AnEnquiryConcerningHumanUnderstanding

The Internet Wiretap online edition of

AN ENQUIRY CONCERNING

HUMAN UNDERSTANDING

by

DAVID HUME

Harvard Classics Volume 37

Copyright 1910 P.F. Collier & Son

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SECTION I

OF THE DIFFERENT SPECIES OF PHILOSOPHY.

MORAL philosophy, or the science of human nature,

may be treated after two different manners; each

of which has its peculiar merit, and may contribute

to the entertainment, instruction, and reformation of man-

kind. The one considers man chiefly as born for action;

and as influenced in his measures by taste and sentiment;

pursuing one object, and avoiding another, according to

the value which these objects seem to possess, and accord-

ing to the light in which they present themselves. As vir-

tue, of all objects, is allowed to be the most valuable, this

species of philosophers paint her in the most amiable

colours; borrowing all helps from poetry and eloquence, and

treating their subject in an easy and obvious manner, and

such as is best fitted to please the imagination, and engage

the affections. They select the most striking observations

and instances from common life; place opposite characters

in a proper contrast; and alluring us into the paths of virtue

by the views of glory and happiness, direct our steps in

these paths by the soundest precepts and most illustrious

examples. They make us feel the difference between vice

and virtue; they excite and regulate our sentiments; and

so they can but bend our hearts to the love of probity and

true honour, they think, that they have fully attained the

end of all their labours.

The other species of philosophers consider man in the

light of a reasonable rather than an active being, and

endeavour to form his understanding more than cultivate

his manners. They regard human nature as a subject of

speculation; and with a narrow scrutiny examine it, in

order to find those principles, which regulate our under-

standing, excite our sentiments, and make us approve or

blame any particular object, action, or behaviour. They

think it a reproach to all literature, that philosophy should

not yet have fixed, beyond controversy, the foundation of

morals, reasoning, and criticism; and should for ever talk

of truth and falsehood, vice and virtue, beauty and de-

formity, without being able to determine the source of

these distinctions. While they attempt this arduous task,

they are deterred by no difficulties; but proceeding from

particular instances to general principles, they still push on

their enquiries to principles more general, and rest not

satisfied till they arrive at those original principles, by

which, in every science, all human curiosity must be

bounded. Though their speculations seem abstract, and

even unintelligible to common readers, they aim at the

approbation of the learned and the wise; and think them-

selves sufficiently compensated for the labour of their whole

lives, if they can discover some hidden truths, which may

contribute to the instruction of posterity.

It is certain that the easy and obvious philosophy will

always, with the generality of mankind, have the preference

above the accurate and abstruse; and by many will be

recommended, not only as more agreeable, but more useful

than the other. It enters more into common life; moulds

the heart and affections; and, by touching those principles

which actuate men, reforms their conduct, and brings them

nearer to that model of perfection which it describes. On

the contrary, the abstruse philosophy, being founded on a

turn of mind, which cannot enter into business and action,

vanishes when the philosopher leaves the shade, and comes

into open day; nor can its principles easily retain any in-

fluence over our conduct and behaviour. The feelings of

our heart, the agitation of our passions, the vehemence of

our affections, dissipate all its conclusions, and reduce the

profound philosopher to a mere plebeian.

This also must be confessed, that the most durable,

as well as justest fame, has been acquired by the easy

philosophy, and that abstract reasoners seem hitherto to

have enjoyed only a momentary reputation, from the caprice

or ignorance of their own age, but have not been able

to support their renown with more equitable posterity. It

is easy for a profound philosopher to commit a mistake

in his subtile reasonings; and one mistake is the necessary

parent of another, while he pushes on his consequences,

and is not deterred from embracing any conclusion, by

its unusual appearance, or its contradiction to popular

opinion. But a philosopher, who purposes only to represent

the common sense of mankind in more beautiful and more

engaging colours, if by accident he falls into error, goes no

farther; but renewing his appeal to common sense, and the

natural sentiments of the mind, returns into the right path,

and secures himself from any dangerous illusions. The

fame of Cicero flourishes at present; but that of Aristotle

is utterly decayed. La Bruyere passes the seas, and still

maintains his reputation: but the glory of Malebranche

is confined to his own nation, and to his own age. And

Addison, perhaps, will be read with pleasure, when Locke

shall be entirely forgotten.

The mere philosopher is a character, which is commonly

but little acceptable in the world, as being supposed to

contribute nothing either to the advantage or pleasure

of society; while he lives remote from communication with

mankind, and is wrapped up in principles and notions equally

remote from their comprehension. On the other hand,

the mere ignorant is still more despised; nor is any thing

deemed a surer sign of an illiberal genius in an age and

nation where the sciences flourish, than to be entirely

destitute of all relish for those noble entertainments. The

most perfect character is supposed to lie between those

extremes; retaining an equal ability and taste for books,

company, and business; preserving in conversation that

discernment and delicacy which arise from polite letters;

and in business, that probity and accuracy which are

the natural result of a just philosophy. In order to diffuse

and cultivate so accomplished a character, nothing can be

more useful than compositions of the easy style and manner,

which draw not too much from life, require no deep appli-

cation or retreat to be comprehended, and send back the

student among mankind full of noble sentiments and wise

precepts, applicable to every exigence of human life. By

means of such compositions, virtue becomes amiable,

science agreeable, company instructive, and retirement en-

tertaining.

Man is a reasonable being; and as such, receives from

science his proper food and nourishment: But so narrow

are the bounds of human understanding, that little satisfac-

tion can be hoped for in this particular, either from the

extent of security or his acquisitions. Man is a sociable, no

less than a reasonable being: but neither can he always

enjoy company agreeable and amusing, or preserve the

proper relish for them. Man is also an active being; and

from that disposition, as well as from the various necessities

of human life, must submit to business and occupation:

but the mind requires some relaxation, and cannot always

support its bent to care and industry. It seems, then, that

nature has pointed out a mixed kind of life as most suitable

to the human race, and secretly admonished them to allow

none of these biases to draw too much, so as to incapacitate

them for other occupations and entertainments. Indulge

your passion for science, says she, but let your science be

human, and such as may have a direct reference to action

and society. Abstruse thought and profound researches I

prohibit, and will severely punish, by the pensive melancholy

which they introduce, by the endless uncertainty in which

they involve you, and by the cold reception which your

pretended discoveries shall meet with, when communicated.

Be a philosopher; but, amidst all your philosophy, be still

a man.

Were the generality of mankind contented to prefer the

easy philosophy to the abstract and profound, without

throwing any blame or contempt on the latter, it might

not be improper, perhaps, to comply with this general

opinion, and allow every man to enjoy, without opposition,

his own taste and sentiment. But as the matter is often

carried farther, even to the absolute rejecting of all pro-

found reasonings, or what is commonly called metaphysics,

we shall now proceed to consider what can reasonably be

pleaded in their behalf.

We may begin with observing, that one considerable

advantage, which results from the accurate and abstract

philosophy, is, its subserviency to the easy and humane;

which, without the former, can never attain a sufficient

degree of exactness in its sentiments, precepts, or reasonings.

All polite letters are nothing but pictures of human life

in various attitudes and situations; and inspire us with

different sentiments, of praise or blame, admiration or ridi-

cule, according to the qualities of the object, which they set

before us. An artist must be better qualified to succeed in

this undertaking, who, besides a delicate taste and a quick

apprehension, possesses an accurate knowledge of the in-

ternal fabric, the operations of the understanding, the

workings of the passions, and the various species of senti-

ment which discriminate vice and virtue. How painful

soever this inward search or enquiry may appear, it becomes,

in some measure, requisite to those, who would describe

with success the obvious and outward appearances of life

and manners. The anatomist presents to the eye the most

hideous and disagreeable objects; but his science is useful

to the painter in delineating even a Venus or an Helen.

While the latter employs all the richest colours of his art,

and gives his figures the most graceful and engaging airs;

he must still carry his attention to the inward structure

of the human body, the position of the muscles, the fabric

of the bones, and the use and figure of every part or organ.

Accuracy is, in every case, advantageous to beauty, and just

reasoning to delicate sentiment. In vain would we exalt

the one by depreciating the other.

Besides, we may observe, in every art or profession, even

those which most concern life or action, that a spirit of

accuracy, however acquired, carries all of them nearer their

perfection, and renders them more subservient to the

interests of society. And though a philosopher may live

remote from business, the genius of philosophy, if carefully

cultivated by several, must gradually diffuse itself through-

out the whole society, and bestow a similar correctness on

every art and calling. The politician will acquire greater

foresight and subtility, in the subdividing and balancing

of power; the lawyer more method and finer principles

in his reasonings; and the general more regularity in his

discipline, and more caution in his plans and operations.

