A TREATISE OF HUMAN NATURE

ADVERTISEMENT.

My design in the present work is sufficiently explained in the
Introduction. The reader must only observe, that all the subjects I have
there planned out to myself, are not treated of in these two volumes. The
subjects of the Understanding and Passions make a compleat chain of
reasoning by themselves; and I was willing to take advantage of this
natural division, in order to try the taste of the public. If I have the
good fortune to meet with success, I shall proceed to the examination of
Morals, Politics, and Criticism; which will compleat this Treatise of
Human Nature. The approbation of the public I consider as the greatest
reward of my labours; but am determined to regard its judgment, whatever
it be, as my best instruction.

INTRODUCTION.

Nothing is more usual and more natural for those, who pretend to discover
anything new to the world in philosophy and the sciences, than to
insinuate the praises of their own systems, by decrying all those, which
have been advanced before them. And indeed were they content with
lamenting that ignorance, which we still lie under in the most important
questions, that can come before the tribunal of human reason, there are
few, who have an acquaintance with the sciences, that would not readily
agree with them. It is easy for one of judgment and learning, to perceive
the weak foundation even of those systems, which have obtained the
greatest credit, and have carried their pretensions highest to accurate
and profound reasoning. Principles taken upon trust, consequences lamely
deduced from them, want of coherence in the parts, and of evidence in the
whole, these are every where to be met with in the systems of the most
eminent philosophers, and seem to have drawn disgrace upon philosophy
itself.

Nor is there required such profound knowledge to discover the present
imperfect condition of the sciences, but even the rabble without doors
may, judge from the noise and clamour, which they hear, that all goes not
well within. There is nothing which is not the subject of debate, and in
which men of learning are not of contrary opinions. The most trivial
question escapes not our controversy, and in the most momentous we are not
able to give any certain decision. Disputes are multiplied, as if every
thing was uncertain; and these disputes are managed with the greatest
warmth, as if every thing was certain. Amidst all this bustle it is not
reason, which carries the prize, but eloquence; and no man needs ever
despair of gaining proselytes to the most extravagant hypothesis, who has
art enough to represent it in any favourable colours. The victory is not
gained by the men at arms, who manage the pike and the sword; but by the
trumpeters, drummers, and musicians of the army.

From hence in my opinion arises that common prejudice against metaphysical
reasonings of all kinds, even amongst those, who profess themselves
scholars, and have a just value for every other part of literature. By
metaphysical reasonings, they do not understand those on any particular
branch of science, but every kind of argument, which is any way abstruse,
and requires some attention to be comprehended. We have so often lost our
labour in such researches, that we commonly reject them without
hesitation, and resolve, if we must for ever be a prey to errors and
delusions, that they shall at least be natural and entertaining. And
indeed nothing but the most determined scepticism, along with a great
degree of indolence, can justify this aversion to metaphysics. For if
truth be at all within the reach of human capacity, it is certain it must
lie very deep and abstruse: and to hope we shall arrive at it without
pains, while the greatest geniuses have failed with the utmost pains, must
certainly be esteemed sufficiently vain and presumptuous. I pretend to no
such advantage in the philosophy I am going to unfold, and would esteem it
a strong presumption against it, were it so very easy and obvious.

It is evident, that all the sciences have a relation, greater or less, to
human nature: and that however wide any of them may seem to run from it,
they still return back by one passage or another. Even. Mathematics,
Natural Philosophy, and Natural Religion, are in some measure dependent on
the science of MAN; since they lie under the cognizance of men, and are
judged of by their powers and faculties. It is impossible to tell what
changes and improvements we might make in these sciences were we
thoroughly acquainted with the extent and force of human understanding,
and could explain the nature of the ideas we employ, and of the operations
we perform in our reasonings. And these improvements are the more to be
hoped for in natural religion, as it is not content with instructing us in
the nature of superior powers, but carries its views farther, to their
disposition towards us, and our duties towards them; and consequently we
ourselves are not only the beings, that reason, but also one of the
objects, concerning which we reason.

If therefore the sciences of Mathematics, Natural Philosophy, and Natural
Religion, have such a dependence on the knowledge of man, what may be
expected in the other sciences, whose connexion with human nature is more
close and intimate? The sole end of logic is to explain the principles and
operations of our reasoning faculty, and the nature of our ideas: morals
and criticism regard our tastes and sentiments: and politics consider men
as united in society, and dependent on each other. In these four sciences
of Logic, Morals, Criticism, and Politics, is comprehended almost
everything, which it can any way import us to be acquainted with, or which
can tend either to the improvement or ornament of the human mind.

Here then is the only expedient, from which we can hope for success in our
philosophical researches, to leave the tedious lingering method, which we
have hitherto followed, and instead of taking now and then a castle or
village on the frontier, to march up directly to the capital or center of
these sciences, to human nature itself; which being once masters of, we
may every where else hope for an easy victory. From this station we may
extend our conquests over all those sciences, which more intimately
concern human life, and may afterwards proceed at leisure to discover more
fully those, which are the objects of pore curiosity. There is no question
of importance, whose decision is not comprised in the science of man; and
there is none, which can be decided with any certainty, before we become
acquainted with that science. In pretending, therefore, to explain the
principles of human nature, we in effect propose a compleat system of the
sciences, built on a foundation almost entirely new, and the only one upon
which they can stand with any security.

And as the science of man is the-only solid foundation for the other
sciences, so the only solid foundation we can give to this science itself
must be laid on experience and observation. It is no astonishing
reflection to consider, that the application of experimental philosophy to
moral subjects should come after that to natural at the distance of above
a whole century; since we find in fact, that there was about the same
interval betwixt the origins of these sciences; and that reckoning from
THALES to SOCRATES, the space of time is nearly equal to that betwixt, my
Lord Bacon and some late philosophers in England,^[1]
who have begun to put the science of man on a new footing, and have
engaged the attention, and excited the curiosity of the public. So true
it is, that however other nations may rival us in poetry, and excel us in
some other agreeable arts, the improvements in reason and philosophy can
only be owing to a land of toleration and of liberty.

[1]
Mr. Locke, my Lord Shaftesbury, Dr. Mandeville, Mr.
Hutchinson, Dr. Butler, etc.

Nor ought we to think, that this latter improvement in the science of man
will do less honour to our native country than the former in natural
philosophy, but ought rather to esteem it a greater glory, upon account of
the greater importance of that science, as well as the necessity it lay
under of such a reformation. For to me it seems evident, that the essence
of the mind being equally unknown to us with that of external bodies, it
must be equally impossible to form any notion of its powers and qualities
otherwise than from careful and exact experiments, and the observation of
those particular effects, which result from its different circumstances
and situations. And though we must endeavour to render all our principles
as universal as possible, by tracing up our experiments to the utmost, and
explaining all effects from the simplest and fewest causes, it is still
certain we cannot go beyond experience; and any hypothesis, that pretends
to discover the ultimate original qualities of human nature, ought at
first to be rejected as presumptuous and chimerical.

I do not think a philosopher, who would apply himself so earnestly to the
explaining the ultimate principles of the soul, would show himself a great
master in that very science of human nature, which he pretends to explain,
or very knowing in what is naturally satisfactory to the mind of man. For
nothing is more certain, than that despair has almost the same effect upon
us with enjoyment, and that we are no sooner acquainted with the
impossibility of satisfying any desire, than the desire itself vanishes.
When we see, that we have arrived at the utmost extent of human reason, we
sit down contented, though we be perfectly satisfied in the main of our
ignorance, and perceive that we can give no reason for our most general
and most refined principles, beside our experience of their reality; which
is the reason of the mere vulgar, and what it required no study at first
to have discovered for the most particular and most extraordinary
phænomenon. And as this impossibility of making any farther progress is
enough to satisfy the reader, so the writer may derive a more delicate
satisfaction from the free confession of his ignorance, and from his
prudence in avoiding that error, into which so many have fallen, of
imposing their conjectures and hypotheses on the world for the most
certain principles. When this mutual contentment and satisfaction can be
obtained betwixt the master and scholar, I know not what more we can
require of our philosophy.

But if this impossibility of explaining ultimate principles should be
esteemed a defect in the science of man, I will venture to affirm, that it
is a defect common to it with all the sciences, and all the arts, in which
we can employ ourselves, whether they be such as are cultivated in the
schools of the philosophers, or practised in the shops of the meanest
artizans. None of them can go beyond experience, or establish any
principles which are not founded on that authority. Moral philosophy has,
indeed, this peculiar disadvantage, which is not found in natural, that in
collecting its experiments, it cannot make them purposely, with
premeditation, and after such a manner as to satisfy itself concerning
every particular difficulty which may be. When I am at a loss to know the
effects of one body upon another in any situation, I need only put them in
that situation, and observe what results from it. But should I endeavour
to clear up after the same manner any doubt in moral philosophy, by
placing myself in the same case with that which I consider, it is evident
this reflection and premeditation would so disturb the operation of my
natural principles, as must render it impossible to form any just
conclusion from the phenomenon. We must therefore glean up our experiments
in this science from a cautious observation of human life, and take them
as they appear in the common course of the world, by men’s behaviour in
company, in affairs, and in their pleasures. Where experiments of this
kind are judiciously collected and compared, we may hope to establish on
them a science which will not be inferior in certainty, and will be much
superior in utility to any other of human comprehension.

BOOK I. OF THE UNDERSTANDING

PART I. OF IDEAS, THEIR ORIGIN, COMPOSITION, CONNEXION, ABSTRACTION, ETC.

SECT. I. OF THE ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS.

All the perceptions of the human mind resolve themselves into two distinct
kinds, which I shall call IMPRESSIONS and IDEAS. The difference betwixt
these consists in the degrees of force and liveliness, with which they
strike upon the mind, and make their way into our thought or
consciousness. Those perceptions, which enter with most force and
violence, we may name impressions: and under this name I comprehend all
our sensations, passions and emotions, as they make their first appearance
in the soul. By ideas I mean the faint images of these in thinking and
reasoning; such as, for instance, are all the perceptions excited by the
present discourse, excepting only those which arise from the sight and
touch, and excepting the immediate pleasure or uneasiness it may occasion.
I believe it will not be very necessary to employ many words in explaining
this distinction. Every one of himself will readily perceive the
difference betwixt feeling and thinking. The common degrees of these are
easily distinguished; though it is not impossible but in particular
instances they may very nearly approach to each other. Thus in sleep, in a
fever, in madness, or in any very violent emotions of soul, our ideas may
approach to our impressions, As on the other hand it sometimes happens,
that our impressions are so faint and low, that we cannot distinguish them
from our ideas. But notwithstanding this near resemblance in a few
instances, they are in general so very different, that no-one can make a
scruple to rank them under distinct heads, and assign to each a peculiar
name to mark the difference.^[1]

[1]
I here make use of these terms, impression and idea, in a sense
different from what is usual, and I hope this liberty will be allowed me.
Perhaps I rather restore the word, idea, to its original sense, from which Mr
Locke had perverted it, in making it stand for all our perceptions. By the
terms of impression I would not be understood to express the manner, in which
our lively perceptions are produced in the soul, but merely the perceptions
themselves; for which there is no particular name either in the English
or any other language, that I know of.

There is another division of our perceptions, which it will be convenient
to observe, and which extends itself both to our impressions and ideas.
This division is into SIMPLE and COMPLEX. Simple perceptions or
impressions and ideas are such as admit of no distinction nor separation.
The complex are the contrary to these, and may be distinguished into
parts. Though a particular colour, taste, and smell, are qualities all
united together in this apple, it is easy to perceive they are not the
same, but are at least distinguishable from each other.

Having by these divisions given an order and arrangement to our objects,
we may now apply ourselves to consider with the more accuracy their
qualities and relations. The first circumstance, that strikes my eye, is
the great resemblance betwixt our impressions and ideas in every other
particular, except their degree of force and vivacity. The one seem to be
in a manner the reflexion of the other; so that all the perceptions of the
mind are double, and appear both as impressions and ideas. When I shut my
eyes and think of my chamber, the ideas I form are exact representations
of the impressions I felt; nor is there any circumstance of the one, which
is not to be found in the other. In running over my other perceptions, I
find still the same resemblance and representation. Ideas and impressions
appear always to correspond to each other. This circumstance seems to me
remarkable, and engages my attention for a moment.

Upon a more accurate survey I find I have been carried away too far by the
first appearance, and that I must make use of the distinction of
perceptions into simple and complex, to limit this general decision, that
all our ideas and impressions are resembling. I observe, that many of our
complex ideas never had impressions, that corresponded to them, and that
many of our complex impressions never are exactly copied in ideas. I can
imagine to myself such a city as the New Jerusalem, whose pavement is gold
and walls are rubies, though I never saw any such. I have seen Paris; but
shall I affirm I can form such an idea of that city, as will perfectly
represent all its streets and houses in their real and just proportions?

I perceive, therefore, that though there is in general a great,
resemblance betwixt our complex impressions and ideas, yet the rule is not
universally true, that they are exact copies of each other. We may next
consider how the case stands with our simple, perceptions. After the most
accurate examination, of which I am capable, I venture to affirm, that the
rule here holds without any exception, and that every simple idea has a
simple impression, which resembles it, and every simple impression a
correspondent idea. That idea of red, which we form in the dark, and that
impression which strikes our eyes in sun-shine, differ only in degree, not
in nature. That the case is the same with all our simple impressions and
ideas, it is impossible to prove by a particular enumeration of them.
Every one may satisfy himself in this point by running over as many as he
pleases. But if any one should deny this universal resemblance, I know no
way of convincing him, but by desiring him to shew a simple impression,
that has not a correspondent idea, or a simple idea, that has not a
correspondent impression. If he does not answer this challenge, as it is
certain he cannot, we may from his silence and our own observation
establish our conclusion.

Thus we find, that all simple ideas and impressions resemble each other;
and as the complex are formed from them, we may affirm in general, that
these two species of perception are exactly correspondent. Having
discovered this relation, which requires no farther examination, I am
curious to find some other of their qualities. Let us consider how they
stand with regard to their existence, and which of the impressions and
ideas are causes, and which effects.

The full examination of this question is the subject of the present
treatise; and therefore we shall here content ourselves with establishing
one general proposition, THAT ALL OUR SIMPLE IDEAS IN THEIR FIRST
APPEARANCE ARE DERIVED FROM SIMPLE IMPRESSIONS, WHICH ARE CORRESPONDENT TO
THEM, AND WHICH THEY EXACTLY REPRESENT.

In seeking for phenomena to prove this proposition, I find only those of
two kinds; but in each kind the phenomena are obvious, numerous, and
conclusive. I first make myself certain, by a new, review, of what I have
already asserted, that every simple impression is attended with a
correspondent idea, and every simple idea with a correspondent impression.
From this constant conjunction of resembling perceptions I immediately
conclude, that there is a great connexion betwixt our correspondent
impressions and ideas, and that the existence of the one has a
considerable influence upon that of the other. Such a constant
conjunction, in such an infinite number of instances, can never arise from
chance; but clearly proves a dependence of the impressions on the ideas,
or of the ideas on the impressions. That I may know on which side this
dependence lies, I consider the order of their first appearance; and find
by constant experience, that the simple impressions always take the
precedence of their correspondent ideas, but never appear in the contrary
order. To give a child an idea of scarlet or orange, of sweet or bitter, I
present the objects, or in other words, convey to him these impressions;
but proceed not so absurdly, as to endeavour to produce the impressions by
exciting the ideas. Our ideas upon their appearance produce not their
correspondent impressions, nor do we perceive any colour, or feel any
sensation merely upon thinking of them. On the other hand we find, that
any impression either of the mind or body is constantly followed by an
idea, which resembles it, and is only different in the degrees of force
and liveliness. The constant conjunction of our resembling perceptions, is
a convincing proof, that the one are the causes of the other; and this
priority of the impressions is an equal proof, that our impressions are
the causes of our ideas, not our ideas of our impressions.

To confirm this I consider Another plain and convincing phænomenon; which
is, that, where-ever by any accident the faculties, which give rise to any
impressions, are obstructed in their operations, as when one is born blind
or deaf; not only the impressions are lost, but also their correspondent
ideas; so that there never appear in the mind the least traces of either
of them. Nor is this only true, where the organs of sensation are entirely
destroyed, but likewise where they have never been put in action to
produce a particular impression. We cannot form to ourselves a just idea
of the taste of a pine apple, without having actually tasted it.

There is however one contradictory phænomenon, which may prove, that it
is not absolutely impossible for ideas to go before their correspondent
impressions. I believe it will readily be allowed that the several
distinct ideas of colours, which enter by the eyes, or those of sounds,
which are conveyed by the hearing, are really different from each other,
though at the same time resembling. Now if this be true of different
colours, it must be no less so of the different shades of the same colour,
that each of them produces a distinct idea, independent of the rest. For
if this should be denied, it is possible, by the continual gradation of
shades, to run a colour insensibly into what is most remote from it; and
if you will not allow any of the means to be different, you cannot without
absurdity deny the extremes to be the same. Suppose therefore a person to
have enjoyed his sight for thirty years, and to have become perfectly well
acquainted with colours of all kinds, excepting one particular shade of
blue, for instance, which it never has been his fortune to meet with. Let
all the different shades of that colour, except that single one, be placed
before him, descending gradually from the deepest to the lightest; it is
plain, that he will perceive a blank, where that shade is wanting, said
will be sensible, that there is a greater distance in that place betwixt
the contiguous colours, than in any other. Now I ask, whether it is
possible for him, from his own imagination, to supply this deficiency, and
raise up to himself the idea of that particular shade, though it had never
been conveyed to him by his senses? I believe there are few but will be of
opinion that he can; and this may serve as a proof, that the simple ideas
are not always derived from the correspondent impressions; though the
instance is so particular and singular, that it is scarce worth our
observing, and does not merit that for it alone we should alter our
general maxim.

But besides this exception, it may not be amiss to remark on this head,
that the principle of the priority of impressions to ideas must be
understood with another limitation, viz., that as our ideas are images of
our impressions, so we can form secondary ideas, which are images of the
primary; as appears from this very reasoning concerning them. This is not,
properly speaking, an exception to the rule so much as an explanation of
it. Ideas produce the images of themselves in new ideas; but as the first
ideas are supposed to be derived from impressions, it still remains true,
that all our simple ideas proceed either mediately or immediately, from
their correspondent impressions.

This then is the first principle I establish in the science of human
nature; nor ought we to despise it because of the simplicity of its
appearance. For it is remarkable, that the present question concerning the
precedency of our impressions or ideas, is the same with what has made so
much noise in other terms, when it has been disputed whether there be any
INNATE IDEAS, or whether all ideas be derived from sensation and
reflexion. We may observe, that in order to prove the ideas of extension
and colour not to be innate, philosophers do nothing but shew that they
are conveyed by our senses. To prove the ideas of passion and desire not
to be innate, they observe that we have a preceding experience of these
emotions in ourselves. Now if we carefully examine these arguments, we
shall find that they prove nothing but that ideas are preceded by other
more lively perceptions, from which the are derived, and which they
represent. I hope this clear stating of the question will remove all
disputes concerning it, and win render this principle of more use in our
reasonings, than it seems hitherto to have been.

SECT. II. DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT.

Since it appears, that our simple impressions are prior to their
correspondent ideas, and that the exceptions are very rare, method seems
to require we should examine our impressions, before we consider our
ideas. Impressions may be divided into two kinds, those Of SENSATION and
those of REFLEXION. The first kind arises in the soul originally, from
unknown causes. The second is derived in a great measure from our ideas,
and that in the following order. An impression first strikes upon the
senses, and makes us perceive heat or cold, thirst or hunger, pleasure or
pain of some kind or other. Of this impression there is a copy taken by
the mind, which remains after the impression ceases; and this we call an
idea. This idea of pleasure or pain, when it returns upon the soul,
produces the new impressions of desire and aversion, hope and fear, which
may properly be called impressions of reflexion, because derived from it.
These again are copied by the memory and imagination, and become ideas;
which perhaps in their turn give rise to other impressions and ideas. So
that the impressions of reflexion are only antecedent to their
correspondent ideas; but posterior to those of sensation, and derived from
them. The examination of our sensations belongs more to anatomists and
natural philosophers than to moral; and therefore shall not at present be
entered upon. And as the impressions of reflexion, viz. passions, desires,
and emotions, which principally deserve our attention, arise mostly from
ideas, it will be necessary to reverse that method, which at first sight
seems most natural; and in order to explain the nature and principles of
the human mind, give a particular account of ideas, before we proceed to
impressions. For this reason I have here chosen to begin with ideas.

SECT. III. OF THE IDEAS OF THE MEMORY AND IMAGINATION.

We find by experience, that when any impression has been present with the
mind, it again makes its appearance there as an idea; and this it may do
after two different ways: either when in its new appearance it retains a
considerable degree of its first vivacity, and is somewhat intermediate
betwixt an impression and an idea: or when it entirely loses that
vivacity, and is a perfect idea. The faculty, by which we repeat our
impressions in the first manner, is called the MEMORY, and the other the
IMAGINATION. It is evident at first sight, that the ideas of the memory
are much more lively and strong than those of the imagination, and that
the former faculty paints its objects in more distinct colours, than any
which are employed by the latter. When we remember any past event, the
idea of it flows in upon the mind in a forcible manner; whereas in the
imagination the perception is faint and languid, and cannot without
difficulty be preserved by the mind steddy and uniform for any
considerable time. Here then is a sensible difference betwixt one species
of ideas and another. But of this more fully hereafter.^[2]

[2]
Part III, Sect. 5.

There is another difference betwixt these two kinds of ideas, which is no
less evident, namely that though neither the ideas, of the memory nor
imagination, neither the lively nor faint ideas can make their appearance
in the mind, unless their correspondent impressions have gone before to
prepare the way for them, yet the imagination is not restrained to the
same order and form with the original impressions; while the memory is in
a manner tied down in that respect, without any power of variation.

It is evident, that the memory preserves the original form, in which its
objects were presented, and that where-ever we depart from it in
recollecting any thing, it proceeds from some defect or imperfection in
that faculty. An historian may, perhaps, for the more convenient Carrying
on of his narration, relate an event before another, to which it was in
fact posterior; but then he takes notice of this disorder, if he be exact;
and by that means replaces the idea in its due position. It is the same
case in our recollection of those places and persons, with which we were
formerly acquainted. The chief exercise of the memory is not to preserve
the simple ideas, but their order and position. In short, this principle
is supported by such a number of common and vulgar phaenomena, that we may
spare ourselves the trouble of insisting on it any farther.

The same evidence follows us in our second principle, OF THE LIBERTY OF
THE IMAGINATION TO TRANSPOSE AND CHANGE ITS IDEAS. The fables we meet with
in poems and romances put this entirely out of the question. Nature there
is totally confounded, and nothing mentioned but winged horses, fiery
dragons, and monstrous giants. Nor will this liberty of the fancy appear
strange, when we consider, that all our ideas are copyed from our
impressions, and that there are not any two impressions which are
perfectly inseparable. Not to mention, that this is an evident consequence
of the division of ideas into simple and complex. Where-ever the
imagination perceives a difference among ideas, it can easily produce a
separation.

SECT. IV. OF THE CONNEXION OR ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS.

As all simple ideas may be separated by the imagination, and may be united
again in what form it pleases, nothing would be more unaccountable than
the operations of that faculty, were it not guided by some universal
principles, which render it, in some measure, uniform with itself in all
times and places. Were ideas entirely loose and unconnected, chance alone
would join them; and it is impossible the same simple ideas should fall
regularly into complex ones (as they Commonly do) without some bond of
union among them, some associating quality, by which one idea naturally
introduces another. This uniting principle among ideas is not to be
considered as an inseparable connexion; for that has been already excluded
from the imagination: Nor yet are we to conclude, that without it the mind
cannot join two ideas; for nothing is more free than that faculty: but we
are only to regard it as a gentle force, which commonly prevails, and is
the cause why, among other things, languages so nearly correspond to each
other; nature in a manner pointing out to every one those simple ideas,
which are most proper to be united in a complex one. The qualities, from
which this association arises, and by which the mind is after this manner
conveyed from one idea to another, are three, viz. RESEMBLANCE, CONTIGUITY
in time or place, and CAUSE and EFFECT.

I believe it will not be very necessary to prove, that these qualities
produce an association among ideas, and upon the appearance of one idea
naturally introduce another. It is plain, that in the course of our
thinking, and in the constant revolution of our ideas, our imagination
runs easily from one idea to any other that resembles it, and that this
quality alone is to the fancy a sufficient bond and association. It is
likewise evident that as the senses, in changing their objects, are
necessitated to change them regularly, and take them as they lie
CONTIGUOUS to each other, the imagination must by long custom acquire the
same method of thinking, and run along the parts of space and time in
conceiving its objects. As to the connexion, that is made by the relation
of cause and effect, we shall have occasion afterwards to examine it to
the bottom, and therefore shall not at present insist upon it. It is
sufficient to observe, that there is no relation, which produces a
stronger connexion in the fancy, and makes one idea more readily recall
another, than the relation of cause and effect betwixt their objects.

That we may understand the full extent of these relations, we must
consider, that two objects are connected together in the imagination, not
only when the one is immediately resembling, contiguous to, or the cause
of the other, but also when there is interposed betwixt them a third
object, which bears to both of them any of these relations. This may be
carried on to a great length; though at the same time we may observe, that
each remove considerably weakens the relation. Cousins in the fourth
degree are connected by causation, if I may be allowed to use that term;
but not so closely as brothers, much less as child and parent. In general
we may observe, that all the relations of blood depend upon cause and
effect, and are esteemed near or remote, according to the number of
connecting causes interposed betwixt the persons.

Of the three relations above-mentioned this of causation is the most
extensive. Two objects may be considered as placed in this relation, as
well when one is the cause of any of the actions or motions of the other,
as when the former is the cause of the existence of the latter. For as
that action or motion is nothing but the object itself, considered in a
certain light, and as the object continues the same in all its different
situations, it is easy to imagine how such an influence of objects upon
one another may connect them in the imagination.

We may carry this farther, and remark, not only that two objects are
connected by the relation of cause and effect, when the one produces a
motion or any action in the other, but also when it has a power of
producing it. And this we may observe to be the source of all the
relation, of interest and duty, by which men influence each other in
society, and are placed in the ties of government and subordination. A
master is such-a-one as by his situation, arising either from force or
agreement, has a power of directing in certain particulars the actions of
another, whom we call servant. A judge is one, who in all disputed cases
can fix by his opinion the possession or property of any thing betwixt any
members of the society. When a person is possessed of any power, there is
no more required to convert it into action, but the exertion of the will;
and that in every case is considered as possible, and in many as probable;
especially in the case of authority, where the obedience of the subject is
a pleasure and advantage to the superior.

These are therefore the principles of union or cohesion among our simple
ideas, and in the imagination supply the place of that inseparable
connexion, by which they are united in our memory. Here is a kind of
ATTRACTION, which in the mental world will be found to have as
extraordinary effects as in the natural, and to shew itself in as many and
as various forms. Its effects are every where conspicuous; but as to its
causes, they are mostly unknown, and must be resolved into original
qualities of human nature, which I pretend not to explain. Nothing is more
requisite for a true philosopher, than to restrain the intemperate desire
of searching into causes, and having established any doctrine upon a
sufficient number of experiments, rest contented with that, when he sees a
farther examination would lead him into obscure and uncertain
speculations. In that case his enquiry would be much better employed in
examining the effects than the causes of his principle.

Amongst the effects of this union or association of ideas, there are none
more remarkable, than those complex ideas, which are the common subjects
of our thoughts and reasoning, and generally arise from some principle of
union among our simple ideas. These complex ideas may be divided into
Relations, Modes, and Substances. We shall briefly examine each of these
in order, and shall subjoin some considerations concerning our general and
particular ideas, before we leave the present subject, which may be
considered as the elements of this philosophy.

SECT. V. OF RELATIONS.

The word RELATION is commonly used in two senses considerably different
from each other. Either for that quality, by which two ideas are connected
together in the imagination, and the one naturally introduces the other,
after the manner above-explained: or for that particular circumstance, in
which, even upon the arbitrary union of two ideas in the fancy, we may
think proper to compare them. In common language the former is always the
sense, in which we use the word, relation; and it is only in philosophy,
that we extend it to mean any particular subject of comparison, without a
connecting principle. Thus distance will be allowed by philosophers to be
a true relation, because we acquire an idea of it by the comparing of
objects: But in a common way we say, THAT NOTHING CAN BE MORE DISTANT THAN
SUCH OR SUCH THINGS FROM EACH OTHER, NOTHING CAN HAVE LESS RELATION: as if
distance and relation were incompatible.

It may perhaps be esteemed an endless task to enumerate all those
qualities, which make objects admit of comparison, and by which the ideas
of philosophical relation are produced. But if we diligently consider
them, we shall find that without difficulty they may be comprised under
seven general heads, which may be considered as the sources of all
philosophical relation.

(1) The first is RESEMBLANCE: And this is a relation, without which no
philosophical relation can exist; since no objects will admit of
comparison, but what have some degree of resemblance. But though
resemblance be necessary to all philosophical relation, it does not
follow, that it always produces a connexion or association of ideas. When
a quality becomes very general, and is common to a great many individuals,
it leads not the mind directly to any one of them; but by presenting at
once too great a choice, does thereby prevent the imagination from fixing
on any single object.

(2) IDENTITY may be esteemed a second species of relation. This relation I
here consider as applied in its strictest sense to constant and
unchangeable objects; without examining the nature and foundation of
personal identity, which shall find its place afterwards. Of all relations
the most universal is that of identity, being common to every being whose
existence has any duration.

(3) After identity the most universal and comprehensive relations are
those of SPACE and TIME, which are the sources of an infinite number of
comparisons, such as distant, contiguous, above, below, before, after,
etc.

(4) All those objects, which admit of QUANTITY, or NUMBER, may be compared
in that particular; which is another very fertile source of relation.

(5) When any two objects possess the same QUALITY in common, the DEGREES,
in which they possess it, form a fifth species of relation. Thus of two
objects, which are both heavy, the one may be either of greater, or less
weight than the other. Two colours, that are of the same kind, may yet be
of different shades, and in that respect admit of comparison.

(6) The relation of CONTRARIETY may at first sight be regarded as an
exception to the rule, THAT NO RELATION OF ANY KIND CAN SUBSIST WITHOUT
SOME DEGREE OF RESEMBLANCE. But let us consider, that no two ideas are in
themselves contrary, except those of existence and non-existence, which
are plainly resembling, as implying both of them an idea of the object;
though the latter excludes the object from all times and places, in which
it is supposed not to exist.

(7) All other objects, such as fire and water, heat and cold, are only
found to be contrary from experience, and from the contrariety of their
causes or effects; which relation of cause and effect is a seventh
philosophical relation, as well as a natural one. The resemblance implied
in this relation, shall be explained afterwards.

It might naturally be expected, that I should join DIFFERENCE to the other
relations. But that I consider rather as a negation of relation, than as
anything real or positive. Difference is of two kinds as opposed either to
identity or resemblance. The first is called a difference of number; the
other of KIND.

SECT. VI. OF MODES AND SUBSTANCES

I would fain ask those philosophers, who found so much of their reasonings
on the distinction of substance and accident, and imagine we have clear
ideas of each, whether the idea of substance be derived from the
impressions of sensation or of reflection? If it be conveyed to us by our
senses, I ask, which of them; and after what manner? If it be perceived by
the eyes, it must be a colour; if by the ears, a sound; if by the palate,
a taste; and so of the other senses. But I believe none will assert, that
substance is either a colour, or sound, or a taste. The idea, of substance
must therefore be derived from an impression of reflection, if it really
exist. But the impressions of reflection resolve themselves into our
passions and emotions: none of which can possibly represent a substance.
We have therefore no idea of substance, distinct from that of a collection
of particular qualities, nor have we any other meaning when we either talk
or reason concerning it.

The idea of a substance as well as that of a mode, is nothing but a
collection of Simple ideas, that are united by the imagination, and have a
particular name assigned them, by which we are able to recall, either to
ourselves or others, that collection. But the difference betwixt these
ideas consists in this, that the particular qualities, which form a
substance, are commonly referred to an unknown something, in which they
are supposed to inhere; or granting this fiction should not take place,
are at least supposed to be closely and inseparably connected by the
relations of contiguity and causation. The effect of this is, that
whatever new simple quality we discover to have the same connexion with
the rest, we immediately comprehend it among them, even though it did not
enter into the first conception of the substance. Thus our idea of gold
may at first be a yellow colour, weight, malleableness, fusibility; but
upon the discovery of its dissolubility in aqua regia, we join that to the
other qualities, and suppose it to belong to the substance as much as if
its idea had from the beginning made a part of the compound one. The
principal of union being regarded as the chief part of the complex idea,
gives entrance to whatever quality afterwards occurs, and is equally
comprehended by it, as are the others, which first presented themselves.

That this cannot take place in modes, is evident from considering their
nature. The simple ideas of which modes are formed, either represent
qualities, which are not united by contiguity and causation, but are
dispersed in different subjects; or if they be all united together, the
uniting principle is not regarded as the foundation of the complex idea.
The idea of a dance is an instance of the first kind of modes; that of
beauty of the second. The reason is obvious, why such complex ideas cannot
receive any new idea, without changing the name, which distinguishes the
mode.

SECT. VII. OF ABSTRACT IDEAS.

A very material question has been started concerning ABSTRACT or GENERAL
ideas, WHETHER THEY BE GENERAL OR PARTICULAR IN THE MIND’S CONCEPTION OF
THEM. A great philosopher^[3]
has disputed the received opinion in this particular, and has asserted,
that all general ideas are nothing but particular ones, annexed to a
certain term, which gives them a more extensive signification, and makes
them recall upon occasion other individuals, which are similar to them.
As I look upon this to be one of the greatest and most valuable
discoveries that has been made of late years in the republic of letters,
I shall here endeavour to confirm it by some arguments, which I hope will
put it beyond all doubt and controversy.

[3]
Dr. Berkeley. [Introd.: to ‘Principles of Human Knowledge,’ secs.
18 &c. Cf. also Introd. to this volume paragraphs 183 and ff.—Ed.]

It is evident, that in forming most of our general ideas, if not all of
them, we abstract from every particular degree of quantity and quality,
and that an object ceases not to be of any particular species on account
of every small alteration in its extension, duration and other properties.
It may therefore be thought, that here is a plain dilemma, that decides
concerning the nature of those abstract ideas, which have afforded so much
speculation to philosophers. The abstract idea of a man represents men of
all sizes and all qualities; which it is concluded it cannot do, but
either by representing at once all possible sizes and all possible
qualities, or by, representing no particular one at all. Now it having
been esteemed absurd to defend the former proposition, as implying an
infinite capacity in the mind, it has been commonly inferred in favour of
the latter: and our abstract ideas have been supposed to represent no
particular degree either of quantity or quality. But that this inference
is erroneous, I shall endeavour to make appear, first, by proving, that it
is utterly impossible to conceive any quantity or quality, without forming
a precise notion of its degrees: And secondly by showing, that though the
capacity of the mind be not infinite, yet we can at once form a notion of
all possible degrees of quantity and quality, in such a manner at least,
as, however imperfect, may serve all the purposes of reflection and
conversation.

To begin with the first proposition, THAT THE MIND CANNOT FORM ANY NOTION
OF QUANTITY OR QUALITY WITHOUT FORMING A PRECISE NOTION OF DEGREES OF
EACH; we may prove this by the three following arguments. First, We have
observed, that whatever objects are different are distinguishable, and
that whatever objects are distinguishable are separable by the thought and
imagination. And we may here add, that these propositions are equally true
in the inverse, and that whatever objects are separable are also
distinguishable, and that whatever objects are distinguishable, are also
different. For how is it possible we can separate what is not
distinguishable, or distinguish what is not different? In order therefore
to know, whether abstraction implies a separation, we need only consider
it in this view, and examine, whether all the circumstances, which we
abstract from in our general ideas, be such as are distinguishable and
different from those, which we retain as essential parts of them. But it
is evident at first sight, that the precise length of a line is not
different nor distinguishable from the line itself nor the precise degree
of any quality from the quality. These ideas, therefore, admit no more of
separation than they do of distinction and difference. They are
consequently conjoined with each other in the conception; and the general
idea of a line, notwithstanding all our abstractions and refinements, has
in its appearance in the mind a precise degree of quantity and quality;
however it may be made to represent others, which have different degrees
of both.

Secondly, it is contest, that no object can appear to the senses; or in
other words, that no impression can become present to the mind, without
being determined in its degrees both of quantity and quality. The
confusion, in which impressions are sometimes involved, proceeds only from
their faintness and unsteadiness, not from any capacity in the mind to
receive any impression, which in its real existence has no particular
degree nor proportion. That is a contradiction in terms; and even implies
the flattest of all contradictions, viz. that it is possible for the same
thing both to be and not to be.

Now since all ideas are derived from impressions, and are nothing but
copies and representations of them, whatever is true of the one must be
acknowledged concerning the other. Impressions and ideas differ only in
their strength and vivacity. The foregoing conclusion is not founded on
any particular degree of vivacity. It cannot therefore be affected by any
variation in that particular. An idea is a weaker impression; and as a
strong impression must necessarily have a determinate quantity and
quality, the case must be the same with its copy or representative.

Thirdly, it is a principle generally received in philosophy that
everything in nature is individual, and that it is utterly absurd to
suppose a triangle really existent, which has no precise proportion of
sides and angles. If this therefore be absurd in fact and reality, it must
also be absurd in idea; since nothing of which we can form a clear and
distinct idea is absurd and impossible. But to form the idea of an object,
and to form an idea simply, is the same thing; the reference of the idea
to an object being an extraneous denomination, of which in itself it bears
no mark or character. Now as it is impossible to form an idea of an
object, that is possest of quantity and quality, and yet is possest of no
precise degree of either; it follows that there is an equal impossibility
of forming an idea, that is not limited and confined in both these
particulars. Abstract ideas are therefore in themselves individual,
however they may become general in their representation. The image in the
mind is only that of a particular object, though the application of it in
our reasoning be the same, as if it were universal.

This application of ideas beyond their nature proceeds from our collecting
all their possible degrees of quantity and quality in such an imperfect
manner as may serve the purposes of life, which is the second proposition
I proposed to explain. When we have found a resemblance^[4]
among several objects, that often occur to us, we apply the same name to
all of them, whatever differences we may observe in the degrees of their
quantity and quality, and whatever other differences may appear among
them. After we have acquired a custom of this kind, the hearing of that
name revives the idea of one of these objects, and makes the imagination
conceive it with all its particular circumstances and proportions. But as
the same word is supposed to have been frequently applied to other
individuals, that are different in many respects from that idea, which is
immediately present to the mind; the word not being able to revive the
idea of all these individuals, but only touches the soul, if I may be
allowed so to speak, and revives that custom, which we have acquired by
surveying them. They are not really and in fact present to the mind, but
only in power; nor do we draw them all out distinctly in the imagination,
but keep ourselves in a readiness to survey any of them, as we may be
prompted by a present design or necessity. The word raises up an
individual idea, along with a certain custom; and that custom produces
any other individual one, for which we may have occasion. But as the
production of all the ideas, to which the name may be applied, is in most
eases impossible, we abridge that work by a more partial consideration,
and find but few inconveniences to arise in our reasoning from that
abridgment.

