though this be a very strong motive to fidelity, our philosopher\nwould quickly discover, that it would not alone be sufficient to that\npurpose. All human creatures, especially of the female sex, are apt\nto over-look remote motives in favour of any present temptation:\nThe temptation is here the strongest imaginable: Its approaches are\ninsensible and seducing: And a woman easily finds, or flatters herself\nshe shall find, certain means of securing her reputation, and preventing\nall the pernicious consequences of her pleasures. It is necessary,\ntherefore, that, beside the infamy attending such licences, there should\nbe some preceding backwardness or dread, which may prevent their first\napproaches, and may give the female sex a repugnance to all expressions,\nand postures, and liberties, that have an immediate relation to that\nenjoyment.\n\nSuch would be the reasonings of our speculative philosopher: But I am\npersuaded, that if he had not a perfect knowledge of human nature, he\nwould be apt to regard them as mere chimerical speculations, and would\nconsider the infamy attending infidelity, and backwardness to all its\napproaches, as principles that were rather to be wished than hoped for\nin the world. For what means, would he say, of persuading mankind, that\nthe transgressions of conjugal duty are more infamous than any other\nkind of injustice, when it is evident they are more excusable, upon\naccount of the greatness of the temptation? And what possibility of\ngiving a backwardness to the approaches of a pleasure, to which nature\nhas inspired so strong a propensity; and a propensity that it is\nabsolutely necessary in the end to comply with, for the support of the\nspecies?\n\nBut speculative reasonings, which cost so much pains to philosophers,\nare often formed by the world naturally, and without reflection: As\ndifficulties, which seem unsurmountable in theory, are easily got over\nin practice. Those, who have an interest in the fidelity of women,\nnaturally disapprove of their infidelity, and all the approaches to\nit. Those, who have no interest, are carried along with the stream.\nEducation takes possession of the ductile minds of the fair sex in their\ninfancy. And when a general rule of this kind is once established, men\nare apt to extend it beyond those principles, from which it first arose.\nThus batchelors, however debauched, cannot chuse but be shocked with any\ninstance of lewdness or impudence in women. And though all these maxims\nhave a plain reference to generation, yet women past child-bearing have\nno more privilege in this respect, than those who are in the flower of\ntheir youth and beauty. Men have undoubtedly an implicit notion, that\nall those ideas of modesty and decency have a regard to generation;\nsince they impose not the same laws, with the same force, on the male\nsex, where that reason takes not place. The exception is there obvious\nand extensive, and founded on a remarkable difference, which produces\na clear separation and disjunction of ideas. But as the case is not the\nsame with regard to the different ages of women, for this reason, though\nmen know, that these notions are founded on the public interest, yet\nthe general rule carries us beyond the original principle, and makes us\nextend the notions of modesty over the whole sex, from their earliest\ninfancy to their extremest old-age and infirmity.\n\nCourage, which is the point of honour among men, derives its merit, in\na great measure, from artifice, as well as the chastity of women; though\nit has also some foundation in nature, as we shall see afterwards.\n\nAs to the obligations which the male sex lie under, with regard to\nchastity, we may observe, that according to the general notions of the\nworld, they bear nearly the same proportion to the obligations of women,\nas the obligations of the law of nations do to those of the law of\nnature. It is contrary to the interest of civil society, that men\nshould have an entire liberty of indulging their appetites in venereal\nenjoyment: But as this interest is weaker than in the case of the female\nsex, the moral obligation, arising from it, must be proportionably\nweaker. And to prove this we need only appeal to the practice and\nsentiments of all nations and ages.\n\n\n\n\n\nPART III OF THE OTHER VIRTUES AND VICES\n\n\n\n\nSECT. I OF THE ORIGIN OF THE NATURAL VIRTUES AND VICES\n\n\nWe come now to the examination of such virtues and vices as are entirely\nnatural, and have no dependance on the artifice and contrivance of men.\nThe examination of these will conclude this system of morals.\n\nThe chief spring or actuating principle of the human mind is pleasure or\npain; and when these sensations are removed, both from our thought and\nfeeling, we are, in a great measure, incapable of passion or action, of\ndesire or volition. The most immediate effects of pleasure and pain are\nthe propense and averse motions of the mind; which are diversified\ninto volition, into desire and aversion, grief and joy, hope and fear,\naccording as the pleasure or pain changes its situation, and becomes\nprobable or improbable, certain or uncertain, or is considered as out of\nour power for the present moment. But when along with this, the objects,\nthat cause pleasure or pain, acquire a relation to ourselves or others;\nthey still continue to excite desire and aversion, grief and joy: But\ncause, at the same time, the indirect passions of pride or humility,\nlove or hatred, which in this case have a double relation of impressions\nand ideas to the pain or pleasure.\n\nWe have already observed, that moral distinctions depend entirely on\ncertain peculiar sentiments of pain and pleasure, and that whatever\nmental quality in ourselves or others gives us a satisfaction, by the\nsurvey or reflection, is of course virtuous; as every thing of this\nnature, that gives uneasiness, is vicious. Now since every quality in\nourselves or others, which gives pleasure, always causes pride or love;\nas every one, that produces uneasiness, excites humility or hatred: It\nfollows, that these two particulars are to be considered as equivalent,\nwith regard to our mental qualities, virtue and the power of producing\nlove or pride, vice and the power of producing humility or hatred. In\nevery case, therefore, we must judge of the one by the other; and may\npronounce any quality of the mind virtuous, which causes love or pride;\nand any one vicious, which causes hatred or humility.\n\nIf any action be either virtuous or vicious, it is only as a sign of\nsome quality or character. It must depend upon durable principles of the\nmind, which extend over the whole conduct, and enter into the personal\ncharacter. Actions themselves, not proceeding from any constant\nprinciple, have no influence on love or hatred, pride or humility; and\nconsequently are never considered in morality.\n\nThis reflection is self-evident, and deserves to be attended to, as\nbeing of the utmost importance in the present subject. We are never to\nconsider any single action in our enquiries concerning the origin\nof morals; but only the quality or character from which the action\nproceeded. These alone are durable enough to affect our sentiments\nconcerning the person. Actions are, indeed, better indications of a\ncharacter than words, or even wishes and sentiments; but it is only so\nfar as they are such indications, that they are attended with love or\nhatred, praise or blame.\n\nTo discover the true origin of morals, and of that love or hatred, which\narises from mental qualities, we must take the matter pretty deep, and\ncompare some principles, which have been already examined and explained.\n\nWe may begin with considering a-new the nature and force of sympathy.\nThe minds of all men are similar in their feelings and operations; nor\ncan any one be actuated by any affection, of which all others are not,\nin some degree, susceptible. As in strings equally wound up, the motion\nof one communicates itself to the rest; so all the affections readily\npass from one person to another, and beget correspondent movements in\nevery human creature. When I see the effects of passion in the voice and\ngesture of any person, my mind immediately passes from these effects\nto their causes, and forms such a lively idea of the passion, as is\npresently converted into the passion itself. In like manner, when I\nperceive the causes of any emotion, my mind is conveyed to the effects,\nand is actuated with a like emotion. Were I present at any of the more\nterrible operations of surgery, it is certain, that even before it\nbegun, the preparation of the instruments, the laying of the bandages\nin order, the heating of the irons, with all the signs of anxiety and\nconcern in the patient and assistants, would have a great effect upon my\nmind, and excite the strongest sentiments of pity and terror. No\npassion of another discovers itself immediately to the mind. We are only\nsensible of its causes or effects. From these we infer the passion: And\nconsequently these give rise to our sympathy.\n\nOur sense of beauty depends very much on this principle; and where any\nobject has atendency to produce pleasure in its possessor, it is always\nregarded as beautiful; as every object, that has a tendency to produce\npain, is disagreeable and deformed. Thus the conveniency of a house, the\nfertility of a field, the strength of a horse, the capacity, security,\nand swift-sailing of a vessel, form the principal beauty of these\nseveral objects. Here the object, which is denominated beautiful,\npleases only by its tendency to produce a certain effect. That effect\nis the pleasure or advantage of some other person. Now the pleasure of\na stranger, for whom we have no friendship, pleases us only by sympathy.\nTo this principle, therefore, is owing the beauty, which we find in\nevery thing that is useful. How considerable a part this is of beauty\ncan easily appear upon reflection. Wherever an object has a tendency\nto produce pleasure in the possessor, or in other words, is the proper\ncause of pleasure, it is sure to please the spectator, by a delicate\nsympathy with the possessor. Most of the works of art are esteemed\nbeautiful, in proportion to their fitness for the use of man, and even\nmany of the productions of nature derive their beauty from that source.\nHandsome and beautiful, on most occasions, is nor an absolute but a\nrelative quality, and pleases us by nothing but its tendency to produce\nan end that is agreeable.[1]\n\n\n    [1] Decentior equus cujus astricta sunt ilia; sed idem velocior.\n    Pulcher aspectu sit athieta, cujus lacertos exercitatio expressit;\n    idem certamini paratior. Nunquam vero species ab utilitate\n    dividitur. Sed hoc quidem discernere, modici judicii est. Quinct.\n    lib. 8. (A horse with narrow flanks looks more comely; It also\n    moves faster. An athlete whose muscles have been developed by\n    training presents a handsome appearance; he is also better prepared\n    for the contest. Attractive appearance is invariably associated\n    with efficient functioning. Yet it takes no outstanding powers of\n    judgement to wake this distinction.)\n\nThe same principle produces, in many instances, our sentiments of\nmorals, as well as those of beauty. No virtue is more esteemed than\njustice, and no vice more detested than injustice; nor are there any\nqualities, which go farther to the fixing the character, either as\namiable or odious. Now justice is a moral virtue, merely because it has\nthat tendency to the good of mankind; and, indeed, is nothing but\nan artificial invention to that purpose. The same may be said of\nallegiance, of the laws of nations, of modesty, and of good-manners. All\nthese are mere human contrivances for the interest of society. And since\nthere is a very strong sentiment of morals, which in all nations, and\nall ages, has attended them, we must allow, that the reflecting on the\ntendency of characters and mental qualities, is sufficient to give us\nthe sentiments of approbation and blame. Now as the means to an end\ncan only be agreeable, where the end is agreeable; and as the good\nof society, where our own interest is not concerned, or that of our\nfriends, pleases only by sympathy: It follows, that sympathy is the\nsource of the esteem, which we pay to all the artificial virtues.\n\nThus it appears, that sympathy is a very powerful principle in human\nnature, that it has a great influence on our taste of beauty, and that\nit produces our sentiment of morals in all the artificial virtues. From\nthence we may presume, that it also gives rise to many of the other\nvirtues; and that qualities acquire our approbation, because of\ntheir tendency to the good of mankind. This presumption must become a\ncertainty, when we find that most of those qualities, which we naturally\napprove of, have actually that tendency, and render a man a proper\nmember of society: While the qualities, which we naturally disapprove\nof, have a contrary tendency, and render any intercourse with the person\ndangerous or disagreeable. For having found, that such tendencies have\nforce enough to produce the strongest sentiment of morals, we can never\nreasonably, in these cases, look for any other cause of approbation\nor blame; it being an inviolable maxim in philosophy, that where any\nparticular cause is sufficient for an effect, we ought to rest satisfied\nwith it, and ought not to multiply causes without necessity. We have\nhappily attained experiments in the artificial virtues, where the\ntendency of qualities to the good of society, is the sole cause of\nour approbation, without any suspicion of the concurrence of another\nprinciple. From thence we learn the force of that principle. And where\nthat principle may take place, and the quality approved of is really\nbeneficial to society, a true philosopher will never require any other\nprinciple to account for the strongest approbation and esteem.\n\nThat many of the natural virtues have this tendency to the good\nof society, no one can doubt of. Meekness, beneficence, charity,\ngenerosity, clemency, moderation, equity bear the greatest figure among\nthe moral qualities, and are commonly denominated the social virtues, to\nmark their tendency to the good of society. This goes so far, that some\nphilosophers have represented all moral distinctions as the effect of\nartifice and education, when skilful politicians endeavoured to restrain\nthe turbulent passions of men, and make them operate to the public\ngood, by the notions of honour and shame. This system, however, is nor\nconsistent with experience. For, first, there are other virtues and\nvices beside those which have this tendency to the public advantage\nand loss. Secondly, had not men a natural sentiment of approbation and\nblame, it could never be excited by politicians; nor would the\nwords laudable and praise-worthy, blameable and odious be any more\nintelligible, than if they were a language perfectly known to us, as we\nhave already observed. But though this system be erroneous, it may teach\nus, that moral distinctions arise, in a great measure, from the tendency\nof qualities and characters to the interests of society, and that it is\nour concern for that interest, which makes us approve or disapprove\nof them. Now we have no such extensive concern for society but from\nsympathy; and consequently it is that principle, which takes us so far\nout of ourselves, as to give us the same pleasure or uneasiness in the\ncharacters of others, as if they had a tendency to our own advantage or\nloss.