The stability of modern governments above the ancient,

and the accuracy of modern philosophy, have improved, and

probably will still improve, by similar gradations.

Were there no advantage to be reaped from these studies,

beyond the gratification of an innocent curiosity, yet ought

not even this to be despised; as being one accession to

those few safe and harmless pleasures, which are bestowed

on the human race. The sweetest and most inoffensive path

of life leads through the avenues of science and learning; and

whoever can either remove any obstructions in this way,

or open up any new prospect, ought so far to be esteemed

a benefactor to mankind. And though these researches

may appear painful and fatiguing, it is with some minds

as with some bodies, which being endowed with vigorous

and florid health, require severe exercise, and reap a pleasure

from what, to the generality of mankind, may seem burden-

some and laborious. Obscurity, indeed, is painful to the

mind as well as to the eye; but to bring light from

obscurity, by whatever labour, must needs be delightful and

rejoicing.

But this obscurity in the profound and abstract philos-

ophy, is objected to, not only as painful and fatiguing, but

as the inevitable source of uncertainty and error. Here in-

deed lies the justest and most plausible objection against

a considerable part of metaphysics, that they are not properly

a science; but arise either from the fruitless efforts of

human vanity, which would penetrate into subjects utterly

inaccessible to the understanding, or from the craft of pop-

ular superstitions, which, being unable to defend themselves

on fair ground, raise these intangling brambles to cover and

protect their weakness. Chased from the open country, these

robbers fly into the forest, and lie in wait to break in upon

every unguarded avenue of the mind, and overwhelm it

with religious fears and prejudices. The stoutest antagonist,

if he remit his watch a moment, is oppressed. And many,

through cowardice and folly, open the gates to the enemies,

and willingly receive them with reverence and submission,

as their legal sovereigns.

But is this a sufficient reason, why philosophers should

desist from such researches, and leave superstition still

in possession of her retreat? Is it not proper to draw an

opposite conclusion, and perceive the necessity of carrying

the war into the most secret recesses of the enemy? In

vain do we hope, that men, from frequent disappointment,

will at last abandon such airy sciences, and discover the

proper province of human reason. For, besides, that many

persons find too sensible an interest in perpetually recalling

such topics; besides this, I say, the motive of blind despair

can never reasonably have place in the sciences; since, how-

ever unsuccessful former attempts may have proved, there

is still room to hope, that the industry, good fortune, or

improved sagacity of succeeding generations may reach

discoveries unknown to former ages. Each adventurous

genius will still leap at the arduous prize, and find himself

stimulated, rather than discouraged, by the failures of his

predecessors; while he hopes that the glory of achieving

so hard an adventure is reserved for him alone. The only

method of freeing learning, at once, from these abstruse

questions, is to enquire seriously into the nature of human

understanding, and show, from an exact analysis of its

powers and capacity, that it is by no means fitted for

such remote and abstruse subjects. We must submit to

this fatigue in order to live at ease ever after: and must

cultivate true metaphysics with some care, in order to

destroy the false and adulterate. Indolence, which, to some

persons, affords a safeguard against this deceitful philos-

ophy, is, with others, overbalanced by curiosity; and de-

spair, which, at some moments, prevails, may give place after-

wards to sanguine hopes and expectations. Accurate and

just reasoning is the only catholic remedy, fitted for all

persons and all dispositions; and is alone able to subvert

that abstruse philosophy and metaphysical jargon, which

being mixed up with popular superstition, renders it in

a manner impenetrable to careless reasoners, and gives it

the air of science and wisdom.

Besides this advantage of rejecting, after deliberate en-

quiry, the most uncertain and disagreeable part of learning,

there are many positive advantages, which result from an

accurate scrutiny into the powers and faculties of human

nature. It is remarkable concerning the operations of the

mind, that, though most intimately present to us, yet,

whenever they become the object of reflexion, they seem

involved in obscurity; nor can the eye readily find those

lines and boundaries, which discriminate and distinguish

them. The objects are too fine to remain long in the same

aspect or situation; and must be apprehended in an in-

stant, by a superior penetration, derived from nature, and

improved by habit and reflexion. It becomes, therefore,

no inconsiderable part of science barely to know the different

operations of the mind, to separate them from each other, to

class them under their proper heads, and to correct all that

seeming disorder, in which they lie involved, when made

the object of reflexion and enquiry. This talk of ordering

and distinguishing, which has no merit, when performed

with regard to external bodies, the objects of our senses,

rises in its value, when directed towards the operations

of the mind, in proportion to the difficulty and labour,

which we meet with in performing it. And if we can go no

farther than this mental geography, or delineation of the

distinct parts and powers of the mind, it is at least a satis-

faction to go so far; and the more obvious this science

may appear (and it is by no means obvious) the more con-

temptible still must the ignorance of it be esteemed, in all

pretenders to learning and philosophy.

Nor can there remain any suspicion, that this science

is uncertain and chimerical; unless we should entertain

such a scepticism as is entirely subversive of all speculation,

and even action. It cannot be doubted, that the mind

is endowed with several powers and faculties, that these

powers are distinct from each other, that what is really

distinct to the immediate perception may be distinguished

by reflexion; and consequently, that there is a truth and

falsehood in all propositions on this subject, and a truth

and falsehood, which lie not beyond the compass of human

understanding. There are many obvious distinctions of

this kind, such as those between the will and understanding,

the imagination and passions, which fall within the com-

prehension of every human creature; and the finer and

more philosophical distinctions are no less real and certain,

though more difficult to be comprehended. Some instances,

especially late ones, of success in these enquiries, may give

us a juster notion of the certainty and solidity of this branch

of learning. And shall we esteem it worthy the labour of

a philosopher to give us a true system of the planets, and

adjust the position and order of those remote bodies;

while we affect to overlook those, who, with so much

success, delineate the parts of the mind, in which we are so

intimately concerned?

But may we not hope, that philosophy, cultivated with

care, and encouraged by the attention of the public, may

carry its researches still farther, and discover, at least in

some degree, the secret springs and principles, by which the

human mind is actuated in its operations? Astronomers

had long contented themselves with proving, from the

phaenomena, the true motions, order, and magnitude of

the heavenly bodies: till a philosopher, at last, arose,

who seems, from the happiest reasoning, to have also deter-

mined the laws and forces, by which the revolutions of the

planets are governed and directed. The like has been

performed with regard to other parts of nature. And there

is no reason to despair of equal success in our enquiries

concerning the mental powers and economy, if prosecuted

with equal capacity and caution. It is probable, that one

operation and principle of the mind depends on another;

which, again, may be resolved into one more general and

universal: and how far these researches may possibly

be carried, it will be difficult for us, before, or even after,

a careful trial, exactly to determine. This is certain, that

attempts of this kind are every day made even by those

who philosophize the most negligently: and nothing can

be more requisite than to enter upon the enterprize with

thorough care and attention; that, if it lie within the

compass of human understanding, it may at last be happily

achieved; if not, it may, however, be rejected with some

confidence and security. This last conclusion, surely, is not

desirable; nor ought it to be embraced too rashly. For how

much must we diminish from the beauty and value of this

species of philosophy, upon such a supposition? Moralists

have hitherto been accustomed, when they considered the

vast multitude and diversity of those actions that excite

our approbation or dislike, to search for some common

principle, on which this variety of sentiments might depend.

And though they have sometimes carried the matter too far,

by their passion for some one general principle; it must,

however, be confessed, that they are excusable in expecting

to find some general principles, into which all the vices

and virtues were justly to be resolved. The like has been

the endeavour of critics, logicians, and even politicians:

nor have their attempts been wholly unsuccessful; though

perhaps longer time, greater accuracy, and more ardent

application may bring these sciences still nearer their per-

fection. To throw up at once all pretensions of this kind

may justly be deemed more rash, precipitate, and dogmatical,

than even the boldest and most affirmative philosophy, that

has ever attempted to impose its crude dictates and prin-

ciples on mankind.

What though these reasonings concerning human nature

seem abstract, and of difficult comprehension? This affords

no presumption of their falsehood. On the contrary, it

seems impossible, that what has hitherto escaped so many

wise and profound philosophers can be very obvious and

easy. And whatever pains these researches may cost us, we

may think ourselves sufficiently rewarded, not only in point

of profit but of pleasure, if, by that means, we can make

any addition to our stock of knowledge, in subjects of

such unspeakable importance.

But as, after all, the abstractedness of these speculations

is no recommendation, but rather a disadvantage to them,

and as this difficulty may perhaps be surmounted by care

and art, and the avoiding of all unnecessary detail, we have,

in the following enquiry, attempted to throw some light

upon subjects, from which uncertainty has hitherto deterred

the wise, and obscurity the ignorant. Happy, if we can

unite the boundaries of the different species of philosophy,

by reconciling profound enquiry with clearness, and truth

with novelty! And still more happy, if, reasoning in this

easy manner, we can undermine the foundations of an

abstruse philosophy, which seems to have hitherto served

only as a shelter to superstition, and a cover to absurdity

and error!