[4]
It is evident, that even different simple ideas may have a similarity or
resemblance to each other; nor is it necessary, that the point or circumstance
of resemblance shoud be distinct or separable from that in which they differ.
BLUE and GREEN are different simple ideas, but are more resembling than BLUE
and SCARLET; tho their perfect simplicity excludes all possibility of
separation or distinction. It is the same case with particular sounds, and
tastes and smells. These admit of infinite resemblances upon the general
appearance and comparison, without having any common circumstance the same. And
of this we may be certain, even from the very abstract terms SIMPLE IDEA. They
comprehend all simple ideas under them. These resemble each other in their
simplicity. And yet from their very nature, which excludes all composition,
this circumstance, In which they resemble, Is not distinguishable nor separable
from the rest. It is the same case with all the degrees In any quality. They
are all resembling and yet the quality, In any individual, Is not distinct from
the degree.

For this is one of the most extraordinary circumstances in the present
affair, that after the mind has produced an individual idea, upon which we
reason, the attendant custom, revived by the general or abstract term,
readily suggests any other individual, if by chance we form any reasoning,
that agrees not with it. Thus should we mention the word triangle, and
form the idea of a particular equilateral one to correspond to it, and
should we afterwards assert, that the three angles of a triangle are equal
to each other, the other individuals of a scalenum and isosceles, which we
overlooked at first, immediately crowd in upon us, and make us perceive
the falshood of this proposition, though it be true with relation to that
idea, which we had formed. If the mind suggests not always these ideas
upon occasion, it proceeds from some imperfection in its faculties; and
such a one as is often the source of false reasoning and sophistry. But
this is principally the case with those ideas which are abstruse and
compounded. On other occasions the custom is more entire, and it is seldom
we run into such errors.

Nay so entire is the custom, that the very same idea may be annext to
several different words, and may be employed in different reasonings,
without any danger of mistake. Thus the idea of an equilateral triangle of
an inch perpendicular may serve us in talking of a figure, of a
rectilinear figure, of a regular figure, of a triangle, and of an
equilateral triangle. All these terms, therefore, are in this case
attended with the same idea; but as they are wont to be applied in a
greater or lesser compass, they excite their particular habits, and
thereby keep the mind in a readiness to observe, that no conclusion be
formed contrary to any ideas, which are usually comprized under them.

Before those habits have become entirely perfect, perhaps the mind may not
be content with forming the idea of only one individual, but may run over
several, in order to make itself comprehend its own meaning, and the
compass of that collection, which it intends to express by the general
term. That we may fix the meaning of the word, figure, we may revolve in
our mind the ideas of circles, squares, parallelograms, triangles of
different sizes and proportions, and may not rest on one image or idea.
However this may be, it is certain that we form the idea of individuals,
whenever we use any general term; that we seldom or never can exhaust
these individuals; and that those, which remain, are only represented by
means of that habit, by which we recall them, whenever any present
occasion requires it. This then is the nature of our abstract ideas and
general terms; and it is after this manner we account for the foregoing
paradox, THAT SOME IDEAS ARE PARTICULAR IN THEIR NATURE, BUT GENERAL IN
THEIR REPRESENTATION. A particular idea becomes general by being annexed
to a general term; that is, to a term, which from a customary conjunction
has a relation to many other particular ideas, and readily recalls them in
the imagination.

The only difficulty, that can remain on this subject, must be with regard
to that custom, which so readily recalls every particular idea, for which
we may have occasion, and is excited by any word or sound, to which we
commonly annex it. The most proper method, in my opinion, of giving a
satisfactory explication of this act of the mind, is by producing other
instances, which are analogous to it, and other principles, which
facilitate its operation. To explain the ultimate causes of our mental
actions is impossible. It is sufficient, if we can give any satisfactory
account of them from experience and analogy.

First then I observe, that when we mention any great number, such as a
thousand, the mind has generally no adequate idea of it, but only a power
of producing such an idea, by its adequate idea of the decimals, under
which the number is comprehended. This imperfection, however, in our
ideas, is never felt in our reasonings; which seems to be an instance
parallel to the present one of universal ideas.

Secondly, we have several instances of habits, which may be revived by one
single word; as when a person, who has by rote any periods of a discourse,
or any number of verses, will be put in remembrance of the whole, which he
is at a loss to recollect, by that single word or expression, with which
they begin.

Thirdly, I believe every one, who examines the situation of his mind in
reasoning will agree with me, that we do not annex distinct and compleat
ideas to every term we make use of, and that in talking of government,
church, negotiation, conquest, we seldom spread out in our minds all the
simple ideas, of which these complex ones are composed. It is however
observable, that notwithstanding this imperfection we may avoid talking
nonsense on these subjects, and may perceive any repugnance among the
ideas, as well as if we had a fall comprehension of them. Thus if instead
of saying, that in war the weaker have always recourse to negotiation, we
should say, that they have always recourse to conquest, the custom, which
we have acquired of attributing certain relations to ideas, still follows
the words, and makes us immediately perceive the absurdity of that
proposition; in the same manner as one particular idea may serve us in
reasoning concerning other ideas, however different from it in several
circumstances.

Fourthly, As the individuals are collected together, said placed under a
general term with a view to that resemblance, which they bear to each
other, this relation must facilitate their entrance in the imagination,
and make them be suggested more readily upon occasion. And indeed if we
consider the common progress of the thought, either in reflection or
conversation, we shall find great reason to be satisfyed in this
particular. Nothing is more admirable, than the readiness, with which the
imagination suggests its ideas, and presents them at the very instant, in
which they become necessary or useful. The fancy runs from one end of the
universe to the other in collecting those ideas, which belong to any
subject. One would think the whole intellectual world of ideas was at once
subjected to our view, and that we did nothing but pick out such as were
most proper for our purpose. There may not, however, be any present,
beside those very ideas, that are thus collected by a kind of magical
faculty in the soul, which, though it be always most perfect in the
greatest geniuses, and is properly what we call a genius, is however
inexplicable by the utmost efforts of human understanding.

Perhaps these four reflections may help to remove an difficulties to the
hypothesis I have proposed concerning abstract ideas, so contrary to that,
which has hitherto prevailed in philosophy, But, to tell the truth I place
my chief confidence in what I have already proved concerning the
impossibility of general ideas, according to the common method of
explaining them. We must certainly seek some new system on this head, and
there plainly is none beside what I have proposed. If ideas be particular
in their nature, and at the same time finite in their number, it is only
by custom they can become general in their representation, and contain an
infinite number of other ideas under them.

Before I leave this subject I shall employ the same principles to explain
that distinction of reason, which is so much talked of, and is so little
understood, in the schools. Of this kind is the distinction betwixt figure
and the body figured; motion and the body moved. The difficulty of
explaining this distinction arises from the principle above explained,
that all ideas, which are different, are separable. For it follows from
thence, that if the figure be different from the body, their ideas must be
separable as well as distinguishable: if they be not different, their
ideas can neither be separable nor distinguishable. What then is meant by
a distinction of reason, since it implies neither a difference nor
separation.

To remove this difficulty we must have recourse to the foregoing
explication of abstract ideas. It is certain that the mind would never
have dreamed of distinguishing a figure from the body figured, as being in
reality neither distinguishable, nor different, nor separable; did it not
observe, that even in this simplicity there might be contained many
different resemblances and relations. Thus when a globe of white marble is
presented, we receive only the impression of a white colour disposed in a
certain form, nor are we able to separate and distinguish the colour from
the form. But observing afterwards a globe of black marble and a cube of
white, and comparing them with our former object, we find two separate
resemblances, in what formerly seemed, and really is, perfectly
inseparable. After a little more practice of this kind, we begin to
distinguish the figure from the colour by a distinction of reason; that
is, we consider the figure and colour together, since they are in effect
the same and undistinguishable; but still view them in different aspects,
according to the resemblances, of which they are susceptible. When we
would consider only the figure of the globe of white marble, we form in
reality an idea both of the figure and colour, but tacitly carry our eye
to its resemblance with the globe of black marble: And in the same manner,
when we would consider its colour only, we turn our view to its
resemblance with the cube of white marble. By this means we accompany our
ideas with a kind of reflection, of which custom renders us, in a great
measure, insensible. A person, who desires us to consider the figure of a
globe of white marble without thinking on its colour, desires an
impossibility but his meaning is, that we should consider the figure and
colour together, but still keep in our eye the resemblance to the globe of
black marble, or that to any other globe of whatever colour or substance.

PART II. OF THE IDEAS OF SPACE AND TIME.

SECT. I. OF THE INFINITE DIVISIBILITY OF OUR IDEAS OF SPACE AND TIME.

Whatever has the air of a paradox, and is contrary to the first and most
unprejudiced notions of mankind, is often greedily embraced by
philosophers, as shewing the superiority of their science, which could
discover opinions so remote from vulgar conception. On the other hand,
anything proposed to us, which causes surprize and admiration, gives such
a satisfaction to the mind, that it indulges itself in those agreeable
emotions, and will never be persuaded that its pleasure is entirely
without foundation. From these dispositions in philosophers and their
disciples arises that mutual complaisance betwixt them; while the former
furnish such plenty of strange and unaccountable opinions, and the latter
so readily believe them. Of this mutual complaisance I cannot give a more
evident instance than in the doctrine of infinite divisibility, with the
examination of which I shall begin this subject of the ideas of space and
time.

It is universally allowed, that the capacity of the mind is limited, and
can never attain a full and adequate conception of infinity: And though it
were not allowed, it would be sufficiently evident from the plainest
observation and experience. It is also obvious, that whatever is capable
of being divided in infinitum, must consist of an infinite number of
parts, and that it is impossible to set any bounds to the number of parts,
without setting bounds at the same time to the division. It requires
scarce any, induction to conclude from hence, that the idea, which we form
of any finite quality, is not infinitely divisible, but that by proper
distinctions and separations we may run up this idea to inferior ones,
which will be perfectly simple and indivisible. In rejecting the infinite
capacity of the mind, we suppose it may arrive at an end in the division
of its ideas; nor are there any possible means of evading the evidence of
this conclusion.

It is therefore certain, that the imagination reaches a minimum, and may
raise up to itself an idea, of which it cannot conceive any sub-division,
and which cannot be diminished without a total annihilation. When you tell
me of the thousandth and ten thousandth part of a grain of sand, I have a
distinct idea of these numbers and of their different proportions; but the
images, which I form in my mind to represent the things themselves, are
nothing different from each other, nor inferior to that image, by which I
represent the grain of sand itself, which is supposed so vastly to exceed
them. What consists of parts is distinguishable into them, and what is
distinguishable is separable. But whatever we may imagine of the thing,
the idea of a grain of sand is not distinguishable, nor separable into
twenty, much less into a thousand, ten thousand, or an infinite number of
different ideas.

It is the same case with the impressions of the senses as with the ideas
of the imagination. Put a spot of ink upon paper, fix your eye upon that
spot, and retire to such a distance, that, at last you lose sight of it;
it is plain, that the moment before it vanished the image or impression
was perfectly indivisible. It is not for want of rays of light striking on
our eyes, that the minute parts of distant bodies convey not any sensible
impression; but because they are removed beyond that distance, at which
their impressions were reduced to a minimum, and were incapable of any
farther diminution. A microscope or telescope, which renders them visible,
produces not any new rays of light, but only spreads those, which always
flowed from them; and by that means both gives parts to impressions, which
to the naked eye appear simple and uncompounded, and advances to a
minimum, what was formerly imperceptible.

We may hence discover the error of the common opinion, that the capacity
of the mind is limited on both sides, and that it is impossible for the
imagination to form an adequate idea, of what goes beyond a certain degree
of minuteness as well as of greatness. Nothing can be more minute, than
some ideas, which we form in the fancy; and images, which appear to the
senses; since there are ideas and images perfectly simple and indivisible.
The only defect of our senses is, that they give us disproportioned images
of things, and represent as minute and uncompounded what is really great
and composed of a vast number of parts. This mistake we are not sensible
of: but taking the impressions of those minute objects, which appear to
the senses, to be equal or nearly equal to the objects, and finding by
reason, that there are other objects vastly more minute, we too hastily
conclude, that these are inferior to any idea of our imagination or
impression of our senses. This however is certain, that we can form ideas,
which shall be no greater than the smallest atom of the animal spirits of
an insect a thousand times less than a mite: And we ought rather to
conclude, that the difficulty lies in enlarging our conceptions so much as
to form a just notion of a mite, or even of an insect a thousand times
less than a mite. For in order to form a just notion of these animals, we
must have a distinct idea representing every part of them, which,
according to the system of infinite divisibility, is utterly impossible,
and, recording to that of indivisible parts or atoms, is extremely
difficult, by reason of the vast number and multiplicity of these parts.

SECT. II. OF THE INFINITE DIVISIBILITY OF SPACE AND TIME.

Wherever ideas are adequate representations of objects, the relations,
contradictions and agreements of the ideas are all applicable to the
objects; and this we may in general observe to be the foundation of all
human knowledge. But our ideas are adequate representations of the most
minute parts of extension; and through whatever divisions and subdivisions
we may suppose these parts to be arrived at, they can never become
inferior to some ideas, which we form. The plain consequence is, that
whatever appears impossible and contradictory upon the comparison of these
ideas, must be really impossible and contradictory, without any farther
excuse or evasion.

Every thing capable of being infinitely divided contains an infinite
number of parts; otherwise the division would be stopt short by the
indivisible parts, which we should immediately arrive at. If therefore any
finite extension be infinitely divisible, it can be no contradiction to
suppose, that a finite extension contains an infinite number of parts: And
vice versa, if it be a contradiction to suppose, that a finite extension
contains an infinite number of parts, no finite extension can be
infinitely divisible. But that this latter supposition is absurd, I easily
convince myself by the consideration of my clear ideas. I first take the
least idea I can form of a part of extension, and being certain that there
is nothing more minute than this idea, I conclude, that whatever I
discover by its means must be a real quality of extension. I then repeat
this idea once, twice, thrice, &c., and find the compound idea of
extension, arising from its repetition, always to augment, and become
double, triple, quadruple, &c., till at last it swells up to a
considerable bulk, greater or smaller, in proportion as I repeat more or
less the same idea. When I stop in the addition of parts, the idea of
extension ceases to augment; and were I to carry on the addition in
infinitum, I clearly perceive, that the idea of extension must also become
infinite. Upon the whole, I conclude, that the idea of all infinite number
of parts is individually the same idea with that of an infinite extension;
that no finite extension is capable of containing an infinite number of
parts; and consequently that no finite extension is infinitely divisible.^[1]

[1]
It has been objected to me, that infinite divisibility supposes only an
infinite number of PROPORTIONAL not of ALIQIOT parts, and that an infinite
number of proportional parts does not form an infinite extension. But this
distinction is entirely frivolous. Whether these parts be calld ALIQUOT or
PROPORTIONAL, they cannot be inferior to those minute parts we conceive; and
therefore cannot form a less extension by their conjunction.

I may subjoin another argument proposed by a noted author,^[2]
which seems to me very strong and beautiful. It is evident, that
existence in itself belongs only to unity, and is never applicable to
number, but on account of the unites, of which the number is composed.
Twenty men may be said to exist; but it is only because one, two, three,
four, &c. are existent, and if you deny the existence of the latter,
that of the former falls of course. It is therefore utterly absurd to
suppose any number to exist, and yet deny the existence of unites; and as
extension is always a number, according to the common sentiment of
metaphysicians, and never resolves itself into any unite or indivisible
quantity, it follows, that extension can never at all exist. It is in
vain to reply, that any determinate quantity of extension is an unite;
but such-a-one as admits of an infinite number of fractions, and is
inexhaustible in its sub-divisions. For by the same rule these twenty men
may be considered as a unit. The whole globe of the earth, nay the whole
universe, may be considered as a unit. That term of unity is merely a
fictitious denomination, which the mind may apply to any quantity of
objects it collects together; nor can such an unity any more exist alone
than number can, as being in reality a true number. But the unity, which
can exist alone, and whose existence is necessary to that of all number,
is of another kind, and must be perfectly indivisible, and incapable of
being resolved into any lesser unity.

[2]
Mons. MALEZIEU

All this reasoning takes place with regard to time; along with an
additional argument, which it may be proper to take notice of. It is a
property inseparable from time, and which in a manner constitutes its
essence, that each of its parts succeeds another, and that none of them,
however contiguous, can ever be co-existent. For the same reason, that the
year 1737 cannot concur with the present year 1738 every moment must be
distinct from, and posterior or antecedent to another. It is certain then,
that time, as it exists, must be composed of indivisible moments. For if
in time we could never arrive at an end of division, and if each moment,
as it succeeds another, were not perfectly single and indivisible, there
would be an infinite number of co-existent moments, or parts of time;
which I believe will be allowed to be an arrant contradiction.

The infinite divisibility of space implies that of time, as is evident
from the nature of motion. If the latter, therefore, be impossible, the
former must be equally so.

I doubt not but, it will readily be allowed by the most obstinate defender
of the doctrine of infinite divisibility, that these arguments are
difficulties, and that it is impossible to give any answer to them which
will be perfectly clear and satisfactory. But here we may observe, that
nothing can be more absurd, than this custom of calling a difficulty what
pretends to be a demonstration, and endeavouring by that means to elude
its force and evidence. It is not in demonstrations as in probabilities,
that difficulties can take place, and one argument counter-ballance
another, and diminish its authority. A demonstration, if just, admits of
no opposite difficulty; and if not just, it is a mere sophism, and
consequently can never be a difficulty. It is either irresistible, or has
no manner of force. To talk therefore of objections and replies, and
ballancing of arguments in such a question as this, is to confess, either
that human reason is nothing but a play of words, or that the person
himself, who talks so, has not a Capacity equal to such subjects.
Demonstrations may be difficult to be comprehended, because of
abstractedness of the subject; but can never have such difficulties as
will weaken their authority, when once they are comprehended.

It is true, mathematicians are wont to say, that there are here equally
strong arguments on the other side of the question, and that the doctrine
of indivisible points is also liable to unanswerable objections. Before I
examine these arguments and objections in detail, I will here take them in
a body, and endeavour by a short and decisive reason to prove at once,
that it is utterly impossible they can have any just foundation.

It is an established maxim in metaphysics, That whatever the mind clearly
conceives, includes the idea of possible existence, or in other words,
that nothing we imagine is absolutely impossible. We can form the idea of
a golden mountain, and from thence conclude that such a mountain may
actually exist. We can form no idea of a mountain without a valley, and
therefore regard it as impossible.

Now it is certain we have an idea of extension; for otherwise why do we
talk and reason concerning it? It is likewise certain that this idea, as
conceived by the imagination, though divisible into parts or inferior
ideas, is not infinitely divisible, nor consists of an infinite number of
parts: For that exceeds the comprehension of our limited capacities. Here
then is an idea of extension, which consists of parts or inferior ideas,
that are perfectly, indivisible: consequently this idea implies no
contradiction: consequently it is possible for extension really to exist
conformable to it: and consequently all the arguments employed against the
possibility of mathematical points are mere scholastick quibbles, and
unworthy of our attention.

These consequences we may carry one step farther, and conclude that all
the pretended demonstrations for the infinite divisibility of extension
are equally sophistical; since it is certain these demonstrations cannot
be just without proving the impossibility of mathematical points; which it
is an evident absurdity to pretend to.

SECT. III. OF THE OTHER QUALITIES OF OUR IDEA OF SPACE AND TIME.

No discovery could have been made more happily for deciding all
controversies concerning ideas, than that abovementioned, that impressions
always take the precedency of them, and that every idea, with which the
imagination is furnished, first makes its appearance in a correspondent
impression. These latter perceptions are all so clear and evident, that
they admit of no controversy; though many of our ideas are so obscure,
that it is almost impossible even for the mind, which forms them, to tell
exactly their nature and composition. Let us apply this principle, in
order to discover farther the nature of our ideas of space and time.

Upon opening my eyes, and turning them to the surrounding objects, I
perceive many visible bodies; and upon shutting them again, and
considering the distance betwixt these bodies, I acquire the idea of
extension. As every idea is derived from some impression, which is exactly
similar to it, the impressions similar to this idea of extension, must
either be some sensations derived from the sight, or some internal
impressions arising from these sensations.

Our internal impressions are our passions, emotions, desires and
aversions; none of which, I believe, will ever be asserted to be the
model, from which the idea of space is derived. There remains therefore
nothing but the senses, which can convey to us this original impression.
Now what impression do oar senses here convey to us? This is the principal
question, and decides without appeal concerning the nature of the idea.

The table before me is alone sufficient by its view to give me the idea of
extension. This idea, then, is borrowed from, and represents some
impression, which this moment appears to the senses. But my senses convey
to me only the impressions of coloured points, disposed in a certain
manner. If the eye is sensible of any thing farther, I desire it may be
pointed out to me. But if it be impossible to shew any thing farther, we
may conclude with certainty, that the idea of extension is nothing but a
copy of these coloured points, and of the manner of their appearance.

Suppose that in the extended object, or composition of coloured points,
from which we first received the idea of extension, the points were of a
purple colour; it follows, that in every repetition of that idea we would
not only place the points in the same order with respect to each other,
but also bestow on them that precise colour, with which alone we are
acquainted. But afterwards having experience of the other colours of
violet, green, red, white, black, and of all the different compositions of
these, and finding a resemblance in the disposition of coloured points, of
which they are composed, we omit the peculiarities of colour, as far as
possible, and found an abstract idea merely on that disposition of points,
or manner of appearance, in which they agree. Nay even when the
resemblance is carryed beyond the objects of one sense, and the
impressions of touch are found to be Similar to those of sight in the
disposition of their parts; this does not hinder the abstract idea from
representing both, upon account of their resemblance. All abstract ideas
are really nothing but particular ones, considered in a certain light; but
being annexed to general terms, they are able to represent a vast variety,
and to comprehend objects, which, as they are alike in some particulars,
are in others vastly wide of each other.

The idea of time, being derived from the succession of our perceptions of
every kind, ideas as well as impressions, and impressions of reflection as
well as of sensations will afford us an instance of an abstract idea,
which comprehends a still greater variety than that of space, and yet is
represented in the fancy by some particular individual idea of a
determinate quantity and quality.

As it is from the disposition of visible and tangible objects we receive
the idea of space, so from the succession of ideas and impressions we form
the idea of time, nor is it possible for time alone ever to make its
appearance, or be taken notice of by the mind. A man in a sound sleep, or
strongly occupyed with one thought, is insensible of time; and according
as his perceptions succeed each other with greater or less rapidity, the
same duration appears longer or shorter to his imagination. It has been
remarked by a great philosopher, that our perceptions have certain bounds
in this particular, which are fixed by the original nature and
constitution of the mind, and beyond which no influence of external
objects on the senses is ever able to hasten or retard our thought. If you
wheel about a burning coal with rapidity, it will present to the senses an
image of a circle of fire; nor will there seem to be any interval of time
betwixt its revolutions; meerly because it is impossible for our
perceptions to succeed each other with the same rapidity, that motion may
be communicated to external objects. Wherever we have no successive
perceptions, we have no notion of time, even though there be a real
succession in the objects. From these phenomena, as well as from many
others, we may conclude, that time cannot make its appearance to the mind,
either alone, or attended with a steady unchangeable object, but is always
discovered some PERCEIVABLE succession of changeable objects.

To confirm this we may add the following argument, which to me seems
perfectly decisive and convincing. It is evident, that time or duration
consists of different parts: For otherwise we could not conceive a longer
or shorter duration. It is also evident, that these parts are not
co-existent: For that quality of the co-existence of parts belongs to
extension, and is what distinguishes it from duration. Now as time is
composed of parts, that are not coexistent: an unchangeable object, since
it produces none but coexistent impressions, produces none that can give
us the idea of time; and consequently that idea must be derived from a
succession of changeable objects, and time in its first appearance can
never be severed from such a succession.

Having therefore found, that time in its first appearance to the mind is
always conjoined with a succession of changeable objects, and that
otherwise it can never fall under our notice, we must now examine whether
it can be conceived without our conceiving any succession of objects, and
whether it can alone form a distinct idea in the imagination.

In order to know whether any objects, which are joined in impression, be
inseparable in idea, we need only consider, if they be different from each
other; in which case, it is plain they may be conceived apart. Every
thing, that is different is distinguishable: and everything, that is
distinguishable, may be separated, according to the maxims
above-explained. If on the contrary they be not different, they are not
distinguishable: and if they be not distinguishable, they cannot be
separated. But this is precisely the case with respect to time, compared
with our successive perceptions. The idea of time is not derived from a
particular impression mixed up with others, and plainly distinguishable
from them; but arises altogether from the manner, in which impressions
appear to the mind, without making one of the number. Five notes played on
a flute give us the impression and idea of time; though time be not a
sixth impression, which presents itself to the hearing or any other of the
senses. Nor is it a sixth impression, which the mind by reflection finds
in itself. These five sounds making their appearance in this particular
manner, excite no emotion in the mind, nor produce an affection of any
kind, which being observed by it can give rise to a new idea. For that is
necessary to produce a new idea of reflection, nor can the mind, by
revolving over a thousand times all its ideas of sensation, ever extract
from them any new original idea, unless nature has so framed its
faculties, that it feels some new original impression arise from such a
contemplation. But here it only takes notice of the manner, in which the
different sounds make their appearance; and that it may afterwards
consider without considering these particular sounds, but may conjoin it
with any other objects. The ideas of some objects it certainly must have,
nor is it possible for it without these ideas ever to arrive at any
conception of time; which since it, appears not as any primary distinct
impression, can plainly be nothing but different ideas, or impressions, or
objects disposed in a certain manner, that is, succeeding each other.

I know there are some who pretend, that the idea of duration is applicable
in a proper sense to objects, which are perfectly unchangeable; and this I
take to be the common opinion of philosophers as well as of the vulgar.
But to be convinced of its falsehood we need but reflect on the foregoing
conclusion, that the idea of duration is always derived from a succession
of changeable objects, and can never be conveyed to the mind by any thing
stedfast and unchangeable. For it inevitably follows from thence, that
since the idea of duration cannot be derived from such an object, it can
never-in any propriety or exactness be applied to it, nor can any thing
unchangeable be ever said to have duration. Ideas always represent the
Objects or impressions, from which they are derived, and can never without
a fiction represent or be applied to any other. By what fiction we apply
the idea of time, even to what is unchangeable, and suppose, as is common,
that duration is a measure of rest as well as of motion, we shall consider
afterwards.^[3]

[3]
Sect 5.

There is another very decisive argument, which establishes the present
doctrine concerning our ideas of space and time, and is founded only on
that simple principle, that our ideas of them are compounded of parts,
which are indivisible. This argument may be worth the examining.

Every idea, that is distinguishable, being also separable, let us take one
of those simple indivisible ideas, of which the compound one of extension
is formed, and separating it from all others, and considering it apart,
let us form a judgment of its nature and qualities.

It is plain it is not the idea of extension. For the idea of extension
consists of parts; and this idea, according to the supposition, is
perfectly simple and indivisible. Is it therefore nothing? That is
absolutely impossible. For as the compound idea of extension, which is
real, is composed of such ideas; were these so many non-entities, there
would be a real existence composed of non-entities; which is absurd. Here
therefore I must ask, What is our idea of a simple and indivisible point?
No wonder if my answer appear somewhat new, since the question itself has
scarce ever yet been thought of. We are wont to dispute concerning the
nature of mathematical points, but seldom concerning the nature of their
ideas.

The idea of space is conveyed to the mind by two senses, the sight and
touch; nor does anything ever appear extended, that is not either visible
or tangible. That compound impression, which represents extension,
consists of several lesser impressions, that are indivisible to the eye or
feeling, and may be called impressions of atoms or corpuscles endowed with
colour and solidity. But this is not all. It is not only requisite, that
these atoms should be coloured or tangible, in order to discover
themselves to our senses; it is also necessary we should preserve the idea
of their colour or tangibility in order to comprehend them by our
imagination. There is nothing but the idea of their colour or tangibility,
which can render them conceivable by the mind. Upon the removal of the
ideas of these sensible qualities, they are utterly annihilated to the
thought or imagination.

Now such as the parts are, such is the whole. If a point be not considered
as coloured or tangible, it can convey to us no idea; and consequently the
idea of extension, which is composed of the ideas of these points, can
never possibly exist. But if the idea of extension really can exist, as we
are conscious it does, its parts must also exist; and in order to that,
must be considered as coloured or tangible. We have therefore no idea of
space or extension, but when we regard it as an object either of our sight
or feeling.

The same reasoning will prove, that the indivisible moments of time must
be filled with some real object or existence, whose succession forms the
duration, and makes it be conceivable by the mind.

SECT. IV. OBJECTIONS ANSWERED.

Our system concerning space and time consists of two parts, which are
intimately connected together. The first depends on this chain of
reasoning. The capacity of the mind is not infinite; consequently no idea
of extension or duration consists of an infinite number of parts or
inferior ideas, but of a finite number, and these simple and indivisible:
It is therefore possible for space and time to exist conformable to this
idea: And if it be possible, it is certain they actually do exist
conformable to it; since their infinite divisibility is utterly impossible
and contradictory.

The other part of our system is a consequence of this. The parts, into
which the ideas of space and time resolve themselves, become at last
indivisible; and these indivisible parts, being nothing in themselves, are
inconceivable when not filled with something real and existent. The ideas
of space and time are therefore no separate or distinct ideas, but merely
those of the manner or order, in which objects exist: Or in other words,
it is impossible to conceive either a vacuum and extension without matter,
or a time, when there was no succession or change in any real existence.
The intimate connexion betwixt these parts of our system is the reason why
we shall examine together the objections, which have been urged against
both of them, beginning with those against the finite divisibility of
extension.

I. The first of these objections, which I shall take notice of, is more
proper to prove this connexion and dependence of the one part upon the
other, than to destroy either of them. It has often been maintained in the
schools, that extension must be divisible, in infinitum, because the
system of mathematical points is absurd; and that system is absurd,
because a mathematical point is a non-entity, and consequently can never
by its conjunction with others form a real existence. This would be
perfectly decisive, were there no medium betwixt the infinite divisibility
of matter, and the non-entity of mathematical points. But there is
evidently a medium, viz. the bestowing a colour or solidity on these
points; and the absurdity of both the extremes is a demonstration of the
truth and reality of this medium. The system of physical points, which is
another medium, is too absurd to need a refutation. A real extension, such
as a physical point is supposed to be, can never exist without parts,
different from each other; and wherever objects are different, they are
distinguishable and separable by the imagination.

II. The second objection is derived from the necessity there would be of
PENETRATION, if extension consisted of mathematical points. A simple and
indivisible atom, that touches another, must necessarily penetrate it; for
it is impossible it can touch it by its external parts, from the very
supposition of its perfect simplicity, which excludes all parts. It must
therefore touch it intimately, and in its whole essence, SECUNDUM SE,
TOTA, ET TOTALITER; which is the very definition of penetration. But
penetration is impossible: Mathematical points are of consequence equally
impossible.

I answer this objection by substituting a juster idea of penetration.
Suppose two bodies containing no void within their circumference, to
approach each other, and to unite in such a manner that the body, which
results from their union, is no more extended than either of them; it is
this we must mean when we talk of penetration. But it is evident this
penetration is nothing but the annihilation of one of these bodies, and
the preservation of the other, without our being able to distinguish
particularly which is preserved and which annihilated. Before the approach
we have the idea of two bodies. After it we have the idea only of one. It
is impossible for the mind to preserve any notion of difference betwixt
two bodies of the same nature existing in the same place at the same time.

Taking then penetration in this sense, for the annihilation of one body
upon its approach to another, I ask any one, if he sees a necessity, that
a coloured or tangible point should be annihilated upon the approach of
another coloured or tangible point? On the contrary, does he not evidently
perceive, that from the union of these points there results an object,
which is compounded and divisible, and may be distinguished into two
parts, of which each preserves its existence distinct and separate,
notwithstanding its contiguity to the other? Let him aid his fancy by
conceiving these points to be of different colours, the better to prevent
their coalition and confusion. A blue and a red point may surely lie
contiguous without any penetration or annihilation. For if they cannot,
what possibly can become of them? Whether shall the red or the blue be
annihilated? Or if these colours unite into one, what new colour will they
produce by their union?

What chiefly gives rise to these objections, and at the same time renders
it so difficult to give a satisfactory answer to them, is the natural
infirmity and unsteadiness both of our imagination and senses, when
employed on such minute objects. Put a spot of ink upon paper, and retire
to such a distance, that the spot becomes altogether invisible; you will
find, that upon your return and nearer approach the spot first becomes
visible by short intervals; and afterwards becomes always visible; and
afterwards acquires only a new force in its colouring without augmenting
its bulk; and afterwards, when it has encreased to such a degree as to be
really extended, it is still difficult for the imagination to break it
into its component parts, because of the uneasiness it finds in the
conception of such a minute object as a single point. This infirmity
affects most of our reasonings on the present subject, and makes it almost
impossible to answer in an intelligible manner, and in proper expressions,
many questions which may arise concerning it.

III. There have been many objections drawn from the mathematics against
the indivisibility of the parts of extension: though at first sight that
science seems rather favourable to the present doctrine; and if it be
contrary in its DEMONSTRATIONS, it is perfectly conformable in its
definitions. My present business then must be to defend the definitions,
and refute the demonstrations.

A surface is DEFINed to be length and breadth without depth: A line to be
length without breadth or depth: A point to be what has neither length,
breadth nor depth. It is evident that all this is perfectly unintelligible
upon any other supposition than that of the composition of extension by
indivisible points or atoms. How else could any thing exist without
length, without breadth, or without depth?

Two different answers, I find, have been made to this argument; neither of
which is in my opinion satisfactory. The first is, that the objects of
geometry, those surfaces, lines and points, whose proportions and
positions it examines, are mere ideas in the mind; and not only never
did, but never can exist in nature. They never did exist; for no one will
pretend to draw a line or make a surface entirely conformable to the
definition: They never can exist; for we may produce demonstrations from
these very ideas to prove, that they are impossible.

But can anything be imagined more absurd and contradictory than this
reasoning? Whatever can be conceived by a clear and distinct idea
necessarily implies the possibility of existence; and he who pretends to
prove the impossibility of its existence by any argument derived from the
clear idea, in reality asserts, that we have no clear idea of it, because
we have a clear idea. It is in vain to search for a contradiction in any
thing that is distinctly conceived by the mind. Did it imply any
contradiction, it is impossible it could ever be conceived.

There is therefore no medium betwixt allowing at least the possibility of
indivisible points, and denying their idea; and it is on this latter
principle, that the second answer to the foregoing argument is founded. It
has been^[4]
pretended, that though it be impossible to conceive a length without any
breadth, yet by an abstraction without a separation, we can consider the
one without regarding the other; in the same manner as we may think of
the length of the way betwixt two towns, and overlook its breadth. The
length is inseparable from the breadth both in nature and in our minds;
but this excludes not a partial consideration, and a distinction of
reason, after the manner above explained.

[4]
L’Art de penser.

In refuting this answer I shall not insist on the argument, which I have
already sufficiently explained, that if it be impossible for the mind to
arrive at a minimum in its ideas, its capacity must be infinite, in order
to comprehend the infinite number of parts, of which its idea of any
extension would be composed. I shall here endeavour to find some new
absurdities in this reasoning.

A surface terminates a solid; a line terminates a surface; a point
terminates a line; but I assert, that if the ideas of a point, line or
surface were not indivisible, it is impossible we should ever conceive
these terminations: For let these ideas be supposed infinitely divisible;
and then let the fancy endeavour to fix itself on the idea of the last
surface, line or point; it immediately finds this idea to break into
parts; and upon its seizing the last of these parts, it loses its hold by
a new division, and so on in infinitum, without any possibility of its
arriving at a concluding idea. The number of fractions bring it no nearer
the last division, than the first idea it formed. Every particle eludes
the grasp by a new fraction; like quicksilver, when we endeavour to seize
it. But as in fact there must be something, which terminates the idea of
every finite quantity; and as this terminating idea cannot itself consist
of parts or inferior ideas; otherwise it would be the last of its parts,
which finished the idea, and so on; this is a clear proof, that the ideas
of surfaces, lines and points admit not of any division; those of surfaces
in depth; of lines in breadth and depth; and of points in any dimension.

The school were so sensible of the force of this argument, that some of
them maintained, that nature has mixed among those particles of matter,
which are divisible in infinitum, a number of mathematical points, in
order to give a termination to bodies; and others eluded the force of this
reasoning by a heap of unintelligible cavils and distinctions. Both these
adversaries equally yield the victory. A man who hides himself, confesses
as evidently the superiority of his enemy, as another, who fairly delivers
his arms.

Thus it appears, that the definitions of mathematics destroy the pretended
demonstrations; and that if we have the idea of indivisible points, lines
and surfaces conformable to the definition, their existence is certainly
possible: but if we have no such idea, it is impossible we can ever
conceive the termination of any figure; without which conception there can
be no geometrical demonstration.

But I go farther, and maintain, that none of these demonstrations can have
sufficient weight to establish such a principle, as this of infinite
divisibility; and that because with regard to such minute objects, they
are not properly demonstrations, being built on ideas, which are not
exact, and maxims, which are not precisely true. When geometry decides
anything concerning the proportions of quantity, we ought not to look for
the utmost precision and exactness. None of its proofs extend so far. It
takes the dimensions and proportions of figures justly; but roughly, and
with some liberty. Its errors are never considerable; nor would it err at
all, did it not aspire to such an absolute perfection.

I first ask mathematicians, what they mean when they say one line or
surface is EQUAL to, or GREATER or LESS than another? Let any of them give
an answer, to whatever sect he belongs, and whether he maintains the
composition of extension by indivisible points, or by quantities divisible
in infinitum. This question will embarrass both of them.

There are few or no mathematicians, who defend the hypothesis of
indivisible points; and yet these have the readiest and justest answer to
the present question. They need only reply, that lines or surfaces are
equal, when the numbers of points in each are equal; and that as the
proportion of the numbers varies, the proportion of the lines and surfaces
is also varyed. But though this answer be just, as well as obvious; yet I
may affirm, that this standard of equality is entirely useless, and that
it never is from such a comparison we determine objects to be equal or
unequal with respect to each other. For as the points, which enter into
the composition of any line or surface, whether perceived by the sight or
touch, are so minute and so confounded with each other, that it is utterly
impossible for the mind to compute their number, such a computation will
Never afford us a standard by which we may judge of proportions. No one
will ever be able to determine by an exact numeration, that an inch has
fewer points than a foot, or a foot fewer than an ell or any greater
measure: for which reason we seldom or never consider this as the standard
of equality or inequality.