\n\nThe only difference betwixt the natural virtues and justice lies in\nthis, that the good, which results from the former, arises from every\nsingle act, and is the object of some natural passion: Whereas a single\nact of justice, considered in itself, may often be contrary to the\npublic good; and it is only the concurrence of mankind, in a general\nscheme or system of action, which is advantageous. When I relieve\npersons in distress, my natural humanity is my motive; and so far as\nmy succour extends, so far have I promoted the happiness of my\nfellow-creatures. But if we examine all the questions, that come before\nany tribunal of justice, we shall find, that, considering each case\napart, it would as often be an instance of humanity to decide contrary\nto the laws of justice as conformable them. Judges take from a poor\nman to give to a rich; they bestow on the dissolute the labour of the\nindustrious; and put into the hands of the vicious the means of harming\nboth themselves and others. The whole scheme, however, of law and\njustice is advantageous to the society; and it was with a view to this\nadvantage, that men, by their voluntary conventions, established it.\nAfter it is once established by these conventions, it is naturally\nattended with a strong sentiment of morals; which can proceed from\nnothing but our sympathy with the interests of society. We need no other\nexplication of that esteem, which attends such of the natural virtues,\nas have a tendency to the public good. I must farther add, that there\nare several circumstances, which render this hypothesis much more\nprobable with regard to the natural than the artificial virtues. It is\ncertain that the imagination is more affected by what is particular,\nthan by what is general; and that the sentiments are always moved\nwith difficulty, where their objects are, in any degree, loose and\nundetermined: Now every particular act of justice is not beneficial to\nsociety, but the whole scheme or system: And it may not, perhaps, be any\nindividual person for whom we are concerned, who receives benefit from\njustice, but the whole society alike. On the contrary, every particular\nact of generosity, or relief of the industrious and indigent, is\nbeneficial; and is beneficial to a particular person, who is not\nundeserving of it. It is more natural, therefore, to think, that the\ntendencies of the latter virtue will affect our sentiments, and command\nour approbation, than those of the former; and therefore, since we find,\nthat the approbation of the former arises from their tendencies, we may\nascribe, with better reason, the same cause to the approbation of the\nlatter. In any number of similar effects, if a cause can be discovered\nfor one, we ought to extend that cause to all the other effects, which\ncan be accounted for by it: But much more, if these other effects be\nattended with peculiar circumstances, which facilitate the operation of\nthat cause.\n\nBefore I proceed farther, I must observe two remarkable circumstances in\nthis affair, which may seem objections to the present system. The first\nmay be thus explained. When any quality, or character, has a tendency to\nthe good of mankind, we are pleased with it, and approve of it; because\nit presents the lively idea of pleasure; which idea affects us by\nsympathy, and is itself a kind of pleasure. But as this sympathy is very\nvariable, it may be thought that our sentiments of morals must admit of\nall the same variations. We sympathize more with persons contiguous to\nus, than with persons remote from us: With our acquaintance, than\nwith strangers: With our countrymen, than with foreigners. But\nnotwithstanding this variation of our sympathy, we give the same\napprobation to the same moral qualities in China as in England. They\nappear equally virtuous, and recommend themselves equally to the esteem\nof a judicious spectator. The sympathy varies without a variation in our\nesteem. Our esteem, therefore, proceeds not from sympathy.\n\nTo this I answer: The approbation of moral qualities most certainly\nis not derived from reason, or any comparison of ideas; but proceeds\nentirely from a moral taste, and from certain sentiments of pleasure\nor disgust, which arise upon the contemplation and view of particular\nqualities or characters. Now it is evident, that those sentiments,\nwhence-ever they are derived, must vary according to the distance or\ncontiguity of the objects; nor can I feel the same lively pleasure from\nthe virtues of a person, who lived in Greece two thousand years ago,\nthat I feel from the virtues of a familiar friend and acquaintance. Yet\nI do not say, that I esteem the one more than the other: And therefore,\nif the variation of the sentiment, without a variation of the esteem,\nbe an objection, it must have equal force against every other system, as\nagainst that of sympathy. But to consider the matter a-right, it has no\nforce at all; and it is the easiest matter in the world to account\nfor it. Our situation, with regard both to persons and things, is in\ncontinual fluctuation; and a man, that lies at a distance from us,\nmay, in a little time, become a familiar acquaintance. Besides, every\nparticular man has a peculiar position with regard to others; and it is\nimpossible we could ever converse together on any reasonable terms, were\neach of us to consider characters and persons, only as they appear\nfrom his peculiar point of view. In order, therefore, to prevent those\ncontinual contradictions, and arrive at a more stable judgment of\nthings, we fix on some steady and general points of view; and always,\nin our thoughts, place ourselves in them, whatever may be our present\nsituation. In like manner, external beauty is determined merely by\npleasure; and it is evident, a beautiful countenance cannot give so\nmuch pleasure, when seen at the distance of twenty paces, as when it\nis brought nearer us. We say not, however, that it appears to us less\nbeautiful: Because we know what effect it will have in such a position,\nand by that reflection we correct its momentary appearance.\n\nIn general, all sentiments of blame or praise are variable, according\nto our situation of nearness or remoteness, with regard to the person\nblamed or praised, and according to the present disposition of our mind.\nBut these variations we regard not in our general decision, but still\napply the terms expressive of our liking or dislike, in the same manner,\nas if we remained in one point of view. Experience soon teaches us this\nmethod of correcting our sentiments, or at least, of correcting our\nlanguage, where the sentiments are more stubborn and inalterable. Our\nservant, if diligent and faithful, may excite stronger sentiments of\nlove and kindness than Marcus Brutus, as represented in history; but we\nsay not upon that account, that the former character is more laudable\nthan the latter. We know, that were we to approach equally near to that\nrenowned patriot, he would command a much higher degree of affection and\nadmiration. Such corrections are common with regard to all the senses;\nand indeed it were impossible we could ever make use of language,\nor communicate our sentiments to one another, did we not correct the\nmomentary appearances of things, and overlook our present situation.\n\nIt is therefore from the influence of characters and qualities, upon\nthose who have an intercourse with any person, that we blame or praise\nhim. We consider not whether the persons, affected by the qualities,\nbe our acquaintance or strangers, countrymen or foreigners. Nay, we\nover-look our own interest in those general judgments; and blame not a\nman for opposing us in any of our pretensions, when his own interest\nis particularly concerned. We make allowance for a certain degree of\nselfishness in men; because we know it to be inseparable from human\nnature, and inherent in our frame and constitution. By this reflection\nwe correct those sentiments of blame, which so naturally arise upon any\nopposition.\n\nBut however the general principle of our blame or praise may be\ncorrected by those other principles, it is certain, they are not\naltogether efficacious, nor do our passions often correspond entirely\nto the present theory. It is seldom men heartily love what lies at\na distance from them, and what no way redounds to their particular\nbenefit; as it is no less rare to meet with persons, who can pardon\nanother any opposition he makes to their interest, however justifiable\nthat opposition may be by the general rules of morality. Here we are\ncontented with saying, that reason requires such an Impartial conduct,\nbut that it is seldom we can bring ourselves to it, and that our\npassions do not readily follow the determination of our judgment. This\nlanguage will be easily understood, if we consider what we formerly said\nconcerning that reason, which is able to oppose our passion; and which\nwe have found to be nothing but a general calm determination of the\npassions, founded on some distant view or reflection. When we form our\njudgments of persons, merely from the tendency of their characters\nto our own benefit, or to that of our friends, we find so many\ncontradictions to our sentiments in society and conversation, and such\nan uncertainty from the incessant changes of our situation, that we\nseek some other standard of merit and demerit, which may not admit of so\ngreat variation. Being thus loosened from our first station, we cannot\nafterwards fix ourselves so commodiously by any means as by a sympathy\nwith those, who have any commerce with the person we consider. This is\nfar from being as lively as when our own interest is concerned, or that\nof our particular friends; nor has it such an influence on our love\nand hatred: But being equally conformable to our calm and general\nprinciples, it is said to have an equal authority over our reason, and\nto command our judgment and opinion. We blame equally a bad action,\nwhich we read of in history, with one performed in our neighbourhood the\nother day: The meaning of which is, that we know from reflection, that\nthe former action would excite as strong sentiments of disapprobation as\nthe latter, were it placed in the same position.\n\nI now proceed to the second remarkable circumstance, which I proposed to\ntake notice of. Where a person is possessed of a character, that in its\nnatural tendency is beneficial to society, we esteem him virtuous, and\nare delighted with the view of his character, even though particular\naccidents prevent its operation, and incapacitate him from being\nserviceable to his friends and country. Virtue in rags is still virtue;\nand the love, which it procures, attends a man into a dungeon or desart,\nwhere the virtue can no longer be exerted in action, and is lost to all\nthe world. Now this may be esteemed an objection to the present system.\nSympathy interests us in the good of mankind; and if sympathy were the\nsource of our esteem for virtue, that sentiment of approbation could\nonly take place, where the virtue actually attained its end, and\nwas beneficial to mankind. Where it fails of its end, it is only an\nimperfect means; and therefore can never acquire any merit from that\nend. The goodness of an end can bestow a merit on such means alone as\nare compleat, and actually produce the end.\n\nTo this we may reply, that where any object, in all its parts, is fitted\nto attain any agreeable end, it naturally gives us pleasure, and is\nesteemed beautiful, even though some external circumstances be wanting\nto render it altogether effectual. It is sufficient if every thing be\ncompleat in the object itself. A house, that is contrived with great\njudgment for all the commodities of life, pleases us upon that account;\nthough perhaps we are sensible, that no one will ever dwell in it. A\nfertile soil, and a happy climate, delight us by a reflection on the\nhappiness which they would afford the inhabitants, though at present the\ncountry be desart and uninhabited. A man, whose limbs and shape promise\nstrength and activity, is esteemed handsome, though condemned to\nperpetual imprisonment. The imagination has a set of passions belonging\nto it, upon which our sentiments of beauty much depend. These passions\nare moved by degrees of liveliness and strength, which are inferior to\nbelief, and independent of the real existence of their objects. Where a\ncharacter is, in every respect, fitted to be beneficial to society,\nthe imagination passes easily from the cause to the effect, without\nconsidering that there are some circumstances wanting to render the\ncause a complete one. General rules create a species of probability,\nwhich sometimes influences the judgment, and always the imagination.\n\nIt is true, when the cause is compleat, and a good disposition is\nattended with good fortune, which renders it really beneficial to\nsociety, it gives a stronger pleasure to the spectator, and is attended\nwith a more lively sympathy. We are more affected by it; and yet we do\nnot say that it is more virtuous, or that we esteem it more. We know,\nthat an alteration of fortune may render the benevolent disposition\nentirely impotent; and therefore we separate, as much as possible, the\nfortune from the disposition. The case is the same, as when we correct\nthe different sentiments of virtue, which proceed from its different\ndistances from ourselves. The passions do not always follow our\ncorrections; but these corrections serve sufficiently to regulate our\nabstract notions, and are alone regarded, when we pronounce in general\nconcerning the degrees of vice and virtue.\n\nIt is observed by critics, that all words or sentences, which are\ndifficult to the pronunciation, are disagreeable to the ear. There is no\ndifference, whether a man hear them pronounced, or read them silently\nto himself. When I run over a book with my eye, I imagine I hear it all;\nand also, by the force of imagination, enter into the uneasiness, which\nthe delivery of it would give the speaker. The uneasiness is not real;\nbut as such a composition of words has a natural tendency to produce\nit, this is sufficient to affect the mind with a painful sentiment, and\nrender the discourse harsh and disagreeable. It is a similar case, where\nany real quality is, by accidental circumstances, rendered impotent, and\nis deprived of its natural influence on society.