SECTION II

OF THE ORIGIN OF IDEAS

EVERY one will readily allow, that there is a consider-

able difference between the perceptions of the mind,

when a man feels the pain of excessive heat, or the

pleasure of moderate warmth, and when he afterwards re-

calls to his memory this sensation, or anticipates it by his

imagination. These faculties may mimic or copy the percep-

tions of the senses; but they never can entirely reach the

force and vivacity of the original sentiment. The utmost we

say of them, even when they operate with greatest vigour, is,

that they represent their object in so lively a manner, that we

could almost say we feel or see it: But, except the mind be

disordered by disease or madness, they never can arrive

at such a pitch of vivacity, as to render these perceptions

altogether undistinguishable. All the colours of poetry,

however splendid, can never paint natural objects in such

a manner as to make the description be taken for a real

landskip. The most lively thought is still inferior to the

dullest sensation.

We may observe a like distinction to run through all the

other perceptions of the mind. A man in a fit of anger, is

actuated in a very different manner from one who only

thinks of that emotion. If you tell me, that any person

is in love, I easily understand your meaning, and from

a just conception of his situation; but never can mistake

that conception for the real disorders and agitations of the

passion. When we reflect on our past sentiments and

affections, our thought is a faithful mirror, and copies its

objects truly; but the colours which it employs are faint

and dull, in comparison of those in which our original per-

ceptions were clothed. It requires no nice discernment or

metaphysical head to mark the distinction between them.

Here therefore we may divide all the perceptions of the

mind into two classes or species, which are distinguished

by their different degrees of force and vivacity. The less

forcible and lively are commonly denominated Thoughts or

Ideas. The other species want a name in our language,

and in most others; I suppose, because it was not requisite

for any, but philosophical purposes, to rank them under

a general term or appellation. Let us, therefore, use a little

freedom, and call them Impressions; employing that word

in a sense somewhat different from the usual. By the term

impression, then, I mean all our more lively perceptions,

when we hear, or see, or feel, or love, or hate, or desire,

or will. And impressions are distinguished from ideas,

which are the less lively perceptions, of which we are

conscious, when we reflect on any of those sensations or

movements above mentioned.

Nothing, at first view, may seem more unbounded than

the thought of man, which not only escapes all human

power and authority, but is not even restrained within the

limits of nature and reality. To form monsters, and join

incongruous shapes and appearances, costs the imagination

no more trouble than to conceive the most natural and

familiar objects. And while the body is confined to one

planet, along which it creeps with pain and difficulty; the

thought can in an instant transport us into the most dis-

tant regions of the universe; or even beyond the universe,

into the unbounded chaos, where nature is supposed to

lie in total confusion. What never was seen, or heard

of, may yet be conceived; nor is any thing beyond

the power of thought, except what implies an absolute

contradiction.

But though our thought seems to possess this unbounded

liberty, we shall find, upon a nearer examination, that it is

really confined within very narrow limits, and that all this

creative power of the mind amounts to no more than

the faculty of compounding, transposing, augmenting, or

diminishing the materials afforded us by the senses and

experience. When we think of a golden mountain, we

only join two consistent ideas, gold, and mountain, with

which we were formerly acquainted. A virtuous horse we

can conceive; because, from our own feeling, we can

conceive virtue; and this we may unite to the figure and

shape of a horse, which is an animal familiar to us. In

short, all the materials of thinking are derived either from

our outward or inward sentiment: the mixture and com-

position of these belongs alone to the mind and will. Or,

to express myself in philosophical language, all our ideas or

more feeble perceptions are copies of our impressions or

more lively ones.

To prove this, the two following arguments will, I hope,

be sufficient. First, when we analyze our thoughts or ideas,

however compounded or sublime, we always find that they

resolve themselves into such simple ideas as were copied

from a precedent feeling or sentiment. Even those ideas,

which, at first view, seem the most wide of this origin, are

found, upon a nearer scrutiny, to be derived from it. The

idea of God, as meaning an infinitely intelligent, wise, and

good Being, arises from reflecting on the operations of our

own mind, and augmenting, without limit, those qualities

of goodness and wisdom. We may prosecute this enquiry

to what length we please; where we shall always find, that

every idea which we examine is copied from a similar

impression. Those who would assert that this position is

not universally true nor without exception, have only one,

and that an easy method of refuting it; by producing that

idea, which, in their opinion, is not derived from this source.

It will then be incumbent on us, if we would maintain our

doctrine, to produce the impression, or lively perception,

which corresponds to it.

Secondly. If it happen, from a defect of the organ,

that a man is not susceptible of any species of sensation,

we always find that he is as little susceptible of the cor-

respondent ideas. A blind man can form no notion of

colours; a deaf man of sounds. Restore either of them

that sense in which he is deficient; by opening this new

inlet for his sensations, you also open an inlet for the ideas;

and he finds no difficulty in conceiving these objects. The

case is the same, if the object, proper for exciting any

sensation, has never been applied to the organ. A Lap-

lander or Negro has no notion of the relish of wine.

And though there are few or no instances of a like

deficiency in the mind, where a person has never felt or

is wholly incapable of a sentiment or passion that belongs

to his species; yet we find the same observation to take

place in a less degree. A man of mild manners can form

no idea of inveterate revenge or cruelty; nor can a selfish

heart easily conceive the heights of friendship and gener-

osity. It is readily allowed, that other beings may possess

many senses of which we can have no conception; because

the ideas of them have never been introduced to us in the

only manner by which an idea can have access to the mind,

to wit, by the actual feeling and sensation.

There is, however, one contradictory phenomenon, which

may prove that it is not absolutely impossible for ideas

to arise, independent of their correspondent impressions.

I believe it will readily be allowed, that the several distinct

ideas of colour, which enter by the eye, or those of sound,

which are conveyed by the ear, are really different from

each other; though, at the same time, resembling. Now

if this be true of different colours, it must be no less so of

the different shades of the same colour; and each shade

produces a distinct idea, independent of the rest. For if

this should be denied, it is possible, by the continual grada-

tion of shades, to run a colour insensibly into what is most

remote from it; and if you will not allow any of the means

to be different, you cannot, without absurdity, deny the

extremes to be the same. Suppose, therefore, a person

to have enjoyed his sight for thirty years, and to have

become perfectly acquainted with colours of all kinds

except one particular shade of blue, for instance, which it

never has been his fortune to meet with. Let all the

different shades of that colour, except that single one, be

placed before him, descending gradually from the deepest

to the lightest; it is plain that he will perceive a blank,

where that shade is wanting, and will be sensible that there

is a greater distance in that place between the contiguous

colour than in any other. Now I ask, whether it be

possible for him, from his own imagination, to supply this

deficiency, and raise up to himself the idea of that particular

shade, though it had never been conveyed to him by his

senses? I believe there are few but will be of opinion

that he can: and this may serve as a proof that the simple

ideas are not always, in every instance, derived from the

correspondent impressions; though this instance is so

singular, that it is scarcely worth our observing, and does

not merit that for it alone we should alter our general

maxim.

Here, therefore, is a proposition, which not only seems,

in itself, simple and intelligible; but, if a proper use were

made of it, might render every dispute equally intelligible,

and banish all that jargon, which has so long taken

possession of metaphysical reasonings, and drawn disgrace

upon them. All ideas, especially abstract ones, are naturally

faint and obscure: the mind has but a slender hold of them:

they are apt to be confounded with other resembling ideas;

and when we have often employed any term, though with-

out a distinct meaning, we are apt to imagine it has a deter-

minate idea annexed to it. On the contrary, all impressions,

that is, all sensations, either outward or inward, are strong

and vivid: the limits between them are more exactly deter-

mined: nor is it easy to fall into any error or mistake with

regard to them. When we entertain, therefore, any suspicion

that a philosophical term is employed without any meaning

or idea (as is but too frequent), we need but enquire, from

what impression is that supposed idea derived? And if it

be impossible to assign any, this will serve to confirm our

suspicion. By bringing ideas into so clear a light we may

reasonably hope to remove all dispute, which may arise,

concerning their nature and reality.[1]

[1] It is probable that no more was meant by these, who denied innate

ideas, than that all ideas were copies of our impressions; though it must

be confessed, that the terms, which they employed, were not chosen with

such caution, nor so exactly defined, as to prevent all mistakes about their

doctrine. For what is meant by innate? If innate be equivalent to natural,

then all the perceptions and ideas of the mind must be allowed to be innate

or natural, in whatever sense we take the latter word, whether in opposi-

tion to what is uncommon, artificial, or miraculous. If by innate be meant,

contemporary to our birth, the dispute seems to be frivolous; nor is it

worth while to enquire at what time thinking begins, whether before, at,

or after our birth. Again, the word idea, seems to be commonly taken in

a very loose sense, by LOCKE and others; as standing for any of our per-

ceptions, our sensations and passions, as well as thoughts. Now in this

sense, I should desire to know, what can be meant by asserting, that self-

love, or resentment of injuries, or the passion between the sexes is not innate?