As to those, who imagine, that extension is divisible in infinitum, it is
impossible they can make use of this answer, or fix the equality of any
line or surface by a numeration of its component parts. For since,
according to their hypothesis, the least as well as greatest figures
contain an infinite number of parts; and since infinite numbers, properly
speaking, can neither be equal nor unequal with respect to each other; the
equality or inequality of any portions of space can never depend on any
proportion in the number of their parts. It is true, it may be said, that
the inequality of an ell and a yard consists in the different numbers of
the feet, of which they are composed; and that of a foot and a yard in the
number of the inches. But as that quantity we call an inch in the one is
supposed equal to what we call an inch in the other, and as it is
impossible for the mind to find this equality by proceeding in infinitum
with these references to inferior quantities: it is evident, that at last
we must fix some standard of equality different from an enumeration of the
parts.

There are some^[5],
who pretend, that equality is best defined by congruity, and that any two
figures are equal, when upon the placing of one upon the other, all their
parts correspond to and touch each other. In order to judge of this
definition let us consider, that since equality is a relation, it is not,
strictly speaking, a property in the figures themselves, but arises
merely from the comparison, which the mind makes betwixt them. If it
consists, therefore, in this imaginary application and mutual contact of
parts, we must at least have a distinct notion of these parts, and must
conceive their contact. Now it is plain, that in this conception we would
run up these parts to the greatest minuteness, which can possibly be
conceived; since the contact of large parts would never render the
figures equal. But the minutest parts we can conceive are mathematical
points; and consequently this standard of equality is the same with that
derived from the equality of the number of points; which we have already
determined to be a just but an useless standard. We must therefore look
to some other quarter for a solution of the present difficulty.

[5]
See Dr. Barrow’s mathematical lectures.

There are many philosophers, who refuse to assign any standard of
equality, but assert, that it is sufficient to present two objects, that
are equal, in order to give us a just notion of this proportion. All
definitions, say they, are fruitless, without the perception of such
objects; and where we perceive such objects, we no longer stand in need of
any definition. To this reasoning, I entirely agree; and assert, that the
only useful notion of equality, or inequality, is derived from the whole
united appearance and the comparison of particular objects.

It is evident, that the eye, or rather the mind is often able at one view
to determine the proportions of bodies, and pronounce them equal to, or
greater or less than each other, without examining or comparing the number
of their minute parts. Such judgments are not only common, but in many
cases certain and infallible. When the measure of a yard and that of a
foot are presented, the mind can no more question, that the first is
longer than the second, than it can doubt of those principles, which are
the most clear and self-evident.

There are therefore three proportions, which the mind distinguishes in the
general appearance of its objects, and calls by the names of greater, less
and equal. But though its decisions concerning these proportions be
sometimes infallible, they are not always so; nor are our judgments of
this kind more exempt from doubt and error than those on any other
subject. We frequently correct our first opinion by a review and
reflection; and pronounce those objects to be equal, which at first we
esteemed unequal; and regard an object as less, though before it appeared
greater than another. Nor is this the only correction, which these
judgments of our senses undergo; but we often discover our error by a
juxtaposition of the objects; or where that is impracticable, by the use
of some common and invariable measure, which being successively applied to
each, informs us of their different proportions. And even this correction
is susceptible of a new correction, and of different degrees of exactness,
according to the nature of the instrument, by which we measure the bodies,
and the care which we employ in the comparison.

When therefore the mind is accustomed to these judgments and their
corrections, and finds that the same proportion which makes two figures
have in the eye that appearance, which we call equality, makes them also
correspond to each other, and to any common measure, with which they are
compared, we form a mixed notion of equality derived both from the looser
and stricter methods of comparison. But we are not content with this. For
as sound reason convinces us that there are bodies vastly more minute than
those, which appear to the senses; and as a false reason would perswade
us, that there are bodies infinitely more minute; we clearly perceive,
that we are not possessed of any instrument or art of measuring, which can
secure us from ill error and uncertainty. We are sensible, that the
addition or removal of one of these minute parts, is not discernible
either in the appearance or measuring; and as we imagine, that two
figures, which were equal before, cannot be equal after this removal or
addition, we therefore suppose some imaginary standard of equality, by
which the appearances and measuring are exactly corrected, and the figures
reduced entirely to that proportion. This standard is plainly imaginary.
For as the very idea of equality is that of such a particular appearance
corrected by juxtaposition or a common measure. The notion of any
correction beyond what we have instruments and art to make, is a mere
fiction of the mind, and useless as well as incomprehensible. But though
this standard be only imaginary, the fiction however is very natural; nor
is anything more usual, than for the mind to proceed after this manner
with any action, even after the reason has ceased, which first determined
it to begin. This appears very conspicuously with regard to time; where
though it is evident we have no exact method of determining the
proportions of parts, not even so exact as in extension, yet the various
corrections of our measures, and their different degrees of exactness,
have given as an obscure and implicit notion of a perfect and entire
equality. The case is the same in many other subjects. A musician finding
his ear becoming every day more delicate, and correcting himself by
reflection and attention, proceeds with the same act of the mind, even
when the subject fails him, and entertains a notion of a compleat TIERCE
or OCTAVE, without being able to tell whence he derives his standard. A
painter forms the same fiction with regard to colours. A mechanic with
regard to motion. To the one light and shade; to the other swift and slow
are imagined to be capable of an exact comparison and equality beyond the
judgments of the senses.

We may apply the same reasoning to CURVE and RIGHT lines. Nothing is more
apparent to the senses, than the distinction betwixt a curve and a right
line; nor are there any ideas we more easily form than the ideas of these
objects. But however easily we may form these ideas, it is impossible to
produce any definition of them, which will fix the precise boundaries
betwixt them. When we draw lines upon paper, or any continued surface,
there is a certain order, by which the lines run along from one point to
another, that they may produce the entire impression of a curve or right
line; but this order is perfectly unknown, and nothing is observed but the
united appearance. Thus even upon the system of indivisible points, we can
only form a distant notion of some unknown standard to these objects. Upon
that of infinite divisibility we cannot go even this length; but are
reduced meerly to the general appearance, as the rule by which we
determine lines to be either curve or right ones. But though we can give
no perfect definition of these lines, nor produce any very exact method of
distinguishing the one from the other; yet this hinders us not from
correcting the first appearance by a more accurate consideration, and by a
comparison with some rule, of whose rectitude from repeated trials we have
a greater assurance. And it is from these corrections, and by carrying on
the same action of the mind, even when its reason fails us, that we form
the loose idea of a perfect standard to these figures, without being able
to explain or comprehend it.

It is true, mathematicians pretend they give an exact definition of a
right line, when they say, it is the shortest way betwixt two points. But
in the first place I observe, that this is more properly the discovery of
one of the properties of a right line, than a just deflation of it. For I
ask any one, if upon mention of a right line he thinks not immediately on
such a particular appearance, and if it is not by accident only that he
considers this property? A right line can be comprehended alone; but this
definition is unintelligible without a comparison with other lines, which
we conceive to be more extended. In common life it is established as a
maxim, that the straightest way is always the shortest; which would be as
absurd as to say, the shortest way is always the shortest, if our idea of
a right line was not different from that of the shortest way betwixt two
points.

Secondly, I repeat what I have already established, that we have no
precise idea of equality and inequality, shorter and longer, more than of
a right line or a curve; and consequently that the one can never afford us
a perfect standard for the other. An exact idea can never be built on such
as are loose and undetermined.

The idea of a plain surface is as little susceptible of a precise standard
as that of a right line; nor have we any other means of distinguishing
such a surface, than its general appearance. It is in vain, that
mathematicians represent a plain surface as produced by the flowing of a
right line. It will immediately be objected, that our idea of a surface is
as independent of this method of forming a surface, as our idea of an
ellipse is of that of a cone; that the idea of a right line is no more
precise than that of a plain surface; that a right line may flow
irregularly, and by that means form a figure quite different from a plane;
and that therefore we must suppose it to flow along two right lines,
parallel to each other, and on the same plane; which is a description,
that explains a thing by itself, and returns in a circle.

It appears, then, that the ideas which are most essential to geometry,
viz. those of equality and inequality, of a right line and a plain
surface, are far from being exact and determinate, according to our common
method of conceiving them. Not only we are incapable of telling, if the
case be in any degree doubtful, when such particular figures are equal;
when such a line is a right one, and such a surface a plain one; but we
can form no idea of that proportion, or of these figures, which is firm
and invariable. Our appeal is still to the weak and fallible judgment,
which we make from the appearance of the objects, and correct by a compass
or common measure; and if we join the supposition of any farther
correction, it is of such-a-one as is either useless or imaginary. In vain
should we have recourse to the common topic, and employ the supposition of
a deity, whose omnipotence may enable him to form a perfect geometrical
figure, and describe a right line without any curve or inflexion. As the
ultimate standard of these figures is derived from nothing but the senses
and imagination, it is absurd to talk of any perfection beyond what these
faculties can judge of; since the true perfection of any thing consists in
its conformity to its standard.

Now since these ideas are so loose and uncertain, I would fain ask any
mathematician what infallible assurance he has, not only of the more
intricate, and obscure propositions of his science, but of the most vulgar
and obvious principles? How can he prove to me, for instance, that two
right lines cannot have one common segment? Or that it is impossible to
draw more than one right line betwixt any two points? should he tell me,
that these opinions are obviously absurd, and repugnant to our clear
ideas; I would answer, that I do not deny, where two right lines incline
upon each other with a sensible angle, but it is absurd to imagine them to
have a common segment. But supposing these two lines to approach at the
rate of an inch in twenty leagues, I perceive no absurdity in asserting,
that upon their contact they become one. For, I beseech you, by what rule
or standard do you judge, when you assert, that the line, in which I have
supposed them to concur, cannot make the same right line with those two,
that form so small an angle betwixt them? You must surely have some idea
of a right line, to which this line does not agree. Do you therefore mean
that it takes not the points in the same order and by the same rule, as is
peculiar and essential to a right line? If so, I must inform you, that
besides that in judging after this manner you allow, that extension is
composed of indivisible points (which, perhaps, is more than you intend)
besides this, I say, I must inform you, that neither is this the standard
from which we form the idea of a right line; nor, if it were, is there any
such firmness in our senses or imagination, as to determine when such an
order is violated or preserved. The original standard of a right line is
in reality nothing but a certain general appearance; and it is evident
right lines may be made to concur with each other, and yet correspond to
this standard, though corrected by all the means either practicable or
imaginable.

To whatever side mathematicians turn, this dilemma still meets them. If
they judge of equality, or any other proportion, by the accurate and exact
standard, viz. the enumeration of the minute indivisible parts, they both
employ a standard, which is useless in practice, and actually establish
the indivisibility of extension, which they endeavour to explode. Or if
they employ, as is usual, the inaccurate standard, derived from a
comparison of objects, upon their general appearance, corrected by
measuring and juxtaposition; their first principles, though certain and
infallible, are too coarse to afford any such subtile inferences as they
commonly draw from them. The first principles are founded on the
imagination and senses: The conclusion, therefore, can never go beyond,
much less contradict these faculties.

This may open our eyes a little, and let us see, that no geometrical
demonstration for the infinite divisibility of extension can have so much
force as what we naturally attribute to every argument, which is supported
by such magnificent pretensions. At the same time we may learn the reason,
why geometry falls of evidence in this single point, while all its other
reasonings command our fullest assent and approbation. And indeed it seems
more requisite to give the reason of this exception, than to shew, that we
really must make such an exception, and regard all the mathematical
arguments for infinite divisibility as utterly sophistical. For it is
evident, that as no idea of quantity is infinitely divisible, there cannot
be imagined a more glaring absurdity, than to endeavour to prove, that
quantity itself admits of such a division; and to prove this by means of
ideas, which are directly opposite in that particular. And as this
absurdity is very glaring in itself, so there is no argument founded on it
which is not attended with a new absurdity, and involves not an evident
contradiction.

I might give as instances those arguments for infinite divisibility, which
are derived from the point of contact. I know there is no mathematician,
who will not refuse to be judged by the diagrams he describes upon paper,
these being loose draughts, as he will tell us, and serving only to convey
with greater facility certain ideas, which are the true foundation of all
our reasoning. This I am satisfyed with, and am willing to rest the
controversy merely upon these ideas. I desire therefore our mathematician
to form, as accurately as possible, the ideas of a circle and a right
line; and I then ask, if upon the conception of their contact he can
conceive them as touching in a mathematical point, or if he must
necessarily imagine them to concur for some space. Whichever side he
chuses, he runs himself into equal difficulties. If he affirms, that in
tracing these figures in his imagination, he can imagine them to touch
only in a point, he allows the possibility of that idea, and consequently
of the thing. If he says, that in his conception of the contact of those
lines he must make them concur, he thereby acknowledges the fallacy of
geometrical demonstrations, when carryed beyond a certain degree of
minuteness; since it is certain he has such demonstrations against the
concurrence of a circle and a right line; that is, in other words, he can
prove an idea, viz. that of concurrence, to be INCOMPATIBLE with two other
ideas, those of a circle and right line; though at the same time he
acknowledges these ideas to be inseparable.

SECT. V. THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED.

If the second part of my system be true, that the idea of space or
extension is nothing but the idea of visible or tangible points
distributed in a certain order; it follows, that we can form no idea of a
vacuum, or space, where there is nothing visible or tangible. This gives
rise to three objections, which I shall examine together, because the
answer I shall give to one is a consequence of that which I shall make use
of for the others.

First, It may be said, that men have disputed for many ages concerning a
vacuum and a plenum, without being able to bring the affair to a final
decision; and philosophers, even at this day, think themselves at liberty
to take part on either side, as their fancy leads them. But whatever
foundation there may be for a controversy concerning the things
themselves, it may be pretended, that the very dispute is decisive
concerning the idea, and that it is impossible men could so long reason
about a vacuum, and either refute or defend it, without having a notion of
what they refuted or defended.

Secondly, If this argument should be contested, the reality or at least
the possibility of the idea of a vacuum may be proved by the following
reasoning. Every idea is possible, which is a necessary and infallible
consequence of such as are possible. Now though we allow the world to be
at present a plenum, we may easily conceive it to be deprived of motion;
and this idea will certainly be allowed possible. It must also be allowed
possible, to conceive the annihilation of any part of matter by the
omnipotence of the deity, while the other parts remain at rest. For as
every idea, that is distinguishable, is separable by the imagination; and
as every idea, that is separable by the imagination, may be conceived to
be separately existent; it is evident, that the existence of one particle
of matter, no more implies the existence of another, than a square figure
in one body implies a square figure in every one. This being granted, I
now demand what results from the concurrence of these two possible ideas
of rest and annihilation, and what must we conceive to follow upon the
annihilation of all the air and subtile matter in the chamber, supposing
the walls to remain the same, without any motion or alteration? There are
some metaphysicians, who answer, that since matter and extension are the
same, the annihilation of one necessarily implies that of the other; and
there being now no distance betwixt the walls of the chamber, they touch
each other; in the same manner as my hand touches the paper, which is
immediately before me. But though this answer be very common, I defy these
metaphysicians to conceive the matter according to their hypothesis, or
imagine the floor and roof, with all the opposite sides of the chamber, to
touch each other, while they continue in rest, and preserve the same
position. For how can the two walls, that run from south to north, touch
each other, while they touch the opposite ends of two walls, that run from
east to west? And how can the floor and roof ever meet, while they are
separated by the four walls, that lie in a contrary position? If you
change their position, you suppose a motion. If you conceive any thing
betwixt them, you suppose a new creation. But keeping strictly to the two
ideas of rest and annihilation, it is evident, that the idea, which
results from them, is not that of a contact of parts, but something else;
which is concluded to be the idea of a vacuum.

The third objection carries the matter still farther, and not only
asserts, that the idea of a vacuum is real and possible, but also
necessary and unavoidable. This assertion is founded on the motion we
observe in bodies, which, it is maintained, would be impossible and
inconceivable without a vacuum, into which one body must move in order to
make way for another.. I shall not enlarge upon this objection, because it
principally belongs to natural philosophy, which lies without our present
sphere.

In order to answer these objections, we must take the matter pretty deep,
and consider the nature and origin of several ideas, lest we dispute
without understanding perfectly the subject of the controversy. It is
evident the idea of darkness is no positive idea, but merely the negation
of light, or more properly speaking, of coloured and visible objects. A
man, who enjoys his sight, receives no other perception from turning his
eyes on every side, when entirely deprived of light, than what is common
to him with one born blind; and it is certain such-a-one has no idea
either of light or darkness. The consequence of this is, that it is not
from the mere removal of visible objects we receive the impression of
extension without matter; and that the idea of utter darkness can never be
the same with that of vacuum.

Suppose again a man to be supported in the air, and to be softly conveyed
along by some invisible power; it is evident he is sensible of nothing,
and never receives the idea of extension, nor indeed any idea, from this
invariable motion. Even supposing he moves his limbs to and fro, this
cannot convey to him that idea. He feels in that case a certain sensation
or impression, the parts of which are successive to each other, and may
give him the idea of time: But certainly are not disposed in such a
manner, as is necessary to convey the idea of space or the idea of space
or extension.

Since then it appears, that darkness and motion, with the utter removal of
every thing visible and tangible, can never give us the idea of extension
without matter, or of a vacuum; the next question is, whether they can
convey this idea, when mixed with something visible and tangible?

It is commonly allowed by philosophers, that all bodies, which discover
themselves to the eye, appear as if painted on a plain surface, and that
their different degrees of remoteness from ourselves are discovered more
by reason than by the senses. When I hold up my hand before me, and spread
my fingers, they are separated as perfectly by the blue colour of the
firmament, as they could be by any visible object, which I could place
betwixt them. In order, therefore, to know whether the sight can convey
the impression and idea of a vacuum, we must suppose, that amidst an
entire darkness, there are luminous bodies presented to us, whose light
discovers only these bodies themselves, without giving us any impression
of the surrounding objects.

We must form a parallel supposition concerning the objects of our feeling.
It is not proper to suppose a perfect removal of all tangible objects: we
must allow something to be perceived by the feeling; and after an interval
and motion of the hand or other organ of sensation, another object of the
touch to be met with; and upon leaving that, another; and so on, as often
as we please. The question is, whether these intervals do not afford us
the idea of extension without body?

To begin with the first case; it is evident, that when only two luminous
bodies appear to the eye, we can perceive, whether they be conjoined or
separate: whether they be separated by a great or small distance; and if
this distance varies, we can perceive its increase or diminution, with the
motion of the bodies. But as the distance is not in this case any thing
coloured or visible, it may be thought that there is here a vacuum or pure
extension, not only intelligible to the mind, but obvious to the very
senses.

This is our natural and most familiar way of thinking; but which we shall
learn to correct by a little reflection. We may observe, that when two
bodies present themselves, where there was formerly an entire darkness,
the only change, that is discoverable, is in the appearance of these two
objects, and that all the rest continues to be as before, a perfect
negation of light, and of every coloured or visible object. This is not
only true of what may be said to be remote from these bodies, but also of
the very distance; which is interposed betwixt them; that being nothing
but darkness, or the negation of light; without parts, without
composition, invariable and indivisible. Now since this distance causes no
perception different from what a blind man receives from his eyes, or what
is conveyed to us in the darkest night, it must partake of the same
properties: And as blindness and darkness afford us no ideas of extension,
it is impossible that the dark and undistinguishable distance betwixt two
bodies can ever produce that idea.

The sole difference betwixt an absolute darkness and the appearance of two
or more visible luminous objects consists, as I said, in the objects
themselves, and in the manner they affect our senses. The angles, which
the rays of light flowing from them, form with each other; the motion that
is required in the eye, in its passage from one to the other; and the
different parts of the organs, which are affected by them; these produce
the only perceptions, from which we can judge of the distance. But as
these perceptions are each of them simple and indivisible, they can never
give us the idea of extension.

We may illustrate this by considering the sense of feeling, and the
imaginary distance or interval interposed betwixt tangible or solid
objects. I suppose two cases, viz. that of a man supported in the air, and
moving his limbs to and fro, without meeting any thing tangible; and that
of a man, who feeling something tangible, leaves it, and after a motion,
of which he is sensible, perceives another tangible object; and I then
ask, wherein consists the difference betwixt these two cases? No one will
make any scruple to affirm, that it consists meerly in the perceiving
those objects, and that the sensation, which arises from the motion, is in
both cases the same: And as that sensation is not capable of conveying to
us an idea of extension, when unaccompanyed with some other perception, it
can no more give us that idea, when mixed with the impressions of tangible
objects; since that mixture produces no alteration upon it.

But though motion and darkness, either alone, or attended with tangible
and visible objects, convey no idea of a vacuum or extension without
matter, yet they are the causes why we falsly imagine we can form such an
idea. For there is a close relation betwixt that motion and darkness, and
a real extension, or composition of visible and tangible objects.

First, We may observe, that two visible objects appearing in the midst of
utter darkness, affect the senses in the same manner, and form the same
angle by the rays, which flow from them, and meet in the eye, as if the
distance betwixt them were find with visible objects, that give us a true
idea of extension. The sensation of motion is likewise the same, when
there is nothing tangible interposed betwixt two bodies, as when we feel a
compounded body, whose different parts are placed beyond each other.

Secondly, We find by experience, that two bodies, which are so placed as
to affect the senses in the same manner with two others, that have a
certain extent of visible objects interposed betwixt them, are capable of
receiving the same extent, without any sensible impulse or penetration,
and without any change on that angle, under which they appear to the
senses. In like manner, where there is one object, which we cannot feel
after another without an interval, and the perceiving of that sensation we
call motion in our hand or organ of sensation; experience shews us, that
it is possible the same object may be felt with the same sensation of
motion, along with the interposed impression of solid and tangible
objects, attending the sensation. That is, in other words, an invisible
and intangible distance may be converted into a visible and tangible one,
without any change on the distant objects.

Thirdly, We may observe, as another relation betwixt these two kinds of
distance, that they have nearly the same effects on every natural
phænomenon. For as all qualities, such as heat, cold, light, attraction,
&c. diminish in proportion to the distance; there is but little
difference observed, whether this distance be marled out by compounded and
sensible objects, or be known only by the manner, in which the distant
objects affect the senses.

Here then are three relations betwixt that distance, which conveys the
idea of extension, and that other, which is not filled with any coloured
or solid object. The distant objects affect the senses in the same manner,
whether separated by the one distance or the other; the second species of
distance is found capable of receiving the first; and they both equally
diminish the force of every quality.

These relations betwixt the two kinds of distance will afford us an easy
reason, why the one has so often been taken for the other, and why we
imagine we have an idea of extension without the idea of any object either
of the sight or feeling. For we may establish it as a general maxim in
this science of human nature, that wherever there is a close relation
betwixt two ideas, the mind is very apt to mistake them, and in all its
discourses and reasonings to use the one for the other. This phænomenon
occurs on so many occasions, and is of such consequence, that I cannot
forbear stopping a moment to examine its causes. I shall only premise,
that we must distinguish exactly betwixt the phænomenon itself, and the
causes, which I shall assign for it; and must not imagine from any
uncertainty in the latter, that the former is also uncertain. The
phænomenon may be real, though my explication be chimerical. The falshood
of the one is no consequence of that of the other; though at the same time
we may observe, that it is very natural for us to draw such a consequence;
which is an evident instance of that very principle, which I endeavour to
explain.

When I received the relations of resemblance, contiguity and causation, as
principles of union among ideas, without examining into their causes, it
was more in prosecution of my first maxim, that we must in the end rest
contented with experience, than for want of something specious and
plausible, which I might have displayed on that subject. It would have
been easy to have made an imaginary dissection of the brain, and have
shewn, why upon our conception of any idea, the animal spirits run into
all the contiguous traces, and rouze up the other ideas, that are related
to it. But though I have neglected any advantage, which I might have drawn
from this topic in explaining the relations of ideas, I am afraid I must
here have recourse to it, in order to account for the mistakes that arise
from these relations. I shall therefore observe, that as the mind is
endowed with a power of exciting any idea it pleases; whenever it
dispatches the spirits into that region of the brain, in which the idea is
placed; these spirits always excite the idea, when they run precisely into
the proper traces, and rummage that cell, which belongs to the idea. But
as their motion is seldom direct, and naturally turns a little to the one
side or the other; for this reason the animal spirits, falling into the
contiguous traces, present other related ideas in lieu of that, which the
mind desired at first to survey. This change we are not always sensible
of; but continuing still the same train of thought, make use of the
related idea, which is presented to us, and employ it in our reasoning, as
if it were the same with what we demanded. This is the cause of many
mistakes and sophisms in philosophy; as will naturally be imagined, and as
it would be easy to show, if there was occasion.

Of the three relations above-mentioned that of resemblance is the most
fertile source of error; and indeed there are few mistakes in reasoning,
which do not borrow largely from that origin. Resembling ideas are not
only related together, but the actions of the mind, which we employ in
considering them, are so little different, that we are not able to
distinguish them. This last circumstance is of great consequence, and we
may in general observe, that wherever the actions of the mind in forming
any two ideas are the same or resembling, we are very apt to confound
these ideas, and take the one for the other. Of this we shall see many
instances in the progress of this treatise. But though resemblance be the
relation, which most readily produces a mistake in ideas, yet the others
of causation and contiguity may also concur in the same influence. We
might produce the figures of poets and orators, as sufficient proofs of
this, were it as usual, as it is reasonable, in metaphysical subjects to
draw our arguments from that quarter. But lest metaphysicians should
esteem this below their dignity, I shall borrow a proof from an
observation, which may be made on most of their own discourses, viz. that
it is usual for men to use words for ideas, and to talk instead of
thinking in their reasonings. We use words for ideas, because they are
commonly so closely connected that the mind easily mistakes them. And this
likewise is the reason, why we substitute the idea of a distance, which is
not considered either as visible or tangible, in the room of extension,
which is nothing but a composition of visible or tangible points disposed
in a certain order. In causing this mistake there concur both the
relations of causation and resemblance. As the first species of distance
is found to be convertible into the second, it is in this respect a kind
of cause; and the similarity of their manner of affecting the senses, and
diminishing every quality, forms the relation of resemblance.

After this chain of reasoning and explication of my principles, I am now
prepared to answer all the objections that have been offered, whether
derived from metaphysics or mechanics. The frequent disputes concerning a
vacuum, or extension without matter prove not the reality of the idea,
upon which the dispute turns; there being nothing more common, than to see
men deceive themselves in this particular; especially when by means of any
close relation, there is another idea presented, which may be the occasion
of their mistake.

We may make almost the same answer to the second objection, derived from
the conjunction of the ideas of rest and annihilation. When every thing is
annihilated in the chamber, and the walls continue immoveable, the chamber
must be conceived much in the same manner as at present, when the air that
fills it, is not an object of the senses. This annihilation leaves to the
eye, that fictitious distance, which is discovered by the different parts
of the organ, that are affected, and by the degrees of light and shade;—and
to the feeling, that which consists in a sensation of motion in the hand,
or other member of the body. In vain should we. search any farther. On
whichever side we turn this subject, we shall find that these are the only
impressions such an object can produce after the supposed annihilation;
and it has already been remarked, that impressions can give rise to no
ideas, but to such as resemble them.

Since a body interposed betwixt two others may be supposed to be
annihilated, without producing any change upon such as lie on each hand of
it, it is easily conceived, how it may be created anew, and yet produce as
little alteration. Now the motion of a body has much the same effect as
its creation. The distant bodies are no more affected in the one case,
than in the other. This suffices to satisfy the imagination, and proves
there is no repugnance in such a motion. Afterwards experience comes in
play to persuade us that two bodies, situated in the manner
above-described, have really such a capacity of receiving body betwixt
them, and that there is no obstacle to the conversion of the invisible and
intangible distance into one that is visible and tangible. However natural
that conversion may seem, we cannot be sure it is practicable, before we
have had experience of it.

Thus I seem to have answered the three objections above-mentioned; though
at the same time I am sensible, that few will be satisfyed with these
answers, but will immediately propose new objections and difficulties. It
will probably be said, that my reasoning makes nothing to the matter in
hands and that I explain only the manner in which objects affect the
senses, without endeavouring to account for their real nature and
operations. Though there be nothing visible or tangible interposed betwixt
two bodies, yet we find BY EXPERIENCE, that the bodies may be placed in
the same manner, with regard to the eye, and require the same motion of
the hand in passing from one to the other, as if divided by something
visible and tangible. This invisible and intangible distance is also found
by experience to contain a capacity of receiving body, or of becoming
visible and tangible. Here is the whole of my system; and in no part of it
have I endeavoured to explain the cause, which separates bodies after this
manner, and gives them a capacity of receiving others betwixt them,
without any impulse or penetration.

I answer this objection, by pleading guilty, and by confessing that my
intention never was to penetrate into the nature of bodies, or explain the
secret causes of their operations. For besides that this belongs not to my
present purpose, I am afraid, that such an enterprise is beyond the reach
of human understanding, and that we can never pretend to know body
otherwise than by those external properties, which discover themselves to
the senses. As to those who attempt any thing farther, I cannot approve of
their ambition, till I see, in some one instance at least, that they have
met with success. But at present I content myself with knowing perfectly
the manner in which objects affect my senses, and their connections with
each other, as far as experience informs me of them. This suffices for the
conduct of life; and this also suffices for my philosophy, which pretends
only to explain the nature and causes of our perceptions, or impressions
and ideas.^[6]

[6]
As long as we confine our speculations to the appearances of objects to our
senses, without entering into disquisitions concerning their real nature and
operations, we are safe from all difficulties, and can never be embarrassed by
any question. Thus, if it be asked, if the invisible and intangible distance,
interposed betwixt two objects, be something or nothing: It is easy to answer,
that it is SOMETHING, VIZ. a property of the objects, which affect the SENSES
after such a particular manner. If it be asked whether two objects, having such
a distance betwixt them, touch or not: it may be answered, that this depends
upon the definition of the word, TOUCH. If objects be said to touch, when there
is nothing SENSIBLE interposed betwixt them, these objects touch: it objects be
said to touch, when their IMAGES strike contiguous parts of the eye, and when
the hand FEELS both objects successively, without any interposed motion, these
objects do not touch. The appearances of objects to our senses are all
consistent; and no difficulties can ever arise, but from the obscurity of the
terms we make use of.
    If we carry our enquiry beyond the appearances of objects to the senses, I
am afraid, that most of our conclusions will be full of scepticism and
uncertainty. Thus if it be asked, whether or not the invisible and intangible
distance be always full of body, or of something that by an improvement of our
organs might become visible or tangible, I must acknowledge, that I find no
very decisive arguments on either side; though I am inclined to the contrary
opinion, as being more suitable to vulgar and popular notions. If THE NEWTONIAN
philosophy be rightly understood, it will be found to mean no more. A vacuum is
asserted: That is, bodies are said to be placed after such a manner, is to
receive bodies betwixt them, without impulsion or penetration. The real nature
of this position of bodies is unknown. We are only acquainted with its effects
on the senses, and its power of receiving body. Nothing is more suitable to
that philosophy, than a modest scepticism to a certain degree, and a fair
confession of ignorance in subjects, that exceed all human capacity.

I shall conclude this subject of extension with a paradox, which will
easily be explained from the foregoing reasoning. This paradox is, that if
you are pleased to give to the in-visible and intangible distance, or in
other words, to the capacity of becoming a visible and tangible distance,
the name of a vacuum, extension and matter are the same, and yet there is
a vacuum. If you will not give it that name, motion is possible in a
plenum, without any impulse in infinitum, without returning in a circle,
and without penetration. But however we may express ourselves, we must
always confess, that we have no idea of any real extension without filling
it with sensible objects, and conceiving its parts as visible or tangible.

As to the doctrine, that time is nothing but the manner, in which some
real objects exist; we may observe, that it is liable to the same
objections as the similar doctrine with regard to extension. If it be a
sufficient proof, that we have the idea of a vacuum, because we dispute
and reason concerning it; we must for the same reason have the idea of
time without any changeable existence; since there is no subject of
dispute more frequent and common. But that we really have no such idea, is
certain. For whence should it be derived? Does it arise from an impression
of sensation or of reflection? Point it out distinctly to us, that we may
know its nature and qualities. But if you cannot point out any such
impression, you may be certain you are mistaken, when you imagine you have
any such idea.

But though it be impossible to shew the impression, from which the idea of
time without a changeable existence is derived; yet we can easily point
out those appearances, which make us fancy we have that idea. For we may
observe, that there is a continual succession of perceptions in our mind;
so that the idea of time being for ever present with us; when we consider
a stedfast object at five-a-clock, and regard the same at six; we are apt
to apply to it that idea in the same manner as if every moment were
distinguished by a different position, or an alteration of the object. The
first and second appearances of the object, being compared with the
succession of our perceptions, seem equally removed as if the object had
really changed. To which we may add, what experience shews us, that the
object was susceptible of such a number of changes betwixt these
appearances; as also that the unchangeable or rather fictitious duration
has the same effect upon every quality, by encreasing or diminishing it,
as that succession, which is obvious to the senses. From these three
relations we are apt to confound our ideas, and imagine we can form the
idea of a time and duration, without any change or succession.

SECT. VI. OF THE IDEA OF EXISTENCE, AND OF EXTERNAL EXISTENCE.

It may not be amiss, before we leave this subject, to explain the ideas of
existence and of external existence; which have their difficulties, as
well as the ideas of space and time. By this means we shall be the better
prepared for the examination of knowledge and probability, when we
understand perfectly all those particular ideas, which may enter into our
reasoning.

There is no impression nor idea of any kind, of which we have any
consciousness or memory, that is not conceived as existent; and it is
evident, that from this consciousness the most perfect idea and assurance
of being is derived. From hence we may form a dilemma, the most clear and
conclusive that can be imagined, viz. that since we never remember any
idea or impression without attributing existence to it, the idea of
existence must either be derived from a distinct impression, conjoined
with every perception or object of our thought, or must be the very same
with the idea of the perception or object.

As this dilemma is an evident consequence of the principle, that every
idea arises from a similar impression, so our decision betwixt the
propositions of the dilemma is no more doubtful. So far from there being
any distinct impression, attending every impression and every idea, that I
do not think there are any two distinct impressions, which are inseparably
conjoined. Though certain sensations may at one time be united, we quickly
find they admit of a separation, and may be presented apart. And thus,
though every impression and idea we remember be considered as existent,
the idea of existence is not derived from any particular impression.

The idea of existence, then, is the very same with the idea of what we
conceive to be existent. To reflect on any thing simply, and to reflect on
it as existent, are nothing different from each other. That idea, when
conjoined with the idea of any object, makes no addition to it. Whatever
we conceive, we conceive to be existent. Any idea we please to form is the
idea of a being; and the idea of a being is any idea we please to form.

Whoever opposes this, must necessarily point out that distinct impression,
from which the idea of entity is derived, and must prove, that this
impression is inseparable from every perception we believe to be existent.
This we may without hesitation conclude to be impossible.

Our foregoing reasoning^[7]
concerning the distinction of ideas without any real difference will not
here serve us in any stead. That kind of distinction is founded on the
different resemblances, which the same simple idea may have to several
different ideas. But no object can be presented resembling some object
with respect to its existence, and different from others in the same
particular; since every object, that is presented, must necessarily be
existent.

[7]
Part I. Sect. 7.

A like reasoning will account for the idea of external existence. We may
observe, that it is universally allowed by philosophers, and is besides
pretty obvious of itself, that nothing is ever really present with the
mind but its perceptions or impressions and ideas, and that external
objects become known to us only by those perceptions they occasion. To
hate, to love, to think, to feel, to see; all this is nothing but to
perceive.

Now since nothing is ever present to the mind but perceptions, and since
all ideas are derived from something antecedently present to the mind; it
follows, that it is impossible for us so much as to conceive or form an
idea of any thing specifically different from ideas and impressions. Let
us fix our attention out of ourselves as much as possible: Let us chase
our imagination to the heavens, or to the utmost limits of the universe;
we never really advance a step beyond ourselves, nor can conceive any kind
of existence, but those perceptions, which have appeared in that narrow
compass. This is the universe of the imagination, nor have we any idea but
what is there produced.

The farthest we can go towards a conception of external objects, when
supposed SPECIFICALLY different from our perceptions, is to form a
relative idea of them, without pretending to comprehend the related
objects. Generally speaking we do not suppose them specifically different;
but only attribute to them different relations, connections and durations.
But of this more fully hereafter.^[8]

[8]
Part IV, Sect. 2.

PART III. OF KNOWLEDGE AND PROBABILITY.

SECT. I. OF KNOWLEDGE.

There are seven^[1]
different kinds of philosophical relation, viz. RESEMBLANCE, IDENTITY,
RELATIONS OF TIME AND PLACE, PROPORTION IN QUANTITY OR NUMBER, DEGREES IN
ANY QUALITY, CONTRARIETY and CAUSATION. These relations may be divided
into two classes; into such as depend entirely on the ideas, which we
compare together, and such as may be changed without any change in the
ideas. It is from the idea of a triangle, that we discover the relation
of equality, which its three angles bear to two right ones; and this
relation is invariable, as long as our idea remains the same. On the
contrary, the relations of contiguity and distance betwixt two objects
may be changed merely by an alteration of their place, without any change
on the objects themselves or on their ideas; and the place depends on a
hundred different accidents, which cannot be foreseen by the mind. It is
the same case with identity and causation. Two objects, though perfectly
resembling each other, and even appearing in the same place at different
times, may be numerically different: And as the power, by which one
object produces another, is never discoverable merely from their idea, it
is evident cause and effect are relations, of which we receive
information from experience, and not from any abstract reasoning or
reflection. There is no single phænomenon, even the most simple, which
can be accounted for from the qualities of the objects, as they appear to
us; or which we could foresee without the help of our memory and
experience.

[1]
Part I. Sect. 5.

It appears, therefore, that of these seven philosophical relations, there
remain only four, which depending solely upon ideas, can be the objects of
knowledge and certainty. These four are RESEMBLANCE, CONTRARIETY, DEGREES
IN QUALITY, and PROPORTIONS IN QUANTITY OR NUMBER. Three of these
relations are discoverable at first sight, and fall more properly under
the province of intuition than demonstration. When any objects resemble
each other, the resemblance will at first strike the eye, or rather the
mind; and seldom requires a second examination. The case is the same with
contrariety, and with the degrees of any quality. No one can once doubt
but existence and non-existence destroy each other, and are perfectly
incompatible and contrary. And though it be impossible to judge exactly of
the degrees of any quality, such as colour, taste, heat, cold, when the
difference betwixt them is very small: yet it is easy to decide, that any
of them is superior or inferior to another, when their difference is
considerable. And this decision we always pronounce at first sight,
without any enquiry or reasoning.