\n\nUpon these principles we may easily remove any contradiction, which may\nappear to be betwixt the extensive sympathy, on which our sentiments\nof virtue depend, and that limited generosity which I have frequently\nobserved to be natural to men, and which justice and property suppose,\naccording to the precedent reasoning. My sympathy with another may\ngive me the sentiment of pain and disapprobation, when any object is\npresented, that has a tendency to give him uneasiness; though I may not\nbe willing to sacrifice any thing of my own interest, or cross any of\nmy passions, for his satisfaction. A house may displease me by being\nill-contrived for the convenience of the owner; and yet I may refuse to\ngive a shilling towards the rebuilding of it. Sentiments must touch\nthe heart, to make them controul our passions: But they need not\nextend beyond the imagination, to make them influence our taste. When\na building seems clumsy and tottering to the eye, it is ugly and\ndisagreeable; though we be fully assured of the solidity of the\nworkmanship. It is a kind of fear, which causes this sentiment of\ndisapprobation; but the passion is not the same with that which we feel,\nwhen obliged to stand under a wall, that we really think tottering and\ninsecure. The seeming tendencies of objects affect the mind: And the\nemotions they excite are of a like species with those, which proceed\nfrom the real consequences of objects, but their feeling is different.\nNay, these emotions are so different in their feeling, that they\nmay often be contrary, without destroying each other; as when the\nfortifications of a city belonging to an enemy are esteemed beautiful\nupon account of their strength, though we could wish that they were\nentirely destroyed. The imagination adheres to the general views of\nthings, and distinguishes the feelings they produce, from those which\narise from our particular and momentary situation.\n\nIf we examine the panegyrics that are commonly made of great men, we\nshall find, that most of the qualities, which are attributed to them,\nmay be divided into two kinds, viz. such as make them perform their\npart in society; and such as render them serviceable to themselves, and\nenable them to promote their own interest. Their prudence, temperance,\nfrugality, industry, assiduity, enterprize, dexterity, are celebrated,\nas well as their generosity and humanity. If we ever give an indulgence\nto any quality, that disables a man from making a figure in life, it is\nto that of indolence, which is not supposed to deprive one of his parts\nand capacity, but only suspends their exercise; and that without any\ninconvenience to the person himself, since it is, in some measure, from\nhis own choice. Yet indolence is always allowed to be a fault, and a\nvery great one, if extreme: Nor do a man's friends ever acknowledge him\nto be subject to it, but in order to save his character in more material\narticles. He could make a figure, say they, if he pleased to give\napplication: His understanding is sound, his conception quick, and his\nmemory tenacious; but he hates business, and is indifferent about his\nfortune. And this a man sometimes may make even a subject of vanity;\nthough with the air of confessing a fault: Because he may think, that\nhis incapacity for business implies much more noble qualities; such as\na philosophical spirit, a fine taste, a delicate wit, or a relish for\npleasure and society. But take any other case: Suppose a quality, that\nwithout being an indication of any other good qualities, incapacitates\na man always for business, and is destructive to his interest; such as\na blundering understanding, and a wrong judgment of every thing in life;\ninconstancy and irresolution; or a want of address in the management\nof men and business: These are all allowed to be imperfections in a\ncharacter; and many men would rather acknowledge the greatest crimes,\nthan have it suspected, that they are, in any degree, subject to them.\n\nIt is very happy, in our philosophical researches, when we find the\nsame ph\u00e6nomenon diversified by a variety of circumstances; and by\ndiscovering what is common among them, can the better assure ourselves\nof the truth of any hypothesis we may make use of to explain it. Were\nnothing esteemed virtue but what were beneficial to society, I am\npersuaded, that the foregoing explication of the moral sense ought still\nto be received, and that upon sufficient evidence: But this evidence\nmust grow upon us, when we find other kinds of virtue, which will not\nadmit of any explication except from that hypothesis. Here is a man,\nwho is not remarkably defective in his social qualities; but what\nprincipally recommends him is his dexterity in business, by which he\nhas extricated himself from the greatest difficulties, and conducted the\nmost delicate affairs with a singular address and prudence. I find an\nesteem for him immediately to arise in me: His company is a satisfaction\nto me; and before I have any farther acquaintance with him, I would\nrather do him a service than another, whose character is in every other\nrespect equal, but is deficient in that particular. In this case, the\nqualities that please me are all considered as useful to the person, and\nas having a tendency to promote his interest and satisfaction. They are\nonly regarded as means to an end, and please me in proportion to their\nfitness for that end. The end, therefore, must be agreeable to me. But\nwhat makes the end agreeable? The person is a stranger: I am no way\ninterested in him, nor lie under any obligation to him: His happiness\nconcerns not me, farther than the happiness of every human, and indeed\nof every sensible creature: That is, it affects me only by sympathy.\nFrom that principle, whenever I discover his happiness and good, whether\nin its causes or effects, I enter so deeply into it, that it gives me a\nsensible emotion. The appearance of qualities, that have a tendency to\npromote it, have an agreeable effect upon my imagination, and command my\nlove and esteem.\n\nThis theory may serve to explain, why the same qualities, in all cases,\nproduce both pride and love, humility and hatred; and the same man is\nalways virtuous or vicious, accomplished or despicable to others, who is\nso to himself. A person, in whom we discover any passion or habit, which\noriginally is only incommodious to himself, becomes always disagreeable\nto us, merely on its account; as on the other hand, one whose character\nis only dangerous and disagreeable to others, can never be satisfied\nwith himself, as long as he is sensible of that disadvantage. Nor is\nthis observable only with regard to characters and manners, but may\nbe remarked even in the most minute circumstances. A violent cough in\nanother gives us uneasiness; though in itself it does not in the least\naffect us. A man will be mortified, if you tell him he has a stinking\nbreath; though it is evidently no annoyance to himself. Our fancy easily\nchanges its situation; and either surveying ourselves as we appear to\nothers, or considering others as they feel themselves, we enter, by that\nmeans, into sentiments, which no way belong to us, and in which nothing\nbut sympathy is able to interest us. And this sympathy we sometimes\ncarry so far, as even to be displeased with a quality commodious to us,\nmerely because it displeases others, and makes us disagreeable in\ntheir eyes; though perhaps we never can have any interest in rendering\nourselves agreeable to them.\n\nThere have been many systems of morality advanced by philosophers in\nall ages; but if they are strictly examined, they may be reduced to\ntwo, which alone merit our attention. Moral good and evil are certainly\ndistinguished by our sentiments, not by reason: But these sentiments\nmay arise either from the mere species or appearance of characters and\npassions, or from reflections on their tendency to the happiness of\nmankind, and of particular persons. My opinion is, that both these\ncauses are intermixed in our judgments of morals; after the same manner\nas they are in our decisions concerning most kinds of external beauty:\nThough I am also of opinion, that reflections on the tendencies of\nactions have by far the greatest influence, and determine all the great\nlines of our duty. There are, however, instances, in cases of less\nmoment, wherein this immediate taste or sentiment produces our\napprobation. Wit, and a certain easy and disengaged behaviour, are\nqualities immediately agreeable to others, and command their love\nand esteem. Some of these qualities produce satisfaction in others\nby particular original principles of human nature, which cannot be\naccounted for: Others may be resolved into principles, which are more\ngeneral. This will best appear upon a particular enquiry.\n\nAs some qualities acquire their merit from their being immediately\nagreeable to others, without any tendency to public interest; so some\nare denominated virtuous from their being immediately agreeable to the\nperson himself, who possesses them. Each of the passions and operations\nof the mind has a particular feeling, which must be either agreeable or\ndisagreeable. The first is virtuous, the second vicious. This particular\nfeeling constitutes the very nature of the passion; and therefore needs\nnot be accounted for.\n\nBut however directly the distinction of vice and virtue may seem to flow\nfrom the immediate pleasure or uneasiness, which particular qualities\ncause to ourselves or others; it is easy to observe, that it has also a\nconsiderable dependence on the principle of sympathy so often insisted\non. We approve of a person, who is possessed of qualities immediately\nagreeable to those, with whom he has any commerce; though perhaps we\nourselves never reaped any pleasure from them. We also approve of\none, who is possessed of qualities, that are immediately agreeable to\nhimself; though they be of no service to any mortal. To account for this\nwe must have recourse to the foregoing principles.\n\nThus, to take a general review of the present hypothesis: Every quality\nof the mind is denominated virtuous, which gives pleasure by the mere\nsurvey; as every quality, which produces pain, is called vicious. This\npleasure and this pain may arise from four different sources. For we\nreap a pleasure from the view of a character, which is naturally fitted\nto be useful to others, or to the person himself, or which is agreeable\nto others, or to the person himself. One may, perhaps, be surprized.\nthat amidst all these interests and pleasures, we should forget our own,\nwhich touch us so nearly on every other occasion. But we shall easily\nsatisfy ourselves on this head, when we consider, that every particular\nperson\u2019s pleasure and interest being different, it is impossible men\ncould ever agree in their sentiments and judgments, unless they chose\nsome common point of view, from which they might survey their object,\nand which might cause it to appear the same to all of them. Now in\njudging of characters, the only interest or pleasure, which appears the\nsame to every spectator, is that of the person himself, whose character\nis examined; or that of persons, who have a connexion with him. And\nthough such interests and pleasures touch us more faintly than our own,\nyet being more constant and universal, they counter-ballance the latter\neven in practice, and are alone admitted in speculation as the standard\nof virtue and morality. They alone produce that particular feeling or\nsentiment, on which moral distinctions depend.\n\nAs to the good or ill desert of virtue or vice, it is an evident\nconsequence of the sentiments of pleasure or uneasiness. These\nsentiments produce love or hatred; and love or hatred, by the original\nconstitution of human passion, is attended with benevolence or anger;\nthat is, with a desire of making happy the person we love, and miserable\nthe person we hate. We have treated of this more fully on another\noccasion.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. II OF GREATNESS OF MIND\n\n\nIt may now be proper to illustrate this general system of morals, by\napplying it to particular instances of virtue and vice, and shewing how\ntheir merit or demerit arises from the four sources here explained. We\nshall begin with examining the passions of pride and humility, and\nshall consider the vice or virtue that lies in their excesses or just\nproportion. An excessive pride or overweaning conceit of ourselves is\nalways esteemed vicious, and is universally hated; as modesty, or a just\nsense of our weakness, is esteemed virtuous, and procures the good-will\nof every-one. Of the four sources of moral distinctions, this is to\nbe ascribed to the third; viz, the immediate agreeableness and\ndisagreeableness of a quality to others, without any reflections on the\ntendency of that quality.\n\nIn order to prove this, we must have recourse to two principles,\nwhich are very conspicuous in human nature. The first of these is the\nsympathy, and communication of sentiments and passions above-mentioned.\nSo close and intimate is the correspondence of human souls, that\nno sooner any person approaches me, than he diffuses on me all his\nopinions, and draws along my judgment in a greater or lesser degree.\nAnd though, on many occasions, my sympathy with him goes not so far as\nentirely to change my sentiments, and way of thinking; yet it seldom\nis so weak as not to disturb the easy course of my thought, and give an\nauthority to that opinion, which is recommended to me by his assent\nand approbation. Nor is it any way material upon what subject he and I\nemploy our thoughts. Whether we judge of an indifferent person, or of my\nown character, my sympathy gives equal force to his decision: And even\nhis sentiments of his own merit make me consider him in the same light,\nin which he regards himself.\n\nThis principle of sympathy is of so powerful and insinuating a nature,\nthat it enters into most of our sentiments and passions, and often takes\nplace under the appearance of its contrary. For it is remarkable, that\nwhen a person opposes me in any thing, which I am strongly bent upon,\nand rouzes up my passion by contradiction, I have always a degree of\nsympathy with him, nor does my commotion proceed from any other origin.