But admitting these terms, impressions and ideas, in the sense above

explained, and understanding by innate, what is original or copied from

no precedent perception, then may we assert that all our impressions are

innate, and our ideas not innate.

To be ingenuous, I must own it to be my opinion, that LOCKE was

betrayed into this question by the schoolmen, who, making use of unde-

fined terms, draw out their disputes to a tedious length, without ever touch-

ing the point in question. A like ambiguity and circumlocution seem to run

through that philosopher's reasonings on this as well as most other subjects.

SECTION III

OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS

IT IS evident that there is a principle of connexion be-

tween the different thoughts or ideas of the mind, and

that in their appearance to the memory or imagination,

they introduce each other with a certain degree of method

and regularity. In our more serious thinking or discourse

this is so observable that any particular thought, which

breaks in upon the regular tract or chain of ideas, is

immediately remarked and rejected. And even in our

wildest and most wandering reveries, nay in our very

dreams, we shall find, if we reflect, that the imagination

ran not altogether at adventures, but that there was still

a connexion upheld among the different ideas, which suc-

ceeded each other. Were the loosest and freest conversa-

tion to be transcribed, there would immediately be observed

something which connected it in all its transitions. Or

where this is wanting, the person who broke the thread of

discourse might still inform you, that there had secretly

revolved in his mind a succession of thought, which had

gradually led him from the subject of conversation. Among

different languages, even where we cannot suspect the least

connexion or communication, it is found, that the words,

expressive of ideas, the most compounded, do yet nearly

correspond to each other: a certain proof that the simple

ideas, comprehended in the compound ones, were bound

together by some universal principle, which had an equal

influence on all mankind.

Though it be too obvious to escape observation, that

different ideas are connected together; I do not find that

any philosopher has attempted to enumerate or class all

the principles of association; a subject, however, that seems

worthy of curiosity. To me, there appear to be only three

principles of connexion among ideas, namely, Resemblance,

Contiguity in time or place, and Cause or Effect.

That these principles serve to connect ideas will not, I

believe, be much doubted. A picture naturally leads our

thoughts to the original:[1] the mention of one apartment

in a building naturally introduces an enquiry or discourse

concerning the others:[2] and if we think of a wound, we

can scarcely forbear reflecting on the pain which follows it.[3]

But that this enumeration is complete, and that there are

no other principles of association except these, may be

difficult to prove to the satisfaction of the reader, or even

to a man's own satisfaction. All we can do, in such cases,

is to run over several instances, and examine carefully the

principle which binds the different thoughts to each other,

never stopping till we render the principle as general as

possible.[4] The more instances we examine, and the more

care we employ, the more assurance shall we acquire, that

the enumeration, which we form from the whole, is com-

plete and entire.

[1] Resemblance.

[2] Contiguity.

[3] Cause and effect.

[4] For instance, Contrast or Contrariety is also a connexion among Ideas:

but it may perhaps, be considered as a mixture of Causation and Resem-

blance. Where two objects are contrary, the one destroys the other; that

is, the cause of its annihilation, and the idea of the annihilation of an

object, implies the idea of its former existence.

SECTION IV

SCEPTICAL DOUBTS CONCERNING THE OPERATIONS OF

THE UNDERSTANDING

PART I

ALL the objects of human reason or enquiry may

naturally be divided into two kinds, to wit, Rela-

tions of Ideas, and Matters of Fact. Of the first

kind are the sciences of Geometry, Algebra, and Arithmetic;

and in short, every affirmation which is either intuitively or

demonstratively certain. That the square of the hypothenuse

is equal to the square of the two sides, is a proposition

which expresses a relation between these figures. That

three times five is equal to the half of thirty, expresses a

relation between these numbers. Propositions of this kind

are discoverable by the mere operation of thought, without

dependence on what is anywhere existent in the universe.

Though there never were a circle or triangle in nature, the

truths demonstrated by Euclid would for ever retain their

certainty and evidence.

Matters of fact, which are the second objects of human

reason, are not ascertained in the same manner; nor is our

evidence of their truth, however great, of a like nature with

the foregoing. The contrary of every matter of fact is still

possible; because it can never imply a contradiction, and

is conceived by the mind with the same facility and dis-

tinctness, as if ever so conformable to reality. That the

sun will not rise to-morrow is no less intelligible a propo-

sition, and implies no more contradiction than the affirma-

tion, that it will rise. We should in vain, therefore, attempt

to demonstrate its falsehood. Were it demonstratively false,

it would imply a contradiction, and could never be dis-

tinctly conceived by the mind.

It may, therefore, be a subject worthy of curiosity, to

enquire what is the nature of that evidence which assures

us of any real existence and matter of fact, beyond the

present testimony of our senses, or the records of our

memory. This part of philosophy, it is observable, has been

little cultivated, either by the ancients or moderns; and

therefore our doubts and errors, in the prosecution of so

important an enquiry, may be the more excusable; while

we march through such difficult paths without any guide

or direction. They may even prove useful, by exciting

curiosity, and destroying that implicit faith and security,

which is the bane of all reasoning and free enquiry. The

discovery of defects in the common philosophy, if any such

there be, will not, I presume, be a discouragement, but

rather an incitement, as is usual, to attempt something

more full and satisfactory than has yet been proposed to

the public.

All reasonings concerning matter of fact seem to be

founded on the relation of Cause and Effect. By means of

that relation alone we can go beyond the evidence of our

memory and senses. If you were to ask a man, why he

believes any matter of fact, which is absent; for instance,

that his friend is in the country, or in France; he would

give you a reason; and this reason would be some other

fact; as a letter received from him, or the knowledge of his

former resolutions and promises. A man finding a watch

or any other machine in a desert island, would conclude

that there had once been men in that island. All our rea-

sonings concerning fact are of the same nature. And here

it is constantly supposed that there is a connexion between

the present fact and that which is inferred from it. Were

there nothing to bind them together, the inference would

be entirely precarious. The hearing of an articulate voice

and rational discourse in the dark assures us of the pres-

ence of some person: Why? because these are the effects

of the human make and fabric, and closely connected with

it. If we anatomize all the other reasonings of this nature,

we shall find that they are founded on the relation of cause

and effect, and that this relation is either near or remote,

direct or collateral. Heat and light are collateral effects

of fire, and the one effect may justly be inferred from the

other.

If we would satisfy ourselves, therefore, concerning the

nature of that evidence, which assures us of matters of fact,

we must enquire how we arrive at the knowledge of cause

and effect.

I shall venture to affirm, as a general proposition, which

admits of no exception, that the knowledge of this relation

is not, in any instance, attained by reasonings a priori; but

arises entirely from experience, when we find that any

particular objects are constantly conjoined with each other.

Let an object be presented to a man of ever so strong natural

reason and abilities; if that object be entirely new to him,

he will not be able, by the most accurate examination of

its sensible qualities, to discover any of its causes or effects.

Adam, though his rational faculties be supposed, at the

very first, entirely perfect, could not have inferred from

the fluidity and transparency of water that it would suffo-

cate him, or from the light and warmth of fire that it would

consume him. No object ever discovers, by the qualities

which appear to the senses, either the causes which pro-

duced it, or the effects which will arise from it; nor can

our reason, unassisted by experience, ever draw any in-

ference concerning real existence and matter of fact.

This proposition, that causes and effects are discoverable,

not by reason but by experience, will readily be admitted

with regard to such objects, as we remember to have once

been altogether unknown to us; since we must be conscious

of the utter inability, which we then lay under, of foretelling

what would arise from them. Present two smooth pieces of

marble to a man who has no tincture of natural philosophy;

he will never discover that they will adhere together in such

a manner as to require great force to separate them in a

direct line, while they make so small a resistance to a

lateral pressure. Such events, as bear little analogy to

the common course of nature, are also readily confessed to

be known only by experience; nor does any man imagine

that the explosion of gunpowder, or the attraction of a load-

stone, could ever be discovered by arguments a priori. In

like manner, when an effect is supposed to depend upon an

intricate machinery or secret structure of parts, we make no

difficulty in attributing all our knowledge of it to experience.

Who will assert that he can give the ultimate reason, why

milk or bread is proper nourishment for a man, not for

a lion or a tiger?