We might proceed, after the same manner, in fixing the proportions of
quantity or number, and might at one view observe a superiority or
inferiority betwixt any numbers, or figures; especially where the
difference is very great and remarkable. As to equality or any exact
proportion, we can only guess at it from a single consideration; except in
very short numbers, or very limited portions of extension; which are
comprehended in an instant, and where we perceive an impossibility of
falling into any considerable error. In all other cases we must settle the
proportions with some liberty, or proceed in a more artificial manner.

I have already observed, that geometry, or the art, by which we fix the
proportions of figures; though it much excels both in universality and
exactness, the loose judgments of the senses and imagination; yet never
attains a perfect precision and exactness. It’s first principles are still
drawn from the general appearance of the objects; and that appearance can
never afford us any security, when we examine, the prodigious minuteness
of which nature is susceptible. Our ideas seem to give a perfect
assurance, that no two right lines can have a common segment; but if we
consider these ideas, we shall find, that they always suppose a sensible
inclination of the two lines, and that where the angle they form is
extremely small, we have no standard of a I @ right line so precise as to
assure us of the truth of this proposition. It is the same case with most
of the primary decisions of the mathematics.

There remain, therefore, algebra and arithmetic as the only sciences, in
which we can carry on a chain of reasoning to any degree of intricacy, and
yet preserve a perfect exactness and certainty. We are possest of a
precise standard, by which we can judge of the equality and proportion of
numbers; and according as they correspond or not to that standard, we
determine their relations, without any possibility of error. When two
numbers are so combined, as that the one has always an unite answering to
every unite of the other, we pronounce them equal; and it is for want of
such a standard of equality in extension, that geometry can scarce be
esteemed a perfect and infallible science.

But here it may not be amiss to obviate a difficulty, which may arise from
my asserting, that though geometry falls short of that perfect precision
and certainty, which are peculiar to arithmetic and algebra, yet it excels
the imperfect judgments of our senses and imagination. The reason why I
impute any defect to geometry, is, because its original and fundamental
principles are derived merely from appearances; and it may perhaps be
imagined, that this defect must always attend it, and keep it from ever
reaching a greater exactness in the comparison of objects or ideas, than
what our eye or imagination alone is able to attain. I own that this
defect so far attends it, as to keep it from ever aspiring to a full
certainty: But since these fundamental principles depend on the easiest
and least deceitful appearances, they bestow on their consequences a
degree of exactness, of which these consequences are singly incapable. It
is impossible for the eye to determine the angles of a chiliagon to be
equal to 1996 right angles, or make any conjecture, that approaches this
proportion; but when it determines, that right lines cannot concur; that
we cannot draw more than one right line between two given points; it’s
mistakes can never be of any consequence. And this is the nature and use
of geometry, to run us up to such appearances, as, by reason of their
simplicity, cannot lead us into any considerable error.

I shall here take occasion to propose a second observation concerning our
demonstrative reasonings, which is suggested by the same subject of the
mathematics. It is usual with mathematicians, to pretend, that those
ideas, which are their objects, are of so refined and spiritual a nature,
that they fall not under the conception of the fancy, but must be
comprehended by a pure and intellectual view, of which the superior
faculties of the soul are alone capable. The same notion runs through most
parts of philosophy, and is principally made use of to explain oar
abstract ideas, and to shew how we can form an idea of a triangle, for
instance, which shall neither be an isoceles nor scalenum, nor be confined
to any particular length and proportion of sides. It is easy to see, why
philosophers are so fond of this notion of some spiritual and refined
perceptions; since by that means they cover many of their absurdities, and
may refuse to submit to the decisions of clear ideas, by appealing to such
as are obscure and uncertain. But to destroy this artifice, we need but
reflect on that principle so oft insisted on, that all our ideas are
copyed from our impressions. For from thence we may immediately conclude,
that since all impressions are clear and precise, the ideas, which are
copyed from them, must be of the same nature, and can never, but from our
fault, contain any thing so dark and intricate. An idea is by its very
nature weaker and fainter than an impression; but being in every other
respect the same, cannot imply any very great mystery. If its weakness
render it obscure, it is our business to remedy that defect, as much as
possible, by keeping the idea steady and precise; and till we have done
so, it is in vain to pretend to reasoning and philosophy.

SECT. II. OF PROBABILITY, AND OF THE IDEA OF CAUSE AND EFFECT.

This is all I think necessary to observe concerning those four relations,
which are the foundation of science; but as to the other three, which
depend not upon the idea, and may be absent or present even while that
remains the same, it will be proper to explain them more particularly.
These three relations are identity, the situations in time and place, and
causation.

All kinds of reasoning consist in nothing but a comparison, and a
discovery of those relations, either constant or inconstant, which two or
more objects bear to each other. This comparison we may make, either when
both the objects are present to the senses, or when neither of them is
present, or when only one. When both the objects are present to the senses
along with the relation, we call this perception rather than reasoning;
nor is there in this case any exercise of the thought, or any action,
properly speaking, but a mere passive admission of the impressions through
the organs of sensation. According to this way of thinking, we ought not
to receive as reasoning any of the observations we may make concerning
identity, and the relations of time and place; since in none of them the
mind can go beyond what is immediately present to the senses, either to
discover the real existence or the relations of objects. It is only
causation, which produces such a connexion, as to give us assurance from
the existence or action of one object, that it was followed or preceded by
any other existence or action; nor can the other two relations be ever
made use of in reasoning, except so far as they either affect or are
affected by it. There is nothing in any objects to perswade us, that they
are either always remote or always contiguous; and when from experience
and observation we discover, that their relation in this particular is
invariable, we, always conclude there is some secret cause, which
separates or unites them. The same reasoning extends to identity. We
readily suppose an object may continue individually the same, though
several times absent from and present to the senses; and ascribe to it an
identity, notwithstanding the interruption of the perception, whenever we
conclude, that if we had kept our eye or hand constantly upon it, it would
have conveyed an invariable and uninterrupted perception. But this
conclusion beyond the impressions of our senses can be founded only on the
connexion of cause and effect; nor can we otherwise have any security,
that the object is not changed upon us, however much the new object may
resemble that which was formerly present to the senses. Whenever we
discover such a perfect resemblance, we consider, whether it be common in
that species of objects; whether possibly or probably any cause could
operate in producing the change and resemblance; and according as we
determine concerning these causes and effects, we form our judgment
concerning the identity of the object.

Here then it appears, that of those three relations, which depend not upon
the mere ideas, the only one, that can be traced beyond our senses and
informs us of existences and objects, which we do not see or feel, is
causation. This relation, therefore, we shall endeavour to explain fully
before we leave the subject of the understanding.

To begin regularly, we must consider the idea of causation, and see from
what origin it is derived. It is impossible to reason justly, without
understanding perfectly the idea concerning which we reason; and it is
impossible perfectly to understand any idea, without tracing it up to its
origin, and examining that primary impression, from which it arises. The
examination of the impression bestows a clearness on the idea; and the
examination of the idea bestows a like clearness on all our reasoning.

Let us therefore cast our eye on any two objects, which we call cause and
effect, and turn them on all sides, in order to find that impression,
which produces an idea, of such prodigious consequence. At first sight I
perceive, that I must not search for it in any of the particular qualities
of the objects; since which-ever of these qualities I pitch on, I find
some object, that is not possessed of it, and yet falls under the
denomination of cause or effect. And indeed there is nothing existent,
either externally or internally, which is not to be considered either as a
cause or an effect; though it is plain there is no one quality, which
universally belongs to all beings, and gives them a title to that
denomination.

The idea, then, of causation must be derived from some relation among
objects; and that relation we must now endeavour to discover. I find in
the first place, that whatever objects are considered as causes or
effects, are contiguous; and that nothing can operate in a time or place,
which is ever so little removed from those of its existence. Though
distant objects may sometimes seem productive of each other, they are
commonly found upon examination to be linked by a chain of causes, which
are contiguous among themselves, and to the distant objects; and when in
any particular instance we cannot discover this connexion, we still
presume it to exist. We may therefore consider the relation of CONTIGUITY
as essential to that of causation; at least may suppose it such, according
to the general opinion, till we can find a more^[2]
proper occasion to clear up this matter, by examining what objects are or
are not susceptible of juxtaposition and conjunction.

[2]
Part IV. Sect. 5.

The second relation I shall observe as essential to causes and effects, is
not so universally acknowledged, but is liable to some controversy. It is
that of PRIORITY Of time in the cause before the effect. Some pretend that
it is not absolutely necessary a cause should precede its effect; but that
any object or action, in the very first moment of its existence, may exert
its productive quality, and give rise to another object or action,
perfectly co-temporary with itself. But beside that experience in most
instances seems to contradict this opinion, we may establish the relation
of priority by a kind of inference or reasoning. It is an established
maxim both in natural and moral philosophy, that an object, which exists
for any time in its full perfection without producing another, is not its
sole cause; but is assisted by some other principle, which pushes it from
its state of inactivity, and makes it exert that energy, of which it was
secretly possest. Now if any cause may be perfectly co-temporary with its
effect, it is certain, according to this maxim, that they must all of them
be so; since any one of them, which retards its operation for a single
moment, exerts not itself at that very individual time, in which it might
have operated; and therefore is no proper cause. The consequence of this
would be no less than the destruction of that succession of causes, which
we observe in the world; and indeed, the utter annihilation of time. For
if one cause were co-temporary with its effect, and this effect with its
effect, and so on, it is plain there would be no such thing as succession,
and all objects must be co-existent.

If this argument appear satisfactory, it is well. If not, I beg the reader
to allow me the same liberty, which I have used in the preceding case, of
supposing it such. For he shall find, that the affair is of no great
importance.

Having thus discovered or supposed the two relations of contiguity and
succession to be essential to causes and effects, I find I am stopt short,
and can proceed no farther in considering any single instance of cause and
effect. Motion in one body is regarded upon impulse as the cause of motion
in another. When we consider these objects with utmost attention, we find
only that the one body approaches the other; and that the motion of it
precedes that of the other, but without any, sensible interval. It is in
vain to rack ourselves with farther thought and reflection upon this
subject. We can go no farther in considering this particular instance.

Should any one leave this instance, and pretend to define a cause, by
saying it is something productive of another, it is evident he would say
nothing. For what does he mean by production? Can he give any definition
of it, that will not be the same with that of causation? If he can; I
desire it may be produced. If he cannot; he here runs in a circle, and
gives a synonimous term instead of a definition.

Shall we then rest contented with these two relations of contiguity and
succession, as affording a complete idea of causation? By, no means. An
object may be contiguous and prior to another, without being considered as
its cause. There is a NECESSARY CONNEXION to be taken into consideration;
and that relation is of much greater importance, than any of the other two
above-mentioned.

Here again I turn the object on all sides, in order to discover the nature
of this necessary connexion, and find the impression, or impressions, from
which its idea may be derived. When I cast my eye on the known Qualities
of objects, I immediately discover that the relation of cause and effect
depends not in the least on them. When I consider their relations, I can
find none but those of contiguity and succession; which I have already
regarded as imperfect and unsatisfactory. Shall the despair of success
make me assert, that I am here possest of an idea, which is not preceded
by any similar impression? This would be too strong a proof of levity and
inconstancy; since the contrary principle has been already so firmly
established, as to admit of no farther doubt; at least, till we have more
fully examined the present difficulty.

We must, therefore, proceed like those, who being in search of any thing,
that lies concealed from them, and not finding it in the place they
expected, beat about all the neighbouring fields, without any certain view
or design, in hopes their good fortune will at last guide them to what
they search for. It is necessary for us to leave the direct survey of this
question concerning the nature of that necessary connexion, which enters
into our idea of cause and effect; and endeavour to find some other
questions, the examination of which will perhaps afford a hint, that may
serve to clear up the present difficulty. Of these questions there occur
two, which I shall proceed to examine, viz.

First, For what reason we pronounce it necessary, that every thing whose
existence has a beginning, should also have a cause.

Secondly, Why we conclude, that such particular causes must necessarily
have such particular effects; and what is the nature of that inference we
draw from the one to the other, and of the belief we repose in it?

I shall only observe before I proceed any farther, that though the ideas
of cause and effect be derived from the impressions of reflection as well
as from those of sensation, yet for brevity’s sake, I commonly mention
only the latter as the origin of these ideas; though I desire that
whatever I say of them may also extend to the former. Passions are
connected with their objects and with one another; no less than external
bodies are connected together. The same relation, then, of cause and
effect, which belongs to one, must be common to all of them.

SECT. III. WHY A CAUSE IS ALWAYS NECESSARY.

To begin with the first question concerning the necessity of a cause: It
is a general maxim in philosophy, that whatever begins to exist, must have
a cause of existence. This is commonly taken for granted in all
reasonings, without any proof given or demanded. It is supposed to be
founded on intuition, and to be one of those maxims, which though they may
be denyed with the lips, it is impossible for men in their hearts really
to doubt of. But if we examine this maxim by the idea of knowledge
above-explained, we shall discover in it no mark of any such intuitive
certainty; but on the contrary shall find, that it is of a nature quite
foreign to that species of conviction.

All certainty arises from the comparison of ideas, and from the discovery
of such relations as are unalterable, so long as the ideas continue the
same. These relations are RESEMBLANCE, PROPORTIONS IN QUANTITY AND NUMBER,
DEGREES OF ANY QUALITY, and CONTRARIETY; none of which are implyed in this
proposition, Whatever has a beginning has also a cause of existence. That
proposition therefore is not intuitively certain. At least any one, who
would assert it to be intuitively certain, must deny these to be the only
infallible relations, and must find some other relation of that kind to be
implyed in it; which it will then be time enough to examine.

But here is an argument, which proves at once, that the foregoing
proposition is neither intuitively nor demonstrably certain. We can never
demonstrate the necessity of a cause to every new existence, or new
modification of existence, without shewing at the same time the
impossibility there is, that any thing can ever begin to exist without
some productive principle; and where the latter proposition cannot be
proved, we must despair of ever being able to prove the former. Now that
the latter proposition is utterly incapable of a demonstrative proof, we
may satisfy ourselves by considering that as all distinct ideas are
separable from each other, and as the ideas of cause and effect are
evidently distinct, it will be easy for us to conceive any object to be
non-existent this moment, and existent the next, without conjoining to it
the distinct idea of a cause or productive principle. The separation,
therefore, of the idea of a cause from that of a beginning of existence,
is plainly possible for the imagination; and consequently the actual
separation of these objects is so far possible, that it implies no
contradiction nor absurdity; and is therefore incapable of being refuted
by any reasoning from mere ideas; without which it is impossible to
demonstrate the necessity of a cause.

Accordingly we shall find upon examination, that every demonstration,
which has been produced for the necessity of a cause, is fallacious and
sophistical. All the points of time and place, say some philosophers,^[3]
in which we can suppose any object to begin to exist, are in themselves
equal; and unless there be some cause, which is peculiar to one time and
to one place, and which by that means determines and fixes the existence,
it must remain in eternal suspence; and the object can never begin to be,
for want of something to fix its beginning. But I ask; Is there any more
difficulty in supposing the time and place to be fixed without a cause,
than to suppose the existence to be determined in that manner? The first
question that occurs on this subject is always, whether the object shall
exist or not: The next, when and where it shall begin to exist. If the
removal of a cause be intuitively absurd in the one case, it must be so
in the other: And if that absurdity be not clear without a proof in the
one case, it will equally require one in the other. The absurdity, then,
of the one supposition can never be a proof of that of the other; since
they are both upon the same footing, and must stand or fall by the same
reasoning.

[3]
Mr. Hobbes.

The second argument,^[4]
which I find used on this head, labours under an equal difficulty. Every
thing, it is said, must have a cause; for if any thing wanted a cause, it
would produce ITSELF; that is, exist before it existed; which is
impossible. But this reasoning is plainly unconclusive; because it
supposes, that in our denial of a cause we still grant what we expressly
deny, viz. that there must be a cause; which therefore is taken to be the
object itself; and that, no doubt, is an evident contradiction. But to
say that any thing is produced, or to express myself more properly, comes
into existence, without a cause, is not to affirm, that it is itself its
own cause; but on the contrary in excluding all external causes, excludes
a fortiori the thing itself, which is created. An object, that exists
absolutely without any cause, certainly is not its own cause; and when
you assert, that the one follows from the other, you suppose the very
point in questions and take it for granted, that it is utterly impossible
any thing can ever begin to exist without a cause, but that, upon the
exclusion of one productive principle, we must still have recourse to
another.

[4]
Dr. Clarke and others.

It is exactly the same case with the third argument,^[5]
which has been employed to demonstrate the necessity of a cause. Whatever
is produced without any cause, is produced by nothing; or in other words,
has nothing for its cause. But nothing can never be a cause, no more than
it can be something, or equal to two right angles. By the same intuition,
that we perceive nothing not to be equal to two right angles, or not to
be something, we perceive, that it can never be a cause; and consequently
must perceive, that every object has a real cause of its existence.

[5]
Mr. Locke.

I believe it will not be necessary to employ many words in shewing the
weakness of this argument, after what I have said of the foregoing. They
are all of them founded on the same fallacy, and are derived from the same
turn of thought. It is sufficient only to observe, that when we exclude
all causes we really do exclude them, and neither suppose nothing nor the
object itself to be the causes of the existence; and consequently can draw
no argument from the absurdity of these suppositions to prove the
absurdity of that exclusion. If every thing must have a cause, it follows,
that upon the exclusion of other causes we must accept of the object
itself or of nothing as causes. But it is the very point in question,
whether every thing must have a cause or not; and therefore, according to
all just reasoning, it ought never to be taken for granted.

They are still more frivolous, who say, that every effect must have a
cause, because it is implyed in the very idea of effect. Every effect
necessarily pre-supposes a cause; effect being a relative term, of which
cause is the correlative. But this does not prove, that every being must
be preceded by a cause; no more than it follows, because every husband
must have a wife, that therefore every man must be marryed. The true state
of the question is, whether every object, which begins to exist, must owe
its existence to a cause: and this I assert neither to be intuitively nor
demonstratively certain, and hope to have proved it sufficiently by the
foregoing arguments.

Since it is not from knowledge or any scientific reasoning, that we derive
the opinion of the necessity of a cause to every new production, that
opinion must necessarily arise from observation and experience. The next
question, then, should naturally be, how experience gives rise to such a
principle? But as I find it will be more convenient to sink this question
in the following, Why we conclude, that such particular causes must
necessarily have such particular erects, and why we form an inference from
one to another? we shall make that the subject of our future enquiry. It
will, perhaps, be found in the end, that the same answer will serve for
both questions.

SECT. IV. OF THE COMPONENT PARTS OF OUR REASONINGS CONCERNING CAUSE AND
EFFECT.

Though the mind in its reasonings from causes or effects carries its view
beyond those objects, which it sees or remembers, it must never lose sight
of them entirely, nor reason merely upon its own ideas, without some
mixture of impressions, or at least of ideas of the memory, which are
equivalent to impressions. When we infer effects from causes, we must
establish the existence of these causes; which we have only two ways of
doing, either by an immediate perception of our memory or senses, or by an
inference from other causes; which causes again we must ascertain in the
same manner, either by a present impression, or by an inference from their
causes, and so on, till we arrive at some object, which we see or
remember. It is impossible for us to carry on our inferences IN INFINITUM;
and the only thing, that can stop them, is an impression of the memory or
senses, beyond which there is no room for doubt or enquiry.

To give an instance of this, we may chuse any point of history, and
consider for what reason we either believe or reject it. Thus we believe
that Caesar was killed in the senate-house on the ides of March; and that
because this fact is established on the unanimous testimony of historians,
who agree to assign this precise time and place to that event. Here are
certain characters and letters present either to our memory or senses;
which characters we likewise remember to have been used as the signs of
certain ideas; and these ideas were either in the minds of such as were
immediately present at that action, and received the ideas directly from
its existence; or they were derived from the testimony of others, and that
again from another testimony, by a visible gradation, it will we arrive at
those who were eyewitnesses and spectators of the event. It is obvious all
this chain of argument or connexion of causes and effects, is at first
founded on those characters or letters, which are seen or remembered, and
that without the authority either of the memory or senses our whole
reasoning would be chimerical and without foundation. Every link of the
chain would in that case hang upon another; but there would not be any
thing fixed to one end of it, capable of sustaining the whole; and
consequently there would be no belief nor evidence. And this actually is
the case with all hypothetical arguments, or reasonings upon a
supposition; there being in them, neither any present impression, nor
belief of a real existence.

I need not observe, that it is no just objection to the present doctrine,
that we can reason upon our past conclusions or principles, without having
recourse to those impressions, from which they first arose. For even
supposing these impressions should be entirely effaced from the memory,
the conviction they produced may still remain; and it is equally true,
that all reasonings concerning causes and effects are originally derived
from some impression; in the same manner, as the assurance of a
demonstration proceeds always from a comparison of ideas, though it may
continue after the comparison is forgot.

SECT. V. OF THE IMPRESSIONS OF THE SENSES AND MEMORY.

In this kind of reasoning, then, from causation, we employ materials,
which are of a mixed and heterogeneous nature, and which, however
connected, are yet essentially different from each other. All our
arguments concerning causes and effects consist both of an impression of
the memory or, senses, and of the idea of that existence, which produces
the object of the impression, or is produced by it. Here therefore we have
three things to explain, viz. First, The original impression. Secondly,
The transition to the idea of the connected cause or effect. Thirdly, The
nature and qualities of that idea.

As to those impressions, which arise from the senses, their ultimate cause
is, in my opinion, perfectly inexplicable by human reason, and it will
always be impossible to decide with certainty, whether they arise
immediately from the object, or are produced by the creative power of the
mind, or are derived from the author of our being. Nor is such a question
any way material to our present purpose. We may draw inferences from the
coherence of our perceptions, whether they be true or false; whether they
represent nature justly, or be mere illusions of the senses.

When we search for the characteristic, which distinguishes the memory from
the imagination, we must immediately perceive, that it cannot lie in the
simple ideas it presents to us; since both these faculties borrow their
simple ideas from the impressions, and can never go beyond these original
perceptions. These faculties are as little distinguished from each other
by the arrangement of their complex ideas. For though it be a peculiar
property of the memory to preserve the original order and position of its
ideas, while the imagination transposes and changes them, as it pleases;
yet this difference is not sufficient to distinguish them in their
operation, or make us know the one from the other; it being impossible to
recal the past impressions, in order to compare them with our present
ideas, and see whether their arrangement be exactly similar. Since
therefore the memory, is known, neither by the order of its complex ideas,
nor the nature of its simple ones; it follows, that the difference betwixt
it and the imagination lies in its superior force and vivacity. A man may
indulge his fancy in feigning any past scene of adventures; nor would
there be any possibility of distinguishing this from a remembrance of a
like kind, were not the ideas of the imagination fainter and more obscure.

It frequently happens, that when two men have been engaged in any scene of
action, the one shall remember it much better than the other, and shall
have all the difficulty in the world to make his companion recollect it.
He runs over several circumstances in vain; mentions the time, the place,
the company, what was said, what was done on all sides; till at last he
hits on some lucky circumstance, that revives the whole, and gives his
friend a perfect memory of every thing. Here the person that forgets
receives at first all the ideas from the discourse of the other, with the
same circumstances of time and place; though he considers them as mere
fictions of the imagination. But as soon as the circumstance is mentioned,
that touches the memory, the very same ideas now appear in a new light,
and have, in a manner, a different feeling from what they had before.
Without any other alteration, beside that of the feeling, they become
immediately ideas of the memory, and are assented to.

Since, therefore, the imagination can represent all the same objects that
the memory can offer to us, and since those faculties are only
distinguished by the different feeling of the ideas they present, it may
be proper to consider what is the nature of that feeling. And here I
believe every one will readily agree with me, that the ideas of the memory
are more strong and lively than those of the fancy.

A painter, who intended to represent a passion or emotion of any kind,
would endeavour to get a sight of a person actuated by a like emotion, in
order to enliven his ideas, and give them a force and vivacity superior to
what is found in those, which are mere fictions of the imagination. The
more recent this memory is, the clearer is the idea; and when after a long
interval he would return to the contemplation of his object, he always
finds its idea to be much decayed, if not wholly obliterated. We are
frequently in doubt concerning the ideas of the memory, as they become
very weak and feeble; and are at a loss to determine whether any image
proceeds from the fancy or the memory, when it is not drawn in such lively
colours as distinguish that latter faculty. I think, I remember such an
event, says one; but am not sure. A long tract of time has almost worn it
out of my memory, and leaves me uncertain whether or not it be the pure
offspring of my fancy.

And as an idea of the memory, by losing its force and vivacity, may
degenerate to such a degree, as to be taken for an idea of the
imagination; so on the other hand an idea of the imagination may acquire
such a force and vivacity, as to pass for an idea of the memory, and
counterfeit its effects on the belief and judgment. This is noted in the
case of liars; who by the frequent repetition of their lies, come at last
to believe and remember them, as realities; custom and habit having in
this case, as in many others, the same influence on the mind as nature,
and infixing the idea with equal force and vigour.

Thus it appears, that the belief or assent, which always attends the
memory and senses, is nothing but the vivacity of those perceptions they
present; and that this alone distinguishes them from the imagination. To
believe is in this case to feel an immediate impression of the senses, or
a repetition of that impression in the memory. It is merely the force and
liveliness of the perception, which constitutes the first act of the
judgment, and lays the foundation of that reasoning, which we build upon
it, when we trace the relation of cause and effect.

SECT. VI. OF THE INFERENCE FROM THE IMPRESSION TO THE IDEA.

It is easy to observe, that in tracing this relation, the inference we
draw from cause to effect, is not derived merely from a survey of these
particular objects, and from such a penetration into their essences as may
discover the dependance of the one upon the other. There is no object,
which implies the existence of any other if we consider these objects in
themselves, and never look beyond the ideas which we form of them. Such an
inference would amount to knowledge, and would imply the absolute
contradiction and impossibility of conceiving any thing different. But as
all distinct ideas are separable, it is evident there can be no
impossibility of that kind. When we pass from a present impression to the
idea of any object, we might possibly have separated the idea from the
impression, and have substituted any other idea in its room.

It is therefore by EXPERIENCE only, that we can infer the existence of one
object from that of another. The nature of experience is this. We remember
to have had frequent instances of the existence of one species of objects;
and also remember, that the individuals of another species of objects have
always attended them, and have existed in a regular order of contiguity
and succession with regard to them. Thus we remember, to have seen that
species of object we call flame, and to have felt that species of
sensation we call heat. We likewise call to mind their constant
conjunction in all past instances. Without any farther ceremony, we call
the one cause and the other effect, and infer the existence of the one
from that of the other. In all those instances, from which we learn the
conjunction of particular causes and effects, both the causes and effects
have been perceived by the senses, and are remembered. But in all cases,
wherein we reason concerning them, there is only one perceived or
remembered, and the other is supplyed in conformity to our past
experience.

Thus in advancing we have insensibly discovered a new relation betwixt
cause and effect, when we least expected it, and were entirely employed
upon another subject. This relation is their CONSTANT CONJUNCTION.
Contiguity and succession are not sufficient to make us pronounce any two
objects to be cause and effect, unless we perceive, that these two
relations are preserved in several instances. We may now see the advantage
of quitting the direct survey of this relation, in order to discover the
nature of that necessary connexion, which makes so essential a part of it.
There are hopes, that by this means we may at last arrive at our proposed
end; though to tell the truth, this new-discovered relation of a constant
conjunction seems to advance us but very little in our way. For it implies
no more than this, that like objects have always been placed in like
relations of contiguity and succession; and it seems evident, at least at
first sight, that by this means we can never discover any new idea, and
can only multiply, but not enlarge the objects of our mind. It may be
thought, that what we learn not from one object, we can never learn from a
hundred, which are all of the same kind, and are perfectly resembling in
every circumstance. As our senses shew us in one instance two bodies, or
motions, or qualities in certain relations of success and contiguity; so
our memory presents us only with a multitude of instances, wherein we
always find like bodies, motions, or qualities in like relations. From the
mere repetition of any past impression, even to infinity, there never will
arise any new original idea, such as that of a necessary connexion; and
the number of impressions has in this case no more effect than if we
confined ourselves to one only. But though this reasoning seems just and
obvious; yet as it would be folly to despair too soon, we shall continue
the thread of our discourse; and having found, that after the discovery of
the constant conjunction of any objects, we always draw an inference from
one object to another, we shall now examine the nature of that inference,
and of the transition from the impression to the idea. Perhaps it will
appear in the end, that the necessary connexion depends on the inference,
instead of the inference’s depending on the necessary connexion.

Since it appears, that the transition from an impression present to the
memory or senses to the idea of an object, which we call cause or effect,
is founded on past experience, and on our remembrance of their constant
conjunction, the next question is, Whether experience produces the idea by
means of the understanding or imagination; whether we are determined by
reason to make the transition, or by a certain association and relation of
perceptions. If reason determined us, it would proceed upon that
principle, that instances, of which we have had no experience, must
resemble those, of which we have had experience, and that the course of
nature continues always uniformly the same. In order therefore to clear up
this matter, let us consider all the arguments, upon which such a
proposition may be supposed to be founded; and as these must be derived
either from knowledge or probability, let us cast our eye on each of these
degrees of evidence, and see whether they afford any just conclusion of
this nature.

Our foregoing method of reasoning will easily convince us, that there can
be no demonstrative arguments to prove, that those instances, of which we
have, had no experience, resemble those, of which we have had experience.
We can at least conceive a change in the course of nature; which
sufficiently proves, that such a change is not absolutely impossible. To
form a clear idea of any thing, is an undeniable argument for its
possibility, and is alone a refutation of any pretended demonstration
against it.

Probability, as it discovers not the relations of ideas, considered as
such, but only those of objects, must in some respects be founded on the
impressions of our memory and senses, and in some respects on our ideas.
Were there no mixture of any impression in our probable reasonings, the
conclusion would be entirely chimerical: And were there no mixture of
ideas, the action of the mind, in observing the relation, would, properly
speaking, be sensation, not reasoning. It is therefore necessary, that in
all probable reasonings there be something present to the mind, either
seen or remembered; and that from this we infer something connected with
it, which is not seen nor remembered.

The only connexion or relation of objects, which can lead us beyond the
immediate impressions of our memory and senses, is that of cause and
effect; and that because it is the only one, on which we can found a just
inference from one object to another. The idea of cause and effect is
derived from experience, which informs us, that such particular objects,
in all past instances, have been constantly conjoined with each other: And
as an object similar to one of these is supposed to be immediately present
in its impression, we thence presume on the existence of one similar to
its usual attendant. According to this account of things, which is, I
think, in every point unquestionable, probability is founded on the
presumption of a resemblance betwixt those objects, of which we have had
experience, and those, of which we have had none; and therefore it is
impossible this presumption can arise from probability. The same principle
cannot be both the cause and effect of another; and this is, perhaps, the
only proposition concerning that relation, which is either intuitively or
demonstratively certain.

Should any one think to elude this argument; and without determining
whether our reasoning on this subject be derived from demonstration or
probability, pretend that all conclusions from causes and effects are
built on solid reasoning: I can only desire, that this reasoning may be
produced, in order to be exposed to our examination. It may, perhaps, be
said, that after experience of the constant conjunction of certain
objects, we reason in the following manner. Such an object is always found
to produce another. It is impossible it could have this effect, if it was
not endowed with a power of production. The power necessarily implies the
effect; and therefore there is a just foundation for drawing a conclusion
from the existence of one object to that of its usual attendant. The past
production implies a power: The power implies a new production: And the
new production is what we infer from the power and the past production.

It were easy for me to shew the weakness of this reasoning, were I willing
to make use of those observations, I have already made, that the idea of
production is the same with that of causation, and that no existence
certainly and demonstratively implies a power in any other object; or were
it proper to anticipate what I shall have occasion to remark afterwards
concerning the idea we form of power and efficacy. But as such a method of
proceeding may seem either to weaken my system, by resting one part of it
on another, or to breed a confusion in my reasoning, I shall endeavour to
maintain my present assertion without any such assistance.

It shall therefore be allowed for a moment, that the production of one
object by another in any one instance implies a power; and that this power
is connected with its effect. But it having been already proved, that the
power lies not in the sensible qualities of the cause; and there being
nothing but the sensible qualities present to us; I ask, why in other
instances you presume that the same power still exists, merely upon the
appearance of these qualities? Your appeal to past experience decides
nothing in the present case; and at the utmost can only prove, that that
very object, which produced any other, was at that very instant endowed
with such a power; but can never prove, that the same power must continue
in the same object or collection of sensible qualities; much less, that a
like power is always conjoined with like sensible qualities, should it be
said, that we have experience, that the same power continues united with
the same object, and that like objects are endowed with like powers, I
would renew my question, why from this experience we form any conclusion
beyond those past instances, of which we have had experience. If you
answer this question in, the same manner as the preceding, your answer
gives still occasion to a new question of the same kind, even in
infinitum; which clearly proves, that the foregoing reasoning had no just
foundation.

Thus not only our reason fails us in the discovery of the ultimate
connexion of causes and effects, but even after experience has informed us
of their constant conjunction, it is impossible for us to satisfy
ourselves by our reason, why we should extend that experience beyond those
particular instances, which have fallen under our observation. We suppose,
but are never able to prove, that there must be a resemblance betwixt
those objects, of which we have had experience, and those which lie beyond
the reach of our discovery.

We have already taken notice of certain relations, which make us pass from
one object to another, even though there be no reason to determine us to
that transition; and this we may establish for a general rule, that
wherever the mind constantly and uniformly makes a transition without any
reason, it is influenced by these relations. Now this is exactly the
present case. Reason can never shew us the connexion of one object with
another, though aided by experience, and the observation of their constant
conjunction in all past instances. When the mind, therefore, passes from
the idea or impression of one object to the idea or belief of another, it
is not determined by reason, but by certain principles, which associate
together the ideas of these objects, and unite them in the imagination.
Had ideas no more union in the fancy than objects seem to have to the
understanding, we could never draw any inference from causes to effects,
nor repose belief in any matter of fact. The inference, therefore, depends
solely on the union of ideas.

The principles of union among ideas, I have reduced to three general ones,
and have asserted, that the idea or impression of any object naturally
introduces the idea of any other object, that is resembling, contiguous
to, or connected with it. These principles I allow to be neither the
infallible nor the sole causes of an union among ideas. They are not the
infallible causes. For one may fix his attention during Sometime on any
one object without looking farther. They are not the sole causes. For the
thought has evidently a very irregular motion in running along its
objects, and may leap from the heavens to the earth, from one end of the
creation to the other, without any certain method or order. But though I
allow this weakness in these three relations, and this irregularity in the
imagination; yet I assert that the only general principles, which
associate ideas, are resemblance, contiguity and causation.

There is indeed a principle of union among ideas, which at first sight may
be esteemed different from any of these, but will be found at the bottom
to depend on the same origin. When every individual of any species of
objects is found by experience to be constantly united with an individual
of another species, the appearance of any new individual of either species
naturally conveys the thought to its usual attendant. Thus because such a
particular idea is commonly annexed to such a particular word, nothing is
required but the hearing of that word to produce the correspondent idea;
and it will scarce be possible for the mind, by its utmost efforts, to
prevent that transition. In this case it is not absolutely necessary, that
upon hearing such a particular sound we should reflect on any past
experience, and consider what idea has been usually connected with the
sound. The imagination of itself supplies the place of this reflection,
and is so accustomed to pass from the word to the idea, that it interposes
not a moment’s delay betwixt the hearing of the one, and the conception of
the other.

But though I acknowledge this to be a true principle of association among
ideas, I assert it to be the very same with that betwixt the ideas of
cause and effects and to be an essential part in all our reasonings from
that relation. We have no other notion of cause and effect, but that of
certain objects, which have been always conjoined together, and which in
all past instances have been found inseparable. We cannot penetrate into
the reason of the conjunction. We only observe the thing itself, and
always find that from the constant conjunction the objects acquire an
union in the imagination. When the impression of one becomes present to
us, we immediately form an idea of its usual attendant; and consequently
we may establish this as one part of the definition of an opinion or
belief, that it is an idea related to or associated with a present
impression.

Thus though causation be a philosophical relation, as implying contiguity,
succession, and constant conjunction, yet it is only so far as it is a
natural relation, and produces an union among our ideas, that we are able
to reason upon it, or draw any inference from it.

SECT. VII. OF THE NATURE OF THE IDEA OR BELIEF.

The idea of an object is an essential part of the belief of it, but not
the whole. We conceive many things, which we do not believe. In order then
to discover more fully the nature of belief, or the qualities of those
ideas we assent to, let us weigh the following considerations.

It is evident, that all reasonings from causes or effects terminate in
conclusions, concerning matter of fact; that is, concerning the existence
of objects or of their qualities. It is also evident, that the idea, of
existence is nothing different from the idea of any object, and that when
after the simple conception of any thing we would conceive it as existent,
we in reality make no addition to or alteration on our first idea. Thus
when we affirm, that God is existent, we simply form the idea of such a
being, as he is represented to us; nor is the existence, which we
attribute to him, conceived by a particular idea, which we join to the
idea of his other qualities, and can again separate and distinguish from
them. But I go farther; and not content with asserting, that the
conception of the existence of any object is no addition to the simple
conception of it, I likewise maintain, that the belief of the existence
joins no new ideas to those which compose the idea of the object. When I
think of God, when I think of him as existent, and when I believe him to
be existent, my idea of him neither encreases nor diminishes. But as it is
certain there is a great difference betwixt the simple conception of the
existence of an object, and the belief of it, and as this difference lies
not in the parts or composition of the idea, which we conceive; it
follows, that it must lie in the manner, in which we conceive it.

Suppose a person present with me, who advances propositions, to which I do
not assent, that Caesar dyed in his bed, that silver is more fusible, than
lead, or mercury heavier than gold; it is evident, that notwithstanding my
incredulity, I clearly understand his meaning, and form all the same
ideas, which he forms. My imagination is endowed with the same powers as
his; nor is it possible for him to conceive any idea, which I cannot
conceive; nor conjoin any, which I cannot conjoin. I therefore ask,
Wherein consists the difference betwixt believing and disbelieving any
proposition? The answer is easy with regard to propositions, that are
proved by intuition or demonstration. In that case, the person, who
assents, not only conceives the ideas according to the proposition, but is
necessarily determined to conceive them in that particular manner, either
immediately or by the interposition of other ideas. Whatever is absurd is
unintelligible; nor is it possible for the imagination to conceive any
thing contrary to a demonstration. But as in reasonings from causation,
and concerning matters of fact, this absolute necessity cannot take place,
and the imagination is free to conceive both sides of the question, I
still ask, Wherein consists the deference betwixt incredulity and belief?
since in both cases the conception of the idea is equally possible and
requisite.