\nWe may here observe an evident conflict or rencounter of opposite\nprinciples and passions. On the one side there is that passion or\nsentiment, which is natural to me; and it is observable, that the\nstronger this passion is, the greater is the commotion. There must also\nbe some passion or sentiment on the other side; and this passion can\nproceed from nothing but sympathy. The sentiments of others can never\naffect us, but by becoming, in some measure, our own; in which case they\noperate upon us, by opposing and encreasing our passions, in the very\nsame manner, as if they had been originally derived from our own temper\nand disposition. While they remain concealed in the minds of others,\nthey can never have an influence upon us: And even when they are known,\nif they went no farther than the imagination, or conception; that\nfaculty is so accustomed to objects of every different kind, that a mere\nidea, though contrary to our sentiments and inclinations, would never\nalone be able to affect us.\n\nThe second principle I shall take notice of is that of comparison, or\nthe variation of our judgments concerning objects, according to the\nproportion they bear to those with which we compare them. We judge\nmore, of objects by comparison, than by their intrinsic worth and\nvalue; and regard every thing as mean, when set in opposition to what\nis superior of the same kind. But no comparison is more obvious than\nthat with ourselves; and hence it is that on all occasions it takes\nplace, and mixes with most of our passions. This kind of comparison is\ndirectly contrary to sympathy in its operation, as we have observed in\ntreating of compassion and malice.[2] IN ALL KINDS OF COMPARISON AN\nOBJECT MAKES US ALWAYS RECEIVE FROM ANOTHER, TO WHICH IT IS COMPARED, A\nSENSATION CONTRARY TO WHAT ARISES FROM ITSELF IN ITS DIRECT AND\nIMMEDIATE SURVEY. THE DIRECT SURVEY OF ANOTHER'S PLEASURE NATURALLY\nGIVES US PLEASURE; AND THEREFORE PRODUCES PAIN, WHEN COMPARED WITH OUR\nOWN. HIS PAIN, CONSIDERED IN ITSELF, IS PAINFUL; BUT AUGMENTS THE IDEA\nOF OUR OWN HAPPINESS, AND GIVES US PLEASURE.\n\n    [2] Book II. Part II. Sect. VIII.\n\nSince then those principles of sympathy, and a comparison with\nourselves, are directly contrary, it may be worth while to consider,\nwhat general rules can be formed, beside the particular temper of the\nperson, for the prevalence of the one or the other. Suppose I am now in\nsafety at land, and would willingly reap some pleasure from this\nconsideration: I must think on the miserable condition of those who are\nat sea in a storm, and must endeavour to render this idea as strong and\nlively as possible, in order to make me more sensible of my own\nhappiness. But whatever pains I may take, the comparison will never\nhave an equal efficacy, as if I were really on the shore,[3] and saw a\nship at a distance tossed by a tempest, and in danger every moment of\nperishing on a rock or sand-bank. But suppose this idea to become still\nmore lively. Suppose the ship to be driven so near me, that I can\nperceive distinctly the horror, painted on the countenance of the\nseamen and passengers, hear their lamentable cries, see the dearest\nfriends give their last adieu, or embrace with a resolution to perish\nin each others arms: No man has so savage a heart as to reap any\npleasure from such a spectacle, or withstand the motions of the\ntenderest compassion and sympathy. It is evident, therefore, there is a\nmedium in this case; and that if the idea be too feint, it has no\ninfluence by comparison; and on the other hand, if it be too strong, it\noperates on us entirely by sympathy, which is the contrary to\ncomparison. Sympathy being the conversion of an idea into an\nimpression, demands a greater force and vivacity in the idea than is\nrequisite to comparison.\n\n\n    [3] Suave mari magno turbantibus aequora ventis E terra magnum\n    alterius spectare laborem; Non quia vexari quenquam eat jucunda\n    voluptas, Sed quibus ipse malls caress qula cernere sauv' est.\n    LUCRET.\n\n    (There is something pleasant in watching, from dry land, the great\n    difficulties another man is undergoing out on the high sea, with\n    the winds lashing the waters. This is not because one derives\n    delight from any man's distress, but because it is pleasurable to\n    perceive from what troubles one is oneself free.)\n\nAll this is easily applied to the present subject. We sink very much in\nour own eyes, when in the presence of a great man, or one of a superior\ngenius; and this humility makes a considerable ingredient in that\nrespect, which we pay our superiors, according to our foregoing\nreasonings on that passion.[4] Sometimes even envy and hatred arise\nfrom the comparison; but in the greatest part of men, it rests at\nrespect and esteem. As sympathy has such a powerful influence on the\nhuman mind, it causes pride to have, in some measure, the same effect\nas merit; and by making us enter into those elevated sentiments, which\nthe proud man entertains of himself, presents that comparison, which is\nso mortifying and disagreeable. Our judgment does not entirely\naccompany him in the flattering conceit, in which he pleases himself;\nbut still is so shaken as to receive the idea it presents, and to give\nit an influence above the loose conceptions of the imagination. A man,\nwho, in an idle humour, would form a notion of a person of a merit very\nmuch superior to his own, would not be mortified by that fiction: But\nwhen a man, whom we are really persuaded to be of inferior merit, is\npresented to us; if we observe in him any extraordinary degree of pride\nand self-conceit; the firm persuasion he has of his own merit, takes\nhold of the imagination, and diminishes us in our own eyes, in the same\nmanner, as if he were really possessed of all the good qualities which\nhe so liberally attributes to himself. Our idea is here precisely in\nthat medium, which is requisite to make it operate on us by comparison.\nWere it accompanied with belief, and did the person appear to have the\nsame merit, which he assumes to himself, it would have a contrary\neffect, and would operate on us by sympathy. The influence of that\nprinciple would then be superior to that of comparison, contrary to\nwhat happens where the person's merit seems below his pretensions.\n\n    [4] Book II. Part II. Sect. X.\n\nThe necessary consequence of these principles is, that pride, or an\nover-weaning conceit of ourselves, must be vicious; since it\ncauses uneasiness in all men, and presents them every moment with a\ndisagreeable comparison. It is a trite observation in philosophy, and\neven in common life and conversation, that it is our own pride, which\nmakes us so much displeased with the pride of other people; and that\nvanity becomes insupportable to us merely because we are vain. The gay\nnaturally associate themselves with the gay, and the amorous with the\namorous: But the proud never can endure the proud, and rather seek the\ncompany of those who are of an opposite disposition. As we are, all of\nus, proud in some degree, pride is universally blamed and condemned by\nall mankind; as having a natural tendency to cause uneasiness in others\nby means of comparison. And this effect must follow the more naturally,\nthat those, who have an ill-grounded conceit of themselves, are for ever\nmaking those comparisons, nor have they any other method of supporting\ntheir vanity. A man of sense and merit is pleased with himself,\nindependent of all foreign considerations: But a fool must always find\nsome person, that is more foolish, in order to keep himself in good\nhumour with his own parts and understanding.\n\nBut though an over-weaning conceit of our own merit be vicious and\ndisagreeable, nothing can be more laudable, than to have a value for\nourselves, where we really have qualities that are valuable. The utility\nand advantage of any quality to ourselves is a source of virtue, as well\nas its agreeableness to others; and it is certain, that nothing is more\nuseful to us in the conduct of life, than a due degree of pride, which\nmakes us sensible of our own merit, and gives us a confidence and\nassurance in all our projects and enterprizes. Whatever capacity any\none may be endowed with, it is entirely useless to him, if he be not\nacquainted with it, and form not designs suitable to it. It is requisite\non all occasions to know our own force; and were it allowable to err on\neither side, it would be more advantageous to over-rate our merit, than\nto form ideas of it, below its just standard. Fortune commonly favours\nthe bold and enterprizing; and nothing inspires us with more boldness\nthan a good opinion of ourselves.\n\nAdd to this, that though pride, or self-applause, be sometimes\ndisagreeable to others, it is always agreeable to ourselves; as on the\nother hand, modesty, though it gives pleasure to every one, who observes\nit, produces often uneasiness in the person endowed with it. Now it has\nbeen observed, that our own sensations determine the vice and virtue of\nany quality, as well as those sensations, which it may excite in others.\n\nThus self-satisfaction and vanity may not only be allowable, but\nrequisite in a character. It is, however, certain, that good-breeding\nand decency require that we should avoid all signs and expressions,\nwhich tend directly to show that passion. We have, all of us, a\nwonderful partiality for ourselves, and were we always to give vent to\nour sentiments in this particular, we should mutually cause the greatest\nindignation in each other, not only by the immediate presence of so\ndisagreeable a subject of comparison, but also by the contrariety of\nour judgments. In like manner, therefore, as we establish the laws\nof nature, in order to secure property in society, and prevent the\nopposition of self-interest; we establish the rules of good-breeding, in\norder to prevent the opposition of men's pride, and render conversation\nagreeable and inoffensive. Nothing is more disagreeable than a\nman's over-weaning conceit of himself: Every one almost has a strong\npropensity to this vice: No one can well distinguish in himself betwixt\nthe vice and virtue, or be certain, that his esteem of his own merit is\nwell-founded: For these reasons, all direct expressions of this passion\nare condemned; nor do we make any exception to this rule in favour of\nmen of sense and merit. They are not allowed to do themselves justice\nopenly, in words, no more than other people; and even if they show\na reserve and secret doubt in doing themselves justice in their own\nthoughts, they will be more applauded. That impertinent, and almost\nuniversal propensity of men, to over-value themselves, has given us such\na prejudice against self-applause, that we are apt to condemn it, by a\ngeneral rule, wherever we meet with it; and it is with some difficulty\nwe give a privilege to men of sense, even in their most secret thoughts.\nAt least, it must be owned, that some disguise in this particular is\nabsolutely requisite; and that if we harbour pride in our breasts, we\nmust carry a fair outside, and have the appearance of modesty and mutual\ndeference in all our conduct and behaviour. We must, on every occasion,\nbe ready to prefer others to ourselves; to treat them with a kind of\ndeference, even though they be our equals; to seem always the lowest\nand least in the company, where we are not very much distinguished above\nthem: And if we observe these rules in our conduct, men will have\nmore indulgence for our secret sentiments, when we discover them in an\noblique manner.\n\nI believe no one, who has any practice of the world, and can penetrate\ninto the inward sentiments of men, will assert, that the humility, which\ngood-breeding and decency require of us, goes beyond the outside, or\nthat a thorough sincerity in this particular is esteemed a real part\nof our duty. On the contrary, we may observe, that a genuine and hearty\npride, or self-esteem, if well concealed and well founded, is essential\nto the character of a man of honour, and that there is no quality of the\nmind, which is more indispensibly requisite to procure the esteem\nand approbation of mankind. There are certain deferences and mutual\nsubmissions, which custom requires of the different ranks of men towards\neach other; and whoever exceeds in this particular, if through interest,\nis accused of meanness; if through ignorance, of simplicity. It is\nnecessary, therefore, to know our rank and station in the world, whether\nit be fixed by our birth, fortune, employments, talents or reputation.\nIt is necessary to feel the sentiment and passion of pride in conformity\nto it, and to regulate our actions accordingly. And should it be said,\nthat prudence may suffice to regulate our actions in this particular,\nwithout any real pride, I would observe, that here the object of\nprudence is to conform our actions to the general usage and custom; and,\nthat it is impossible those tacit airs of superiority should ever have\nbeen established and authorized by custom, unless men were generally\nproud, and unless that passion were generally approved, when\nwell-grounded.\n\nIf we pass from common life and conversation to history, this reasoning\nacquires new force, when we observe, that all those great actions and\nsentiments, which have become the admiration of mankind, are founded on\nnothing but pride and self-esteem. Go, says Alexander the Great to his\nsoldiers, when they refused to follow him to the Indies, go tell your\ncountrymen, that you left Alexander corn pleating the conquest of the\nworld. This passage was always particularly admired by the prince of\nConde, as we learn from St Evremond.\n\n\"ALEXANDER,\" said that prince, \"abandoned by his soldiers, among\nbarbarians, not yet fully subdued, felt in himself such a dignity of\nright and of empire, that he could not believe it possible any one\ncould refuse to obey him. Whether in Europe or in Asia, among Greeks or\nPersians, all was indifferent to him: Wherever he found men, he fancied\nhe found subjects.\"\n\nIn general we may observe, that whatever we call heroic virtue, and\nadmire under the character of greatness and elevation of mind, is either\nnothing but a steady and well-established pride and self-esteem, or\npartakes largely of that passion. Courage, intrepidity, ambition, love\nof glory, magnanimity, and all the other shining virtues of that kind,\nhave plainly a strong mixture of self-esteem in them, and derive a great\npart of their merit from that origin. Accordingly we find, that many\nreligious declaimers decry those virtues as purely pagan and natural,\nand represent to us the excellency of the Christian religion, which\nplaces humility in the rank of virtues, and corrects the judgment of the\nworld, and even of philosophers, who so generally admire all the efforts\nof pride and ambition. Whether this virtue of humility has been rightly\nunderstood, I shall not pretend to determine. I am content with the\nconcession, that the world naturally esteems a well-regulated pride,\nwhich secretly animates our conduct, without breaking out into such\nindecent expressions of vanity, as many offend the vanity of others.