But the same truth may not appear, at first sight, to have

the same evidence with regard to events, which have become

familiar to us from our first appearance in the world, which

bear a close analogy to the whole course of nature, and

which are supposed to depend on the simple qualities of

objects, without any secret structure of parts. We are apt

to imagine that we could discover these effects by the mere

operation of our reason, without experience. We fancy,

that were we brought on a sudden into this world, we

could at first have inferred that one Billiard-ball would

communicate motion to another upon impulse; and that we

needed not to have waited for the event, in order to pro-

nounce with certainty concerning it. Such is the influence of

custom, that, where it is strongest, it not only covers our

natural ignorance, but even conceals itself, and seems not to

take place, merely because it is found in the highest degree.

But to convince us that all the laws of nature, and all

the operations of bodies without exception, are known only

by experience, the following reflections may, perhaps, suf-

fice. Were any object presented to us, and were we

required to pronounce concerning the effect, which will

result from it, without consulting past observation; after

what manner, I beseech you, must the mind proceed in this

operation? It must invent or imagine some event, which

it ascribes to the object as its effect; and it is plain that

this invention must be entirely arbitrary. The mind can

never possibly find the effect in the supposed cause, by the

most accurate scrutiny and examination. For the effect is

totally different from the cause, and consequently can never

be discovered in it. Motion in the second Billiard-ball is a

quite distinct event from motion in the first; nor is there

anything in the one to suggest the smallest hint of the

other. A stone or piece of metal raised into the air, and

left without any support, immediately falls: but to consider

the matter a priori, is there anything we discover in this

situation which can beget the idea of a downward, rather

than an upward, or any other motion, in the stone or metal?

And as the first imagination or invention of a particular

effect, in all natural operations, is arbitrary, where we con-

sult not experience; so must we also esteem the supposed

tie or connexion between the cause and effect, which binds

them together, and renders it impossible that any other

effect could result from the operation of that cause. When

I see, for instance, a Billiard-ball moving in a straight line

towards another; even suppose motion in the second ball

should by accident be suggested to me, as the result of their

contact or impulse; may I not conceive, that a hundred dif-

ferent events might as well follow from that cause? May

not both these balls remain at absolute rest? May not the

first ball return in a straight line, or leap off from the second

in any line or direction? All these suppositions are con-

sistent and conceivable. Why then should we give the

preference to one, which is no more consistent or conceivable

than the rest? All our reasonings a priori will never be

able to show us any foundation for this preference.

In a word, then, every effect is a distinct event from its

cause. It could not, therefore, be discovered in the cause,

and the first invention or conception of it, a priori, must be

entirely arbitrary. And even after it is suggested, the con-

junction of it with the cause must appear equally arbitrary;

since there are always many other effects, which, to reason,

must seem fully as consistent and natural. In vain, there-

fore, should we pretend to determine any single event, or

infer any cause or effect, without the assistance of observa-

tion and experience.

Hence we may discover the reason why no philosopher,

who is rational and modest, has ever pretended to assign

the ultimate cause of any natural operation, or to show

distinctly the action of that power, which produces any

single effect in the universe. It is confessed, that the

utmost effort of human reason is to reduce the principles,

productive of natural phenomena, to a greater simplicity,

and to resolve the many particular effects into a few gen-

eral causes, by means of reasonings from analogy, experi-

ence, and observation. But as to the causes of these general

causes, we should in vain attempt their discovery; nor shall

we ever be able to satisfy ourselves, by any particular ex-

plication of them. These ultimate springs and principles

are totally shut up from human curiosity and enquiry. Elas-

ticity, gravity, cohesion of parts, communication of motion

by impulse; these are probably the ultimate causes and prin-

ciples which we shall ever discover in nature; and we may

esteem ourselves sufficiently happy, if, by accurate enquiry

and reasoning, we can trace up the particular phenomena

to, or near to, these general principles. The most perfect

philosophy of the natural kind only staves off our ignorance

a little longer: as perhaps the most perfect philosophy of

the moral or metaphysical kind serves only to discover larger

portions of it. Thus the observation of human blindness

and weakness is the result of all philosophy, and meets us at

every turn, in spite of our endeavours to elude or avoid it.

Nor is geometry, when taken into the assistance of natural

philosophy, ever able to remedy this defect, or lead us into

the knowledge of ultimate causes, by all that accuracy of

reasoning for which it is so justly celebrated. Every part

of mixed mathematics proceeds upon the supposition that

certain laws are established by nature in her operations;

and abstract reasonings are employed, either to assist ex-

perience in the discovery of these laws, or to determine

their influence in particular instances, where it depends

upon any precise degree of distance and quantity. Thus, it

is a law of motion, discovered by experience, that the mo-

ment or force of any body in motion is in the compound

ratio or proportion of its solid contents and its velocity;

and consequently, that a small force may remove the greatest

obstacle or raise the greatest weight, if, by any contrivance

or machinery, we can increase the velocity of that force,

so as to make it an overmatch for its antagonist. Geometry

assists us in the application of this law, by giving us the

just dimensions of all the parts and figures which can enter

into any species of machine; but still the discovery of the

law itself is owing merely to experience, and all the abstract

reasonings in the world could never lead us one step towards

the knowledge of it. When we reason a priori, and consider

merely any object or cause, as it appears to the mind, inde-

pendent of all observation, it never could suggest to us the

notion of any distinct object, such as its effect; much less,

show us the inseparable and inviolable connexion between

them. A man must be very sagacious who could discover

by reasoning that crystal is the effect of heat, and ice of

cold, without being previously acquainted with the operation

of these qualities.

PART II

BUT we have not yet attained any tolerable satisfac-

tion with regard to the question first proposed. Each

solution still gives rise to a new question as difficult as

the foregoing, and leads us on to farther enquiries. When

it is asked, What is the nature of all our reasonings

concerning matter of fact? the proper answer seems to be,

that they are founded on the relation of cause and effect.

When again it is asked, What is the foundation of all our

reasonings and conclusions concerning that relation? it may

be replied in one word, Experience. But if we still carry on

our sifting humour, and ask, What is the foundation of all

conclusions from experience? this implies a new question,

which may be of more difficult solution and explication.

Philosophers, that give themselves airs of superior wisdom

and sufficiency, have a hard task when they encounter per-

sons of inquisitive dispositions, who push them from every

corner to which they retreat, and who are sure at last to

bring them to some dangerous dilemma. The best expedient

to prevent this confusion, is to be modest in our preten-

sions; and even to discover the difficulty ourselves before

it is objected to us. By this means, we may make a kind of

merit of our very ignorance.

I shall content myself, in this section, with an easy task,

and shall pretend only to give a negative answer to the

question here proposed. I say then, that, even after we

have experience of the operations of cause and effect, our

conclusions from that experience are not founded on reason-

ing, or any process of the understanding. This answer we

must endeavour both to explain and to defend.

It must certainly be allowed, that nature has kept us

at a great distance from all her secrets, and has afforded

us only the knowledge of a few superficial qualities of ob-

jects; while she conceals from us those powers and prin-

ciples on which the influence of those objects entirely de-

pends. Our senses inform us of the colour, weight, and

consistence of bread; but neither sense nor reason can ever

inform us of those qualities which fit it for the nourish-

ment and support of a human body. Sight or feeling con-

veys an idea of the actual motion of bodies; but as to that

wonderful force or power, which would carry on a moving

body for ever in a continued change of place, and which

bodies never lose but by communicating it to others; of

this we cannot form the most distant conception. But not-

withstanding this ignorance of natural powers[1] and princi-

ples, we always presume, when we see like sensible quali-

ties, that they have like secret powers, and expect that

effects, similar to those which we have experienced, will

follow from them. If a body of like colour and consistence

with that bread, which we have formerly eat, be pre-

sented to us, we make no scruple of repeating the experi-

ment, and foresee, with certainty, like nourishment and

support. Now this is a process of the mind or thought,

of which I would willingly know the foundation. It is

allowed on all hands that there is no known connexion

between the sensible qualities and the secret powers; and

consequently, that the mind is not led to form such a con-

clusion concerning their constant and regular conjunction,

by anything which it knows of their nature. As to past

Experience, it can be allowed to give direct and certain

information of those precise objects only, and that precise

period of time, which fell under its cognizance: but why

this experience should be extended to future times, and to

other objects, which for aught we know, may be only in

appearance similar; this is the main question on which

I would insist. The bread, which I formerly eat, nourished

me; that is, a body of such sensible qualities was, at that

time, endued with such secret powers: but does it follow,

that other bread must also nourish me at another time, and

that like sensible qualities must always be attended with

like secret powers? The consequence seems nowise neces-

sary. At least, it must be acknowledged that there is here

a consequence drawn by the mind; that there is a certain

step taken; a process of thought, and an inference, which

wants to be explained. These two propositions are far

from being the same. I have found that such an object has

always been attended with such an effect, and I foresee, that

other objects, which are, in appearance, similar, will be

attended with similar effects. I shall allow, if you please,

that the one proposition may justly be inferred from the

other: I know, in fact, that it always is inferred. But if you

insist that the inference is made by a chain of reasoning,

I desire you to produce that reasoning. The connexion

between these propositions is not intuitive. There is re-

quired a medium, which may enable the mind to draw such

an inference, if indeed it be drawn by reasoning and argu-

ment. What that medium is, I must confess, passes my

comprehension; and it is incumbent on those to produce it,

who assert that it really exists, and is the origin of all our

conclusions concerning matter of fact.