It will not be a satisfactory answer to say, that a person, who does not
assent to a proposition you advance; after having conceived the object in
the same manner with you; immediately conceives it in a different manner,
and has different ideas of it. This answer is unsatisfactory; not because
it contains any falshood, but because it discovers not all the truth. It
is contest, that in all cases, wherein we dissent from any person, we
conceive both sides of the question; but as we can believe only one, it
evidently follows, that the belief must make some difference betwixt that
conception to which we assent, and that from which we dissent. We may
mingle, and unite, and separate, and confound, and vary our ideas in a
hundred different ways; but until there appears some principle, which
fixes one of these different situations, we have in reality no opinion:
And this principle, as it plainly makes no addition to our precedent
ideas, can only change the manner of our conceiving them.

All the perceptions of the mind are of two kinds, viz. impressions and
ideas, which differ from each other only in their different degrees of
force and vivacity. Our ideas are copyed from our impressions, and
represent them in all their parts. When you would any way vary the idea of
a particular object, you can only encrease or diminish its force and
vivacity. If you make any other change on it, it represents a different
object or impression. The case is the same as in colours. A particular
shade of any colour may acquire a new degree of liveliness or brightness
without any other variation. But when you produce any other variation, it
is no longer the same shade or colour. So that as belief does nothing but
vary the manner, in which we conceive any object, it can only bestow on
our ideas an additional force and vivacity. An opinion, therefore, or
belief may be most accurately defined, a lively idea related to or
associated with a present impression.^[6]

[6]
We may here take occasion to observe a very remarkable error, which being
frequently inculcated in the schools, has become a kind of establishd maxim,
and is universally received by all logicians. This error consists in the vulgar
division of the acts of the understanding, into CONCEPTION, JUDGMENT and
REASONING, and in the definitions we give of them. Conception is defind to be
the simple survey of one or more ideas: Judgment to be the separating or
uniting of different ideas: Reasoning to be the separating or uniting of
different ideas by the interposition of others, which show the relation they
bear to each other. But these distinctions and definitions are faulty in very
considerable articles. For FIRST, it is far from being true, that in every
judgment, which we form, we unite two different ideas; since in that
proposition, GOD IS, or indeed any other, which regards existence, the idea of
existence is no distinct idea, which we unite with that of the object, and
which is capable of forming a compound idea by the union. SECONDLY, As we can
thus form a proposition, which contains only one idea, so we may exert our
reason without employing more than two ideas, and without having recourse to a
third to serve as a medium betwixt them. We infer a cause immediately from its
effect; and this inference is not only a true species of reasoning, but the
strongest of all others, and more convincing than when we interpose another
idea to connect the two extremes. What we may in general affirm concerning
these three acts of the understanding is, that taking them in a proper light,
they all resolve themselves into the first, and are nothing but particular ways
of conceiving our objects. Whether we consider a single object, or several;
whether we dwell on these objects, or run from them to others; and in whatever
form or order we survey them, the act of the mind exceeds not a simple
conception; and the only remarkable difference, which occurs on this occasion,
is, when we join belief to the conception, and are persuaded of the truth of
what we conceive. This act of the mind has never yet been explain’d by
any philosopher; and therefore I am at liberty to propose my hypothesis
concerning it; which is, that it is only a strong and steady conception of any
idea, and such as approaches in some measure to an immediate impression.

Here are the heads of those arguments, which lead us to this conclusion.
When we infer the existence of an object from that of others, some object
must always be present either to the memory or senses, in order to be the
foundation of our reasoning; since the mind cannot run up with its
inferences IN INFINITUM. Reason can never satisfy us that the existence of
any one object does ever imply that of another; so that when we pass from
the impression of one to the idea or belief of another, we are not
determined by reason, but by custom or a principle of association. But
belief is somewhat more than a simple idea. It is a particular manner of
forming an idea: And as the same idea can only be varyed by a variation of
its degrees of force and vivacity; it follows upon the whole, that belief
is a lively idea produced by a relation to a present impression, according
to the foregoing definition.

This operation of the mind, which forms the belief of any matter of fact,
seems hitherto to have been one of the greatest mysteries of philosophy;
though no one has so much as suspected, that there was any difficulty in
explaining it. For my part I must own, that I find a considerable
difficulty in the case; and that even when I think I understand the
subject perfectly, I am at a loss for terms to express my meaning. I
conclude, by an induction which seems to me very evident, that an opinion
or belief is nothing but an idea, that is different from a fiction, not in
the nature or the order of its parts, but in the manner of its being
conceived. But when I would explain this manner, I scarce find any word
that fully answers the case, but am obliged to have recourse to every
one’s feeling, in order to give him a perfect notion of this operation of
the mind. An idea assented to FEELS different from a fictitious idea, that
the fancy alone presents to us: And this different feeling I endeavour to
explain by calling it a superior force, or vivacity, or solidity, or
FIRMNESS, or steadiness. This variety of terms, which may seem so
unphilosophical, is intended only to express that act of the mind, which
renders realities more present to us than fictions, causes them to weigh
more in the thought, and gives them a superior influence on the passions
and imagination. Provided we agree about the thing, it is needless to
dispute about the terms. The imagination has the command over all its
ideas, and can join, and mix, and vary them in all the ways possible. It
may conceive objects with all the circumstances of place and time. It may
set them, in a manner, before our eyes in their true colours, just as they
might have existed. But as it is impossible, that that faculty can ever,
of itself, reach belief, it is evident, that belief consists not in the
nature and order of our ideas, but in the manner of their conception, and
in their feeling to the mind. To confess, that it is impossible to explain
perfectly this feeling or manner of conception. We may make use of words,
that express something near it. But its true and proper name is belief,
which is a term that every one sufficiently understands in common life.
And in philosophy we can go no farther, than assert, that it is something
felt by the mind, which distinguishes the ideas of the judgment from the
fictions of the imagination. It gives them more force and influence; makes
them appear of greater importance; infixes them in the mind; and renders
them the governing principles of all our actions.

This definition will also be found to be entirely conformable to every
one’s feeling and experience. Nothing is more evident, than that those
ideas, to which we assent, are more strong, firm and vivid, than the loose
reveries of a castle-builder. If one person sits down to read a book as a
romance, and another as a true history, they plainly receive the same
ideas, and in the same order; nor does the incredulity of the one, and the
belief of the other hinder them from putting the very same sense upon
their author. His words produce the same ideas in both; though his
testimony has not the same influence on them. The latter has a more lively
conception of all the incidents. He enters deeper into the concerns of the
persons: represents to himself their actions, and characters, and
friendships, and enmities: He even goes so far as to form a notion of
their features, and air, and person. While the former, who gives no credit
to the testimony of the author, has a more faint and languid conception of
all these particulars; and except on account of the style and ingenuity of
the composition, can receive little entertainment from it.

SECT. VIII. OF THE CAUSES OF BELIEF.

Having thus explained the nature of belief, and shewn that it consists in
a lively idea related to a present impression; let us now proceed to
examine from what principles it is derived, and what bestows the vivacity
on the idea.

I would willingly establish it as a general maxim in the science of human
nature, that when any impression becomes present to us, it not only
transports the mind to such ideas as are related to it, but likewise
communicates to them a share of its force and vivacity. All the operations
of the mind depend in a great measure on its disposition, when it performs
them; and according as the spirits are more or less elevated, and the
attention more or less fixed, the action will always have more or less
vigour and vivacity. When therefore any object is presented, which
elevates and enlivens the thought, every action, to which the mind applies
itself, will be more strong and vivid, as Tong as that disposition
continues, Now it is evident the continuance of the disposition depends
entirely on the objects, about which the mind is employed; and that any
new object naturally gives a new direction to the spirits, and changes the
disposition; as on the contrary, when the mind fixes constantly on the
same object, or passes easily and insensibly along related objects, the
disposition has a much longer duration. Hence it happens, that when the
mind is once inlivened by a present impression, it proceeds to form a more
lively idea of the related objects, by a natural transition of the
disposition from the one to the other. The change of the objects is so
easy, that the mind is scarce sensible of it, but applies itself to the
conception of the related idea with all the force and vivacity it acquired
from the present impression.

If in considering the nature of relation, and that facility of transition,
which is essential to it, we can satisfy ourselves concerning the reality
of this phænomenon, it is well: But I must confess I place my chief
confidence in experience to prove so material a principle. We may,
therefore, observe, as the first experiment to our present purpose, that
upon the appearance of the picture of an absent friend, our idea of him is
evidently inlivened by the resemblance, and that every passion, which that
idea occasions, whether of joy or sorrow, acquires new force and vigour.
In producing this effect there concur both a relation and a present
impression. Where the picture bears him no resemblance, or at least was
not intended for him, it never so much as conveys our thought to him: And
where it is absent, as well as the person; though the mind may pass from
the thought of the one to that of the other; it feels its idea to be
rather weekend than inlivened by that transition. We take a pleasure in
viewing the picture of a friend, when it is set before us; but when it is
removed, rather choose to consider him directly, than by reflexion in an
image, which is equally distinct and obscure.

The ceremonies of the Roman Catholic religion may be considered as
experiments of the same nature. The devotees of that strange superstition
usually plead in excuse of the mummeries, with which they are upbraided,
that they feel the good effect of those external motions, and postures,
and actions, in enlivening their devotion, and quickening their fervour,
which otherwise would decay away, if directed entirely to distant and
immaterial objects. We shadow out the objects of our faith, say they, in
sensible types and images, and render them more present to us by the
immediate presence of these types, than it is possible for us to do,
merely by an intellectual view and contemplation. Sensible objects have
always a greater influence on the fancy than any other; and this influence
they readily convey to those ideas, to which they are related, and which
they Resemble. I shall only infer from these practices, and this
reasoning, that the effect of resemblance in inlivening the idea is very
common; and as in every case a resemblance and a present impression must
concur, we are abundantly supplyed with experiments to prove the reality
of the foregoing principle.

We may add force to these experiments by others of a different kind, in
considering the effects of contiguity, as well as of resemblance. It is
certain, that distance diminishes the force of every idea, and that upon
our approach to any object; though it does not discover itself to our
senses; it operates upon the mind with an influence that imitates an
immediate impression. The thinking on any object readily transports the
mind to what is contiguous; but it is only the actual presence of an
object, that transports it with a superior vivacity. When I am a few miles
from home, whatever relates to it touches me more nearly than when I am
two hundred leagues distant; though even at that distance the reflecting
on any thing in the neighbourhood of my friends and family naturally
produces an idea of them. But as in this latter case, both the objects of
the mind are ideas; notwithstanding there is an easy transition betwixt
them; that transition alone is not able to give a superior vivacity to any
of the ideas, for want of some immediate impression.^[7]

[7]
NATURANE NOBIS, IN QUIT, DATUM DICAM, AN ERRORE QUODAM, UT, CUM EA LOCA
VIDEAMUS, IN QUIBUS MEMORIA DIGNOS VIROS ACCEPERIMUS MULTURN ESSE VERSATOS,
MAGIS MOVEAMUR, QUAM SIQUANDO EORUM IPSORUM AUT JACTA AUDIAMUS, AUT SCRIPTUM
ALIQUOD LEGAMUS? VELUT EGO NUNC MOVEOR. VENIT ENIM MIHI PLATONIS IN MENTEM:
QUEM ACCIPIMUS PRIMURN HIC DISPUTARE SOLITUM: CUJUS ETIAM ILLI HORTULI
PROPINQUI NON MEMORIAM SOLUM MIHI AFFERUNT, SED IPSUM VIDENTUR IN CONSPECTU MEO
HIC PONERE. HIC SPEUSIPPUS, HIC XENOCRATES, HIC EJUS AUDITOR POLEMO; CUJUS IPSA
ILLA SESSIO FUIT, QUAM VIDEAMUS. EQUIDEM ETIAM CURIAM NOSTRAM, HOSTILIAM DICO,
NON HANC NOVAM, QUAE MIHI MINOR ESSE VIDETUR POST QUAM EST MAJOR, SOLE BARN
INTUENS SCIPIONEM, CATONEM, LACLIUM, NOSTRUM VERO IN PRIMIS AVUM COGITARE.
TANTA VIS ADMONITIONIS INEST IN LOCIS; UT NON SINE CAUSA EX HIS MEMORIAE DUCTA
SIT DISCIPLINA. Cicero de Finibus, lib. 5.
    {“Should I, he said, “attribute to instinct or to some kind of illusion the
fact that when we see those places in which we are told notable men spent much
of their time, we are more powerfully affected than when we hear of the
exploits of the men themselves or read something written? This is just what is
happening to me now; for I am reminded of Plato who, we are told, was the first
to make a practice of holding discussions here. Those gardens of his near by do
not merely put me in mind of him; they seem to set the man himself before my
very eyes. Speusippus was here; so was Xenocrates; so was his pupil, Polemo,
and that very seat which we may view was his.
    “Then again, when I looked at our Senate-house (I mean the old building of
Hostilius, not this new one; when it was enlarged, it diminished in my
estimation), I used to think of Scipio, Cato, Laelius and in particular of my
own grandfather.
    “Such is the power of places to evoke associations; so it is with good
reason that they are used as a basis for memory training.”}

No one can doubt but causation has the same influence as the other two
relations; of resemblance and contiguity. Superstitious people are fond of
the relicks of saints and holy men, for the same reason that they seek
after types and images, in order to enliven their devotion, and give them
a more intimate and strong conception of those exemplary lives, which they
desire to imitate. Now it is evident, one of the best relicks a devotee
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 because they were
once at his disposal, and were moved and affected by him; in which respect
they are to be considered as imperfect effects, and as connected with him
by a shorter chain of consequences than any of those, from which we learn
the reality of his existence. This phænomenon clearly proves, that a
present impression with a relation of causation may, inliven any idea, and
consequently produce belief or assent, according to the precedent
definition of it.

But why need we seek for other arguments to prove, that a present
impression with a relation or transition of the fancy may inliven any
idea, when this very instance of our reasonings from cause and effect will
alone suffice to that purpose? It is certain we must have an idea of every
matter of fact, which we believe. It is certain, that this idea arises
only from a relation to a present impression. It is certain, that the
belief super-adds nothing to the idea, but only changes our manner of
conceiving it, and renders it more strong and lively. The present
conclusion concerning the influence of relation is the immediate
consequence of all these steps; and every step appears to me sure end
infallible. There enters nothing into this operation of the mind but a
present impression, a lively idea, and a relation or association in the
fancy betwixt the impression and idea; so that there can be no suspicion
of mistake.

In order to put this whole affair in a fuller light, let us consider it as
a question in natural philosophy, which we must determine by experience
and observation. I suppose there is an object presented, from which I draw
a certain conclusion, and form to myself ideas, which I am said to believe
or assent to. Here it is evident, that however that object, which is
present to my senses, and that other, whose existence I infer by
reasoning, may be thought to influence each other by their particular
powers or qualities; yet as the phenomenon of belief, which we at present
examine, is merely internal, these powers and qualities, being entirely
unknown, can have no hand in producing it. It is the present impression,
which is to be considered as the true and real cause of the idea, and of
the belief which attends it. We must therefore endeavour to discover by
experiments the particular qualities, by which it is enabled to produce so
extraordinary an effect.

First then I observe, that the present impression has not this effect by
its own proper power and efficacy, and when considered alone, as a single
perception, limited to the present moment. I find, that an impression,
from which, on its first appearance, I can draw no conclusion, may
afterwards become the foundation of belief, when I have had experience of
its usual consequences. We must in every case have observed the same
impression in past instances, and have found it to be constantly conjoined
with some other impression. This is confirmed by such a multitude of
experiments, that it admits not of the smallest doubt.

From a second observation I conclude, that the belief, which attends the
present impression, and is produced by a number of past impressions and
conjunctions; that this belief, I say, arises immediately, without any new
operation of the reason or imagination. Of this I can be certain, because
I never am conscious of any such operation, and find nothing in the
subject, on which it can be founded. Now as we call every thing CUSTOM,
which proceeds from a past repetition, without any new reasoning or
conclusion, we-may establish it as a certain truth, that all the belief,
which follows upon any present impression, is derived solely from that
origin. When we are accustomed to see two impressions conjoined together,
the appearance or idea of the one immediately carries us to the idea of
the other.

Being fully satisfyed on this head, I make a third set of experiments, in
order to know, whether any thing be requisite, beside the customary
transition, towards the production of this phænomenon of belief. I
therefore change the first impression into an idea; and observe, that
though the customary transition to the correlative idea still remains, yet
there is in reality no belief nor perswasion. A present impression, then,
is absolutely requisite to this whole operation; and when after this I
compare an impression with an idea, and find that their only difference
consists in their different degrees of force and vivacity, I conclude upon
the whole, that belief is a more vivid and intense conception of an idea,
proceeding from its relation to a present impression.

Thus all probable reasoning is nothing but a species of sensation. It is
not solely in poetry and music, we must follow our taste and sentiment,
but likewise in philosophy. When I am convinced of any principle, it is
only an idea, which strikes more strongly upon me. When I give the
preference to one set of arguments above another, I do nothing but decide
from my feeling concerning the superiority of their influence. Objects
have no discoverable connexion together; nor is it from any other
principle but custom operating upon the imagination, that we can draw any
inference from the appearance of one to the existence of another.

It will here be worth our observation, that the past experience, on which
all our judgments concerning cause and effect depend, may operate on our
mind in such an insensible manner as never to be taken notice of, and may
even in some measure be unknown to us. A person, who stops short in his
journey upon meeting a river in his way, foresees the consequences of his
proceeding forward; and his knowledge of these consequences is conveyed to
him by past experience, which informs him of such certain conjunctions of
causes and effects. But can we think, that on this occasion he reflects on
any past experience, and calls to remembrance instances, that he has seen
or heard of, in order to discover the effects of water on animal bodies?
No surely; this is not the method, in which he proceeds in his reasoning.
The idea of sinking is so closely connected with that of water, and the
idea of suffocating with that of sinking, that the mind makes the
transition without the assistance of the memory. The custom operates
before we have time for reflection. The objects seem so inseparable, that
we interpose not a moment’s delay in passing from the one to the other.
But as this transition proceeds from experience, and not from any primary
connexion betwixt the ideas, we must necessarily acknowledge, that
experience may produce a belief and a judgment of causes and effects by a
secret operation, and without being once thought of. This removes all
pretext, if there yet remains any, for asserting that the mind is
convinced by reasoning of that principle, that instances of which we have
no experience, must necessarily resemble those, of which we have. For we
here find, that the understanding or imagination can draw inferences from
past experience, without reflecting on it; much more without forming any
principle concerning it, or reasoning upon that principle.

In general we may observe, that in all the most established and uniform
conjunctions of causes and effects, such as those of gravity, impulse,
solidity, &c. the mind never carries its view expressly to consider
any past experience: Though in other associations of objects, which are
more rare and unusual, it may assist the custom and transition of ideas by
this reflection. Nay we find in some cases, that the reflection produces
the belief without the custom; or more properly speaking, that the
reflection produces the custom in an oblique and artificial manner. I
explain myself. It is certain, that not only in philosophy, but even in
common life, we may attain the knowledge of a particular cause merely by
one experiment, provided it be made with judgment, and after a careful
removal of all foreign and superfluous circumstances. Now as after one
experiment of this kind, the mind, upon the appearance either of the cause
or the effect, can draw an inference concerning the existence of its
correlative; and as a habit can never be acquired merely by one instance;
it may be thought, that belief cannot in this case be esteemed the effect
of custom. But this difficulty will vanish, if we consider, that though we
are here supposed to have had only one experiment of a particular effect,
yet we have many millions to convince us of this principle; that like
objects placed in like circumstances, will always produce like effects;
and as this principle has established itself by a sufficient custom, it
bestows an evidence and firmness on any opinion, to which it can be
applied. The connexion of the ideas is not habitual after one experiment:
but this connexion is comprehended under another principle, that is
habitual; which brings us back to our hypothesis. In all cases we transfer
our experience to instances, of which we have no experience, either
expressly or tacitly, either directly or indirectly.

I must not conclude this subject without observing, that it is very
difficult to talk of the operations of the mind with perfect propriety and
exactness; because common language has seldom made any very nice
distinctions among them, but has generally called by the same term all
such as nearly resemble each other. And as this is a source almost
inevitable of obscurity and confusion in the author; so it may frequently
give rise to doubts and objections in the reader, which otherwise he would
never have dreamed of. Thus my general position, that an opinion or belief
is nothing but a strong and lively idea derived from a present impression
related to it, maybe liable to the following objection, by reason of a
little ambiguity in those words strong and lively. It may be said, that
not only an impression may give rise to reasoning, but that an idea may
also have the same influence; especially upon my principle, that all our
ideas are derived from correspondent impressions. For suppose I form at
present an idea, of which I have forgot the correspondent impression, I am
able to conclude from this idea, that such an impression did once exist;
and as this conclusion is attended with belief, it may be asked, from
whence are the qualities of force and vivacity derived, which constitute
this belief? And to this I answer very readily, from the present idea. For
as this idea is not here considered, as the representation of any absent
object, but as a real perception in the mind, of which we are intimately
conscious, it must be able to bestow on whatever is related to it the same
quality, call it firmness, or solidity, or force, or vivacity, with which
the mind reflects upon it, and is assured of its present existence. The
idea here supplies the place of an impression, and is entirely the same,
so far as regards our present purpose.

Upon the same principles we need not be surprized to hear of the
remembrance of an idea: that is, of the idea of an idea, and of its force
and vivacity superior to the loose conceptions of the imagination. In
thinking of our past thoughts we not only delineate out the objects, of
which we were thinking, but also conceive the action of the mind in the
meditation, that certain JE-NE-SÇAI-QUOI, of which it is impossible to
give any definition or description, but which every one sufficiently
understands. When the memory offers an idea of this, and represents it as
past, it is easily conceived how that idea may have more vigour and
firmness, than when we think of a past thought, of which we have no
remembrance.

After this any one will understand how we may form the idea of an
impression and of an idea, and how we way believe the existence of an
impression and of an idea.

SECT. IX. OF THE EFFECTS OF OTHER RELATIONS AND OTHER HABITS.

However convincing the foregoing arguments may appear, we must not rest
contented with them, but must turn the subject on every side, in order to
find some new points of view, from which we may illustrate and confirm
such extraordinary, and such fundamental principles. A scrupulous
hesitation to receive any new hypothesis is so laudable a disposition in
philosophers, and so necessary to the examination of truth, that it
deserves to be complyed with, and requires that every argument be
produced, which may tend to their satisfaction, and every objection
removed, which may stop them in their reasoning.

I have often observed, that, beside cause and effect, the two relations of
resemblance and contiguity, are to be considered as associating principles
of thought, and as capable of conveying the imagination from one idea to
another. I have also observed, that when of two objects connected to-ether
by any of these relations, one is immediately present to the memory or
senses, not only the mind is conveyed to its co-relative by means of the
associating principle; but likewise conceives it with an additional force
and vigour, by the united operation of that principle, and of the present
impression. All this I have observed, in order to confirm by analogy, my
explication of our judgments concerning cause and effect. But this very
argument may, perhaps, be turned against me, and instead of a confirmation
of my hypothesis, may become an objection to it. For it may be said, that
if all the parts of that hypothesis be true, viz. that these three species
of relation are derived from the same principles; that their effects in
informing and enlivening our ideas are the same; and that belief is
nothing but a more forcible and vivid conception of an idea; it should
follow, that that action of the mind may not only be derived from the
relation of cause and effect, but also from those of contiguity and
resemblance. But as we find by experience, that belief arises only from
causation, and that we can draw no inference from one object to another,
except they be connected by this relation, we may conclude, that there is
some error in that reasoning, which leads us into such difficulties.

This is the objection; let us now consider its solution. It is evident,
that whatever is present to the memory, striking upon the mind with a
vivacity, which resembles an immediate impression, must become of
considerable moment in all the operations of the mind, and must easily
distinguish itself above the mere fictions of the imagination. Of these
impressions or ideas of the memory we form a kind of system, comprehending
whatever we remember to have been present, either to our internal
perception or senses; and every particular of that system, joined to the
present impressions, we are pleased to call a reality. But the mind stops
not here. For finding, that with this system of perceptions, there is
another connected by custom, or if you will, by the relation of cause or
effect, it proceeds to the consideration of their ideas; and as it feels
that it is in a manner necessarily determined to view these particular
ideas, and that the custom or relation, by which it is determined, admits
not of the least change, it forms them into a new system, which it
likewise dignifies with the title of realities. The first of these systems
is the object of the memory and senses; the second of the judgment.

It is this latter principle, which peoples the world, and brings us
acquainted with such existences, as by their removal in time and place,
lie beyond the reach of the senses and memory. By means of it I paint the
universe in my imagination, and fix my attention on any part of it I
please. I form an idea of ROME, which I neither see nor remember; but
which is connected with such impressions as I remember to have received
from the conversation and books of travellers and historians. This idea of
Rome I place in a certain situation on the idea of an object, which I call
the globe. I join to it the conception of a particular government, and
religion, and manners. I look backward and consider its first foundation;
its several revolutions, successes, and misfortunes. All this, and
everything else, which I believe, are nothing but ideas; though by their
force and settled order, arising from custom and the relation of cause and
effect, they distinguish themselves from the other ideas, which are merely
the offspring of the imagination.

As to the influence of contiguity and resemblance, we may observe, that if
the contiguous and resembling object be comprehended in this system of
realities, there is no doubt but these two relations will assist that of
cause and effect, and infix the related idea with more force in the
imagination. This I shall enlarge upon presently. Mean while I shall carry
my observation a step farther, and assert, that even where the related
object is but feigned, the relation will serve to enliven the idea, and
encrease its influence. A poet, no doubt, will be the better able to form
a strong description of the Elysian fields, that he prompts his
imagination by the view of a beautiful meadow or garden; as at another
time he may by his fancy place himself in the midst of these fabulous
regions, that by the feigned contiguity he may enliven his imagination.

But though I cannot altogether exclude the relations of resemblance and
contiguity from operating on the fancy in this manner, it is observable
that, when single, their influence is very feeble and uncertain. As the
relation of cause and effect is requisite to persuade us of any real
existence, so is this persuasion requisite to give force to these other
relations. For where upon the appearance of an impression we not only
feign another object, but likewise arbitrarily, and of our mere good-will
and pleasure give it a particular relation to the impression, this can
have but a small effect upon the mind; nor is there any reason, why, upon
the return of the same impression, we should be determined to place the
same object in the same relation to it. There is no manner of necessity
for the mind to feign any resembling and contiguous objects; and if it
feigns such, there is as little necessity for it always to confine itself
to the same, without any difference or variation. And indeed such a
fiction is founded on so little reason, that nothing but pure caprice can
determine the mind to form it; and that principle being fluctuating and
uncertain, it is impossible it can ever operate with any considerable
degree of force and constancy. The mind forsees and anticipates the
change; and even from the very first instant feels the looseness of its
actions, and the weak hold it has of its objects. And as this imperfection
is very sensible in every single instance, it still encreases by
experience and observation, when we compare the several instances we may
remember, and form a general rule against the reposing any assurance in
those momentary glimpses of light, which arise in the imagination from a
feigned resemblance and contiguity.

The relation of cause and effect has all the opposite advantages. The
objects it presents are fixt and unalterable. The impressions of the
memory never change in any considerable degree; and each impression draws
along with it a precise idea, which takes its place in the imagination as
something solid and real, certain and invariable. The thought is always
determined to pass from the impression to the idea, and from that
particular impression to that particular idea, without any choice or
hesitation.

But not content with removing this objection, I shall endeavour to extract
from it a proof of the present doctrine. Contiguity and resemblance have
an effect much inferior to causation; but still have some effect, and
augment the conviction of any opinion, and the vivacity of any conception.
If this can be proved in several new instances, beside what we have
already observed, it will be allowed no inconsiderable argument, that
belief is nothing but a lively idea related to a present impression.

To begin with contiguity; it has been remarked among the Mahometans as
well as Christians, that those pilgrims, who have seen MECCA or the HOLY
LAND, are ever after more faithful and zealous believers, than those who
have not had that advantage. A man, whose memory presents him with a
lively image of the Red-Sea, and the Desert, and Jerusalem, and Galilee,
can never doubt of any miraculous events, which are related either by
Moses or the Evangelists. The lively idea of the places passes by an easy
transition to the facts, which are supposed to have been related to them
by contiguity, and encreases the belief by encreasing the vivacity of the
conception. The remembrance of these fields and rivers has the same
influence on the vulgar as a new argument; and from the same causes.

We may form a like observation concerning resemblance. We have remarked,
that the conclusion, which we draw from a present object to its absent
cause or effect, is never founded on any qualities, which we observe in
that object, considered in itself, or, in other words, that it is
impossible to determine, otherwise than by experience, what will result
from any phenomenon, or what has preceded it. But though this be so
evident in itself, that it seemed not to require any, proof; yet some
philosophers have imagined that there is an apparent cause for the
communication of motion, and that a reasonable man might immediately infer
the motion of one body from the impulse of another, without having
recourse to any past observation. That this opinion is false will admit of
an easy proof. For if such an inference may be drawn merely from the ideas
of body, of motion, and of impulse, it must amount to a demonstration, and
must imply the absolute impossibility of any contrary supposition. Every
effect, then, beside the communication of motion, implies a formal
contradiction; and it is impossible not only that it can exist, but also
that it can be conceived. But we may soon satisfy ourselves of the
contrary, by forming a clear and consistent idea of one body’s moving upon
another, and of its rest immediately upon the contact, or of its returning
back in the same line in which it came; or of its annihilation; or
circular or elliptical motion: and in short, of an infinite number of
other changes, which we may suppose it to undergo. These suppositions are
all consistent and natural; and the reason, Why we imagine the
communication of motion to be more consistent and natural not only than
those suppositions, but also than any other natural effect, is founded on
the relation of resemblance betwixt the cause and effect, which is here
united to experience, and binds the objects in the closest and most
intimate manner to each other, so as to make us imagine them to be
absolutely inseparable. Resemblance, then, has the same or a parallel
influence with experience; and as the only immediate effect of experience
is to associate our ideas together, it follows, that all belief arises
from the association of ideas, according to my hypothesis.

It is universally allowed by the writers on optics, that the eye at all
times sees an equal number of physical points, and that a man on the top
of a mountain has no larger an image presented to his senses, than when he
is cooped up in the narrowest court or chamber. It is only by experience
that he infers the greatness of the object from some peculiar qualities of
the image; and this inference of the judgment he confounds with sensation,
as is common on other occasions. Now it is evident, that the inference of
the judgment is here much more lively than what is usual in our common
reasonings, and that a man has a more vivid conception of the vast extent
of the ocean from the image he receives by the eye, when he stands on the
top of the high promontory, than merely from hearing the roaring of the
waters. He feels a more sensible pleasure from its magnificence; which is
a proof of a more lively idea: And he confounds his judgment with
sensation, which is another proof of it. But as the inference is equally
certain and immediate in both cases, this superior vivacity of our
conception in one case can proceed from nothing but this, that in drawing
an inference from the sight, beside the customary conjunction, there is
also a resemblance betwixt the image and the object we infer; which
strengthens the relation, and conveys the vivacity of the impression to
the related idea with an easier and more natural movement.

No weakness of human nature is more universal and conspicuous than what we
commonly call CREDULITY, or a too easy faith in the testimony of others;
and this weakness is also very naturally accounted for from the influence
of resemblance. When we receive any matter of fact upon human testimony,
our faith arises from the very same origin as our inferences from causes
to effects, and from effects to causes; nor is there anything but our
experience of the governing principles of human nature, which can give us
any assurance of the veracity of men. But though experience be the true
standard of this, as well as of all other judgments, we seldom regulate
ourselves entirely by it; but have a remarkable propensity to believe
whatever is reported, even concerning apparitions, enchantments, and
prodigies, however contrary to daily experience and observation. The words
or discourses of others have an intimate connexion with certain ideas in
their mind; and these ideas have also a connexion with the facts or
objects, which they represent. This latter connexion is generally much
over-rated, and commands our assent beyond what experience will justify;
which can proceed from nothing beside the resemblance betwixt the ideas
and the facts. Other effects only point out their causes in an oblique
manner; but the testimony of men does it directly, and is to be considered
as an image as well as an effect. No wonder, therefore, we are so rash in
drawing our inferences from it, and are less guided by experience in our
judgments concerning it, than in those upon any other subject.

As resemblance, when conjoined with causation, fortifies our reasonings;
so the want of it in any very great degree is able almost entirely to
destroy them. Of this there is a remarkable instance in the universal
carelessness and stupidity of men with regard to a future state, where
they show as obstinate an incredulity, as they do a blind credulity on
other occasions. There is not indeed a more ample matter of wonder to the
studious, and of regret to the pious man, than to observe the negligence
of the bulk of mankind concerning their approaching condition; and it is
with reason, that many eminent theologians have not scrupled to affirm,
that though the vulgar have no formal principles of infidelity, yet they
are really infidels in their hearts, and have nothing like what we can
call a belief of the eternal duration of their souls. For let us consider
on the one hand what divines have displayed with such eloquence concerning
the importance of eternity; and at the same time reflect, that though in
matters of rhetoric we ought to lay our account with some exaggeration, we
must in this case allow, that the strongest figures are infinitely
inferior to the subject: And after this let us view on the other hand, the
prodigious security of men in this particular: I ask, if these people
really believe what is inculcated on them, and what they pretend to
affirm; and the answer is obviously in the negative. As belief is an act
of the mind arising from custom, it is not strange the want of resemblance
should overthrow what custom has established, and diminish the force of
the idea, as much as that latter principle encreases it. A future state is
so far removed from our comprehension, and we have so obscure an idea of
the manner, in which we shall exist after the dissolution of the body,
that all the reasons we can invent, however strong in themselves, and
however much assisted by education, are never able with slow imaginations
to surmount this difficulty, or bestow a sufficient authority and force on
the idea. I rather choose to ascribe this incredulity to the faint idea we
form of our future condition, derived from its want of resemblance to the
present life, than to that derived from its remoteness. For I observe,
that men are everywhere concerned about what may happen after their death,
provided it regard this world; and that there are few to whom their name,
their family, their friends, and their country are in any period of time
entirely indifferent.

And indeed the want of resemblance in this case so entirely destroys
belief, that except those few, who upon cool reflection on the importance
of the subject, have taken care by repeated meditation to imprint in their
minds the arguments for a future state, there scarce are any, who believe
the immortality of the soul with a true and established judgment; such as
is derived from the testimony of travellers and historians. This appears
very conspicuously wherever men have occasion to compare the pleasures and
pains, the rewards and punishments of this life with those of a future;
even though the case does not concern themselves, and there is no violent
passion to disturb their judgment. The Roman Catholicks are certainly the
most zealous of any sect in the Christian world; and yet you’ll find few
among the more sensible people of that communion who do not blame the
Gunpowder-treason, and the massacre of St. Bartholomew, as cruel and
barbarous, though projected or executed against those very people, whom
without any scruple they condemn to eternal and infinite punishments. All
we can say in excuse for this inconsistency is, that they really do not
believe what they affirm concerning a future state; nor is there any
better proof of it than the very inconsistency.

We may add to this a remark; that in matters of religion men take a
pleasure in being terrifyed, and that no preachers are so popular, as
those who excite the most dismal and gloomy passions. In the common
affairs of life, where we feel and are penetrated with the solidity of the
subject, nothing can be more disagreeable than fear and terror; and it is
only in dramatic performances and in religious discourses, that they ever
give pleasure. In these latter cases the imagination reposes itself
indolently on the idea; and the passion, being softened by the want of
belief in the subject, has no more than the agreeable effect of enlivening
the mind, and fixing the attention.

The present hypothesis will receive additional confirmation, if we examine
the effects of other kinds of custom, as well as of other relations. To
understand this we must consider, that custom, to which I attribute all
belief and reasoning, may operate upon the mind in invigorating an idea
after two several ways. For supposing that in all past experience we have
found two objects to have been always conjoined together, it is evident,
that upon the appearance of one of these objects in an impression, we must
from custom make an easy transition to the idea of that object, which
usually attends it; and by means of the present impression and easy
transition must conceive that idea in a stronger and more lively manner,
than we do any loose floating image of the fancy. But let us next suppose,
that a mere idea alone, without any of this curious and almost artificial
preparation, should frequently make its appearance in the mind, this idea
must by degrees acquire a facility and force; and both by its firm hold
and easy introduction distinguish itself from any new and unusual idea.
This is the only particular, in which these two kinds of custom agree; and
if it appear, that their effects on the judgment, are similar and
proportionable, we may certainly conclude, that the foregoing explication
of that faculty is satisfactory. But can we doubt of this agreement in
their influence on the judgment, when we consider the nature and effects
Of EDUCATION?

All those opinions and notions of things, to which we have been accustomed
from our infancy, take such deep root, that it is impossible for us, by
all the powers of reason and experience, to eradicate them; and this habit
not only approaches in its influence, but even on many occasions prevails
over that which a-rises from the constant and inseparable union of causes
and effects. Here we most not be contented with saying, that the vividness
of the idea produces the belief: We must maintain that they are
individually the same. The frequent repetition of any idea infixes it in
the imagination; but could never possibly of itself produce belief, if
that act of the mind was, by the original constitution of our natures,
annexed only to a reasoning and comparison of ideas. Custom may lead us
into some false comparison of ideas. This is the utmost effect we can
conceive of it. But it is certain it could never supply the place of that
comparison, nor produce any act of the mind, which naturally belonged to
that principle.

A person, that has lost a leg or an arm by amputation, endeavours for a
long time afterwards to serve himself with them. After the death of any
one, it is a common remark of the whole family, but especially of the
servants, that they can scarce believe him to be dead, but still imagine
him to be in his chamber or in any other place, where they were accustomed
to find him. I have often heard in conversation, after talking of a
person, that is any way celebrated, that one, who has no acquaintance with
him, will say, I have never seen such-a-one, but almost fancy I have; so
often have I heard talk of him. All these are parallel instances.