\n\nThe merit of pride or self-esteem is derived from two circumstances,\nviz, its utility and its agreeableness to ourselves; by which it\ncapacitates us for business, and, at the same time, gives us an\nimmediate satisfaction. When it goes beyond its just bounds, it loses\nthe first advantage, and even becomes prejudicial; which is the reason\nwhy we condemn an extravagant pride and ambition, however regulated by\nthe decorums of good-breeding and politeness. But as such a passion is\nstill agreeable, and conveys an elevated and sublime sensation to the\nperson, who is actuated by it, the sympathy with that satisfaction\ndiminishes considerably the blame, which naturally attends its dangerous\ninfluence on his conduct and behaviour. Accordingly we may observe, that\nan excessive courage and magnanimity, especially when it displays itself\nunder the frowns of fortune, contributes in a great measure, to\nthe character of a hero, and will render a person the admiration of\nposterity; at the same time, that it ruins his affairs, and leads him\ninto dangers and difficulties, with which otherwise he would never have\nbeen acquainted.\n\nHeroism, or military glory, is much admired by the generality of\nmankind. They consider it as the most sublime kind of merit. Men of\ncool reflection are not so sanguine in their praises of it. The infinite\nconfusions and disorder, which it has caused in the world, diminish much\nof its merit in their eyes. When they would oppose the popular notions\non this head, they always paint out the evils, which this supposed\nvirtue has produced in human society; the subversion of empires, the\ndevastation of provinces, the sack of cities. As long as these are\npresent to us, we are more inclined to hate than admire the ambition\nof heroes. But when we fix our view on the person himself, who is the\nauthor of all this mischief, there is something so dazzling in his\ncharacter, the mere contemplation of it so elevates the mind, that we\ncannot refuse it our admiration. The pain, which we receive from its\ntendency to the prejudice of society, is over-powered by a stronger and\nmore immediate sympathy.\n\nThus our explication of the merit or demerit, which attends the\ndegrees of pride or self-esteem, may serve as a strong argument for the\npreceding hypothesis, by shewing the effects of those principles\nabove explained in all the variations of our judgments concerning that\npassion. Nor will this reasoning be advantageous to us only by shewing,\nthat the distinction of vice and virtue arises from the four principles\nof the advantage and of the pleasure of the person himself, and of\nothers: But may also afford us a strong proof of some under-parts of\nthat hypothesis.\n\nNo one, who duly considers of this matter, will make any scruple of\nallowing, that any piece of in-breeding, or any expression of pride\nand haughtiness, is displeasing to us, merely because it shocks our\nown pride, and leads us by sympathy into a comparison, which causes the\ndisagreeable passion of humility. Now as an insolence of this kind\nis blamed even in a person who has always been civil to ourselves in\nparticular; nay, in one, whose name is only known to us in history; it\nfollows, that our disapprobation proceeds from a sympathy with others,\nand from the reflection, that such a character is highly displeasing\nand odious to every one, who converses or has any intercourse with\nthe person possest of it. We sympathize with those people in their\nuneasiness; and as their uneasiness proceeds in part from a sympathy\nwith the person who insults them, we may here observe a double rebound\nof the sympathy; which is a principle very similar to what we have\nobserved.[5]\n\n    [5] Book II. Part II. Sect. V.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. III OF GOODNESS AND BENEVOLENCE\n\n\nHaving thus explained the origin of that praise and approbation, which\nattends every thing we call great in human affections; we now proceed to\ngive an account of their goodness, and shew whence its merit is derived.\n\nWhen experience has once given us a competent knowledge of human\naffairs, and has taught us the proportion they bear to human passion, we\nperceive, that the generosity of men is very limited, and that it seldom\nextends beyond their friends and family, or, at most, beyond their\nnative country. Being thus acquainted with the nature of man, we expect\nnot any impossibilities from him; but confine our view to that narrow\ncircle, in which any person moves, in order to form a judgment of his\nmoral character. When the natural tendency of his passions leads him\nto be serviceable and useful within his sphere, we approve of his\ncharacter, and love his person, by a sympathy with the sentiments of\nthose, who have a more particular connexion with him. We are quickly\nobliged to forget our own interest in our judgments of this kind, by\nreason of the perpetual contradictions, we meet with in society and\nconversation, from persons that are not placed in the same situation,\nand have not the same interest with ourselves. The only point of\nview, in which our sentiments concur with those of others, is, when we\nconsider the tendency of any passion to the advantage or harm of\nthose, who have any immediate connexion or intercourse with the person\npossessed of it. And though this advantage or harm be often very remote\nfrom ourselves, yet sometimes it is very near us, and interests us\nstrongly by sympathy. This concern we readily extend to other cases,\nthat are resembling; and when these are very remote, our sympathy\nis proportionably weaker, and our praise or blame fainter and more\ndoubtful. The case is here the same as in our judgments concerning\nexternal bodies. All objects seem to diminish by their distance: But\nthough the appearance of objects to our senses be the original standard,\nby which we judge of them, yet we do not say, that they actually\ndiminish by the distance; but correcting the appearance by reflection,\narrive at a more constant and established judgment concerning them.\nIn like manner, though sympathy be much fainter than our concern for\nourselves, and a sympathy with persons remote from us much fainter\nthan that with persons near and contiguous; yet we neglect all these\ndifferences in our calm judgments concerning the characters of\nmen. Besides, that we ourselves often change our situation in this\nparticular, we every day meet with persons, who are in a different\nsituation from ourselves, and who could never converse with us on any\nreasonable terms, were we to remain constantly in that situation and\npoint of view, which is peculiar to us. The intercourse of sentiments,\ntherefore, in society and conversation, makes us form some general\ninalterable standard, by which we may approve or disapprove of\ncharacters and manners. And though the heart does not always take part\nwith those general notions, or regulate its love and hatred by them, yet\nare they sufficient for discourse, and serve all our purposes in company,\nin the pulpit, on the theatre, and in the schools.\n\nFrom these principles we may easily account for that merit, which\nis commonly ascribed to generosity, humanity, compassion, gratitude,\nfriendship, fidelity, zeal, disinterestedness, liberality, and all those\nother qualities, which form the character of good and benevolent. A\npropensity to the tender passions makes a man agreeable and useful\nin all the parts of life; and gives a just direction to all his other\nquailties, which otherwise may become prejudicial to society. Courage\nand ambition, when not regulated by benevolence, are fit only to make\na tyrant and public robber. It is the same case with judgment and\ncapacity, and all the qualities of that kind. They are indifferent in\nthemselves to the interests of society, and have a tendency to the\ngood or ill of mankind, according as they are directed by these other\npassions.\n\nAs Love is immediately agreeable to the person, who is actuated by it,\nand hatred immediately disagreeable; this may also be a considerable\nreason, why we praise all the passions that partake of the former, and\nblame all those that have any considerable share of the latter. It is\ncertain we are infinitely touched with a tender sentiment, as well\nas with a great one. The tears naturally start in our eyes at the\nconception of it; nor can we forbear giving a loose to the same\ntenderness towards the person who exerts it. All this seems to me a\nproof, that our approbation has, in those cases, an origin different\nfrom the prospect of utility and advantage, either to ourselves or\nothers. To which we may add, that men naturally, without reflection,\napprove of that character, which is most like their own. The man of a\nmild disposition and tender affections, in forming a notion of the most\nperfect virtue, mixes in it more of benevolence and humanity, than\nthe man of courage and enterprize, who naturally looks upon a certain\nelevation of mind as the most accomplished character. This must\nevidently proceed from an immediate sympathy, which men have with\ncharacters similar to their own. They enter with more warmth into such\nsentiments, and feel more sensibly the pleasure, which arises from them.\n\nIt is remarkable, that nothing touches a man of humanity more than any\ninstance of extraordinary delicacy in love or friendship, where a person\nis attentive to the smallest concerns of his friend, and is willing\nto sacrifice to them the most considerable interest of his own. Such\ndelicacies have little influence on society; because they make us regard\nthe greatest trifles: But they are the more engaging, the more minute\nthe concern is, and are a proof of the highest merit in any one, who is\ncapable of them. The passions are so contagious, that they pass with the\ngreatest facility from one person to another, and produce correspondent\nmovements in all human breasts. Where friendship appears in very signal\ninstances, my heart catches the same passion, and is warmed by those\nwarm sentiments, that display themselves before me. Such agreeable\nmovements must give me an affection to every one that excites them.\nThis is the case with every thing that is agreeable in any person. The\ntransition from pleasure to love is easy: But the transition must here\nbe still more easy; since the agreeable sentiment, which is excited by\nsympathy, is love itself; and there is nothing required but to change\nthe object.\n\nHence the peculiar merit of benevolence in all its shapes and\nappearances. Hence even its weaknesses are virtuous and amiable; and a\nperson, whose grief upon the loss of a friend were excessive, would be\nesteemed upon that account. His tenderness bestows a merit, as it does a\npleasure, on his melancholy.\n\nWe are not, however, to imagine, that all the angry passions are\nvicious, though they are disagreeable. There is a certain indulgence due\nto human nature in this respect. Anger and hatred are passions\ninherent in Our very frame and constitutions. The want of them, on some\noccasions, may even be a proof of weakness and imbecillity. And where\nthey appear only in a low degree, we not only excuse them because they\nare natural; but even bestow our applauses on them, because they are\ninferior to what appears in the greatest part of mankind.\n\nWhere these angry passions rise up to cruelty, they form the most\ndetested of all vices. All the pity and concern which we have for the\nmiserable sufferers by this vice, turns against the person guilty of\nit, and produces a stronger hatred than we are sensible of on any other\noccasion. Even when the vice of inhumanity rises not to this extreme\ndegree, our sentiments concerning it are very much influenced by\nreflections on the harm that results from it. And we may observe in\ngeneral, that if we can find any quality in a person, which renders him\nincommodious to those, who live and converse with him, we always allow\nit to be a fault or blemish, without any farther examination. On the\nother hand, when we enumerate the good qualities of any person, we\nalways mention those parts of his character, which render him a safe\ncompanion, an easy friend, a gentle master, an agreeable husband, or an\nindulgent father. We consider him with all his relations in society; and\nlove or hate him, according as he affects those, who have any immediate\nintercourse with him. And it is a most certain rule, that if there be\nno relation of life, in which I could not wish to stand to a particular\nperson, his character must so far be allowed to be perfect. If he be\nas little wanting to himself as to others, his character is entirely\nperfect. This is the ultimate test of merit and virtue.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. IV OF NATURAL ABILITIES\n\n\nNo distinction is more usual in all systems of ethics, than that betwixt\nnatural abilities and moral virtues; where the former are placed on the\nsame footing with bodily endowments, and are supposed to have no merit\nor moral worth annexed to them. Whoever considers the matter accurately,\nwill find, that a dispute upon this head would be merely a dispute of\nwords, and that though these qualities are not altogether of the same\nkind, yet they agree in the most material circumstances. They are both\nof them equally mental qualities: And both of them equally produce\npleasure; and have of course an equal tendency to procure the love\nand esteem of mankind. There are few, who are not as jealous of their\ncharacter, with regard to sense and knowledge, as to honour and courage;\nand much more than with regard to temperance and sobriety. Men are even\nafraid of passing for goodnatured; lest that should be taken for want\nof understanding: And often boast of more debauches than they have been\nreally engaged in, to give themselves airs of fire and spirit. In short,\nthe figure a man makes in the world, the reception he meets with in\ncompany, the esteem paid him by his acquaintance; all these advantages\ndepend almost as much upon his good sense and judgment, as upon any\nother part of his character. Let a man have the best intentions in the\nworld, and be the farthest from all injustice and violence, he will\nnever be able to make himself be much regarded without a moderate\nshare, at least, of parts and understanding. Since then natural\nabilities, though, perhaps, inferior, yet are on the same footing, both\nas to their causes and effects, with those qualities which we call moral\nvirtues, why should we make any distinction betwixt them?\n\nThough we refuse to natural abilities the title of virtues, we must\nallow, that they procure the love and esteem of mankind; that they give\na new lustre to the other virtues; and that a man possessed of them is\nmuch more intitled to our good-will and services, than one entirely\nvoid of them. It may, indeed, be pretended that the sentiment of\napprobation, which those qualities produce, besides its being inferior,\nis also somewhat different from that, which attends the other virtues.