This negative argument must certainly, in process of

time, become altogether convincing, if many penetrating

and able philosophers shall turn their enquiries this way

and no one be ever able to discover any connecting propo-

sition or intermediate step, which supports the understand-

ing in this conclusion. But as the question is yet new,

every reader may not trust so far to his own penetration,

as to conclude, because an argument escapes his enquiry,

that therefore it does not really exist. For this reason it

may be requisite to venture upon a more difficult task; and

enumerating all the branches of human knowledge, en-

deavour to show that none of them can afford such an

argument.

All reasonings may be divided into two kinds, namely,

demonstrative reasoning, or that concerning relations of

ideas, and moral reasoning, or that concerning matter of

fact and existence. That there are no demonstrative argu-

ments in the case seems evident; since it implies no con-

tradiction that the course of nature may change, and that

an object, seemingly like those which we have experi-

enced, may be attended with different or contrary effects.

May I not clearly and distinctly conceive that a body,

falling from the clouds, and which, in all other respects,

resembles snow, has yet the taste of salt or feeling of

fire? Is there any more intelligible proposition than to

affirm, that all the trees will flourish in December and

January, and decay in May and June? Now whatever

is intelligible, and can be distinctly conceived, implies no

contradiction, and can never be proved false by any demon-

strative argument or abstract reasoning a priori.

If we be, therefore, engaged by arguments to put trust

in past experience, and make it the standard of our future

judgment, these arguments must be probable only, or such

as regard matter of fact and real existence according to the

division above mentioned. But that there is no argument

of this kind, must appear, if our explication of that species

of reasoning be admitted as solid and satisfactory. We

have said that all arguments concerning existence are

founded on the relation of cause and effect; that our

knowledge of that relation is derived entirely from experi-

ence; and that all our experimental conclusions proceed

upon the supposition that the future will be conformable

to the past. To endeavour, therefore, the proof of this last

supposition by probable arguments, or arguments regarding

existence, must be evidently going in a circle, and taking

that for granted, which is the very point in question.

In reality, all arguments from experience are founded on

the similarity which we discover among natural objects,

and by which we are induced to expect effects similar to

those which we have found to follow from such objects.

And though none but a fool or madman will ever pretend

to dispute the authority of experience, or to reject that

great guide of human life, it may surely be allowed a philoso-

pher to have so much curiosity at least as to examine the

principle of human nature, which gives this mighty authority

to experience, and makes us draw advantage from that

similarity which nature has placed among different objects.

>From causes which appear similar we expect similar effects.

This is the sum of all our experimental conclusions. Now

it seems evident that, if this conclusion were formed by

reason, it would be as perfect at first, and upon one in-

stance, as after ever so long a course of experience. But

the case is far otherwise. Nothing so like as eggs; yet no

one, on account of this appearing similarity, expects the

same taste and relish in all of them. It is only after a long

course of uniform experiments in any kind, that we attain

a firm reliance and security with regard to a particular

event. Now where is that process of reasoning which,

from one instance, draws a conclusion, so different from

that which it infers from a hundred instances that are

nowise different from that single one? This question I

propose as much for the sake of information, as with an

intention of raising difficulties. I cannot find, I cannot

imagine any such reasoning. But I keep my mind still

open to instruction, if any one will vouchsafe to bestow

it on me.

Should it be said that, from a number of uniform experi-

ments, we infer a connexion between the sensible qualities

and the secret powers; this, I must confess, seems the

same difficulty, couched in different terms. The question

still recurs, on what process of argument this inference is

founded? Where is the medium, the interposing ideas,

which join propositions so very wide of each other? It is

confessed that the colour, consistence, and other sensible

qualities of bread appear not, of themselves, to have any

connexion with the secret powers of nourishment and sup-

port. For otherwise we could infer these secret powers

from the first appearance of these sensible qualities, without

the aid of experience; contrary to the sentiment of all

philosophers, and contrary to plain matter of fact. Here,

then, is our natural state of ignorance with regard to the

powers and influence of all objects. How is this remedied

by experience? It only shows us a number of uniform

effects, resulting from certain objects, and teaches us that

those particular objects, at that particular time, were en-

dowed with such powers and forces. When a new object,

endowed with similar sensible qualities, is produced, we

expect similar powers and forces, and look for a like effect.

>From a body of like colour and consistence with bread we

expect like nourishment and support. But this surely is

a step or progress of the mind, which wants to be explained.

When a man says, I have found, in all past instances, such

sensible qualities conjoined with such secret powers: And

when he says, Similar sensible qualities will always be con-

joined with similar secret powers, he is not guilty of a tau-

tology, nor are these propositions in any respect the same.

You say that the one proposition is an inference from the

other. But you must confess that the inference is not

intuitive; neither is it demonstrative: Of what nature is it,

then? To say it is experimental, is begging the question.

For all inferences from experience suppose, as their founda-

tion, that the future will resemble the past, and that similar

powers will be conjoined with similar sensible qualities.

If there be any suspicion that the course of nature may

change, and that the past may be no rule for the future, all

experience becomes useless, and can give rise to no in-

ference or conclusion. It is impossible, therefore, that any

arguments from experience can prove this resemblance of

the past to the future; since all these arguments are

founded on the supposition of that resemblance. Let the

course of things be allowed hitherto ever so regular; that

alone, without some new argument or inference, proves

not that, for the future, it will continue so. In vain do

you pretend to have learned the nature of bodies from your

past experience. Their secret nature, and consequently

all their effects and influence, may change, without any

change in their sensible qualities. This happens some-

times, and with regard to some objects: Why may it not

happen always, and with regard to all objects? What logic,

what process or argument secures you against this supposi-

tion? My practice, you say, refutes my doubts. But you

mistake the purport of my question. As an agent, I am

quite satisfied in the point; but as a philosopher, who has

some share of curiosity, I will not say scepticism, I want to

learn the foundation of this inference. No reading, no

enquiry has yet been able to remove my difficulty, or give

me satisfaction in a matter of such importance. Can I do

better than propose the difficulty to the public, even though,

perhaps, I have small hopes of obtaining a solution? We

shall at least, by this means, be sensible of our ignorance,

if we do not augment our knowledge.

I must confess that a man is guilty of unpardonable

arrogance who concludes, because an argument has es-

caped his own investigation, that therefore it does not really

exist. I must also confess that, though all the learned, for

several ages, should have employed themselves in fruit-

less search upon any subject, it may still, perhaps, be rash

to conclude positively that the subject must, therefore,

pass all human comprehension. Even though we examine

all the sources of our knowledge, and conclude them un-

fit for such a subject, there may still remain a suspicion,

that the enumeration is not complete, or the examination

not accurate. But with regard to the present subject, there

are some considerations which seem to remove all this

accusation of arrogance or suspicion of mistake.

It is certain that the most ignorant and stupid peasants--

nay infants, nay even brute beasts--improve by experience,

and learn the qualities of natural objects, by observing the

effects which result from them. When a child has felt the

sensation of pain from touching the flame of a candle, he

will be careful not to put his hand near any candle; but

will expect a similar effect from a cause which is similar in

its sensible qualities and appearance. If you assert, there-

fore, that the understanding of the child is led into this

conclusion by any process of argument or ratiocination,

I may justly require you to produce that argument; nor

have you any pretence to refuse so equitable a demand.

You cannot say that the argument is abstruse, and may

possibly escape your enquiry; since you confess that it is

obvious to the capacity of a mere infant. If you hesitate,

therefore, a moment, or if, after reflection, you produce any

intricate or profound argument, you, in a manner, give up

the question, and confess that it is not reasoning which

engages us to suppose the past resembling the future, and

to expect similar effects from causes which are, to appear-

ance, similar. This is the proposition which I intended to

enforce in the present section. If I be right, I pretend not

to have made any mighty discovery. And if I be wrong,

I must acknowledge myself to be indeed a very backward

scholar; since I cannot now discover an argument which,

it seems, was perfectly familiar to me long before I was

out of my cradle.

[1] The word, Power, is here used in a loose and popular sense. The more

accurate explication of it would give additional evidence to this argument.

See Sect. 7.