If we consider this argument from EDUCATION in a proper light, it will
appear very convincing; and the more so, that it is founded on one of the
most common phaenomena, that is any where to be met with. I am persuaded,
that upon examination we shall find more than one half of those opinions,
that prevail among mankind, to be owing to education, and that the
principles, which are thus implicitely embraced, overballance those, which
are owing either to abstract reasoning or experience. As liars, by the
frequent repetition of their lies, come at last to remember them; so the
judgment, or rather the imagination, by the like means, may have ideas so
strongly imprinted on it, and conceive them in so full a light, that they
may operate upon the mind in the same manner with those, which the senses,
memory or reason present to us. But as education is an artificial and not
a natural cause, and as its maxims are frequently contrary to reason, and
even to themselves in different times and places, it is never upon that
account recognized by philosophers; though in reality it be built almost
on the same foundation of custom and repetition as our reasonings from
causes and effects.^[8]

[8]
In general we may observe, that as our assent to all probable reasonings is
founded on the vivacity of ideas, It resembles many of those whimsies and
prejudices, which are rejected under the opprobrious character of being the
offspring of the imagination. By this expression it appears that the word,
imagination, is commonly usd in two different senses; and tho nothing be more
contrary to true philosophy, than this inaccuracy, yet in the following
reasonings I have often been obligd to fall into it. When I oppose the
Imagination to the memory, I mean the faculty, by which we form our fainter
ideas. When I oppose it to reason, I mean the same faculty, excluding only our
demonstrative and probable reasonings. When I oppose it to neither, it is
indifferent whether it be taken in the larger or more limited sense, or at
least the context will sufficiently explain the meaning.

SECT. X. OF THE INFLUENCE OF BELIEF.

But though education be disclaimed by philosophy, as a fallacious ground
of assent to any opinion, it prevails nevertheless in the world, and is
the cause why all systems are apt to be rejected at first as new and
unusual. This perhaps will be the fate of what I have here advanced
concerning belief, and though the proofs I have produced appear to me
perfectly conclusive, I expect not to make many proselytes to my opinion.
Men will scarce ever be persuaded, that effects of such consequence can
flow from principles, which are seemingly so inconsiderable, and that the
far greatest part of our reasonings with all our actions and passions, can
be derived from nothing but custom and habit. To obviate this objection, I
shall here anticipate a little what would more properly fall under our
consideration afterwards, when we come to treat of the passions and the
sense of beauty.

There is implanted in the human mind a perception of pain and pleasure, as
the chief spring and moving principle of all its actions. But pain and
pleasure have two ways of making their appearance in the mind; of which
the one has effects very different from the other. They may either appear
in impression to the actual feeling, or only in idea, as at present when I
mention them. It is evident the influence of these upon our actions is far
from being equal. Impressions always actuate the soul, and that in the
highest degree; but it is not every idea which has the same effect. Nature
has proceeded with caution in this came, and seems to have carefully
avoided the inconveniences of two extremes. Did impressions alone
influence the will, we should every moment of our lives be subject to the
greatest calamities; because, though we foresaw their approach, we should
not be provided by nature with any principle of action, which might impel
us to avoid them. On the other hand, did every idea influence our actions,
our condition would not be much mended. For such is the unsteadiness and
activity of thought, that the images of every thing, especially of goods
and evils, are always wandering in the mind; and were it moved by every
idle conception of this kind, it would never enjoy a moment’s peace and
tranquillity.

Nature has, therefore, chosen a medium, and has neither bestowed on every
idea of good and evil the power of actuating the will, nor yet has
entirely excluded them from this influence. Though an idle fiction has no
efficacy, yet we find by experience, that the ideas of those objects,
which we believe either are or will be existent, produce in a lesser
degree the same effect with those impressions, which are immediately
present to the senses and perception. The effect, then, of belief is to
raise up a simple idea to an equality with our impressions, and bestow on
it a like influence on the passions. This effect it can only have by
making an idea approach an impression in force and vivacity. For as the
different degrees of force make all the original difference betwixt an
impression and an idea, they must of consequence be the source of all the
differences in the effects of these perceptions, and their removal, in
whole or in part, the cause of every new resemblance they acquire.
Wherever we can make an idea approach the impressions in force and
vivacity, it will likewise imitate them in its influence on the mind; and
vice versa, where it imitates them in that influence, as in the present
case, this must proceed from its approaching them in force and vivacity.
Belief, therefore, since it causes an idea to imitate the effects of the
impressions, must make it resemble them in these qualities, and is nothing
but A MORE VIVID AND INTENSE CONCEPTION OF ANY IDEA. This, then, may both
serve as an additional argument for the present system, and may give us a
notion after what manner our reasonings from causation are able to operate
on the will and passions.

As belief is almost absolutely requisite to the exciting our passions, so
the passions in their turn are very favourable to belief; and not only
such facts as convey agreeable emotions, but very often such as give pain,
do upon that account become more readily the objects of faith and opinion.
A coward, whose fears are easily awakened, readily assents to every
account of danger he meets with; as a person of a sorrowful and melancholy
disposition is very credulous of every thing, that nourishes his
prevailing passion. When any affecting object is presented, it gives the
alarm, and excites immediately a degree of its proper passion; especially
in persons who are naturally inclined to that passion. This emotion passes
by an easy transition to the imagination; and diffusing itself over our
idea of the affecting object, makes us form that idea with greater force
and vivacity, and consequently assent to it, according to the precedent
system. Admiration and surprize have the same effect as the other
passions; and accordingly we may observe, that among the vulgar, quacks
and projectors meet with a more easy faith upon account of their
magnificent pretensions, than if they kept themselves within the bounds of
moderation. The first astonishment, which naturally attends their
miraculous relations, spreads itself over the whole soul, and so vivifies
and enlivens the idea, that it resembles the inferences we draw from
experience. This is a mystery, with which we may be already a little
acquainted, and which we shall have farther occasion to be let into in the
progress of this treatise.

After this account of the influence of belief on the passions, we shall
find less difficulty in explaining its effects on the imagination, however
extraordinary they may appear. It is certain we cannot take pleasure in
any discourse, where our judgment gives no assent to those images which
are presented to our fancy. The conversation of those who have acquired a
habit of lying, though in affairs of no moment, never gives any
satisfaction; and that because those ideas they present to us, not being
attended with belief, make no impression upon the mind. Poets themselves,
though liars by profession, always endeavour to give an air of truth to
their fictions; and where that is totally neglected, their performances,
however ingenious, will never be able to afford much pleasure. In short,
we may observe, that even when ideas have no manner of influence on the
will and passions, truth and reality are still requisite, in order to make
them entertaining to the imagination.

But if we compare together all the phenomena that occur on this head, we
shall find, that truth, however necessary it may seem in all works of
genius, has no other effect than to procure an easy reception for the
ideas, and to make the mind acquiesce in them with satisfaction, or at
least without reluctance. But as this is an effect, which may easily be
supposed to flow from that solidity and force, which, according to my
system, attend those ideas that are established by reasonings from
causation; it follows, that all the influence of belief upon the fancy may
be explained from that system. Accordingly we may observe, that wherever
that influence arises from any other principles beside truth or reality,
they supply its place, and give an equal entertainment to the imagination.
Poets have formed what they call a poetical system of things, which though
it be believed neither by themselves nor readers, is commonly esteemed a
sufficient foundation for any fiction. We have been so much accustomed to
the names of MARS, JUPITER, VENUS, that in the same manner as education
infixes any opinion, the constant repetition of these ideas makes them
enter into the mind with facility, and prevail upon the fancy, without
influencing the judgment. In like manner tragedians always borrow their
fable, or at least the names of their principal actors, from some known
passage in history; and that not in order to deceive the spectators; for
they will frankly confess, that truth is not in any circumstance
inviolably observed: but in order to procure a more easy reception into
the imagination for those extraordinary events, which they represent. But
this is a precaution, which is not required of comic poets, whose
personages and incidents, being of a more familiar kind, enter easily into
the conception, and are received without any such formality, even though
at first night they be known to be fictitious, and the pure offspring of
the fancy.

This mixture of truth and falshood in the fables of tragic poets not only
serves our present purpose, by shewing, that the imagination can be
satisfyed without any absolute belief or assurance; but may in another
view be regarded as a very strong confirmation of this system. It is
evident, that poets make use of this artifice of borrowing the names of
their persons, and the chief events of their poems, from history, in order
to procure a more easy reception for the whole, and cause it to make a
deeper impression on the fancy and affections. The several incidents of
the piece acquire a kind of relation by being united into one poem or
representation; and if any of these incidents be an object of belief, it
bestows a force and vivacity on the others, which are related to it. The
vividness of the first conception diffuses itself along the relations, and
is conveyed, as by so many pipes or canals, to every idea that has any
communication with the primary one. This, indeed, can never amount to a
perfect assurance; and that because the union among the ideas is, in a
manner, accidental: But still it approaches so near, in its influence, as
may convince us, that they are derived from the same origin. Belief must
please the imagination by means of the force and vivacity which attends
it; since every idea, which has force and vivacity, is found to be
agreeable to that faculty.

To confirm this we may observe, that the assistance is mutual betwixt the
judgment and fancy, as well as betwixt the judgment and passion; and that
belief not only gives vigour to the imagination, but that a vigorous and
strong imagination is of all talents the most proper to procure belief and
authority. It is difficult for us to withhold our assent from what is
painted out to us in all the colours of eloquence; and the vivacity
produced by the fancy is in many cases greater than that which arises from
custom and experience. We are hurried away by the lively imagination of
our author or companion; and even he himself is often a victim to his own
fire and genius.

Nor will it be amiss to remark, that as a lively imagination very often
degenerates into madness or folly, and bears it a great resemblance in its
operations; so they influence the judgment after the same manner, and
produce belief from the very same principles. When the imagination, from
any extraordinary ferment of the blood and spirits, acquires such a
vivacity as disorders all its powers and faculties, there is no means of
distinguishing betwixt truth and falshood; but every loose fiction or
idea, having the same influence as the impressions of the memory, or the
conclusions of the judgment, is received on the same footing, and operates
with equal force on the passions. A present impression and a customary
transition are now no longer necessary to enliven our ideas. Every chimera
of the brain is as vivid and intense as any of those inferences, which we
formerly dignifyed with the name of conclusions concerning matters of
fact, and sometimes as the present impressions of the senses.

We may observe the same effect of poetry in a lesser degree; and this is
common both to poetry and madness, that the vivacity they bestow on the
ideas is not derived from the particular situations or connexions of the
objects of these ideas, but from the present temper and disposition of the
person. But how great soever the pitch may be, to which this vivacity
rises, it is evident, that in poetry it never has the same feeling with
that which arises in the mind, when we reason, though even upon the lowest
species of probability. The mind can easily distinguish betwixt the one
and the other; and whatever emotion the poetical enthusiasm may give to
the spirits, it is still the mere phantom of belief or persuasion. The
case is the same with the idea, as with the passion it occasions. There is
no passion of the human mind but what may arise from poetry; though at the
same time the feelings of the passions are very different when excited by
poetical fictions, from what they are when they are from belief and
reality. A passion, which is disagreeable in real life, may afford the
highest entertainment in a tragedy, or epic poem. In the latter case, it
lies not with that weight upon us: It feels less firm and solid: And has
no other than the agreeable effect of exciting the spirits, and rouzing
the attention. The difference in the passions is a clear proof of a like
difference in those ideas, from which the passions are derived. Where the
vivacity arises from a customary conjunction with a present impression;
though the imagination may not, in appearance, be so much moved; yet there
is always something more forcible and real in its actions, than in the
fervors of poetry and eloquence. The force of our mental actions in this
case, no more than in any other, is not to be measured by the apparent
agitation of the mind. A poetical description may have a more sensible
effect on the fancy, than an historical narration. It may collect more of
those circumstances, that form a compleat image or picture. It may seem to
set the object before us in more lively colours. But still the ideas it
presents are different to the feeling from those, which arise from the
memory and the judgment. There is something weak and imperfect amidst all
that seeming vehemence of thought and sentiment, which attends the
fictions of poetry.

We shall afterwards have occasion to remark both the resemblance and
differences betwixt a poetical enthusiasm, and a serious conviction. In
the mean time I cannot forbear observing, that the great difference in
their feeling proceeds in some measure from reflection and GENERAL RULES.
We observe, that the vigour of conception, which fictions receive from
poetry and eloquence, is a circumstance merely accidental, of which every
idea is equally susceptible; and that such fictions are connected with
nothing that is real. This observation makes us only lend ourselves, so to
speak, to the fiction: But causes the idea to feel very different from the
eternal established persuasions founded on memory and custom. They are
somewhat of the same kind: But the one is much inferior to the other, both
in its causes and effects.

A like reflection on general rules keeps us from augmenting our belief
upon every encrease of the force and vivacity of our ideas. Where an
opinion admits of no doubt, or opposite probability, we attribute to it a
full conviction: though the want of resemblance, or contiguity, may render
its force inferior to that of other opinions. It is thus the understanding
corrects the appearances of the senses, and makes us imagine, that an
object at twenty foot distance seems even to the eye as large as one of
the same dimensions at ten.

We may observe the same effect of poetry in a lesser degree; only with
this difference, that the least reflection dissipates the illusions of
poetry, and Places the objects in their proper light. It is however
certain, that in the warmth of a poetical enthusiasm, a poet has a
counterfeit belief, and even a kind of vision of his objects: And if there
be any shadow of argument to support this belief, nothing contributes more
to his full conviction than a blaze of poetical figures and images, which
have their effect upon the poet himself, as well as upon his readers.

SECT. XI. OF THE PROBABILITY OF CHANCES.

But in order to bestow on this system its full force and evidence, we must
carry our eye from it a moment to consider its consequences, and explain
from the same principles some other species of reasoning, which are
derived from the same origin.

Those philosophers, who have divided human reason into knowledge and
probability, and have defined the first to be that evidence, which arises
from the comparison of ideas, are obliged to comprehend all our arguments
from causes or effects under the general term of probability. But though
every one be free to use his terms in what sense he pleases; and
accordingly in the precedent part of this discourse, I have followed this
method of expression; it is however certain, that in common discourse we
readily affirm, that many arguments from causation exceed probability, and
may be received as a superior kind of evidence. One would appear
ridiculous, who would say, that it is only probable the sun will rise
to-morrow, or that all men must dye; though it is plain we have no further
assurance of these facts, than what experience affords us. For this
reason, it would perhaps be more convenient, in order at once to preserve
the common signification of words, and mark the several degrees of
evidence, to distinguish human reason into three kinds, viz. THAT FROM
KNOWLEDGE, FROM PROOFS, AND FROM PROBABILITIES. By knowledge, I mean the
assurance arising from the comparison of ideas. By proofs, those
arguments, which are derived from the relation of cause and effect, and
which are entirely free from doubt and uncertainty. By probability, that
evidence, which is still attended with uncertainty. It is this last
species of reasoning, I proceed to examine.

Probability or reasoning from conjecture may be divided into two kinds,
viz. that which is founded on chance, and that which arises from causes.
We shall consider each of these in order.

The idea of cause and effect is derived from experience, which presenting
us with certain objects constantly conjoined with each other, produces
such a habit of surveying them in that relation, that we cannot without a
sensible violence survey them iii any other. On the other hand, as chance
is nothing real in itself, and, properly speaking, is merely the negation
of a cause, its influence on the mind is contrary to that of causation;
and it is essential to it, to leave the imagination perfectly indifferent,
either to consider the existence or non-existence of that object, which is
regarded as contingent. A cause traces the way to our thought, and in a
manner forces us to survey such certain objects, in such certain
relations. Chance can only destroy this determination of the thought, and
leave the mind in its native situation of indifference; in which, upon the
absence of a cause, it is instantly re-instated.

Since therefore an entire indifference is essential to chance, no one
chance can possibly be superior to another, otherwise than as it is
composed of a superior number of equal chances. For if we affirm that one
chance can, after any other manner, be superior to another, we must at the
same time affirm, that there is something, which gives it the superiority,
and determines the event rather to that side than the other: That is, in
other words, we must allow of a cause, and destroy the supposition of
chance; which we had before established. A perfect and total indifference
is essential to chance, and one total indifference can never in itself be
either superior or inferior to another. This truth is not peculiar to my
system, but is acknowledged by every one, that forms calculations
concerning chances.

And here it is remarkable, that though chance and causation be directly
contrary, yet it is impossible for us to conceive this combination of
chances, which is requisite to render one hazard superior to another,
without supposing a mixture of causes among the chances, and a conjunction
of necessity in some particulars, with a total indifference in others.
Where nothing limits the chances, every notion, that the most extravagant
fancy can form, is upon a footing of equality; nor can there be any
circumstance to give one the advantage above another. Thus unless we
allow, that there are some causes to make the dice fall, and preserve
their form in their fall, and lie upon some one of their sides, we can
form no calculation concerning the laws of hazard. But supposing these
causes to operate, and supposing likewise all the rest to be indifferent
and to be determined by chance, it is easy to arrive at a notion of a
superior combination of chances. A dye that has four sides marked with a
certain number of spots, and only two with another, affords us an obvious
and easy instance of this superiority. The mind is here limited by the
causes to such a precise number and quality of the events; and at the same
time is undetermined in its choice of any particular event.

Proceeding then in that reasoning, wherein we have advanced three steps;
that chance is merely the negation of a cause, and produces a total
indifference in the mind; that one negation of a cause and one total
indifference can never be superior or inferior to another; and that there
must always be a mixture of causes among the chances, in order to be the
foundation of any reasoning: We are next to consider what effect a
superior combination of chances can have upon the mind, and after what
manner it influences our judgment and opinion. Here we may repeat all the
same arguments we employed in examining that belief, which arises from
causes; and may prove, after the same manner, that a superior number of
chances produces our assent neither by demonstration nor probability. It
is indeed evident that we can never by the comparison of mere ideas make
any discovery, which can be of consequence in this affairs and that it is
impossible to prove with certainty, that any event must fall on that side
where there is a superior number of chances. To, suppose in this case any
certainty, were to overthrow what we have established concerning the
opposition of chances, and their perfect equality and indifference.

Should it be said, that though in an opposition of chances it is
impossible to determine with certainty, on which side the event will fall,
yet we can pronounce with certainty, that it is more likely and probable,
it will be on that side where there is a superior number of chances, than
where there is an inferior: should this be said, I would ask, what is here
meant by likelihood and probability? The likelihood and probability of
chances is a superior number of equal chances; and consequently when we
say it is likely the event win fall on the side, which is superior, rather
than on the inferior, we do no more than affirm, that where there is a
superior number of chances there is actually a superior, and where there
is an inferior there is an inferior; which are identical propositions, and
of no consequence. The question is, by what means a superior number of
equal chances operates upon the mind, and produces belief or assent; since
it appears, that it is neither by arguments derived from demonstration,
nor from probability.

In order to clear up this difficulty, we shall suppose a person to take a
dye, formed after such a manner as that four of its sides are marked with
one figure, or one number of spots, and two with another; and to put this
dye into the box with an intention of throwing it: It is plain, he must
conclude the one figure to be more probable than the other, and give the
preference to that which is inscribed on the greatest number of sides. He
in a manner believes, that this will lie uppermost; though still with
hesitation and doubt, in proportion to the number of chances, which are
contrary: And according as these contrary chances diminish, and the
superiority encreases on the other side, his belief acquires new degrees
of stability and assurance. This belief arises from an operation of the
mind upon the simple and limited object before us; and therefore its
nature will be the more easily discovered and explained. We have nothing
but one single dye to contemplate, in order to comprehend one of the most
curious operations of the understanding.

This dye, formed as above, contains three circumstances worthy of our
attention. First, Certain causes, such as gravity, solidity, a cubical
figure, &c. which determine it to fall, to preserve its form in its
fall, and to turn up one of its sides. Secondly, A certain number of
sides, which are supposed indifferent. Thirdly, A certain figure inscribed
on each side. These three particulars form the whole nature of the dye, so
far as relates to our present purpose; and consequently are the only
circumstances regarded by the mind in its forming a judgment concerning
the result of such a throw. Let us, therefore, consider gradually and
carefully what must be the influence of these circumstances on the thought
and imagination.

First, We have already observed, that the mind is determined by custom to
pass from any cause to its effect, and that upon the appearance of the
one, it is almost impossible for it not to form an idea of the other.
Their constant conjunction in past instances has produced such a habit in
the mind, that it always conjoins them in its thought, and infers the
existence of the one from that of its usual attendant. When it considers
the dye as no longer supported by the box, it can not without violence
regard it as suspended in the air; but naturally places it on the table,
and views it as turning up one of its sides. This is the effect of the
intermingled causes, which are requisite to our forming any calculation
concerning chances.

Secondly, It is supposed, that though the dye be necessarily determined to
fall, and turn up one of its sides, yet there is nothing to fix the
particular side, but that this is determined entirely by chance. The very
nature and essence of chance is a negation of causes, and the leaving the
mind in a perfect indifference among those events, which are supposed
contingent. When therefore the thought is determined by the causes to
consider the dye as falling and turning up one of its sides, the chances
present all these sides as equal, and make us consider every one of them,
one after another, as alike probable and possible. The imagination passes
from the cause, viz. the throwing of the dye, to the effect, viz. the
turning up one of the six sides; and feels a kind of impossibility both of
stopping short in the way, and of forming any other idea. But as all these
six sides are incompatible, and the dye cannot turn up above one at once,
this principle directs us not to consider all of them at once as lying
uppermost; which we look upon as impossible: Neither does it direct us
with its entire force to any particular side; for in that case this side
would be considered as certain and inevitable; but it directs us to the
whole six sides after such a manner as to divide its force equally among
them. We conclude in general, that some one of them must result from the
throw: We run all of them over in our minds: The determination of the
thought is common to all; but no more of its force falls to the share of
any one, than what is suitable to its proportion with the rest. It is
after this manner the original impulse, and consequently the vivacity of
thought, arising from the causes, is divided and split in pieces by the
intermingled chances.

We have already seen the influence of the two first qualities of the dye,
viz. the causes, and the number and indifference of the sides, and have
learned how they give an impulse to the thought, and divide that impulse
into as many parts as there are unites in the number of sides. We must now
consider the effects of the third particular, viz. the figures inscribed
on each side. It is evident that where several sides have the same figure
inscribe on them, they must concur in their influence on the mind, and
must unite upon one image or idea of a figure all those divided impulses,
that were dispersed over the several sides, upon which that figure is
inscribed. Were the question only what side will be turned up, these are
all perfectly equal, and no one could ever have any advantage above
another. But as the question is concerning the figure, and as the same
figure is presented by more than one side: it is evident, that the
impulses belonging to all these sides must re-unite in that one figure,
and become stronger and more forcible by the union. Four sides are
supposed in the present case to have the same figure inscribed on them,
and two to have another figure. The impulses of the former are, therefore,
superior to those of the latter. But as the events are contrary, and it is
impossible both these figures can be turned up; the impulses likewise
become contrary, and the inferior destroys the superior, as far as its
strength goes. The vivacity of the idea is always proportionable to the
degrees of the impulse or tendency to the transition; and belief is the
same with the vivacity of the idea, according to the precedent doctrine.

SECT. XII. OF THE PROBABILITY OF CAUSES.

What I have said concerning the probability of chances can serve to no
other purpose, than to assist us in explaining the probability of causes;
since it is commonly allowed by philosophers, that what the vulgar call
chance is nothing but a secret and concealed cause. That species of
probability, therefore, is what we must chiefly examine.

The probabilities of causes are of several kinds; but are all derived from
the same origin, viz. THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS TO A PRESENT IMPRESSION. As
the habit, which produces the association, arises from the frequent
conjunction of objects, it must arrive at its perfection by degrees, and
must acquire new force from each instance, that falls under our
observation. The first instance has little or no force: The second makes
some addition to it: The third becomes still more sensible; and it is by
these slow steps, that our judgment arrives at a full assurance. But
before it attains this pitch of perfection, it passes through several
inferior degrees, and in all of them is only to be esteemed a presumption
or probability. The gradation, therefore, from probabilities to proofs is
in many cases insensible; and the difference betwixt these kinds of
evidence is more easily perceived in the remote degrees, than in the near
and contiguous.

It is worthy of remark on this occasion, that though the species of
probability here explained be the first in order, and naturally takes
place before any entire proof can exist, yet no one, who is arrived at the
age of maturity, can any longer be acquainted with it. It is true, nothing
is more common than for people of the most advanced knowledge to have
attained only an imperfect experience of many particular events; which
naturally produces only an imperfect habit and transition: But then we
must consider, that the mind, having formed another observation concerning
the connexion of causes and effects, gives new force to its reasoning from
that observation; and by means of it can build an argument on one single
experiment, when duly prepared and examined. What we have found once to
follow from any object, we conclude will for ever follow from it; and if
this maxim be not always built upon as certain, it is not for want of a
sufficient number of experiments, but because we frequently meet with
instances to the contrary; which leads us to the second species of
probability, where there is a contrariety in our experience and
observation.

It would be very happy for men in the conduct of their lives and actions,
were the same objects always conjoined together, and, we had nothing to
fear but the mistakes of our own judgment, without having any reason to
apprehend the uncertainty of nature. But as it is frequently found, that
one observation is contrary to another, and that causes and effects follow
not in the same order, of which we have I had experience, we are obliged
to vary our reasoning on, account of this uncertainty, and take into
consideration the contrariety of events. The first question, that occurs
on this head, is concerning the nature and causes of the contrariety.

The vulgar, who take things according to their first appearance, attribute
the uncertainty of events to such an uncertainty in the causes, as makes
them often fail of their usual influence, though they meet with no
obstacle nor impediment in their operation. But philosophers observing,
that almost in every part of nature there is contained a vast variety of
springs and principles, which are hid, by reason of their minuteness or
remoteness, find that it is at least possible the contrariety of events
may not proceed from any contingency in the cause, but from the secret
operation of contrary causes. This possibility is converted into certainty
by farther observation, when they remark, that upon an exact scrutiny, a
contrariety of effects always betrays a contrariety of causes, and
proceeds from their mutual hindrance and opposition. A peasant can give no
better reason for the stopping of any clock or watch than to say, that
commonly it does not go right: But an artizan easily perceives, that the
same force in the spring or pendulum has always the same influence on the
wheels; but fails of its usual effect, perhaps by reason of a grain of
dust, which puts a stop to the whole movement. From the observation of
several parallel instances, philosophers form a maxim, that the connexion
betwixt all causes and effects is equally necessary, and that its seeming
uncertainty in some instances proceeds from the secret opposition of
contrary causes.

But however philosophers and the vulgar may differ in their explication of
the contrariety of events, their inferences from it are always of the same
kind, and founded on the same principles. A contrariety of events in the
past may give us a kind of hesitating belief for the future after two
several ways. First, By producing an imperfect habit and transition from
the present impression to the related idea. When the conjunction of any
two objects is frequent, without being entirely constant, the mind is
determined to pass from one object to the other; but not with so entire a
habit, as when the union is uninterrupted, and all the instances we have
ever met with are uniform and of a piece-.. We find from common
experience, in our actions as well as reasonings, that a constant
perseverance in any course of life produces a strong inclination and
tendency to continue for the future; though there are habits of inferior
degrees of force, proportioned to the inferior degrees of steadiness and
uniformity in our conduct.

There is no doubt but this principle sometimes takes place, and produces
those inferences we draw from contrary phaenomena: though I am perswaded,
that upon examination we shall not find it to be the principle, that most
commonly influences the mind in this species of reasoning. When we follow
only the habitual determination of the mind, we make the transition
without any reflection, and interpose not a moment’s delay betwixt the
view of one object and the belief of that, which is often found to attend
it. As the custom depends not upon any deliberation, it operates
immediately, without allowing any time for reflection. But this method of
proceeding we have but few instances of in our probable reasonings; and
even fewer than in those, which are derived from the uninterrupted
conjunction of objects. In the former species of reasoning we commonly
take knowingly into consideration the contrariety of past events; we
compare the different sides of the contrariety, and carefully weigh the
experiments, which we have on each side: Whence we may conclude, that our
reasonings of this kind arise not directly from the habit, but in an
oblique manner; which we must now endeavour to explain.

It is evident, that when an object is attended with contrary effects, we
judge of them only by our past experience, and always consider those as
possible, which we have observed to follow from it. And as past experience
regulates our judgment concerning the possibility of these effects, so it
does that concerning their probability; and that effect, which has been
the most common, we always esteem the most likely. Here then are two
things to be considered, viz. the reasons which determine us to make the
past a standard for the future, and the manner how we extract a single
judgment from a contrariety of past events.

First we may observe, that the supposition, that the future resembles the
past, is not founded on arguments of any kind, but is derived entirely
from habit, by which we are determined to expect for the future the same
train of objects, to which we have been accustomed. This habit or
determination to transfer the past to the future is full and perfect; and
consequently the first impulse of the imagination in this species of
reasoning is endowed with the same qualities.

But, secondly, when in considering past experiments we find them of a
contrary nature, this determination, though full and perfect in itself,
presents us with no steady object, but offers us a number of disagreeing
images in a certain order and proportion. The first impulse, therefore, is
here broke into pieces, and diffuses itself over all those images, of
which each partakes an equal share of that force and vivacity, that is
derived from the impulse. Any of these past events may again happen; and
we judge, that when they do happen, they will be mixed in the same
proportion as in the past.

If our intention, therefore, be to consider the proportions of contrary
events in a great number of instances, the images presented by our past
experience must remain in their FIRST FORM, and preserve their first
proportions. Suppose, for instance, I have found by long observation, that
of twenty ships, which go to sea, only nineteen return. Suppose I see at
present twenty ships that leave the port: I transfer my past experience to
the future, and represent to myself nineteen of these ships as returning
in safety, and one as perishing. Concerning this there can be no
difficulty. But as we frequently run over those several ideas of past
events, in order to form a judgment concerning one single event, which
appears uncertain; this consideration must change the FIRST FORM of our
ideas, and draw together the divided images presented by experience; since
it is to it we refer the determination of that particular event, upon
which we reason. Many of these images are supposed to concur, and a
superior number to concur on one side. These agreeing images unite
together, and render the idea more strong and lively, not only than a mere
fiction of the imagination, but also than any idea, which is supported by
a lesser number of experiments. Each new experiment is as a new stroke of
the pencil, which bestows an additional vivacity on the colours without
either multiplying or enlarging the figure. This operation of the mind has
been so fully explained in treating of the probability of chance, that I
need not here endeavour to render it more intelligible. Every past
experiment may be considered as a kind of chance; I it being uncertain to
us, whether the object will exist conformable to one experiment or
another. And for this reason every thing that has been said on the one
subject is applicable to both.

Thus upon the whole, contrary experiments produce an imperfect belief,
either by weakening the habit, or by dividing and afterwards joining in
different parts, that perfect habit, which makes us conclude in general,
that instances, of which we have no experience, must necessarily resemble
those of which we have.

To justify still farther this account of the second species of
probability, where we reason with knowledge and reflection from a
contrariety of past experiments, I shall propose the following
considerations, without fearing to give offence by that air of subtilty,
which attends them. Just reasoning ought still, perhaps, to retain its
force, however subtile; in the same manner as matter preserves its
solidity in the air, and fire, and animal spirits, as well as in the
grosser and more sensible forms.

First, We may observe, that there is no probability so great as not to
allow of a contrary possibility; because otherwise it would cease to be a
probability, and would become a certainty. That probability of causes,
which is most extensive, and which we at present examine, depends on a
contrariety of experiments: and it is evident an experiment in the past
proves at least a possibility for the future.

Secondly, The component parts of this possibility and probability are of
the same nature, and differ in number only, but not in kind. It has been
observed, that all single chances are entirely equal, and that the only
circumstance, which can give any event, that is contingent, a superiority
over another is a superior number of chances. In like manner, as the
uncertainty of causes is discovery by experience, which presents us with a
view of contrary events, it is plain, that when we transfer the past to
the future, the known to the unknown, every past experiment has the same
weight, and that it is only a superior number of them, which can throw the
ballance on any side. The possibility, therefore, which enters into every
reasoning of this kind, is composed of parts, which are of the same nature
both among themselves, and with those, that compose the opposite
probability.

Thirdly, We may establish it as a certain maxim, that in all moral as well
as natural phaenomena, wherever any cause consists of a number of parts,
and the effect encreases or diminishes, according to the variation of that
number, the effects properly speaking, is a compounded one, and arises
from the union of the several effects, that proceed from each part of the
cause. Thus, because the gravity of a body encreases or diminishes by the
encrease or diminution of its parts, we conclude that each part contains
this quality and contributes to the gravity of the whole. The absence or
presence of a part of the cause is attended with that of a proportionable
part of the effect. This connexion or constant conjunction sufficiently
proves the one part to be the cause of the other. As the belief which we
have of any event, encreases or diminishes according to the number of
chances or past experiments, it is to be considered as a compounded
effect, of which each part arises from a proportionable number of chances
or experiments.

Let us now join these three observations, and see what conclusion we can
draw from them. To every probability there is an opposite possibility.
This possibility is composed of parts, that are entirely of the same
nature with those of the probability; and consequently have the same
influence on the mind and understanding. The belief, which attends the
probability, is a compounded effect, and is formed by the concurrence of
the several effects, which proceed from each part of the probability.
Since therefore each part of the probability contributes to the production
of the belief, each part of the possibility must have the same influence
on the opposite side; the nature of these parts being entirely the same.
The contrary belief, attending the possibility, implies a view of a
certain object, as well as the probability does an opposite view. In this
particular both these degrees of belief are alike. The only manner then,
in which the superior number of similar component parts in the one can
exert its influence, and prevail above the inferior in the other, is by
producing a stronger and more lively view of its object. Each part
presents a particular view; and all these views uniting together produce
one general view, which is fuller and more distinct by the greater number
of causes or principles, from which it is derived.

The component parts of the probability and possibility, being alike in
their nature, must produce like effects; and the likeness of their effects
consists in this, that each of them presents a view of a particular
object. But though these parts be alike in their nature, they are very
different in their quantity and number; and this difference must appear in
the effect as well as the similarity. Now as the view they present is in
both cases full and entire, and comprehends the object in all its parts,
it is impossible that in this particular there can be any difference; nor
is there any thing but a superior vivacity in the probability, arising
from the concurrence of a superior number of views, which can distinguish
these effects.

Here is almost the same argument in a different light. All our reasonings
concerning the probability of causes are founded on the transferring of
past to future. The transferring of any past experiment to the future is
sufficient to give us a view of the object; whether that experiment be
single or combined with others of the same kind; whether it be entire, or
opposed by others of a contrary kind. Suppose, then, it acquires both
these qualities of combination and opposition, it loses not upon that
account its former power of presenting a view of the object, but only
concurs with and opposes other experiments, that have a like influence. A
question, therefore, may arise concerning the manner both of the
concurrence and opposition. As to the concurrence, there is only the
choice left betwixt these two hypotheses. First, That the view of the
object, occasioned by the transference of each past experiment, preserves
itself entire, and only multiplies the number of views. Or, SECONDLY, That
it runs into the other similar and correspondent views, and gives them a
superior degree of force and vivacity. But that the first hypothesis is
erroneous, is evident from experience, which informs us, that the belief,
attending any reasoning, consists in one conclusion, not in a multitude of
similar ones, which would only distract the mind, and in many cases would
be too numerous to be comprehended distinctly by any finite capacity. It
remains, therefore, as the only reasonable opinion, that these similar
views run into each other, and unite their forces; so as to produce a
stronger and clearer view, than what arises from any one alone. This is
the manner, in which past experiments concur, when they are transfered to
any future event. As to the manner of their opposition, it is evident,
that as the contrary views are incompatible with each other, and it is
impossible the object can at once exist conformable to both of them, their
influence becomes mutually destructive, and the mind is determined to the
superior only with that force, which remains, after subtracting the
inferior.

I am sensible how abstruse all this reasoning must appear to the
generality of readers, who not being accustomed to such profound
reflections on the intellectual faculties of the mind, will be apt to
reject as chimerical whatever strikes not in with the common received
notions, and with the easiest and most obvious principles of philosophy.
And no doubt there are some pains required to enter into these arguments;
though perhaps very little are necessary to perceive the imperfection of
every vulgar hypothesis on this subject, and the little light, which
philosophy can yet afford us in such sublime and such curious
speculations. Let men be once fully perswaded of these two principles,
THAT THERE, IS NOTHING IN ANY OBJECT, CONSIDERED IN ITSELF, WHICH CAN
AFFORD US A REASON FOR DRAWING A CONCLUSION BEYOND it; and, THAT EVEN
AFTER THE OBSERVATION OF THE FREQUENT OR CONSTANT CONJUNCTION OF OBJECTS,
WE HAVE NO REASON TO DRAW ANY INFERENCE CONCERNING ANY OBJECT BEYOND THOSE
OF WHICH WE HAVE HAD EXPERIENCE; I say, let men be once fully convinced of
these two principles, and this will throw them so loose from all common
systems, that they will make no difficulty of receiving any, which may
appear the most extraordinary. These principles we have found to be
sufficiently convincing, even with regard to our most certain reasonings
from causation: But I shall venture to affirm, that with regard to these
conjectural or probable reasonings they still acquire a new degree of
evidence.

First, It is obvious, that in reasonings of this kind, it is not the
object presented to us, which, considered in itself, affords us any reason
to draw a conclusion concerning any other object or event. For as this
latter object is supposed uncertain, and as the uncertainty is derived
from a concealed contrariety of causes in the former, were any of the
causes placed in the known qualities of that object, they would no longer
be concealed, nor would our conclusion be uncertain.

But, secondly, it is equally obvious in this species of reasoning, that if
the transference of the past to the future were founded merely on a
conclusion of the understanding, it could never occasion any belief or
assurance. When we transfer contrary experiments to the future, we can
only repeat these contrary experiments with their particular proportions;
which could not produce assurance in any single event, upon which we
reason, unless the fancy melted together all those images that concur, and
extracted from them one single idea or image, which is intense and lively
in proportion to the number of experiments from which it is derived, and
their superiority above their antagonists. Our past experience presents no
determinate object; and as our belief, however faint, fixes itself on a
determinate object, it is evident that the belief arises not merely from
the transference of past to future, but from some operation of the fancy
conjoined with it. This may lead us to conceive the manner, in which that
faculty enters into all our reasonings.

I shall conclude this subject with two reflections, which may deserve our
attention. The FIRST may be explained after this manner. When the mind
forms a reasoning concerning any matter of fact, which is only probable,
it casts its eye backward upon past experience, and transferring it to the
future, is presented with so many contrary views of its object, of which
those that are of the same kind uniting together, and running into one act
of the mind, serve to fortify and inliven it. But suppose that this
multitude of views or glimpses of an object proceeds not from experience,
but from a voluntary act of the imagination; this effect does not follow,
or at least, follows not in the same degree. For though custom and
education produce belief by such a repetition, as is not derived from
experience, yet this requires a long tract of time, along with a very
frequent and undesigned repetition. In general we may pronounce, that a
person who would voluntarily repeat any idea in his mind, though supported
by one past experience, would be no more inclined to believe the existence
of its object, than if he had contented himself with one survey of it.
Beside the effect of design; each act of the mind, being separate and
independent, has a separate influence, and joins not its force with that
of its fellows. Not being united by any common object, producing them,
they have no relation to each other; and consequently make no transition
or union of forces. This phænomenon we shall understand better
afterwards.