\nBut this, in my opinion, is not a sufficient reason for excluding them\nfrom the catalogue of virtues. Each of the virtues, even benevolence,\njustice, gratitude, integrity, excites a different sentiment or feeling\nin the spectator. The characters of Caesar and Cato, as drawn by\nSallust, are both of them virtuous, in the strictest sense of the word;\nbut in a different way: Nor are the sentiments entirely the same, which\narise from them. The one produces love; the other esteem: The one is\namiable; the other awful: We could wish to meet with the one character\nin a friend; the other character we would be ambitious of in ourselves.\nIn like manner, the approbation which attends natural abilities, may be\nsomewhat different to the feeling from that, which arises from the other\nvirtues, without making them entirely of a different species. And indeed\nwe may observe, that the natural abilities, no more than the other\nvirtues, produce not, all of them, the same kind of approbation. Good\nsense and genius beget esteem: Wit and humour excite love.[6]\n\n\n    [6] Love and esteem are at the bottom the same passions, and arise\n    from like causes. The qualities, that produce both, are agreeable,\n    and give pleasure. But where this pleasure is severe and serious;\n    or where its object is great, and makes a strong impression; or\n    where it produces any degree of humility and awe: In all these\n    cases, the passion, which arises from the pleasure, is more\n    properly denominated esteem than love. Benevolence attends both:\n    But is connected with love in a more eminent degree.\n\nThose, who represent the distinction betwixt natural abilities and\nmoral virtues as very material, may say, that the former are entirely\ninvoluntary, and have therefore no merit attending them, as having no\ndependance on liberty and free-will. But to this I answer, first, that\nmany of those qualities, which all moralists, especially the antients,\ncomprehend under the title of moral virtues, are equally involuntary and\nnecessary, with the qualities of the judgment and imagination. Of this\nnature are constancy, fortitude, magnanimity; and, in short, all the\nqualities which form the great man. I might say the same, in some\ndegree, of the others; it being almost impossible for the mind to\nchange its character in any considerable article, or cure itself of a\npassionate or splenetic temper, when they are natural to it. The greater\ndegree there is of these blameable qualities, the more vicious they\nbecome, and yet they are the less voluntary. Secondly, I would have\nanyone give me a reason, why virtue and vice may not be involuntary, as\nwell as beauty and deformity. These moral distinctions arise from the\nnatural distinctions of pain and pleasure; and when we receive those\nfeelings from the general consideration of any quality or character,\nwe denominate it vicious or virtuous. Now I believe no one will assert,\nthat a quality can never produce pleasure or pain to the person who\nconsiders it, unless it be perfectly voluntary in the person who\npossesses it. Thirdly, As to free-will, we have shewn that it has no\nplace with regard to the actions, no more than the qualities of men. It\nis not a just consequence, that what is voluntary is free. Our actions\nare more voluntary than our judgments; but we have not more liberty in\nthe one than in the other.\n\nBut though this distinction betwixt voluntary and involuntary be not\nsufficient to justify the distinction betwixt natural abilities and\nmoral virtues, yet the former distinction will afford us a plausible\nreason, why moralists have invented the latter. Men have observed, that\nthough natural abilities and moral qualities be in the main on the\nsame footing, there is, however, this difference betwixt them, that the\nformer are almost invariable by any art or industry; while the latter,\nor at least, the actions, that proceed from them, may be changed by the\nmotives of rewards and punishments, praise and blame. Hence legislators,\nand divines, and moralists, have principally applied themselves to the\nregulating these voluntary actions, and have endeavoured to produce\nadditional motives, for being virtuous in that particular. They\nknew, that to punish a man for folly, or exhort him to be prudent and\nsagacious, would have but little effect; though the same punishments\nand exhortations, with regard to justice and injustice, might have a\nconsiderable influence. But as men, in common life and conversation,\ndo not carry those ends in view, but naturally praise or blame whatever\npleases or displeases them, they do not seem much to regard this\ndistinction, but consider prudence under the character of virtue as well\nas benevolence, and penetration as well as justice. Nay, we find, that\nall moralists, whose judgment is not perverted by a strict adherence\nto a system, enter into the same way of thinking; and that the antient\nmoralists in particular made no scruple of placing prudence at the head\nof the cardinal virtues. There is a sentiment of esteem and approbation,\nwhich may be excited, in some degree, by any faculty of the mind, in its\nperfect state and condition; and to account for this sentiment is the\nbusiness of Philosophers. It belongs to Grammarians to examine what\nqualities are entitled to the denomination of virtue; nor will they\nfind, upon trial, that this is so easy a task, as at first sight they\nmay be apt to imagine.\n\nThe principal reason why natural abilities are esteemed, is because of\ntheir tendency to be useful to the person, who is possessed of them.\nIt is impossible to execute any design with success, where it is not\nconducted with prudence and discretion; nor will the goodness of our\nintentions alone suffice to procure us a happy issue to our enterprizes.\nMen are superior to beasts principally by the superiority of their\nreason; and they are the degrees of the same faculty, which set such an\ninfinite difference betwixt one man and another. All the advantages of\nart are owing to human reason; and where fortune is not very capricious,\nthe most considerable part of these advantages must fall to the share of\nthe prudent and sagacious.\n\nWhen it is asked, whether a quick or a slow apprehension be most\nvaluable? whether one, that at first view penetrates into a subject, but\ncan perform nothing upon study; or a contrary character, which must\nwork out every thing by dint of application? whether a clear head, or\na copious invention? whether a profound genius, or a sure judgment? in\nshort, what character, or peculiar understanding, is more excellent than\nanother? It is evident we can answer none of these questions, without\nconsidering which of those qualities capacitates a man best for the\nworld, and carries him farthest in any of his undertakings.\n\nThere are many other qualities of the mind, whose merit is derived from\nthe same origin, industry, perseverance, patience, activity, vigilance,\napplication, constancy, with other virtues of that kind, which it will\nbe easy to recollect, are esteemed valuable upon no other account,\nthan their advantage in the conduct of life. It is the same case with\ntemperance, frugality, economy, resolution: As on the other hand,\nprodigality, luxury, irresolution, uncertainty, are vicious, merely\nbecause they draw ruin upon us, and incapacitate us for business and\naction.\n\nAs wisdom and good-sense are valued, because they are useful to the\nperson possessed of them; so wit and eloquence are valued, because they\nare immediately agreeable to others. On the other hand, good humour is\nloved and esteemed, because it is immediately agreeable to the person\nhimself. It is evident, that the conversation of a man of wit is very\nsatisfactory; as a chearful good-humoured companion diffuses a joy over\nthe whole company, from a sympathy with his gaiety. These qualities,\ntherefore, being agreeable, they naturally beget love and esteem, and\nanswer to all the characters of virtue.\n\nIt is difficult to tell, on many occasions, what it is that renders\none man's conversation so agreeable and entertaining, and another's so\ninsipid and distasteful. As conversation is a transcript of the mind as\nwell as books, the same qualities, which render the one valuable, must\ngive us an esteem for the other. This we shall consider afterwards. In\nthe mean time it may be affirmed in general, that all the merit a\nman may derive from his conversation (which, no doubt, may be very\nconsiderable) arises from nothing but the pleasure it conveys to those\nwho are present.\n\nIn this view, cleanliness is also to be regarded as a virtue; since it\nnaturally renders us agreeable to others, and is a very considerable\nsource of love and affection. No one will deny, that a negligence in\nthis particular is a fault; and as faults are nothing but smaller vices,\nand this fault can have no other origin than the uneasy sensation, which\nit excites in others, we may in this instance, seemingly so trivial,\ndearly discover the origin of the moral distinction of vice and virtue\nin other instances.\n\nBesides all those qualities, which render a person lovely or valuable,\nthere is also a certain JE-NE-SAIS-QUOI of agreeable and handsome, that\nconcurs to the same effect. In this case, as well as in that of wit and\neloquence, we must have recourse to a certain sense, which acts without\nreflection, and regards not the tendencies of qualities and characters.\nSome moralists account for all the sentiments of virtue by this sense.\nTheir hypothesis is very plausible. Nothing but a particular enquiry can\ngive the preference to any other hypothesis. When we find, that almost\nall the virtues have such particular tendencies; and also find, that\nthese tendencies are sufficient alone to give a strong sentiment of\napprobation: We cannot doubt, after this, that qualities are approved\nof, in proportion to the advantage, which results from them.\n\nThe decorum or indecorum of a quality, with regard to the age, or\ncharacter, or station, contributes also to its praise or blame. This\ndecorum depends, in a great measure, upon experience. It is usual to\nsee men lose their levity, as they advance in years. Such a degree\nof gravity, therefore, and such years, are connected together in our\nthoughts. When we observe them separated in any person's character, this\nimposes a kind of violence on our imagination, and is disagreeable.\n\nThat faculty of the soul, which, of all others, is of the least\nconsequence to the character, and has the least virtue or vice in its\nseveral degrees, at the same time, that it admits of a great variety of\ndegrees, is the memory. Unless it rise up to that stupendous height\nas to surprize us, or sink so low as, in some measure, to affect the\njudgment, we commonly take no notice of its variations, nor ever mention\nthem to the praise or dispraise of any person. It is so far from being a\nvirtue to have a good memory, that men generally affect to complain of\na bad one; and endeavouring to persuade the world, that what they say\nis entirely of their own invention, sacrifice it to the praise of genius\nand judgment. Yet to consider the matter abstractedly, it would be\ndifficult to give a reason, why the faculty of recalling past ideas with\ntruth and clearness, should not have as much merit in it, as the\nfaculty of placing our present ideas, in such an order, as to form true\npropositions and opinions. The reason of the difference certainly must\nbe, that the memory is exerted without any sensation of pleasure or\npain; and in all its middling degrees serves almost equally well in\nbusiness and affairs. But the least variations in the judgment are\nsensibly felt in their consequences; while at the same time that faculty\nis never exerted in any eminent degree, without an extraordinary delight\nand satisfaction. The sympathy with this utility and pleasure bestows a\nmerit on the understanding; and the absence of it makes us consider the\nmemory as a faculty very indifferent to blame or praise.\n\nBefore I leave this subject of natural abilities, I must observe, that,\nperhaps, one source of the esteem and affection, which attends them, is\nderived from the importance and weight, which they bestow on the person\npossessed of them. He becomes of greater consequence in life. His\nresolutions and actions affect a greater number of his fellow-creatures.\nBoth his friendship and enmity are of moment. And it is easy to observe,\nthat whoever is elevated, after this manner, above the rest of mankind,\nmust excite in us the sentiments of esteem and approbation. Whatever is\nimportant engages our attention, fixes our thought, and is contemplated\nwith satisfaction. The histories of kingdoms are more interesting than\ndomestic stories: The histories of great empires more than those\nof small cities and principalities: And the histories of wars and\nrevolutions more than those of peace and order. We sympathize with the\npersons that suffer, in all the various sentiments which belong to their\nfortunes. The mind is occupied by the multitude of the objects, and by\nthe strong passions, that display themselves. And this occupation or\nagitation of the mind is commonly agreeable and amusing. The same theory\naccounts for the esteem and regard we pay to men of extraordinary parts\nand abilities. The good and ill of multitudes are connected with their\nactions. Whatever they undertake is important, and challenges our\nattention. Nothing is to be over-looked and despised, that regards them.\nAnd where any person can excite these sentiments, he soon acquires our\nesteem; unless other circumstances of his character render him odious\nand disagreeable.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. V SOME FARTHER REFLECTIONS CONCERNING THE NATURAL VIRTUES\n\n\nIt has been observed, in treating of the passions, that pride\nand humility, love and hatred, are excited by any advantages or\ndisadvantages of the mind, body, or fortune; and that these advantages\nor disadvantages have that effect by producing a separate impression of\npain or pleasure. The pain or pleasure, which arises from the general\nsurvey or view of any action or quality of the mind, constitutes its\nvice or virtue, and gives rise to our approbation or blame, which is\nnothing but a fainter and more imperceptible love or hatred. We have\nassigned four different sources of this pain and pleasure; and in order\nto justify more fully that hypothesis, it may here be proper to observe,\nthat the advantages or disadvantages of the body and of fortune, produce\na pain or pleasure from the very same principles. The tendency of any\nobject to be useful to the person possessed of it, or to others; to\nconvey pleasure to him or to others; all these circumstances convey an\nimmediate pleasure to the person, who considers the object, and command\nhis love and approbation.