SECTION V

SCEPTICAL SOLUTION OF THESE DOUBTS

PART I

THE passion for philosophy, like that for religion,

seems liable to this inconvenience, that, though it

aims at the correction of our manners, and extirpation

of our vices, it may only serve, by imprudent management,

to foster a predominant inclination, and push the mind,

with more determined resolution, towards that side which

already draws too much, by the bias and propensity of the

natural temper. It is certain that, while we aspire to the

magnanimous firmness of the philosophic sage, and en-

deavour to confine our pleasures altogether within our own

minds, we may, at last, render our philosophy like that of

Epictetus, and other Stoics, only a more refined system of

selfishness, and reason ourselves out of all virtue as well

as social enjoyment. While we study with attention the

vanity of human life, and turn all our thoughts towards

the empty and transitory nature of riches and honours, we

are, perhaps, all the while flattering our natural indolence,

which, hating the bustle of the world, and drudgery of

business, seeks a pretence of reason to give itself a full

and uncontrolled indulgence. There is, however, one

species of philosophy which seems little liable to this in-

convenience, and that because it strikes in with no dis-

orderly passion of the human mind, nor can mingle it-

self with any natural affection or propensity; and that is

the Academic or Sceptical philosophy. The academics al-

ways talk of doubt and suspense of judgment, of danger

in hasty determinations, of confining to very narrow bounds

the enquiries of the understanding, and of renouncing all

speculations which lie not within the limits of common life

and practice. Nothing, therefore, can be more contrary

than such a philosophy to the supine indolence of the

mind, its rash arrogance, its lofty pretensions, and its super-

stitious credulity. Every passion is mortified by it, except

the love of truth; and that passion never is, nor can be,

carried to too high a degree. It is surprising, therefore,

that this philosophy, which, in almost every instance, must

be harmless and innocent, should be the subject of so

much groundless reproach and obloquy. But, perhaps,

the very circumstance which renders it so innocent is

what chiefly exposes it to the public hatred and resentment.

By flattering no irregular passion, it gains few partizans:

By opposing so many vices and follies, it raises to itself

abundance of enemies, who stigmatize it as libertine, pro-

fane, and irreligious.

Nor need we fear that this philosophy, while it endeavours

to limit our enquiries to common life, should ever undermine

the reasonings of common life, and carry its doubts so far

as to destroy all action, as well as speculation. Nature

will always maintain her rights, and prevail in the end over

any abstract reasoning whatsoever. Though we should

conclude, for instance, as in the foregoing section, that, in

all reasonings from experience, there is a step taken by the

mind which is not supported by any argument or process

of the understanding; there is no danger that these rea-

sonings, on which almost all knowledge depends, will ever

be affected by such a discovery. If the mind be not en-

gaged by argument to make this step, it must be induced

by some other principle of equal weight and authority; and

that principle will preserve its influence as long as human

nature remains the same. What that principle is may well

be worth the pains of enquiry.

Suppose a person, though endowed with the strongest

faculties of reason and reflection, to be brought on a sudden

into this world; he would, indeed, immediately observe

a continual succession of objects, and one event following

another; but he would not be able to discover anything

farther. He would not, at first, by any reasoning, be able

to reach the idea of cause and effect; since the particular

powers, by which all natural operations are performed,

never appear to the senses; nor is it reasonable to conclude,

merely because one event, in one instance, precedes another,

that therefore the one is the cause, the other the effect.

Their conjunction may be arbitrary and casual. There

may be no reason to infer the existence of one from the

appearance of the other. And in a word, such a person,

without more experience, could never employ his conjecture

or reasoning concerning any matter of fact, or be assured

of anything beyond what was immediately present to his

memory and senses.

Suppose, again, that he has acquired more experience,

and has lived so long in the world as to have observed

familiar objects or events to be constantly conjoined to-

gether; what is the consequence of this experience? He

immediately infers the existence of one object from the

appearance of the other. Yet he has not, by all his ex-

perience, acquired any idea or knowledge of the secret

power by which the one object produces the other; nor

is it by any process of reasoning, he is engaged to draw

this inference. But still he finds himself determined to

draw it: and though he should be convinced that his

understanding has no part in the operation, he would

nevertheless continue in the same course of thinking. There

is some other principle which determines him to form such

a conclusion.

This principle is Custom or Habit. For wherever the

repetition of any particular act or operation produces a

propensity to renew the same act or operation, without

being impelled by any reasoning or process of the under-

standing, we always say, that this propensity is the effect

of Custom. By employing that word, we pretend not to

have given the ultimate reason of such a propensity. We

only point out a principle of human nature, which is

universally acknowledged, and which is well known by its

effects. Perhaps we can push our enquiries no farther, or

pretend to give the cause of this cause; but must rest

contented with it as the ultimate principle, which we can

assign, of all our conclusions from experience. It is suf-

ficient satisfaction, that we can go so far, without repining

at the narrowness of our faculties because they will carry

us no farther. And it is certain we here advance a very

intelligible proposition at least, if not a true one, when

we assert that, after the constant conjunction of two ob-

jects--heat and flame, for instance, weight and solidity--

we are determined by custom alone to expect the one from

the appearance of the other. This hypothesis seems even

the only one which explains the difficulty, why we draw,

from a thousand instances, an inference which we are not

able to draw from one instance, that is, in no respect,

different from them. Reason is incapable of any such

variation. The conclusions which it draws from consider-

ing one circle are the same which it would form upon

surveying all the circles in the universe. But no man,

having seen only one body move after being impelled by

another, could infer that every other body will move after

a like impulse. All inferences from experience, therefore,

are effects of custom, not of reasoning.[1]

Custom, then, is the great guide of human life. It is

that principle alone which renders our experience useful

to us, and makes us expect, for the future, a similar train

of events with those which have appeared in the past.

Without the influence of custom, we should be entirely

ignorant of every matter of fact beyond what is immediately

present to the memory and senses. We should never know

how to adjust means to ends, or to employ our natural

powers in the production of any effect. There would

be an end at once of all action, as well as of the chief

part of speculation.

But here it may be proper to remark, that though our

conclusions from experience carry us beyond our memory

and senses, and assure us of matters of fact which hap-

pened in the most distant places and most remote ages,

yet some fact must always be present to the senses or

memory, from which we may first proceed in drawing these

conclusions. A man, who should find in a desert country

the remains of pompous buildings, would conclude that

the country had, in ancient times, been cultivated by civil-

ized inhabitants; but did nothing of this nature occur

to him, he could never form such an inference. We learn

the events of former ages from history; but then we must

peruse the volumes in which this instruction is contained,

and thence carry up our inferences from one testimony to

another, till we arrive at the eyewitnesses and spectators of

these distant events. In a word, if we proceed not upon

some fact, present to the memory or senses, our reasonings

would be merely hypothetical; and however the particular

links might be connected with each other, the whole chain

of inferences would have nothing to support it, nor could

we ever, by its means, arrive at the knowledge of any real

existence. If I ask why you believe any particular matter

of fact, which you relate, you must tell me some reason;

and this reason will be some other fact, connected with it.

But as you cannot proceed after this manner, in infinitum,

you must at last terminate in some fact, which is present to

your memory or senses; or must allow that your belief is

entirely without foundation.

What, then, is the conclusion of the whole matter? A

simple one; though, it must be confessed, pretty remote

from the common theories of philosophy. All belief of

matter of fact or real existence is derived merely from some

object, present to the memory or senses, and a customary

conjunction between that and some other object. Or in

other words; having found, in many instances, that any

two kinds of objects--flame and heat, snow and cold--have

always been conjoined together; if flame or snow be pre-

sented anew to the senses, the mind is carried by custom

to expect heat or cold, and to believe that such a quality

does exist, and will discover itself upon a nearer approach.

This belief is the necessary result of placing the mind in

such circumstances. It is an operation of the soul, when

we are so situated, as unavoidable as to feel the passion of

love, when we receive benefits; or hatred, when we meet

with injuries. All these operations are a species of natural

instincts, which no reasoning or process of the thought and

understanding is able either to produce or to prevent.

At this point, it would be very allowable for us to stop

our philosophical researches. In most questions we can

never make a single step farther; and in all questions we

must terminate here at last, after our most restless and

curious enquiries. But still our curiosity will be pardonable,

perhaps commendable, if it carry us on to still farther

researches, and make us examine more accurately the na-

ture of this belief, and of the customary conjunction, whence

it is derived. By this means we may meet with some ex-

plications and analogies that will give satisfaction; at least

to such as love the abstract sciences, and can be enter-

tained with speculations, which, however accurate, may

still retain a degree of doubt and uncertainty. As to

readers of a different taste; the remaining part of this

section is not calculated for them, and the following en-

quiries may well be understood, though it be neglected.