My second reflection is founded on those large probabilities, which the
mind can judge of, and the minute differences it can observe betwixt them.
When the chances or experiments on one side amount to ten thousand, and on
the other to ten thousand and one, the judgment gives the preference to
the latter, upon account of that superiority; though it is plainly
impossible for the mind to run over every particular view, and distinguish
the superior vivacity of the image arising from the superior number, where
the difference is so inconsiderable. We have a parallel instance in the
affections. It is evident, according to the principles above-mentioned,
that when an object produces any passion in us, which varies according to
the different quantity of the object; I say, it is evident, that the
passion, properly speaking, is not a simple emotion, but a compounded one,
of a great number of weaker passions, derived from a view of each part of
the object. For otherwise it were impossible the passion should encrease
by the encrease of these parts. Thus a man, who desires a thousand pound,
has in reality a thousand or more desires which uniting together, seem to
make only one passion; though the composition evidently betrays itself
upon every alteration of the object, by the preference he gives to the
larger number, if superior only by an unite. Yet nothing can be more
certain, than that so small a difference would not be discernible in the
passions, nor could render them distinguishable from each other. The
difference, therefore, of our conduct in preferring the greater number
depends not upon our passions, but upon custom, and general rules. We have
found in a multitude of instances, that the augmenting the numbers of any
sum augments the passion, where the numbers are precise and the difference
sensible. The mind can perceive from its immediate feeling, that three
guineas produce a greater passion than two; and this it transfers to
larger numbers, because of the resemblance; and by a general rule assigns
to a thousand guineas, a stronger passion than to nine hundred and ninety
nine. These general rules we shall explain presently.

But beside these two species of probability, which are derived from an
imperfect experience and from contrary causes, there is a third arising
from ANALOGY, which differs from them in some material circumstances.
According to the hypothesis above explained all kinds of reasoning from
causes or effects are founded on two particulars, viz., the constant
conjunction of any two objects in all past experience, and the resemblance
of a present object to any one of them. The effect of these two
particulars is, that the present object invigorates and inlivens the
imagination; and the resemblance, along with the constant union, conveys
this force and vivacity to the related idea; which we are therefore said
to believe, or assent to. If you weaken either the union or resemblance,
you weaken the principle of transition, and of consequence that belief,
which arises from it. The vivacity of the first impression cannot be fully
conveyed to the related idea, either where the conjunction of their
objects is not constant, or where the present impression does not
perfectly resemble any of those, whose union we are accustomed to observe.
In those probabilities of chance and causes above-explained, it is the
constancy of the union, which is diminished; and in the probability
derived from analogy, it is the resemblance only, which is affected.
Without some degree of resemblance, as well as union, it is impossible
there can be any reasoning: but as this resemblance admits of many
different degrees, the reasoning becomes proportionably more or less firm
and certain. An experiment loses of its force, when transferred to
instances, which are not exactly resembling; though it is evident it may
still retain as much as may be the foundation of probability, as long as
there is any resemblance remaining.

SECT. XIII. OF UNPHILOSOPHICAL PROBABILITY.

All these kinds of probability are received by philosophers, and allowed
to be reasonable foundations of belief and opinion. But there are others,
that are derived from the same principles, though they have not had the
good fortune to obtain the same sanction. The first probability of this
kind may be accounted for thus. The diminution of the union, and of the
resemblance, as above explained, diminishes the facility of the
transition, and by that means weakens the evidence; and we may farther
observe, that the same diminution of the evidence will follow from a
diminution of the impression, and from the shading of those colours, under
which it appears to the memory or senses. The argument, which we found on
any matter of fact we remember, is more or less convincing according as
the fact is recent or remote; and though the difference in these degrees
of evidence be not received by philosophy as solid and legitimate; because
in that case an argument must have a different force to day, from what it
shall have a month hence; yet notwithstanding the opposition of
philosophy, it is certain, this circumstance has a considerable influence
on the understanding, and secretly changes the authority of the same
argument, according to the different times, in which it is proposed to us.
A greater force and vivacity in the impression naturally conveys a greater
to the related idea; and it is on the degrees of force and vivacity, that
the belief depends, according to the foregoing system.

There is a second difference, which we may frequently observe in our
degrees of belief and assurance, and which never fails to take place,
though disclaimed by philosophers. An experiment, that is recent and fresh
in the memory, affects us more than one that is in some measure
obliterated; and has a superior influence on the judgment, as well as on
the passions. A lively impression produces more assurance than a faint
one; because it has more original force to communicate to the related
idea, which thereby acquires a greater force and vivacity. A recent
observation has a like effect; because the custom and transition is there
more entire, and preserves better the original force in the communication.
Thus a drunkard, who has seen his companion die of a debauch, is struck
with that instance for some time, and dreads a like accident for himself:
But as the memory of it decays away by degrees, his former security
returns, and the danger seems less certain and real.

I add, as a third instance of this kind, that though our reasonings from
proofs and from probabilities be considerably different from each other,
yet the former species of reasoning often degenerates insensibly into the
latter, by nothing but the multitude of connected arguments. It is
certain, that when an inference is drawn immediately from an object,
without any intermediate cause or effect, the conviction is much stronger,
and the persuasion more lively, than when the imagination is carryed
through a long chain of connected arguments, however infallible the
connexion of each link may be esteemed. It is from the original
impression, that the vivacity of all the ideas is derived, by means of the
customary transition of the imagination; and it is evident this vivacity
must gradually decay in proportion to the distance, and must lose somewhat
in each transition. Sometimes this distance has a greater influence than
even contrary experiments would have; and a man may receive a more lively
conviction from a probable reasoning, which is close and immediate, than
from a long chain of consequences, though just and conclusive in each
part. Nay it is seldom such reasonings produce any conviction; and one
must have a very strong and firm imagination to preserve the evidence to
the end, where it passes through so many, stages.

But here it may not be amiss to remark a very curious phænomenon, which
the present subject suggests to us. It is evident there is no point of
ancient history, of which we can have any assurance, but by passing
through many millions of causes and effects, and through a chain of
arguments of almost an immeasurable length. Before the knowledge of the
fact could come to the first historian, it must be conveyed through many
mouths; and after it is committed to writing, each new copy is a new
object, of which the connexion with the foregoing is known only by
experience and observation. Perhaps, therefore, it may be concluded from
the precedent reasoning, that the evidence of all ancient history must now
be lost; or at least, will be lost in time, as the chain of causes
encreases, and runs on to a greater length. But as it seems contrary to
common sense to think, that if the republic of letters, and the art of
printing continue on the same footing as at present, our posterity, even
after a thousand ages, can ever doubt if there has been such a man as
JULIUS CAESAR; this may be considered as an objection to the present
system. If belief consisted only in a certain vivacity, conveyed from an
original impression, it would decay by the length of the transition, and
must at last be utterly extinguished: And vice versa, if belief on some
occasions be not capable of such an extinction; it must be something
different from that vivacity.

Before I answer this objection I shall observe, that from this topic there
has been borrowed a very celebrated argument against the Christian
Religion; but with this difference, that the connexion betwixt each link
of the chain in human testimony has been there supposed not to go beyond
probability, and to be liable to a degree of doubt and uncertainty. And
indeed it must be confest, that in this manner of considering the subject,
(which however is not a true one) there is no history or tradition, but
what must in the end lose all its force and evidence. Every new
probability diminishes the original conviction; and however great that
conviction may be supposed, it is impossible it can subsist under such
re-iterated diminutions. This is true in general; though we shall find
afterwards,^[9]
that there is one very memorable exception, which is of vast consequence
in the present subject of the understanding.

[9]
Part IV. Sect. 1.

Mean while to give a solution of the preceding objection upon the
supposition, that historical evidence amounts at first to an entire proof;
let us consider, that though the links are innumerable, that connect any
original fact with the present impression, which is the foundation of
belief; yet they are all of the same kind, and depend on the fidelity of
Printers and Copyists. One edition passes into another, and that into a
third, and so on, till we come to that volume we peruse at present. There
is no variation in the steps. After we know one we know all of them; and
after we have made one, we can have no scruple as to the rest. This
circumstance alone preserves the evidence of history, and will perpetuate
the memory of the present age to the latest posterity. If all the long
chain of causes and effects, which connect any past event with any volume
of history, were composed of parts different from each other, and which it
were necessary for the mind distinctly to conceive, it is impossible we
should preserve to the end any belief or evidence. But as most of these
proofs are perfectly resembling, the mind runs easily along them, jumps
from one part to another with facility, and forms but a confused and
general notion of each link. By this means a long chain of argument, has
as little effect in diminishing the original vivacity, as a much shorter
would have, if composed of parts, which were different from each other,
and of which each required a distinct consideration.

A fourth unphilosophical species of probability is that derived from
general rules, which we rashly form to ourselves, and which are the source
of what we properly call PREJUDICE. An IRISHMAN cannot have wit, and a
Frenchman cannot have solidity; for which reason, though the conversation
of the former in any instance be visibly very agreeable, and of the latter
very judicious, we have entertained such a prejudice against them, that
they must be dunces or fops in spite of sense and reason. Human nature is
very subject to errors of this kind; and perhaps this nation as much as
any other.

Should it be demanded why men form general rules, and allow them to
influence their judgment, even contrary to present observation and
experience, I should reply, that in my opinion it proceeds from those very
principles, on which all judgments concerning causes and effects depend.
Our judgments concerning cause and effect are derived from habit and
experience; and when we have been accustomed to see one object united to
another, our imagination passes from the first to the second, by a natural
transition, which precedes reflection, and which cannot be prevented by
it. Now it is the nature of custom not only to operate with its full
force, when objects are presented, that are exactly the same with those to
which we have been accustomed; but also to operate in an inferior degree,
when we discover such as are similar; and though the habit loses somewhat
of its force by every difference, yet it is seldom entirely destroyed,
where any considerable circumstances remain the same. A man, who has
contracted a custom of eating fruit by the use of pears or peaches, will
satisfy himself with melons, where he cannot find his favourite fruit; as
one, who has become a drunkard by the use of red wines, will be carried
almost with the same violence to white, if presented to him. From this
principle I have accounted for that species of probability, derived from
analogy, where we transfer our experience in past instances to objects
which are resembling, but are not exactly the same with those concerning
which we have had experience. In proportion as the resemblance decays, the
probability diminishes; but still has some force as long as there remain
any traces of the resemblance.

This observation we may carry farther; and may remark, that though custom
be the foundation of all our judgments, yet sometimes it has an effect on
the imagination in opposition to the judgment, and produces a contrariety
in our sentiments concerning the same object. I explain myself. In almost
all kinds of causes there is a complication of circumstances, of which
some are essential, and others superfluous; some are absolutely requisite
to the production of the effect, and others are only conjoined by
accident. Now we may observe, that when these superfluous circumstances
are numerous, and remarkable, and frequently conjoined with the essential,
they have such an influence on the imagination, that even in the absence
of the latter they carry us on to the conception of the usual effect, and
give to that conception a force and vivacity, which make it superior to
the mere fictions of the fancy. We may correct this propensity by a
reflection on the nature of those circumstances: but it is still certain,
that custom takes the start, and gives a biass to the imagination.

To illustrate this by a familiar instance, let us consider the case of a
man, who, being hung out from a high tower in a cage of iron cannot
forbear trembling, when he surveys the precipice below him, though he
knows himself to be perfectly secure from falling, by his experience of
the solidity of the iron, which supports him; and though the ideas of fall
and descent, and harm and death, be derived solely from custom and
experience. The same custom goes beyond the instances, from which it is
derived, and to which it perfectly corresponds; and influences his ideas
of such objects as are in some respect resembling, but fall not precisely
under the same rule. The circumstances of depth and descent strike so
strongly upon him, that their influence can-not be destroyed by the
contrary circumstances of support and solidity, which ought to give him a
perfect security. His imagination runs away with its object, and excites a
passion proportioned to it. That passion returns back upon the imagination
and inlivens the idea; which lively idea has a new influence on the
passion, and in its turn augments its force and violence; and both his
fancy and affections, thus mutually supporting each other, cause the whole
to have a very great influence upon him.

But why need we seek for other instances, while the present subject of
philosophical probabilities offers us so obvious an one, in the opposition
betwixt the judgment and imagination arising from these effects of custom?
According to my system, all reasonings are nothing but the effects of
custom; and custom has no influence, but by inlivening the imagination,
and giving us a strong conception of any object. It may, therefore, be
concluded, that our judgment and imagination can never be contrary, and
that custom cannot operate on the latter faculty after such a manner, as
to render it opposite to the former. This difficulty we can remove after
no other manner, than by supposing the influence of general rules. We
shall afterwards take^[10]
notice of some general rules, by which we ought to regulate our judgment
concerning causes and effects; and these rules are formed on the nature
of our understanding, and on our experience of its operations in the
judgments we form concerning objects. By them we learn to distinguish the
accidental circumstances from the efficacious causes; and when we find
that an effect can be produced without the concurrence of any particular
circumstance, we conclude that that circumstance makes not a part of the
efficacious cause, however frequently conjoined with it. But as this
frequent conjunction necessity makes it have some effect on the
imagination, in spite of the opposite conclusion from general rules, the
opposition of these two principles produces a contrariety in our
thoughts, and causes us to ascribe the one inference to our judgment, and
the other to our imagination. The general rule is attributed to our
judgment; as being more extensive and constant. The exception to the
imagination, as being more capricious and uncertain.

[10]
Sect. 15.

Thus our general rules are in a manner set in opposition to each other.
When an object appears, that resembles any cause in very considerable
circumstances, the imagination naturally carries us to a lively conception
of the usual effect, Though the object be different in the most material
and most efficacious circumstances from that cause. Here is the first
influence of general rules. But when we take a review of this act of the
mind, and compare it with the more general and authentic operations of the
understanding, we find it to be of an irregular nature, and destructive of
all the most established principles of reasonings; which is the cause of
our rejecting it. This is a second influence of general rules, and implies
the condemnation of the former. Sometimes the one, sometimes the other
prevails, according to the disposition and character of the person. The
vulgar are commonly guided by the first, and wise men by the second. Mean
while the sceptics may here have the pleasure of observing a new and
signal contradiction in our reason, and of seeing all philosophy ready to
be subverted by a principle of human nature, and again saved by a new
direction of the very same principle. The following of general rules is a
very unphilosophical species of probability; and yet it is only by
following them that we can correct this, and all other unphilosophical
probabilities.

Since we have instances, where general rules operate on the imagination
even contrary to the judgment, we need not be surprized to see their
effects encrease, when conjoined with that latter faculty, and to observe
that they bestow on the ideas they present to us a force superior to what
attends any other. Every one knows, there is an indirect manner of
insinuating praise or blame, which is much less shocking than the open
flattery or censure of any person. However he may communicate his
sentiments by such secret insinuations, and make them known with equal
certainty as by the open discovery of them, it is certain that their
influence is not equally strong and powerful. One who lashes me with
concealed strokes of satire, moves not my indignation to such a degree, as
if he flatly told me I was a fool and coxcomb; though I equally understand
his meaning, as if he did. This difference is to be attributed to the
influence of general rules.

Whether a person openly, abuses me, or slyly intimates his contempt, in
neither case do I immediately perceive his sentiment or opinion; and it is
only by signs, that is, by its effects, I become sensible of it. The only
difference, then, betwixt these two cases consists in this, that in the
open discovery of his sentiments he makes use of signs, which are general
and universal; and in the secret intimation employs such as are more
singular and uncommon. The effect of this circumstance is, that the
imagination, in running from the present impression to the absent idea,
makes the transition with greater facility, and consequently conceives the
object with greater force, where the connexion is common and universal,
than where it is more rare and particular. Accordingly we may observe,
that the open declaration of our sentiments is called the taking off the
mask, as the secret intimation of our opinions is said to be the veiling
of them. The difference betwixt an idea produced by a general connexion,
and that arising from a particular one is here compared to the difference
betwixt an impression and an idea. This difference in the imagination has
a suitable effect on the passions; and this effect is augmented by another
circumstance. A secret intimation of anger or contempt shews that we still
have some consideration for the person, and avoid the directly abusing
him. This makes a concealed satire less disagreeable; but still this
depends on the same principle. For if an idea were not more feeble, when
only intimated, it would never be esteemed a mark of greater respect to
proceed in this method than in the other.

Sometimes scurrility is less displeasing than delicate satire, because it
revenges us in a manner for the injury at the very time it is committed,
by affording us a just reason to blame and contemn the person, who injures
us. But this phænomenon likewise depends upon the same principle. For why
do we blame all gross and injurious language, unless it be, because we
esteem it contrary to good breeding and humanity? And why is it contrary,
unless it be more shocking than any delicate satire? The rules of good
breeding condemn whatever is openly disobliging, and gives a sensible pain
and confusion to those, with whom we converse. After this is once
established, abusive language is universally blamed, and gives less pain
upon account of its coarseness and incivility, which render the person
despicable, that employs it. It becomes less disagreeable, merely because
originally it is more so; and it is more disagreeable, because it affords
an inference by general and common rules, that are palpable and
undeniable.

To this explication of the different influence of open and concealed
flattery or satire, I shall add the consideration of another phenomenon,
which is analogous to it. There are many particulars in the point of
honour both of men and women, whose violations, when open and avowed, the
world never excuses, but which it is more apt to overlook, when the
appearances are saved, and the transgression is secret and concealed. Even
those, who know with equal certainty, that the fault is committed, pardon
it more easily, when the proofs seem in some measure oblique and
equivocal, than when they are direct and undeniable. The same idea is
presented in both cases, and, properly speaking, is equally assented to by
the judgment; and yet its influence is different, because of the different
manner, in which it is presented.

Now if we compare these two cases, of the open and concealed violations of
the laws of honour, we shall find, that the difference betwixt them
consists in this, that in the first ease the sign, from which we infer the
blameable action, is single, and suffices alone to be the foundation of
our reasoning and judgment; whereas in the latter the signs are numerous,
and decide little or nothing when alone and unaccompanyed with many minute
circumstances, which are almost imperceptible. But it is certainly true,
that any reasoning is always the more convincing, the more single and
united it is to the eye, and the less exercise it gives to the imagination
to collect all its parts, and run from them to the correlative idea, which
forms the conclusion. The labour of the thought disturbs the regular
progress of the sentiments, as we shall observe presently.^[11]
The idea strikes not on us with ouch vivacity; and consequently has no
such influence on the passion and imagination.

[11]
Part IV. Sect. 1.

From the same principles we may account for those observations of the
CARDINAL DE RETZ, that there are many things, in which the world wishes to
be deceived; and that it more easily excuses a person in acting than in
talking contrary to the decorum of his profession and character. A fault
in words is commonly more open and distinct than one in actions, which
admit of many palliating excuses, and decide not so clearly concerning the
intention and views of the actor.

Thus it appears upon the whole, that every kind of opinion or judgment,
which amounts not to knowledge, is derived entirely from the force and
vivacity of the perception, and that these qualities constitute in the
mind, what we call the BELIEF Of the existence of any object. This force
and this vivacity are most conspicuous in the memory; and therefore our
confidence in the veracity of that faculty is the greatest imaginable, and
equals in many respects the assurance of a demonstration. The next degree
of these qualities is that derived from the relation of cause and effect;
and this too is very great, especially when the conjunction is found by
experience to be perfectly constant, and when the object, which is present
to us, exactly resembles those, of which we have had experience. But below
this degree of evidence there are many others, which have an influence on
the passions and imagination, proportioned to that degree of force and
vivacity, which they communicate to the ideas. It is by habit we make the
transition from cause to effect; and it is from some present impression we
borrow that vivacity, which we diffuse over the correlative idea. But when
we have not observed a sufficient number of instances, to produce a strong
habit; or when these instances are contrary to each other; or when the
resemblance is not exact; or the present impression is faint and obscure;
or the experience in some measure obliterated from the memory; or the
connexion dependent on a long chain of objects; or the inference derived
from general rules, and yet not conformable to them: In all these cases
the evidence diminishes by the diminution of the force and intenseness of
the idea. This therefore is the nature of the judgment and probability.

What principally gives authority to this system is, beside the undoubted
arguments, upon which each part is founded, the agreement of these parts,
and the necessity of one to explain another. The belief, which attends our
memory, is of the same nature with that, which is derived from our
judgments: Nor is there any difference betwixt that judgment, which is
derived from a constant and uniform connexion of causes and effects, and
that which depends upon an interrupted and uncertain. It is indeed
evident, that in all determinations, where the mind decides from contrary
experiments, it is first divided within itself, and has an inclination to
either side in proportion to the number of experiments we have seen and
remember. This contest is at last determined to the advantage of that
side, where we observe a superior number of these experiments; but still
with a diminution of force in the evidence correspondent to the number of
the opposite experiments. Each possibility, of which the probability is
composed, operates separately upon the imagination; and it is the larger
collection of possibilities, which at last prevails, and that with a force
proportionable to its superiority. All these phenomena lead directly to
the precedent system; nor will it ever be possible upon any other
principles to give a satisfactory and consistent explication of them.
Without considering these judgments as the effects of custom on the
imagination, we shall lose ourselves in perpetual contradiction and
absurdity.

SECT. XIV. OF THE IDEA OF NECESSARY CONNEXION.

Having thus explained the manner, in which we reason beyond our immediate
impressions, and conclude that such particular causes must have such
particular effects; we must now return upon our footsteps to examine that
question, which^[12]
first occured to us, and which we dropt in our
way, viz. What is our idea of necessity, when we say that two objects are
necessarily connected together. Upon this head I repeat what I have often
had occasion to observe, that as we have no idea, that is not derived from
an impression, we must find some impression, that gives rise to this idea
of necessity, if we assert we have really such an idea. In order to this I
consider, in what objects necessity is commonly supposed to lie; and
finding that it is always ascribed to causes and effects, I turn my eye to
two objects supposed to be placed in that relation; and examine them in
all the situations, of which they are susceptible. I immediately perceive,
that they are contiguous in time and place, and that the object we call
cause precedes the other we call effect. In no one instance can I go any
farther, nor is it possible for me to discover any third relation betwixt
these objects. I therefore enlarge my view to comprehend several
instances; where I find like objects always existing in like relations of
contiguity and succession. At first sight this seems to serve but little
to my purpose. The reflection on several instances only repeats the same
objects; and therefore can never give rise to a new idea. But upon farther
enquiry I find, that the repetition is not in every particular the same,
but produces a new impression, and by that means the idea, which I at
present examine. For after a frequent repetition, I find, that upon the
appearance of one of the objects, the mind is determined by custom to
consider its usual attendant, and to consider it in a stronger light upon
account of its relation to the first object. It is this impression, then,
or determination, which affords me the idea of necessity.

[12]
Sect. 2.

I doubt not but these consequences will at first sight be received without
difficulty, as being evident deductions from principles, which we have
already established, and which we have often employed in our reasonings.
This evidence both in the first principles, and in the deductions, may
seduce us unwarily into the conclusion, and make us imagine it contains
nothing extraordinary, nor worthy of our curiosity. But though such an
inadvertence may facilitate the reception of this reasoning, it will make
it be the more easily forgot; for which reason I think it proper to give
warning, that I have just now examined one of the most sublime questions
in philosophy, viz. that concerning the power and efficacy of causes;
where all the sciences seem so much interested. Such a warning will
naturally rouze up the attention of the reader, and make him desire a more
full account of my doctrine, as well as of the arguments, on which it is
founded. This request is so reasonable, that I cannot refuse complying
with it; especially as I am hopeful that these principles, the more they
are examined, will acquire the more force and evidence.

There is no question, which on account of its importance, as well as
difficulty, has caused more disputes both among antient and modern
philosophers, than this concerning the efficacy of causes, or that quality
which makes them be followed by their effects. But before they entered
upon these disputes, methinks it would not have been improper to have
examined what idea we have of that efficacy, which is the subject of the
controversy. This is what I find principally wanting in their reasonings,
and what I shall here endeavour to supply.

I begin with observing that the terms of EFFICACY, AGENCY, POWER, FORCE,
ENERGY, NECESSITY, CONNEXION, and PRODUCTIVE QUALITY, are all nearly
synonymous; and therefore it is an absurdity to employ any of them in
defining the rest. By this observation we reject at once all the vulgar
definitions, which philosophers have given of power and efficacy; and
instead of searching for the idea in these definitions, must look for it
in the impressions, from which it is originally derived. If it be a
compound idea, it must arise from compound impressions. If simple, from
simple impressions.

I believe the most general and most popular explication of this matter, is
to say,^[13]
that finding from experience, that there are several new productions in
matter, such as the motions and variations of body, and concluding that
there must somewhere be a power capable of producing them, we arrive at
last by this reasoning at the idea of power and efficacy. But to be
convinced that this explication is more popular than philosophical, we
need but reflect on two very obvious principles. First, that reason alone
can never give rise to any original idea, and secondly, that reason, as
distinguished from experience, can never make us conclude, that a cause
or productive quality is absolutely requisite to every beginning of
existence. Both these considerations have been sufficiently explained:
and therefore shall not at present be any farther insisted on.

[13]
See Mr. Locke, chapter of power.

I shall only infer from them, that since reason can never give rise to the
idea of efficacy, that idea must be derived from experience, and from some
particular instances of this efficacy, which make their passage into the
mind by the common channels of sensation or reflection. Ideas always
represent their objects or impressions; and vice versa, there are some
objects necessary to give rise to every idea. If we pretend, therefore, to
have any just idea of this efficacy, we must produce some instance,
wherein the efficacy is plainly discoverable to the mind, and its
operations obvious to our consciousness or sensation. By the refusal of
this, we acknowledge, that the idea is impossible and imaginary, since the
principle of innate ideas, which alone can save us from this dilemma, has
been already refuted, and is now almost universally rejected in the
learned world. Our present business, then, must be to find some natural
production, where the operation and efficacy of a cause can be clearly
conceived and comprehended by the mind, without any danger of obscurity or
mistake.

In this research we meet with very little encouragement from that
prodigious diversity, which is found in the opinions of those
philosophers, who have pretended to explain the secret force and energy of
causes.^[14]
There are some, who maintain, that bodies operate by their substantial
form; others, by their accidents or qualities; several, by their matter
and form; some, by their form and accidents; others, by certain virtues
and faculties distinct from all this. All these sentiments again are
mixed and varyed in a thousand different ways; and form a strong
presumption, that none of them have any solidity or evidence, and that
the supposition of an efficacy in any of the known qualities of matter is
entirely without foundation. This presumption must encrease upon us, when
we consider, that these principles of substantial forms, and accidents,
and faculties, are not in reality any of the known properties of bodies,
but are perfectly unintelligible and inexplicable. For it is evident
philosophers would never have had recourse to such obscure and uncertain
principles, had they met with any satisfaction in such as are clear and
intelligible; especially in such an affair as this, which must be an
object of the simplest understanding, if not of the senses. Upon the
whole, we may conclude, that it is impossible in any one instance to shew
the principle, in which the force and agency of a cause is placed; and
that the most refined and most vulgar understandings are equally at a
loss in this particular. If any one think proper to refute this
assertion, he need not put himself to the trouble of inventing any long
reasonings: but may at once shew us an instance of a cause, where we
discover the power or operating principle. This defiance we are obliged
frequently to make use of, as being almost the only means of proving a
negative in philosophy.

[14]
See Father Malbranche, Book vi. Part 2, chap. 3. And the illustrations upon it.

The small success, which has been met with in all the attempts to fix this
power, has at last obliged philosophers to conclude, that the ultimate
force and efficacy of nature is perfectly unknown to us, and that it is in
vain we search for it in all the known qualities of matter. In this
opinion they are almost unanimous; and it is only in the inference they
draw from it, that they discover any difference in their sentiments. For
some of them, as the CARTESIANS in particular, having established it as a
principle, that we are perfectly acquainted with the essence of matter,
have very naturally inferred, that it is endowed with no efficacy, and
that it is impossible for it of itself to communicate motion, or produce
any of those effects, which we ascribe to it. As the essence of matter
consists in extension, and as extension implies not actual motion, but
only mobility; they conclude, that the energy, which produces the motion,
cannot lie in the extension.

This conclusion leads them into another, which they regard as perfectly
unavoidable. Matter, say they, is in itself entirely unactive, and
deprived of any power, by which it may produce, or continue, or
communicate motion: But since these effects are evident to our senses, and
since the power, that produces them, must be placed somewhere, it must lie
in the DEITY, or that divine being, who contains in his nature all
excellency and perfection. It is the deity, therefore, who is the prime
mover of the universe, and who not only first created matter, and gave it
it’s original impulse, but likewise by a continued exertion of
omnipotence, supports its existence, and successively bestows on it all
those motions, and configurations, and qualities, with which it is
endowed.

This opinion is certainly very curious, and well worth our attention; but
it will appear superfluous to examine it in this place, if we reflect a
moment on our present purpose in taking notice of it. We have established
it as a principle, that as all ideas are derived from impressions, or some
precedent perceptions, it is impossible we can have any idea of power and
efficacy, unless some instances can be produced, wherein this power is
perceived to exert itself. Now, as these instances can never be discovered
in body, the Cartesians, proceeding upon their principle of innate ideas,
have had recourse to a supreme spirit or deity, whom they consider as the
only active being in the universe, and as the immediate cause of every
alteration in matter. But the principle of innate ideas being allowed to
be false, it follows, that the supposition of a deity can serve us in no
stead, in accounting for that idea of agency, which we search for in vain
in all the objects, which are presented to our senses, or which we are
internally conscious of in our own minds. For if every idea be derived
from an impression, the idea of a deity proceeds from the same origin; and
if no impression, either of sensation or reflection, implies any force or
efficacy, it is equally impossible to discover or even imagine any such
active principle in the deity. Since these philosophers, therefore, have
concluded, that matter cannot be endowed with any efficacious principle,
because it is impossible to discover in it such a principle; the same
course of reasoning should determine them to exclude it from the supreme
being. Or if they esteem that opinion absurd and impious, as it really is,
I shall tell them how they may avoid it; and that is, by concluding from
the very first, that they have no adequate idea of power or efficacy in
any object; since neither in body nor spirit, neither in superior nor
inferior natures, are they able to discover one single instance of it.

The same conclusion is unavoidable upon the hypothesis of those, who
maintain the efficacy of second causes, and attribute a derivative, but a
real power and energy to matter. For as they confess, that this energy
lies not in any of the known qualities of matter, the difficulty still
remains concerning the origin of its idea. If we have really an idea of
power, we may attribute power to an unknown quality: But as it is
impossible, that that idea can be derived from such a quality, and as
there is nothing in known qualities, which can produce it; it follows that
we deceive ourselves, when we imagine we are possest of any idea of this
kind, after the manner we commonly understand it. All ideas are derived
from, and represent impressions. We never have any impression, that
contains any power or efficacy. We never therefore have any idea of power.

Some have asserted, that we feel an energy, or power, in our own mind; and
that having in this manner acquired the idea of power, we transfer that
quality to matter, where we are not able immediately to discover it. The
motions of our body, and the thoughts and sentiments of our mind, (say
they) obey the will; nor do we seek any farther to acquire a just notion
of force or power. But to convince us how fallacious this reasoning is, we
need only consider, that the will being here considered as a cause, has no
more a discoverable connexion with its effects, than any material cause
has with its proper effect. So far from perceiving the connexion betwixt
an act of volition, and a motion of the body; it is allowed that no effect
is more inexplicable from the powers and essence of thought and matter.
Nor is the empire of the will over our mind more intelligible. The effect
is there distinguishable and separable from the cause, and could not be
foreseen without the experience of their constant conjunction. We have
command over our mind to a certain degree, but beyond that, lose all
empire over it: And it is evidently impossible to fix any precise bounds
to our authority, where we consult not experience. In short, the actions
of the mind are, in this respect, the same with those of matter. We
perceive only their constant conjunction; nor can we ever reason beyond
it. No internal impression has an apparent energy, more than external
objects have. Since, therefore, matter is confessed by philosophers to
operate by an unknown force, we should in vain hope to attain an idea of
force by consulting our own minds.^[15]

[15]
The same imperfection attends our ideas of the Deity; but this can have no
effect either on religion or morals. The order of the universe proves an
omnipotent mind; that is, a mind whose will is CONSTANTLY ATTENDED with the
obedience of every creature and being. Nothing more is requisite to give a
foundation to all the articles of religion, nor is It necessary we shoud form a
distinct idea of the force and energy of the supreme Being.

It has been established as a certain principle, that general or abstract
ideas are nothing but individual ones taken in a certain light, and that,
in reflecting on any object, it is as impossible to exclude from our
thought all particular degrees of quantity and quality as from the real
nature of things. If we be possest, therefore, of any idea of power in
general, we must also be able to conceive some particular species of it;
and as power cannot subsist alone, but is always regarded as an attribute
of some being or existence, we must be able to place this power in some
particular being, and conceive that being as endowed with a real force and
energy, by which such a particular effect necessarily results from its
operation. We must distinctly and particularly conceive the connexion
betwixt the cause and effect, and be able to pronounce, from a simple view
of the one, that it must be followed or preceded by the other. This is the
true manner of conceiving a particular power in a particular body: and a
general idea being impossible without an individual; where the latter is
impossible, it is certain the former can never exist. Now nothing is more
evident, than that the human mind cannot form such an idea of two objects,
as to conceive any connexion betwixt them, or comprehend distinctly that
power or efficacy, by which they are united. Such a connexion would amount
to a demonstration, and would imply the absolute impossibility for the one
object not to follow, or to be conceived not to follow upon the other:
Which kind of connexion has already been rejected in all cases. If any one
is of a contrary opinion, and thinks he has attained a notion of power in
any particular object, I desire he may point out to me that object. But
till I meet with such-a-one, which I despair of, I cannot forbear
concluding, that since we can never distinctly conceive how any particular
power can possibly reside in any particular object, we deceive ourselves
in imagining we can form any such general idea.

Thus upon the whole we may infer, that when we talk of any being, whether
of a superior or inferior nature, as endowed with a power or force,
proportioned to any effect; when we speak of a necessary connexion betwixt
objects, and suppose, that this connexion depends upon an efficacy or
energy, with which any of these objects are endowed; in all these
expressions, so applied, we have really no distinct meaning, and make use
only of common words, without any clear and determinate ideas. But as it
is more probable, that these expressions do here lose their true meaning
by being wrong applied, than that they never have any meaning; it will be
proper to bestow another consideration on this subject, to see if possibly
we can discover the nature and origin of those ideas, we annex to them.

Suppose two objects to be presented to us, of which the one is the cause
and the other the effect; it is plain, that from the simple consideration
of one, or both these objects we never shall perceive the tie by which
they are united, or be able certainly to pronounce, that there is a
connexion betwixt them. It is not, therefore, from any one instance, that
we arrive at the idea of cause and effect, of a necessary connexion of
power, of force, of energy, and of efficacy. Did we never see any but
particular conjunctions of objects, entirely different from each other, we
should never be able to form any such ideas.

But again; suppose we observe several instances, in which the same objects
are always conjoined together, we immediately conceive a connexion betwixt
them, and begin to draw an inference from one to another. This
multiplicity of resembling instances, therefore, constitutes the very
essence of power or connexion, and is the source from which the idea of it
arises. In order, then, to understand the idea of power, we must consider
that multiplicity; nor do I ask more to give a solution of that
difficulty, which has so long perplexed us. For thus I reason. The
repetition of perfectly similar instances can never alone give rise to an
original idea, different from what is to be found in any particular
instance, as has been observed, and as evidently follows from our
fundamental principle, that all ideas are copyed from impressions. Since
therefore the idea of power is a new original idea, not to be found in any
one instance, and which yet arises from the repetition of several
instances, it follows, that the repetition alone has not that effect, but
must either discover or produce something new, which is the source of that
idea. Did the repetition neither discover nor produce anything new, our
ideas might be multiplyed by it, but would not be enlarged above what they
are upon the observation of one single instance. Every enlargement,
therefore, (such as the idea of power or connexion) which arises from the
multiplicity of similar instances, is copyed from some effects of the
multiplicity, and will be perfectly understood by understanding these
effects. Wherever we find anything new to be discovered or produced by the
repetition, there we must place the power, and must never look for it in
any other object.

But it is evident, in the first place, that the repetition of like objects
in like relations of succession and contiguity discovers nothing new in
any one of them: since we can draw no inference from it, nor make it a
subject either of our demonstrative or probable reasonings;^[16]
as has been already proved. Nay suppose we could draw an inference, it
would be of no consequence in the present case; since no kind of
reasoning can give rise to a new idea, such as this of power is; but
wherever we reason, we must antecedently be possest of clear ideas, which
may be the objects of our reasoning. The conception always precedes the
understanding; and where the one is obscure, the other is uncertain;
where the one fails, the other must fail also.

[16]
Sect. 6.

Secondly, It is certain that this repetition of similar objects in similar
situations produces nothing new either in these objects, or in any
external body. For it will readily be allowed, that the several instances
we have of the conjunction of resembling causes and effects are in
themselves entirely independent, and that the communication of motion,
which I see result at present from the shock of two billiard-balls, is
totally distinct from that which I saw result from such an impulse a
twelve-month ago. These impulses have no influence on each other. They are
entirely divided by time and place; and the one might have existed and
communicated motion, though the other never had been in being.

There is, then, nothing new either discovered or produced in any objects
by their constant conjunction, and by the uninterrupted resemblance of
their relations of succession and contiguity. But it is from this
resemblance, that the ideas of necessity, of power, and of efficacy, are
derived. These ideas, therefore, represent not anything, that does or can
belong to the objects, which are constantly conjoined. This is an
argument, which, in every view we can examine it, will be found perfectly
unanswerable. Similar instances are still the first source of our idea of
power or necessity; at the same time that they have no influence by their
similarity either on each other, or on any external object. We must,
therefore, turn ourselves to some other quarter to seek the origin of that
idea.

Though the several resembling instances, which give rise to the idea of
power, have no influence on each other, and can never produce any new
quality in the object, which can be the model of that idea, yet the
observation of this resemblance produces a new impression in the mind,
which is its real model. For after we have observed the resemblance in a
sufficient number of instances, we immediately feel a determination of the
mind to pass from one object to its usual attendant, and to conceive it in
a stronger light upon account of that relation. This determination is the
only effect of the resemblance; and therefore must be the same with power
or efficacy, whose idea is derived from the resemblance. The several
instances of resembling conjunctions lead us into the notion of power and
necessity. These instances are in themselves totally distinct from each
other, and have no union but in the mind, which observes them, and
collects their ideas. Necessity, then, is the effect of this observation,
and is nothing but an internal impression of the mind, or a determination
to carry our thoughts from one object to another. Without considering it
in this view, we can never arrive at the most distant notion of it, or be
able to attribute it either to external or internal objects, to spirit or
body, to causes or effects.