\n\nTo begin with the advantages of the body; we may observe a ph\u00e6nomenon,\nwhich might appear somewhat trivial and ludicrous, if any thing could be\ntrivial, which fortified a conclusion of such importance, or ludicrous,\nwhich was employed in a philosophical reasoning. It is a general\nremark, that those we call good women's men, who have either signalized\nthemselves by their amorous exploits, or whose make of body promises any\nextraordinary vigour of that kind, are well received by the fair sex,\nand naturally engage the affections even of those, whose virtue prevents\nany design of ever giving employment to those talents. Here it is\nevident, that the ability of such a person to give enjoyment, is the\nreal source of that love and esteem he meets with among the females; at\nthe same time that the women, who love and esteem him, have no prospect\nof receiving that enjoyment themselves, and can only be affected by\nmeans of their sympathy with one, that has a commerce of love with him.\nThis instance is singular, and merits our attention.\n\nAnother source of the pleasure we receive from considering bodily\nadvantages, is their utility to the person himself, who is possessed of\nthem. It is certain, that a considerable part of the beauty of men, as\nwell as of other animals, consists in such a conformation of members, as\nwe find by experience to be attended with strength and agility, and to\ncapacitate the creature for any action or exercise. Broad shoulders,\na lank belly, firm joints, taper legs; all these are beautiful in\nour species because they are signs of force and vigour, which being\nadvantages we naturally sympathize with, they convey to the beholder a\nshare of that satisfaction they produce in the possessor.\n\nSo far as to the utility, which may attend any quality of the body. As\nto the immediate pleasure, it is certain, that an air of health, as well\nas of strength and agility, makes a considerable part of beauty; and\nthat a sickly air in another is always disagreeable, upon account of\nthat idea of pain and uneasiness, which it conveys to us. On the other\nhand, we are pleased with the regularity of our own features, though\nit be neither useful to ourselves nor others; and it is necessary at a\ndistance, to make it convey to us any satisfaction. We commonly consider\nourselves as we appear in the eyes of others, and sympathize with the\nadvantageous sentiments they entertain with regard to us.\n\nHow far the advantages of fortune produce esteem and approbation from\nthe same principles, we may satisfy ourselves by reflecting on our\nprecedent reasoning on that subject. We have observed, that our\napprobation of those, who are possessed of the advantages of fortune,\nmay be ascribed to three different causes. First, To that immediate\npleasure, which a rich man gives us, by the view of the beautiful\ncloaths, equipage, gardens, or houses, which he possesses. Secondly,\nTo the advantage, which we hope to reap from him by his generosity and\nliberality. Thirdly, To the pleasure and advantage, which he himself\nreaps from his possessions, and which produce an agreeable sympathy in\nus. Whether we ascribe our esteem of the rich and great to one or all of\nthese causes, we may clearly see the traces of those principles, which\ngive rise to the sense of vice and virtue. I believe most people, at\nfirst sight, will be inclined to ascribe our esteem of the rich to\nself-interest, and the prospect of advantage. But as it is certain,\nthat our esteem or deference extends beyond any prospect of advantage\nto ourselves, it is evident, that that sentiment must proceed from\na sympathy with those, who are dependent on the person we esteem and\nrespect, and who have an immediate connexion with him. We consider him\nas a person capable of contributing to the happiness or enjoyment of\nhis fellow-creatures, whose sentiments, with regard to him, we naturally\nembrace. And this consideration will serve to justify my hypothesis\nin preferring the third principle to the other two, and ascribing our\nesteem of the rich to a sympathy with the pleasure and advantage, which\nthey themselves receive from their possessions. For as even the other\ntwo principles cannot operate to a due extent, or account for all the\nphaenomena, without having recourse to a sympathy of one kind or other;\nit is much more natural to chuse that sympathy, which is immediate and\ndirect, than that which is remote and indirect. To which we may add,\nthat where the riches or power are very great, and render the person\nconsiderable and important in the world, the esteem attending them, may,\nin part, be ascribed to another source, distinct from these three,\nviz. their interesting the mind by a prospect of the multitude, and\nimportance of their consequences: Though, in order to account for the\noperation of this principle, we must also have recourse to sympathy; as\nwe have observed in the preceding section.\n\nIt may not be amiss, on this occasion, to remark the flexibility of our\nsentiments, and the several changes they so readily receive from\nthe objects, with which they are conjoined. All the sentiments of\napprobation, which attend any particular species of objects, have a\ngreat resemblance to each other, though derived from different sources;\nand, on the other hand, those sentiments, when directed to different\nobjects, are different to the feeling, though derived from the same\nsource. Thus the beauty of all visible objects causes a pleasure pretty\nmuch the same, though it be sometimes derived from the mere species and\nappearance of the objects; sometimes from sympathy, and an idea of their\nutility. In like manner, whenever we survey the actions and characters\nof men, without any particular interest in them, the pleasure, or pain,\nwhich arises from the survey (with some minute differences) is, in the\nmain, of the same kind, though perhaps there be a great diversity in the\ncauses, from which it is derived. On the other hand, a convenient house,\nand a virtuous character, cause not the same feeling of approbation;\neven though the source of our approbation be the same, and flow\nfrom sympathy and an idea of their utility. There is something very\ninexplicable in this variation of our feelings; but it is what we have\nexperience of with regard to all our passions and sentiments.\n\n\n\n\nSECT. VI CONCLUSION OF THIS BOOK\n\n\nThus upon the whole I am hopeful, that nothing is wanting to an accurate\nproof of this system of ethics. We are certain, that sympathy is a very\npowerful principle in human nature. We are also certain, that it has a\ngreat influence on our sense of beauty, when we regard external\nobjects, as well as when we judge of morals. We find, that it has force\nsufficient to give us the strongest sentiments of approbation, when it\noperates alone, without the concurrence of any other principle; as in\nthe cases of justice, allegiance, chastity, and good-manners. We may\nobserve, that all the circumstances requisite for its operation are\nfound in most of the virtues; which have, for the most part, a tendency\nto the good of society, or to that of the person possessed of them. If\nwe compare all these circumstances, we shall not doubt, that sympathy is\nthe chief source of moral distinctions; especially when we reflect, that\nno objection can be raised against this hypothesis in one case, which\nwill not extend to all cases. Justice is certainly approved of for no\nother reason, than because it has a tendency to the public good: And the\npublic good is indifferent to us, except so far as sympathy interests\nus in it. We may presume the like with regard to all the other virtues,\nwhich have a like tendency to the public good. They must derive all\ntheir merit from our sympathy with those, who reap any advantage from\nthem: As the virtues, which have a tendency to the good of the person\npossessed of them, derive their merit from our sympathy with him.\n\nMost people will readily allow, that the useful qualities of the mind\nare virtuous, because of their utility. This way of thinking is so\nnatural, and occurs on so many occasions, that few will make any scruple\nof admitting it. Now this being once admitted, the force of sympathy\nmust necessarily be acknowledged. Virtue is considered as means to an\nend. Means to an end are only valued so far as the end is valued.\nBut the happiness of strangers affects us by sympathy alone. To that\nprinciple, therefore, we are to ascribe the sentiment of approbation,\nwhich arises from the survey of all those virtues, that are useful\nto society, or to the person possessed of them. These form the most\nconsiderable part of morality.\n\nWere it proper in such a subject to bribe the reader's assent, or employ\nany thing but solid argument, we are here abundantly supplied with\ntopics to engage the affections. All lovers of virtue (and such we\nall are in speculation, however we may degenerate in practice) must\ncertainly be pleased to see moral distinctions derived from so noble a\nsource, which gives us a just notion both of the generosity and capacity\nof human nature. It requires but very little knowledge of human affairs\nto perceive, that a sense of morals is a principle inherent in the soul,\nand one of the most powerful that enters into the composition. But this\nsense must certainly acquire new force, when reflecting on itself,\nit approves of those principles, from whence it is derived, and finds\nnothing but what is great and good in its rise and origin. Those who\nresolve the sense of morals into original instincts of the human mind,\nmay defend the cause of virtue with sufficient authority; but want\nthe advantage, which those possess, who account for that sense by an\nextensive sympathy with mankind. According to their system, not only\nvirtue must be approved of, but also the sense of virtue: And not only\nthat sense, but also the principles, from whence it is derived. So that\nnothing is presented on any side, but what is laudable and good.\n\nThis observation may be extended to justice, and the other virtues of\nthat kind. Though justice be artificial, the sense of its morality is\nnatural. It is the combination of men, in a system of conduct, which\nrenders any act of justice beneficial to society. But when once it has\nthat tendency, we naturally approve of it; and if we did not so, it\nis impossible any combination or convention could ever produce that\nsentiment.\n\nMost of the inventions of men are subject to change. They depend upon\nhumour and caprice. They have a vogue for a time, and then sink into\noblivion. It may, perhaps, be apprehended, that if justice were allowed\nto be a human invention, it must be placed on the same footing. But the\ncases are widely different. The interest, on which justice is founded,\nis the greatest imaginable, and extends to all times and places. It\ncannot possibly be served by any other invention. It is obvious, and\ndiscovers itself on the very first formation of society. All these\ncauses render the rules of justice stedfast and immutable; at least,\nas immutable as human nature. And if they were founded on original\ninstincts, could they have any greater stability?\n\nThe same system may help us to form a just notion of the happiness, as\nwell as of the dignity of virtue, and may interest every principle\nof our nature in the embracing and cherishing that noble quality.\nWho indeed does not feel an accession of alacrity in his pursuits of\nknowledge and ability of every kind, when he considers, that besides the\nadvantage, which immediately result from these acquisitions, they\nalso give him a new lustre in the eyes of mankind, and are universally\nattended with esteem and approbation? And who can think any advantages\nof fortune a sufficient compensation for the least breach of the social\nvirtues, when he considers, that not only his character with regard to\nothers, but also his peace and inward satisfaction entirely depend upon\nhis strict observance of them; and that a mind will never be able to\nbear its own survey, that has been wanting in its part to mankind and\nsociety? But I forbear insisting on this subject. Such reflections\nrequire a work apart, very different from the genius of the present.\nThe anatomist ought never to emulate the painter; nor in his accurate\ndissections and portraitures of the smaller parts of the human body,\npretend to give his figures any graceful and engaging attitude or\nexpression. There is even something hideous, or at least minute in the\nviews of things, which he presents; and it is necessary the objects\nshould be set more at a distance, and be more covered up from sight, to\nmake them engaging to the eye and imagination. An anatomist, however,\nis admirably fitted to give advice to a painter; and it is even\nimpracticable to excel in the latter art, without the assistance of the\nformer. We must have an exact knowledge of the parts, their situation\nand connexion, before we can design with any elegance or correctness.\nAnd thus the most abstract speculations concerning human nature, however\ncold and unentertaining, become subservient to practical morality; and\nmay render this latter science more correct in its precepts, and more\npersuasive in its exhortations.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX\n\n\nThere is nothing I would more willingly lay hold of, than an opportunity\nof confessing my errors; and should esteem such a return to truth and\nreason to be more honourable than the most unerring judgment. A man,\nwho is free from mistakes, can pretend to no praises, except from the\njustness of his understanding: But a man, who corrects his mistakes,\nshews at once the justness of his understanding, and the candour and\ningenuity of his temper. I have not yet been so fortunate as to discover\nany very considerable mistakes in the reasonings delivered in\nthe preceding volumes, except on one article: But I have found by\nexperience, that some of my expressions have not been so well chosen,\nas to guard against all mistakes in the readers; and it is chiefly to\nremedy this defect, I have subjoined the following appendix.\n\nWe can never be induced to believe any matter of fact, except where its\ncause, or its effect, is present to us; but what the nature is of that\nbelief, which arises from the relation of cause and effect, few have\nhad the curiosity to ask themselves. In my opinion, this dilemma is\ninevitable. Either the belief is some new idea, such as that of reality\nor existence, which we join to the simple conception of an object, or\nit is merely a peculiar feeling or sentiment. That it is not a new\nidea, annexed to the simple conception, may be evinced from these two\narguments. First, We have no abstract idea of existence, distinguishable\nand separable from the idea of particular objects. It is impossible,\ntherefore, that this idea of existence can be annexed to the idea of any\nobject, or form the difference betwixt a simple conception and belief.