PART II

NOTHING is more free than the imagination of man; and

though it cannot exceed that original stock of ideas fur-

nished by the internal and external senses, it has unlimited

power of mixing, compounding, separating, and dividing

these ideas, in all the varieties of fiction and vision. It

can feign a train of events, with all the appearance of

reality, ascribe to them a particular time and place, conceive

them as existent, and paint them out to itself with every

circumstance, that belongs to any historical fact, which it

believes with the greatest certainty. Wherein, therefore,

consists the difference between such a fiction and belief?

It lies not merely in any peculiar idea, which is annexed to

such a conception as commands our assent, and which is

wanting to every known fiction. For as the mind has

authority over all its ideas, it could voluntarily annex this

particular idea to any fiction, and consequently be able to

believe whatever it pleases; contrary to what we find by

daily experience. We can, in our conception, join the head

of a man to the body of a horse; but it is not in our

power to believe that such an animal has ever really

existed.

It follows, therefore, that the difference between fiction

and belief lies in some sentiment or feeling, which is

annexed to the latter, not to the former, and which depends

not on the will, nor can be commanded at pleasure. It

must be excited by nature, like all other sentiments; and

must arise from the particular situation, in which the mind

is placed at any particular juncture. Whenever any object

is presented to the memory or senses, it immediately, by the

force of custom, carries the imagination to conceive that

object, which is usually conjoined to it; and this conception

is attended with a feeling or sentiment, different from the

loose reveries of the fancy. In this consists the whole

nature of belief. For as there is no matter of fact which

we believe so firmly that we cannot conceive the contrary,

there would be no difference between the conception as-

sented to and that which is rejected, were it not for some

sentiment which distinguishes the one from the other. If

I see a billiard-ball moving toward another, on a smooth

table, I can easily conceive it to stop upon contact. This

conception implies no contradiction; but still it feels very

differently from that conception by which I represent to

myself the impulse and the communication of motion from

one ball to another.

Were we to attempt a definition of this sentiment, we

should, perhaps, find it a very difficult, if not an impossible

task; in the same manner as if we should endeavour to

define the feeling of cold or passion of anger, to a creature

who never had any experience of these sentiments. Belief

is the true and proper name of this feeling; and no one is

ever at a loss to know the meaning of that term; because

every man is every moment conscious of the sentiment

represented by it. It may not, however, be improper to

attempt a description of this sentiment; in hopes we may,

by that means, arrive at some analogies, which may afford

a more perfect explication of it. I say, then, that belief is

nothing but a more vivid, lively, forcible, firm, steady con-

ception of an object, than what the imagination alone is

ever able to attain. This variety of terms, which may

seem so unphilosophical, is intended only to express that

act of the mind, which renders realities, or what is taken for

such, more present to us than fictions, causes them to

weigh more in the thought, and gives them a superior

influence on the passions and imagination. Provided we

agree about the thing, it is needless to dispute about the

terms. The imagination has the command over all its

ideas, and can join and mix and vary them, in all the

ways possible. It may conceive fictitious objects with all

the circumstances of place and time. It may set them, in

a manner, before our eyes, in their true colours, just as

they might have existed. But as it is impossible that this

faculty of imagination can ever, of itself, reach belief, it is

evident that belief consists not in the peculiar nature or

order of ideas, but in the manner of their conception, and in

their feeling to the mind. I confess, that it is impossible

perfectly to explain this feeling or manner of conception.

We may make use of words which express something near

it. But its true and proper name, as we observed before, is

belief; which is a term that every one sufficiently under-

stands in common life. And in philosophy, we can go no

farther than assert, that belief is something felt by the mind,

which distinguishes the ideas of the judgement from the

fictions of the imagination. It gives them more weight and

influence; makes them appear of greater importance; en-

forces them in the mind; and renders them the governing

principle of our actions. I hear at present, for instance, a

person's voice, with whom I am acquainted; and the sound

comes as from the next room. This impression of my

senses immediately conveys my thought to the person, to-

gether with all the surrounding objects. I paint them out

to myself as existing at present, with the same qualities and

relations, of which I formerly knew them possessed. These

ideas take faster hold of my mind than ideas of an en-

chanted castle. They are very different to the feeling, and

have a much greater influence of every kind, either to give

pleasure or pain, joy or sorrow.

Let us, then, take in the whole compass of this doctrine,

and allow, that the sentiment of belief is nothing but a

conception more intense and steady than what attends the

mere fictions of the imagination, and that this manner of

conception arises from a customary conjunction of the

object with something present to the memory or senses:

I believe that it will not be difficult, upon these supposi-

tions, to find other operations of the mind analogous to it,

and to trace up these phenomena to principles still more

general.

We have already observed that nature has established

connexions among particular ideas, and that no sooner

one idea occurs to our thoughts than it introduces its cor-

relative, and carries our attention towards it, by a gentle

and insensible movement. These principles of connexion

or association we have reduced to three, namely, Resem-

blance, Contiguity and Causation; which are the only bonds

that unite our thoughts together, and beget that regular

train of reflection or discourse, which, in a greater or less

degree, takes place among all mankind. Now here arises

a question, on which the solution of the present difficulty

will depend. Does it happen, in all these relations, that,

when one of the objects is presented to the senses or

memory, the mind is not only carried to the conception

of the correlative, but reaches a steadier and stronger

conception of it than what otherwise it would have been

able to attain? This seems to be the case with that

belief which arises from the relation of cause and effect.

And if the case be the same with the other relations

or principles of associations, this may be established as

a general law, which takes place in all the operations of

the mind.

We may, therefore, observe, as the first experiment

to our present purpose, that, upon the appearance of the

picture of an absent friend, our idea of him is evidently

enlivened by the resemblance, and that every passion, which

that idea occasions, whether of joy or sorrow, acquires

new force and vigour. In producing this effect, there

concur both a relation and a present impression. Where

the picture bears him no resemblance, at least was not

intended for him, it never so much as conveys our thought

to him: and where it is absent, as well as the person,

though the mind may pass from the thought of the one to

that of the other, it feels its idea to be rather weakened

than enlivened by that transition. We take a pleasure in

viewing the picture of a friend, when it is set before us;

but when it is removed, rather choose to consider him

directly than by reflection in an image, which is equally

distant and obscure.

The ceremonies of the Roman Catholic religion may

be considered as instances of the same nature. The dev-

otees of that superstition usually plead in excuse for the

mummeries, with which they are upbraided, that they

feel the good effect of those external motions, and pos-

tures, and actions, in enlivening their devotion and quick-

ening their fervour, which otherwise would decay, if

directed entirely to distant and immaterial objects. We

shadow out the objects of our faith, say they, in sensible

types and images, and render them more present to us

by the immediate presence of these types, than it is pos-

sible for us to do merely by an intellectual view and

contemplation. Sensible objects have always a greater in-

fluence on the fancy than any other; and this influence

they readily convey to those ideas to which they are

related, and which they resemble. I shall only infer from

these practices, and this reasoning, that the effect of resem-

blance in enlivening the ideas is very common; and as in

every case a resemblance and a present impression must

concur, we are abundantly supplied with experiments to

prove the reality of the foregoing principle.

We may add force to these experiments by others of

a different kind, in considering the effects of contiguity as

well as of resemblance. It is certain that distance dimin-

ishes the force of every idea, and that, upon our approach

to any object; though it does not discover itself to our

senses; it operates upon the mind with an influence, which

imitates an immediate impression. The thinking on any

object readily transports the mind to what is contiguous;

but it is only the actual presence of an object, that trans-

ports it with a superior vivacity. When I am a few miles

from home, whatever relates to it touches me more nearly

than when I am two hundred leagues distant; though even

at that distance the reflecting on any thing in the neigh-

bourhood of my friends or family naturally produces an

idea of them. But as in this latter case, both the objects

of the mind are ideas; notwithstanding there is an easy

transition between them; that transition alone is not able to

give a superior vivacity to any of the ideas, for want of

some immediate impression.[2]

No one can doubt but causation has the same influence

as the other two relations of resemblance and contiguity.

Superstitious people are fond of the reliques of saints and

holy men, for the same reason, that they seek after types

or images, in order to enliven their devotion, and give them

a more intimate and strong conception of those exemplary

lives, which they desire to imitate. Now it is evident, that

one of the best reliques, which a devotee could procure,

would be the handywork of a saint; and if his cloaths and

furniture are ever to be considered in this light, it is be-

cause they were once at his disposal, and were moved and

affected by him; in which respect they are to be considered

as imperfect effects, and as connected with him by a shorter

chain of consequences than any of those, by which we learn

the reality of his existence.

Suppose, that the son of a friend, who had been long

dead or absent, were presented to us; it is evident, that

this object would instantly revive its correlative idea, and

recall to our thoughts all past intimacies and familiarities,

in more lively colours than they would otherwise have ap-

peared to us. This is another phaenomenon, which seems

to prove the principle above mentioned.