\nSecondly, The mind has the command over all its ideas, and can separate,\nunite, mix, and vary them, as it pleases; so that if belief consisted\nmerely in a new idea, annexed to the conception, it would be in a man's\npower to believe what he pleased. We may, therefore, conclude, that\nbelief consists merely in a certain feeling or sentiment; in something,\nthat depends not on the will, but must arise from certain determinate\ncauses and principles, of which we are not masters. When we are\nconvinced of any matter of fact, we do nothing but conceive it, along\nwith a certain feeling, different from what attends the mere reveries\nof the imagination. And when we express our incredulity concerning any\nfact, we mean, that the arguments for the fact produce not that feeling.\nDid not the belief consist in a sentiment different from our mere\nconception, whatever objects were presented by the wildest imagination,\nwould be on an equal footing with the most established truths founded on\nhistory and experience. There is nothing but the feeling, or sentiment,\nto distinguish the one from the other.\n\nThis, therefore, being regarded as an undoubted truth, that belief is\nnothing but a peculiar feeling, different from the simple conception,\nthe next question, that naturally occurs, is, what is the nature of\nthis feeling, or sentiment, and whether it be analogous to any other\nsentiment of the human mind? This question is important. For if it be\nnot analogous to any other sentiment, we must despair of explaining its\ncauses, and must consider it as an original principle of the human mind.\nIf it be analogous, we may hope to explain its causes from analogy,\nand trace it up to more general principles. Now that there is a greater\nfirmness and solidity in the conceptions, which are the objects of\nconviction and assurance, than in the loose and indolent reveries of\na castle-builder, every one will readily own. They strike upon us with\nmore force; they are more present to us; the mind has a firmer hold of\nthem, and is more actuated and moved by them. It acquiesces in them;\nand, in a manner, fixes and reposes itself on them. In short, they\napproach nearer to the impressions, which are immediately present to us;\nand are therefore analogous to many other operations of the mind.\n\nThere is not, in my opinion, any possibility of evading this conclusion,\nbut by asserting, that belief, beside the simple conception, consists in\nsome impression or feeling, distinguishable from the conception. It does\nnot modify the conception, and render it more present and intense: It\nis only annexed to it, after the same manner that will and desire\nare annexed to particular conceptions of good and pleasure. But the\nfollowing considerations will, I hope, be sufficient to remove this\nhypothesis. First, It is directly contrary to experience, and our\nimmediate consciousness. All men have ever allowed reasoning to be\nmerely an operation of our thoughts or ideas; and however those ideas\nmay be varied to the feeling, there is nothing ever enters into our\nconclusions but ideas, or our fainter conceptions. For instance; I hear\nat present a person's voice, whom I am acquainted with; and this sound\ncomes from the next room. This impression of my senses immediately\nconveys my thoughts to the person, along with all the surrounding\nobjects. I paint them out to myself as existent at present, with the\nsame qualities and relations, that I formerly knew them possessed of.\nThese ideas take faster hold of my mind, than the ideas of an inchanted\ncastle. They are different to the feeling; but there is no distinct or\nseparate impression attending them. It is the same case when I recollect\nthe several incidents of a journey, or the events of any history. Every\nparticular fact is there the object of belief. Its idea is modified\ndifferently from the loose reveries of a castle-builder: But no distinct\nimpression attends every distinct idea, or conception of matter of fact.\nThis is the subject of plain experience. If ever this experience can\nbe disputed on any occasion, it is when the mind has been agitated with\ndoubts and difficulties; and afterwards, upon taking the object in a new\npoint of view, or being presented with a new argument, fixes and reposes\nitself in one settled conclusion and belief. In this case there is a\nfeeling distinct and separate from the conception. The passage from\ndoubt and agitation to tranquility and repose, conveys a satisfaction\nand pleasure to the mind. But take any other case. Suppose I see the\nlegs and thighs of a person in motion, while some interposed object\nconceals the rest of his body. Here it is certain, the imagination\nspreads out the whole figure. I give him a head and shoulders, and\nbreast and neck. These members I conceive and believe him to be\npossessed of. Nothing can be more evident, than that this whole\noperation is performed by the thought or imagination alone. The\ntransition is immediate. The ideas presently strike us. Their customary\nconnexion with the present impression, varies them and modifies them in\na certain manner, but produces no act of the mind, distinct from this\npeculiarity of conception. Let any one examine his own mind, and he will\nevidently find this to be the truth.\n\nSecondly, Whatever may be the case, with regard to this distinct\nimpression, it must be allowed, that the mind has a firmer hold, or\nmore steady conception of what it takes to be matter of fact, than of\nfictions. Why then look any farther, or multiply suppositions without\nnecessity?\n\nThirdly, We can explain the causes of the firm conception, but not those\nof any separate impression. And not only so, but the causes of the firm\nconception exhaust the whole subject, and nothing is left to produce any\nother effect. An inference concerning a matter of fact is nothing but\nthe idea of an object, that is frequently conjoined, or is associated\nwith a present impression. This is the whole of it. Every part is\nrequisite to explain, from analogy, the more steady conception; and\nnothing remains capable of producing any distinct impression.\n\nFourthly, The effects of belief, in influencing the passions and\nimagination, can all be explained from the firm conception; and there\nis no occasion to have recourse to any other principle. These arguments,\nwith many others, enumerated in the foregoing volumes, sufficiently\nprove, that belief only modifies the idea or conception; and renders\nit different to the feeling, without producing any distinct impression.\nThus upon a general view of the subject, there appear to be two\nquestions of importance, which we may venture to recommend to the\nconsideration of philosophers, Whether there be any thing to distinguish\nbelief from the simple conception beside the feeling of sentiment? And,\nWhether this feeling be any thing but a firmer conception, or a faster\nhold, that we take of the object?\n\nIf, upon impartial enquiry, the same conclusion, that I have formed,\nbe assented to by philosophers, the next business is to examine the\nanalogy, which there is betwixt belief, and other acts of the mind, and\nfind the cause of the firmness and strength of conception: And this I do\nnot esteem a difficult task. The transition from a present impression,\nalways enlivens and strengthens any idea. When any object is presented,\nthe idea of its usual attendant immediately strikes us, as something\nreal and solid. It is felt, rather than conceived, and approaches the\nimpression, from which it is derived, in its force and influence. This I\nhave proved at large. I cannot add any new arguments.\n\nI had entertained some hopes, that however deficient our theory of the\nintellectual world might be, it would be free from those contradictions,\nand absurdities, which seem to attend every explication, that human\nreason can give of the material world. But upon a more strict review of\nthe section concerning personal identity, I find myself involved in\nsuch a labyrinth, that, I must confess, I neither know how to correct\nmy former opinions, nor how to render them consistent. If this be not a\ngood general reason for scepticism, it is at least a sufficient one (if\nI were not already abundantly supplied) for me to entertain a diffidence\nand modesty in all my decisions. I shall propose the arguments on both\nsides, beginning with those that induced me to deny the strict and\nproper identity and simplicity of a self or thinking being.\n\nWhen we talk of self or substance, we must have an idea annexed to\nthese terms, otherwise they are altogether unintelligible. Every idea is\nderived from preceding impressions; and we have no impression of self\nor substance, as something simple and individual. We have, therefore, no\nidea of them in that sense.\n\nWhatever is distinct, is distinguishable; and whatever is\ndistinguishable, is separable by the thought or imagination. All\nperceptions are distinct. They are, therefore, distinguishable, and\nseparable, and may be conceived as separately existent, and may exist\nseparately, without any contradiction or absurdity.\n\nWhen I view this table and that chimney, nothing is present to me but\nparticular perceptions, which are of a like nature with all the other\nperceptions. This is the doctrine of philosophers. But this table, which\nis present to me, and the chimney, may and do exist separately. This is\nthe doctrine of the vulgar, and implies no contradiction. There is no\ncontradiction, therefore, in extending the same doctrine to all the\nperceptions.\n\nIn general, the following reasoning seems satisfactory. All ideas are\nborrowed from preceding perceptions. Our ideas of objects, therefore,\nare derived from that source. Consequently no proposition can be\nintelligible or consistent with regard to objects, which is not so with\nregard to perceptions. But it is intelligible and consistent to say,\nthat objects exist distinct and independent, without any common simple\nsubstance or subject of inhesion. This proposition, therefore, can never\nbe absurd with regard to perceptions.\n\nWhen I turn my reflection on myself, I never can perceive this self\nwithout some one or more perceptions; nor can I ever perceive any thing\nbut the perceptions. It is the composition of these, therefore, which\nforms the self. We can conceive a thinking being to have either many or\nfew perceptions. Suppose the mind to be reduced even below the life\nof an oyster. Suppose it to have only one perception, as of thirst or\nhunger. Consider it in that situation. Do you conceive any thing but\nmerely that perception? Have you any notion of self or substance? If\nnot, the addition of other perceptions can never give you that notion.\n\nThe annihilation, which some people suppose to follow upon death, and\nwhich entirely destroys this self, is nothing but an extinction of all\nparticular perceptions; love and hatred, pain and pleasure, thought and\nsensation. These therefore must be the same with self; since the one\ncannot survive the other.\n\nIs self the same with substance? If it be, how can that question have\nplace, concerning the subsistence of self, under a change of substance?\nIf they be distinct, what is the difference betwixt them? For my part,\nI have a notion of neither, when conceived distinct from particular\nperceptions.\n\nPhilosophers begin to be reconciled to the principle, that we have\nno idea of external substance, distinct from the ideas of particular\nqualities. This must pave the way for a like principle with regard to\nthe mind, that we have no notion of it, distinct from the particular\nperceptions.\n\nSo far I seem to be attended with sufficient evidence. But having thus\nloosened all our particular perceptions, when I proceed to explain\nthe principle of connexion, which binds them together, and makes us\nattribute to them a real simplicity and identity; I am sensible, that my\naccount is very defective, and that nothing but the seeming evidence\nof the precedent reasonings could have induced me to receive it. If\nperceptions are distinct existences, they form a whole only by being\nconnected together. But no connexions among distinct existences are\never discoverable by human understanding. We only feel a connexion or\ndetermination of the thought, to pass from one object to another. It\nfollows, therefore, that the thought alone finds personal identity, when\nreflecting on the train of past perceptions, that compose a mind, the\nideas of them are felt to be connected together, and naturally introduce\neach other. However extraordinary this conclusion may seem, it need not\nsurprize us. Most philosophers seem inclined to think, that personal\nidentity arises from consciousness; and consciousness is nothing but a\nreflected thought or perception. The present philosophy, therefore,\nhas so far a promising aspect. But all my hopes vanish, when I come to\nexplain the principles, that unite our successive perceptions in our\nthought or consciousness. I cannot discover any theory, which gives me\nsatisfaction on this head.\n\nIn short there are two principles, which I cannot render consistent; nor\nis it in my power to renounce either of them, viz, that all our distinct\nperceptions are distinct existences, and that the mind never perceives\nany real connexion among distinct existences. Did our perceptions either\ninhere in something simple and individual, or did the mind perceive some\nreal connexion among them, there would be no difficulty in the case. For\nmy part, I must plead the privilege of a sceptic, and confess, that this\ndifficulty is too hard for my understanding. I pretend not, however, to\npronounce it absolutely insuperable. Others, perhaps, or myself,\nupon more mature reflections, may discover some hypothesis, that will\nreconcile those contradictions.\n\nI shall also take this opportunity of confessing two other errors of\nless importance, which more mature reflection has discovered to me in my\nreasoning. The first may be found in Vol. I. page 106. where I say, that\nthe distance betwixt two bodies is known, among other things, by the\nangles, which the rays of light flowing from the bodies make with each\nother. It is certain, that these angles are not known to the mind, and\nconsequently can never discover the distance. The second error may be\nfound in Vol. I. page 144 where I say, that two ideas of the same object\ncan only be different by their different degrees of force and vivacity.\nI believe there are other differences among ideas, which cannot properly\nbe comprehended under these terms. Had I said, that two ideas of the\nsame object can only be different by their different feeling, I should\nhave been nearer the truth.","title":"A Treatise of Human Nature","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":225756}