The necessary connexion betwixt causes and effects is the foundation of
our inference from one to the other. The foundation of our inference is
the transition arising from the accustomed union. These are, therefore,
the same.

The idea of necessity arises from some impression. There is no impression
conveyed by our senses, which can give rise to that idea. It must,
therefore, be derived from some internal impression, or impression of
reflection. There is no internal impression, which has any relation to the
present business, but that propensity, which custom produces, to pass from
an object to the idea of its usual attendant. This therefore is the
essence of necessity. Upon the whole, necessity is something, that exists
in the mind, not in objects; nor is it possible for us ever to form the
most distant idea of it, considered as a quality in bodies. Either we have
no idea of necessity, or necessity is nothing but that determination of
the thought to pass from causes to effects, and from effects to causes,
according to their experienced union.

Thus as the necessity, which makes two times two equal to four, or three
angles of a triangle equal to two right ones, lies only in the act of the
understanding, by which we consider and compare these ideas; in like
manner the necessity or power, which unites causes and effects, lies in
the determination of the mind to pass from the one to the other. The
efficacy or energy of causes is neither placed in the causes themselves,
nor in the deity, nor in the concurrence of these two principles; but
belongs entirely to the soul, which considers the union of two or more
objects in all past instances. It is here that the real power of causes is
placed along with their connexion and necessity.

I am sensible, that of all the paradoxes, which I, have had, or shall
hereafter have occasion to advance in the course of this treatise, the
present one is the most violent, and that it is merely by dint of solid
proof and reasoning I can ever hope it will have admission, and overcome
the inveterate prejudices of mankind. Before we are reconciled to this
doctrine, how often must we repeat to ourselves, that the simple view of
any two objects or actions, however related, can never give us any idea,
of power, or of a connexion betwixt them: that this idea arises from the
repetition of their union: that the repetition neither discovers nor
causes any thing in the objects, but has an influence only on the mind, by
that customary transition it produces: that this customary transition is,
therefore, the same with the power and necessity; which are consequently
qualities of perceptions, not of objects, and are internally felt by the
soul, and not perceivd externally in bodies? There is commonly an
astonishment attending every thing extraordinary; and this astonishment
changes immediately into the highest degree of esteem or contempt,
according as we approve or disapprove of the subject. I am much afraid,
that though the foregoing reasoning appears to me the shortest and most
decisive imaginable; yet with the generality of readers the biass of the
mind will prevail, and give them a prejudice against the present doctrine.

This contrary biass is easily accounted for. It is a common observation,
that the mind has a great propensity to spread itself on external objects,
and to conjoin with them any internal impressions, which they occasion,
and which always make their appearance at the same time that these objects
discover themselves to the senses. Thus as certain sounds and smells are
always found to attend certain visible objects, we naturally imagine a
conjunction, even in place, betwixt the objects and qualities, though the
qualities be of such a nature as to admit of no such conjunction, and
really exist no where. But of this more fully hereafter.^[17]
Mean while it is sufficient to observe, that the same propensity is the
reason, why we suppose necessity and power to lie in the objects we
consider, not in our mind that considers them; notwithstanding it is not
possible for us to form the most distant idea of that quality, when it is
not taken for the determination of the mind, to pass from the idea of an
object to that of its usual attendant.

[17]
Part IV, Sect. 5.

But though this be the only reasonable account we can give of necessity,
the contrary notion if; so riveted in the mind from the principles
above-mentioned, that I doubt not but my sentiments will be treated by
many as extravagant and ridiculous. What! the efficacy of causes lie in
the determination of the mind! As if causes did not operate entirely
independent of the mind, and would not continue their operation, even
though there was no mind existent to contemplate them, or reason
concerning them. Thought may well depend on causes for its operation, but
not causes on thought. This is to reverse the order of nature, and make
that secondary, which is really primary, To every operation there is a
power proportioned; and this power must be placed on the body, that
operates. If we remove the power from one cause, we must ascribe it to
another: But to remove it from all causes, and bestow it on a being, that
is no ways related to the cause or effect, but by perceiving them, is a
gross absurdity, and contrary to the most certain principles of human
reason.

I can only reply to all these arguments, that the case is here much the
same, as if a blind man should pretend to find a great many absurdities in
the supposition, that the colour of scarlet is not the same with the sound
of a trumpet, nor light the same with solidity. If we have really no idea
of a power or efficacy in any object, or of any real connexion betwixt
causes and effects, it will be to little purpose to prove, that an
efficacy is necessary in all operations. We do not understand our own
meaning in talking so, but ignorantly confound ideas, which are entirely
distinct from each other. I am, indeed, ready to allow, that there may be
several qualities both in material and immaterial objects, with which we
are utterly unacquainted; and if we please to call these POWER or
EFFICACY, it will be of little consequence to the world. But when, instead
of meaning these unknown qualities, we make the terms of power and
efficacy signify something, of which we have a clear idea, and which is
incompatible with those objects, to which we apply it, obscurity and error
begin then to take place, and we are led astray by a false philosophy.
This is the case, when we transfer the determination of the thought to
external objects, and suppose any real intelligible connexion betwixt
them; that being a quality, which can only belong to the mind that
considers them.

As to what may be said, that the operations of nature are independent of
our thought and reasoning, I allow it; and accordingly have observed, that
objects bear to each other the relations of contiguity and succession:
that like objects may be observed in several instances to have like
relations; and that all this is independent of, and antecedent to the
operations of the understanding. But if we go any farther, and ascribe a
power or necessary connexion to these objects; this is what we can never
observe in them, but must draw the idea of it from what we feel internally
in contemplating them. And this I carry so far, that I am ready to convert
my present reasoning into an instance of it, by a subtility, which it will
not be difficult to comprehend.

When any object is presented to us, it immediately conveys to the mind a
lively idea of that object, which is usually found to attend it; and this
determination of the mind forms the necessary connexion of these objects.
But when we change the point of view, from the objects to the perceptions;
in that case the impression is to be considered as the cause, and the
lively idea as the effect; and their necessary connexion is that new
determination, which we feel to pass from the idea of the one to that of
the other. The uniting principle among our internal perceptions is as
unintelligible as that among external objects, and is not known to us any
other way than by experience. Now the nature and effects of experience
have been already sufficiently examined and explained. It never gives us
any insight into the internal structure or operating principle of objects,
but only accustoms the mind to pass from one to another.

It is now time to collect all the different parts of this reasoning, and
by joining them together form an exact definition of the relation of cause
and effect, which makes the subject of the present enquiry. This order
would not have been excusable, of first examining our inference from the
relation before we had explained the relation itself, had it been possible
to proceed in a different method. But as the nature of the relation
depends so much on that of the inference, we have been obliged to advance
in this seemingly preposterous manner, and make use of terms before we
were able exactly to define them, or fix their meaning. We shall now
correct this fault by giving a precise definition of cause and effect.

There may two definitions be given of this relation, which are only
different, by their presenting a different view of the same object, and
making us consider it either as a philosophical or as a natural relation;
either as a comparison of two ideas, or as an association betwixt them. We
may define a CAUSE to be An object precedent and contiguous to another,
and where all the objects resembling the former are placed in like
relations of precedency and contiguity to those objects that resemble the
latter. I If this definition be esteemed defective, because drawn from
objects foreign to the cause, we may substitute this other definition in
its place, viz. A CAUSE is an object precedent and contiguous to another,
and so united with it, that the idea, of the one determines the mind to
form the idea of the other, and the impression of the one to form a more
lively idea of the other. 2 should this definition also be rejected for
the same reason, I know no other remedy, than that the persons, who
express this delicacy, should substitute a juster definition in its place.
But for my part I must own my incapacity for such an undertaking. When I
examine with the utmost accuracy those objects, which are commonly
denominated causes and effects, I find, in considering a single instance,
that the one object is precedent and contiguous to the other; and in
inlarging my view to consider several instances, I find only, that like
objects are constantly placed in like relations of succession and
contiguity. Again, when I consider the influence of this constant
conjunction, I perceive, that such a relation can never be an object of
reasoning, and can never operate upon the mind, but by means of custom,
which determines the imagination to make a transition from the idea of one
object to that of its usual attendant, and from the impression of one to a
more lively idea of the other. However extraordinary these sentiments may
appear, I think it fruitless to trouble myself with any farther enquiry or
reasoning upon the subject, but shall repose myself on them as on
established maxims.

It will only be proper, before we leave this subject, to draw some
corrollaries from it, by which we may remove several prejudices and
popular errors, that have very much prevailed in philosophy. First, We may
learn from the foregoing, doctrine, that all causes are of the same kind,
and that in particular there is no foundation for that distinction, which
we sometimes make betwixt efficient causes and causes sine qua non; or
betwixt efficient causes, and formal, and material, and exemplary, and
final causes. For as our idea of efficiency is derived from the constant
conjunction of two objects, wherever this is observed, the cause is
efficient; and where it is not, there can never be a cause of any kind.
For the same reason we must reject the distinction betwixt cause and
occasion, when supposed to signify any thing essentially different from
each other. If constant conjunction be implyed in what we call occasion,
it is a real cause. If not, it is no relation at all, and cannot give rise
to any argument or reasoning.

Secondly, The same course of reasoning will make us conclude, that there
is but one kind of necessity, as there is but one kind of cause, and that
the common distinction betwixt moral and physical necessity is without any
foundation in nature. This clearly appears from the precedent explication
of necessity. It is the constant conjunction of objects, along with the
determination of the mind, which constitutes a physical necessity: And the
removal of these is the same thing with chance. As objects must either be
conjoined or not, and as the mind must either be determined or not to pass
from one object to another, it is impossible to admit of any medium
betwixt chance and an absolute necessity. In weakening this conjunction
and determination you do not change the nature of the necessity; since
even in the operation of bodies, these have different degrees of constancy
and force, without producing a different species of that relation.

The distinction, which we often make betwixt POWER and the EXERCISE of it,
is equally without foundation.

Thirdly, We may now be able fully to overcome all that repugnance, which
it is so natural for us to entertain against the foregoing reasoning, by
which we endeavoured to prove, that the necessity of a cause to every
beginning of existence is not founded on any arguments either
demonstrative or intuitive. Such an opinion will not appear strange after
the foregoing definitions. If we define a cause to be an object precedent
and contiguous to another, and where all the objects resembling the farmer
are placed in a like relation of priority and contiguity to those objects,
that resemble the latter; we may easily conceive, that there is no
absolute nor metaphysical necessity, that every beginning of existence
should be attended with such an object. If we define a cause to be, AN
OBJECT PRECEDENT AND CONTIGUOUS TO ANOTHER, AND SO UNITED WITH IT IN THE
IMAGINATION, THAT THE IDEA OF THE ONE DETERMINES THE MIND TO FORM THE IDEA
OF THE OTHER, AND THE IMPRESSION OF THE ONE TO FORM A MORE LIVELY IDEA OF
THE OTHER; we shall make still less difficulty of assenting to this
opinion. Such an influence on the mind is in itself perfectly
extraordinary and incomprehensible; nor can we be certain of its reality,
but from experience and observation.

I shall add as a fourth corrollary that we can never have reason to
believe that any object exists, of which we cannot form an idea. For as
all our reasonings concerning existence are derived from causation, and as
all our reasonings concerning causation are derived from the experienced
conjunction of objects, not from any reasoning or reflection, the same
experience must give us a notion of these objects, and must remove all
mystery from our conclusions. This is so evident, that it would scarce
have merited our attention, were it not to obviate certain objections of
this kind, which might arise against the following reasonings concerning
matter and substance. I need not observe, that a full knowledge of the
object is not requisite, but only of those qualities of it, which we
believe to exist.

SECT. XV. RULES BY WHICH TO JUDGE OF CAUSES AND EFFECTS.

According to the precedent doctrine, there are no objects which by the
mere survey, without consulting experience, we can determine to be the
causes of any other; and no objects, which we can certainly determine in
the same manner not to be the causes. Any thing may produce any thing.
Creation, annihilation, motion, reason, volition; all these may arise from
one another, or from any other object we can imagine. Nor will this appear
strange, if we compare two principles explained above, THAT THE CONSTANT
CONJUNCTION OF OBJECTS DETERMINES THEIR CAUSATION, AND^[18]
THAT, PROPERTY SPEAKING, NO OBJECTS ARE CONTRARY TO EACH OTHER BUT
EXISTENCE AND NON-EXISTENCE. Where objects are not contrary, nothing
hinders them from having that constant conjunction, on which the relation
of cause and effect totally depends.

[18]
Part I. Sect. 5.

Since therefore it is possible for all objects to become causes or effects
to each other, it may be proper to fix some general rules, by which we may
know when they really are so.

(1) The cause and effect must be contiguous in space and time.

(2) The cause must be prior to the effect.

(3) There must be a constant union betwixt the cause and effect. It is
chiefly this quality, that constitutes the relation.

(4) The same cause always produces the same effect, and the same effect
never arises but from the same cause. This principle we derive from
experience, and is the source of most of our philosophical reasonings. For
when by any clear experiment we have discovered the causes or effects of
any phænomenon, we immediately extend our observation to every phenomenon
of the same kind, without waiting for that constant repetition, from which
the first idea of this relation is derived.

(5) There is another principle, which hangs upon this, viz. that where
several different objects produce the same effect, it must be by means of
some quality, which we discover to be common amongst them. For as like
effects imply like causes, we must always ascribe the causation to the
circumstance, wherein we discover the resemblance.

(6) The following principle is founded on the same reason. The difference
in the effects of two resembling objects must proceed from that
particular, in which they differ. For as like causes always produce like
effects, when in any instance we find our expectation to be disappointed,
we must conclude that this irregularity proceeds from some difference in
the causes.

(7) When any object encreases or diminishes with the encrease or
diminution of its cause, it is to be regarded as a compounded effect,
derived from the union of the several different effects, which arise from
the several different parts of the cause. The absence or presence of one
part of the cause is here supposed to be always attended with the absence
or presence of a proportionable part of the effect. This constant
conjunction sufficiently proves, that the one part is the cause of the
other. We must, however, beware not to draw such a conclusion from a few
experiments. A certain degree of heat gives pleasure; if you diminish that
heat, the pleasure diminishes; but it does not follow, that if you augment
it beyond a certain degree, the pleasure will likewise augment; for we
find that it degenerates into pain.

(8) The eighth and last rule I shall take notice of is, that an object,
which exists for any time in its full perfection without any effect, is
not the sole cause of that effect, but requires to be assisted by some
other principle, which may forward its influence and operation. For as
like effects necessarily follow from like causes, and in a contiguous time
and place, their separation for a moment shews, that these causes are not
compleat ones.

Here is all the LOGIC I think proper to employ in my reasoning; and
perhaps even this was not very necessary, but might have been supplyd by
the natural principles of our understanding. Our scholastic head-pieces
and logicians shew no such superiority above the mere vulgar in their
reason and ability, as to give us any inclination to imitate them in
delivering a long system of rules and precepts to direct our judgment, in
philosophy. All the rules of this nature are very easy in their invention,
but extremely difficult in their application; and even experimental
philosophy, which seems the most natural and simple of any, requires the
utmost stretch of human judgment. There is no phænomenon in nature, but
what is compounded and modifyd by so many different circumstances, that in
order to arrive at the decisive point, we must carefully separate whatever
is superfluous, and enquire by new experiments, if every particular
circumstance of the first experiment was essential to it. These new
experiments are liable to a discussion of the same kind; so that the
utmost constancy is requird to make us persevere in our enquiry, and the
utmost sagacity to choose the right way among so many that present
themselves. If this be the case even in natural philosophy, how much more
in moral, where there is a much greater complication of circumstances, and
where those views and sentiments, which are essential to any action of the
mind, are so implicit and obscure, that they often escape our strictest
attention, and are not only unaccountable in their causes, but even
unknown in their existence? I am much afraid lest the small success I meet
with in my enquiries will make this observation bear the air of an apology
rather than of boasting.

If any thing can give me security in this particular, it will be the
enlarging of the sphere of my experiments as much as possible; for which
reason it may be proper in this place to examine the reasoning faculty of
brutes, as well as that of human creatures.

SECT. XVI OF THE REASON OF ANIMALS

Next to the ridicule of denying an evident truth, is that of taking much
pains to defend it; and no truth appears to me more evident, than that
beasts are endowd with thought and reason as well as men. The arguments
are in this case so obvious, that they never escape the most stupid and
ignorant.

We are conscious, that we ourselves, in adapting means to ends, are guided
by reason and design, and that it is not ignorantly nor casually we
perform those actions, which tend to self-preservation, to the obtaining
pleasure, and avoiding pain. When therefore we see other creatures, in
millions of instances, perform like actions, and direct them to the ends,
all our principles of reason and probability carry us with an invincible
force to believe the existence of a like cause. It is needless in my
opinion to illustrate this argument by the enumeration of particulars. The
smallest attention will supply us with more than are requisite. The
resemblance betwixt the actions of animals and those of men is so entire
in this respect, that the very first action of the first animal we shall
please to pitch on, will afford us an incontestable argument for the
present doctrine.

This doctrine is as useful as it is obvious, and furnishes us with a kind
of touchstone, by which we may try every system in this species of
philosophy. It is from the resemblance of the external actions of animals
to those we ourselves perform, that we judge their internal likewise to
resemble ours; and the same principle of reasoning, carryd one step
farther, will make us conclude that since our internal actions resemble
each other, the causes, from which they are derivd, must also be
resembling. When any hypothesis, therefore, is advancd to explain a mental
operation, which is common to men and beasts, we must apply the same
hypothesis to both; and as every true hypothesis will abide this trial, so
I may venture to affirm, that no false one will ever be able to endure it.
The common defect of those systems, which philosophers have employd to
account for the actions of the mind, is, that they suppose such a
subtility and refinement of thought, as not only exceeds the capacity of
mere animals, but even of children and the common people in our own
species; who are notwithstanding susceptible of the same emotions and
affections as persons of the most accomplishd genius and understanding.
Such a subtility is a dear proof of the falshood, as the contrary
simplicity of the truth, of any system.

Let us therefore put our present system concerning the nature of the
understanding to this decisive trial, and see whether it will equally
account for the reasonings of beasts as for these of the human species.

Here we must make a distinction betwixt those actions of animals, which
are of a vulgar nature, and seem to be on a level with their common
capacities, and those more extraordinary instances of sagacity, which they
sometimes discover for their own preservation, and the propagation of
their species. A dog, that avoids fire and precipices, that shuns
strangers, and caresses his master, affords us an instance of the first
kind. A bird, that chooses with such care and nicety the place and
materials of her nest, and sits upon her eggs for a due time, and in
suitable season, with all the precaution that a chymist is capable of in
the most delicate projection, furnishes us with a lively instance of the
second.

As to the former actions, I assert they proceed from a reasoning, that is
not in itself different, nor founded on different principles, from that
which appears in human nature. It is necessary in the first place, that
there be some impression immediately present to their memory or senses, in
order to be the foundation of their judgment. From the tone of voice the
dog infers his masters anger, and foresees his own punishment. From a
certain sensation affecting his smell, he judges his game not to be far
distant from him.

Secondly, The inference he draws from the present impression is built on
experience, and on his observation of the conjunction of objects in past
instances. As you vary this experience, he varies his reasoning. Make a
beating follow upon one sign or motion for some time, and afterwards upon
another; and he will successively draw different conclusions, according to
his most recent experience.

Now let any philosopher make a trial, and endeavour to explain that act of
the mind, which we call BELIEF, and give an account of the principles,
from which it is derivd, independent of the influence of custom on the
imagination, and let his hypothesis be equally applicable to beasts as to
the human species; and after he has done this, I promise to embrace his
opinion. But at the same time I demand as an equitable condition, that if
my system be the only one, which can answer to all these terms, it may be
receivd as entirely satisfactory and convincing. And that it is the only
one, is evident almost without any reasoning. Beasts certainly never
perceive any real connexion among objects. It is therefore by experience
they infer one from another. They can never by any arguments form a
general conclusion, that those objects, of which they have had no
experience, resemble those of which they have. It is therefore by means of
custom alone, that experience operates upon them. All this was
sufficiently evident with respect to man. But with respect to beasts there
cannot be the least suspicion of mistake; which must be ownd to be a
strong confirmation, or rather an invincible proof of my system.

Nothing shews more the force of habit in reconciling us to any
phaenomenoun, than this, that men are not astonished at the operations of
their own reason, at the same time, that they admire the instinct of
animals, and find a difficulty in explaining it, merely because it cannot
be reduced to the very same principles. To consider the matter aright,
reason is nothing but a wonderful and unintelligible instinct in our
souls, which carries us along a certain train of ideas, and endows them
with particular qualities, according to their particular situations and
relations. This instinct, it is true, arises from past observation and
experience; but can any one give the ultimate reason, why past experience
and observation produces such an effect, any more than why nature alone
shoud produce it? Nature may certainly produce whatever can arise from
habit: Nay, habit is nothing but one of the principles of nature, and
derives all its force from that origin.

PART IV. OF THE SCEPTICAL AND OTHER SYSTEMS OF PHILOSOPHY.

SECT. I. OF SCEPTICISM WITH REGARD TO REASON.

In all demonstrative sciences the rules are certain and infallible; but
when we apply them, our fallible said uncertain faculties are very apt to
depart from them, and fall into error. We must, therefore, in every
reasoning form a new judgment, as a check or controul on our first
judgment or belief; and must enlarge our view to comprehend a kind of
history of all the instances, wherein our understanding has deceived us,
compared with those, wherein its testimony was just and true. Our reason
must be considered as a kind of cause, of which truth is the natural
effect; but such-a-one as by the irruption of other causes, and by the
inconstancy of our mental powers, may frequently be prevented. By this
means all knowledge degenerates into probability; and this probability is
greater or less, according to our experience of the veracity or
deceitfulness of our understanding, and according to the simplicity or
intricacy of the question.

There is no Algebraist nor Mathematician so expert in his science, as to
place entire confidence in any truth immediately upon his discovery of it,
or regard it as any thing, but a mere probability. Every time he runs over
his proofs, his confidence encreases; but still more by the approbation of
his friends; and is raised to its utmost perfection by the universal
assent and applauses of the learned world. Now it is evident, that this
gradual encrease of assurance is nothing but the addition of new
probabilities, and is derived from the constant union of causes and
effects, according to past experience and observation.

In accompts of any length or importance, Merchants seldom trust to the
infallible certainty of numbers for their security; but by the artificial
structure of the accompts, produce a probability beyond what is derived
from the skill and experience of the accomptant. For that is plainly of
itself some degree of probability; though uncertain and variable,
according to the degrees of his experience and length of the accompt. Now
as none will maintain, that our assurance in a long numeration exceeds
probability, I may safely affirm, that there scarce is any proposition
concerning numbers, of which we can have a fuller security. For it is
easily possible, by gradually diminishing the numbers, to reduce the
longest series of addition to the most simple question, which can be
formed, to an addition of two single numbers; and upon this supposition we
shall find it impracticable to shew the precise limits of knowledge and of
probability, or discover that particular number, at which the one ends and
the other begins. But knowledge and probability are of such contrary and
disagreeing natures, that they cannot well run insensibly into each other,
and that because they will not divide, but must be either entirely
present, or entirely absent. Besides, if any single addition were certain,
every one would be so, and consequently the whole or total sum; unless the
whole can be different from all its parts. I had almost said, that this
was certain; but I reflect that it must reduce itself, as well as every
other reasoning, and from knowledge degenerate into probability.

Since therefore all knowledge resolves itself into probability, and
becomes at last of the same nature with that evidence, which we employ in
common life, we must now examine this latter species of reasoning, and see
on what foundation it stands.

In every judgment, which we can form concerning probability, as well as
concerning knowledge, we ought always to correct the first judgment,
derived from the nature of the object, by another judgment, derived from
the nature of the understanding. It is certain a man of solid sense and
long experience ought to have, and usually has, a greater assurance in his
opinions, than one that is foolish and ignorant, and that our sentiments
have different degrees of authority, even with ourselves, in proportion to
the degrees of our reason and experience. In the man of the best sense and
longest experience, this authority is never entire; since even such-a-one
must be conscious of many errors in the past, and must still dread the
like for the future. Here then arises a new species of probability to
correct and regulate the first, and fix its just standard and proportion.
As demonstration is subject to the controul of probability, so is
probability liable to a new correction by a reflex act of the mind,
wherein the nature of our understanding, and our reasoning from the first
probability become our objects.

Having thus found in every probability, beside the original uncertainty
inherent in the subject, a new uncertainty derived from the weakness of
that faculty, which judges, and having adjusted these two together, we are
obliged by our reason to add a new doubt derived from the possibility of
error in the estimation we make of the truth and fidelity of our
faculties. This is a doubt, which immediately occurs to us, and of which,
if we would closely pursue our reason, we cannot avoid giving a decision.
But this decision, though it should be favourable to our preceding
judgment, being founded only on probability, must weaken still further our
first evidence, and must itself be weakened by a fourth doubt of the same
kind, and so on in infinitum: till at last there remain nothing of the
original probability, however great we may suppose it to have been, and
however small the diminution by every new uncertainty. No finite object
can subsist under a decrease repeated IN INFINITUM; and even the vastest
quantity, which can enter into human imagination, must in this manner be
reduced to nothing. Let our first belief be never so strong, it must
infallibly perish by passing through so many new examinations, of which
each diminishes somewhat of its force and vigour. When I reflect on the
natural fallibility of my judgment, I have less confidence in my opinions,
than when I only consider the objects concerning which I reason; and when
I proceed still farther, to turn the scrutiny against every successive
estimation I make of my faculties, all the rules of logic require a
continual diminution, and at last a total extinction of belief and
evidence.

Should it here be asked me, whether I sincerely assent to this argument,
which I seem to take such pains to inculcate, and whether I be really one
of those sceptics, who hold that all is uncertain, and that our judgment
is not in any thing possest of any measures of truth and falshood; I
should reply, that this question is entirely superfluous, and that neither
I, nor any other person was ever sincerely and constantly of that opinion.
Nature, by an absolute and uncontroulable necessity has determined us to
judge as well as to breathe and feel; nor can we any more forbear viewing
certain objects in a stronger and fuller light, upon account of their
customary connexion with a present impression, than we can hinder
ourselves from thinking as long, as we are awake, or seeing the
surrounding bodies, when we turn our eyes towards them in broad sunshine.
Whoever has taken the pains to refute the cavils of this total scepticism,
has really disputed without an antagonist, and endeavoured by arguments to
establish a faculty, which nature has antecedently implanted in the mind,
and rendered unavoidable.

My intention then in displaying so carefully the arguments of that
fantastic sect, is only to make the reader sensible of the truth of my
hypothesis, that all our reasonings concerning causes and effects are
derived from nothing but custom; and that belief is more properly an act
of the sensitive, than of the cogitative part of our natures. I have here
proved, that the very same principles, which make us form a decision upon
any subject, and correct that decision by the consideration of our genius
and capacity, and of the situation of our mind, when we examined that
subject; I say, I have proved, that these same principles, when carryed
farther, and applied to every new reflex judgment, must, by continually
diminishing the original evidence, at last reduce it to nothing, and
utterly subvert all belief and opinion. If belief, therefore, were a
simple act of the thought, without any peculiar manner of conception, or
the addition of a force and vivacity, it must infallibly destroy itself,
and in every case terminate in a total suspense of judgment. But as
experience will sufficiently convince any one, who thinks it worth while
to try, that though he can find no error in the foregoing arguments, yet
he still continues to believe, and think, and reason as usual, he may
safely conclude, that his reasoning and belief is some sensation or
peculiar manner of conception, which it is impossible for mere ideas and
reflections to destroy.

But here, perhaps, it may be demanded, how it happens, even upon my
hypothesis, that these arguments above-explained produce not a total
suspense of judgment, and after what manner the mind ever retains a degree
of assurance in any subject? For as these new probabilities, which by
their repetition perpetually diminish the original evidence, are founded
on the very same principles, whether of thought or sensation, as the
primary judgment, it may seem unavoidable, that in either case they must
equally subvert it, and by the opposition, either of contrary thoughts or
sensations, reduce the mind to a total uncertainty. I suppose, there is
some question proposed to me, and that after revolving over the
impressions of my memory and senses, and carrying my thoughts from them to
such objects, as are commonly conjoined with them, I feel a stronger and
more forcible conception on the one side, than on the other. This strong
conception forms my first decision. I suppose, that afterwards I examine
my judgment itself, and observing from experience, that it is sometimes
just and sometimes erroneous, I consider it as regulated by contrary
principles or causes, of which some lead to truth, and some to error; and
in ballancing these contrary causes, I diminish by a new probability the
assurance of my first decision. This new probability is liable to the same
diminution as the foregoing, and so on, IN INFINITUM. It is therefore
demanded, how it happens, that even after all we retain a degree of
belief, which is sufficient for our purpose, either in philosophy or
common life.

I answer, that after the first and second decision; as the action of the
mind becomes forced and unnatural, and the ideas faint and obscure; though
the principles of judgment, and the ballancing of opposite causes be the
same as at the very beginning; yet their influence on the imagination, and
the vigour they add to, or diminish from the thought, is by no means
equal. Where the mind reaches not its objects with easiness and facility,
the same principles have not the same effect as in a more natural
conception of the ideas; nor does the imagination feel a sensation, which
holds any proportion with that which arises from its common judgments and
opinions. The attention is on the stretch: The posture of the mind is
uneasy; and the spirits being diverted from their natural course, are not
governed in their movements by the same laws, at least not to the same
degree, as when they flow in their usual channel.

If we desire similar instances, it will not be very difficult to find
them. The present subject of metaphysics will supply us abundantly. The
same argument, which would have been esteemed convincing in a reasoning
concerning history or politics, has little or no influence in these
abstruser subjects, even though it be perfectly comprehended; and that
because there is required a study and an effort of thought, in order to
its being comprehended: And this effort of thought disturbs the operation
of our sentiments, on which the belief depends. The case is the same in
other subjects. The straining of the imagination always hinders the
regular flowing of the passions and sentiments. A tragic poet, that would
represent his heroes as very ingenious and witty in their misfortunes,
would never touch the passions. As the emotions of the soul prevent any
subtile reasoning and reflection, so these latter actions of the mind are
equally prejudicial to the former. The mind, as well as the body, seems to
be endowed with a certain precise degree of force and activity, which it
never employs in one action, but at the expense of all the rest. This is
more evidently true, where the actions are of quite different natures;
since in that case the force of the mind is not only diverted, but even
the disposition changed, so as to render us incapable of a sudden
transition from one action to the other, and still more of performing both
at once. No wonder, then, the conviction, which arises from a subtile
reasoning, diminishes in proportion to the efforts, which the imagination
makes to enter into the reasoning, and to conceive it in all its parts.
Belief, being a lively conception, can never be entire, where it is not
founded on something natural and easy.

This I take to be the true state of the question, and cannot approve of
that expeditious way, which some take with the sceptics, to reject at once
all their arguments without enquiry or examination. If the sceptical
reasonings be strong, say they, it is a proof, that reason may have some
force and authority: if weak, they can never be sufficient to invalidate
all the conclusions of our understanding. This argument is not just;
because the sceptical reasonings, were it possible for them to exist, and
were they not destroyed by their subtility, would be successively both
strong and weak, according to the successive dispositions of the mind.
Reason first appears in possession of the throne, prescribing laws, and
imposing maxims, with an absolute sway and authority. Her enemy,
therefore, is obliged to take shelter under her protection, and by making
use of rational arguments to prove the fallaciousness and imbecility of
reason, produces, in a manner, a patent under her and and seal. This
patent has at first an authority, proportioned to the present and
immediate authority of reason, from which it is derived. But as it is
supposed to be contradictory to reason, it gradually diminishes the force
of that governing power and its own at the same time; till at last they
both vanish away into nothing, by a regulax and just diminution. The
sceptical and dogmatical reasons are of the same kind, though contrary in
their operation and tendency; so that where the latter is strong, it has
an enemy of equal force in the former to encounter; and as their forces
were at first equal, they still continue so, as long as either of them
subsists; nor does one of them lose any force in the contest, without
taking as much from its antagonist. It is happy, therefore, that nature
breaks the force of all sceptical arguments in time, and keeps them from
having any considerable influence on the understanding. Were we to trust
entirely to their self-destruction, that can never take place, until they
have first subverted all conviction, and have totally destroyed human
reason.

SECT. II. OF SCEPTICISM WITH REGARD TO THE SENSES.

Thus the sceptic still continues to reason and believe, even though he
asserts, that he cannot defend his reason by reason; and by the same rule
he must assent to the principle concerning the existence of body, though
he cannot pretend by any arguments of philosophy to maintain its veracity.
Nature has not left this to his choice, and has doubtless, esteemed it an
affair of too great importance to be trusted to our uncertain reasonings
and speculations. We may well ask, What causes induce us to believe in the
existence of body? but it is in vain to ask, Whether there be body or not?
That is a point, which we must take for granted in all our reasonings.

The subject, then, of our present enquiry is concerning the causes which
induce us to believe in the existence of body: And my reasonings on this
head I shall begin with a distinction, which at first sight may seem
superfluous, but which will contribute very much to the perfect
understanding of what follows. We ought to examine apart those two
questions, which are commonly confounded together, viz. Why we attribute a
continued existence to objects, even when they are not present to the
senses; and why we suppose them to have an existence DISTINCT from the
mind and perception. Under this last head I comprehend their situation as
well as relations, their external position as well as the independence of
their existence and operation. These two questions concerning the
continued and distinct existence of body are intimately connected
together. For if the objects of our senses continue to exist, even when
they are not perceived, their existence is of course independent of and
distinct from the perception: and vice versa, if their existence be
independent of the perception and distinct from it, they must continue to
exist, even though they be not perceived. But though the decision of the
one question decides the other; yet that we may the more easily discover
the principles of human nature, from whence the decision arises, we shall
carry along with us this distinction, and shall consider, whether it be
the senses, reason, or the imagination, that produces the opinion of a
continued or of a distinct existence. These are the only questions, that
are intelligible on the present subject. For as to the notion of external
existence, when taken for something specially different from our
perceptions,^[1]
we have already shewn its absurdity.

[1]
Part. II. Sect. 6.

To begin with the SENSES, it is evident these faculties are incapable of
giving rise to the notion of the continued existence of their objects,
after they no longer appear to the senses. For that is a contradiction in
terms, and suppose that the senses continue to operate, even after they
have ceased all manner of operation. These faculties, therefore, if they
have any influence in the present case, must produce the opinion of a
distinct, not of a continued existence; and in order to that, must present
their impressions either as images and representations, or as these very
distinct and external existences.

That our senses offer not their impressions as the images of something
distinct, or independent, and external, is evident; because they convey to
us nothing but a single perception, and never give us the least intimation
of any thing beyond. A single perception can never produce the idea of a
double existence, but by some inference either of the reason or
imagination. When the mind looks farther than what immediately appears to
it, its conclusions can never be put to the account of the senses; and it
certainly looks farther, when from a single perception it infers a double
existence, and supposes the relations of resemblance and causation betwixt
them.

If our senses, therefore, suggest any idea of distinct existences, they
must convey the impressions as those very existences, by a kind of fallacy
and illusion. Upon this bead we may observe, that all sensations are felt
by the mind, such as they really are, and that when we doubt, whether they
present themselves as distinct objects, or as mere impressions, the
difficulty is not concerning their nature, but concerning their relations
and situation. Now if the senses presented our impressions as external to,
and independent of ourselves, both the objects and ourselves must be
obvious to our senses, otherwise they could not be compared by these
faculties. The difficulty, then, is how fax we are ourselves the objects
of our senses.

It is certain there is no question in philosophy more abstruse than that
concerning identity, and the nature of the uniting principle, which
constitutes a person. So far from being able by our senses merely to
determine this question, we must have recourse to the most profound
metaphysics to give a satisfactory answer to it; and in common life it is
evident these ideas of self and person are never very fixed nor
determinate. It is absurd, therefore, to imagine the senses can ever
distinguish betwixt ourselves and external objects.

Add to this, that every impression, external and internal, passions,
affections, sensations, pains and pleasures, are originally on the same
footing; and that whatever other differences we may observe among them,
they appear, all of them, in their true colours, as impressions or
perceptions. And indeed, if we consider the matter aright, it is scarce
possible it should be otherwise, nor is it conceivable that our senses
should be more capable of deceiving us in the situation and relations,
than in the nature of our impressions. For since all actions and
sensations of the mind are known to us by consciousness, they must
necessarily appear in every particular what they are, and be what they
appear. Every thing that enters the mind, being in reality a perception,
it is impossible any thing should to feeling appear different. This were
to suppose, that even where we are most intimately conscious, we might be
mistaken.

But not to lose time in examining, whether it is possible for our senses
to deceive us, and represent our perceptions as distinct from ourselves,
that is as external to and independent of us; let us consider whether they
really do so, and whether this error proceeds from an immediate sensation,
or from some other causes.

To begin with the question concerning EXTERNAL existence, it may perhaps
be said, that setting aside the metaphysical question of the identity of a
thinking substance, our own body evidently belongs to us; and as several
impressions appear exterior to the body, we suppose them also exterior to
ourselves. The paper, on which I write at present, is beyond my hand. The
table is beyond the paper. The walls of the chamber beyond the table. And
in casting my eye towards the window, I perceive a great extent of fields
and buildings beyond my chamber. From all this it may be infered, that no
other faculty is required, beside the senses, to convince us of the
external existence of body. But to prevent this inference, we need only
weigh the three following considerations. First, That, properly speaking,
it is not our body we perceive, when we regard our limbs and members, but
certain impressions, which enter by the senses; so that the ascribing a
real and corporeal existence to these impressions, or to their objects, is
an act of the mind as difficult to explain, as that which we examine at
present. Secondly, Sounds, and tastes, and smelts, though commonly
regarded by the mind as continued independent qualities, appear not to
have any existence in extension, and consequently cannot appear to the
senses as situated externally to the body. The reason, why we ascribe a
place to them, shall be: considered afterwards. Thirdly, Even our sight
informs us not of distance or outness (so to speak) immediately and
without a certain reasoning and experience, as is acknowledged by the most
rational philosophers.

As to the independency of our perceptions on ourselves, this can never be
an object of the senses; but any opinion we form concerning it, must be
derived from experience and observation: And we shall see afterwards, that
our conclusions from experience are far from being favourable to the
doctrine of the independency of our perceptions. Mean while we may observe
that when we talk of real distinct existences, we have commonly more in
our eye their independency than external situation in place, and think an
object has a sufficient reality, when its Being is uninterrupted, and
independent of the incessant revolutions, which we are conscious of in
ourselves.

Thus to resume what I have said concerning the senses; they give us no
notion of continued existence, because they cannot operate beyond the
extent, in which they really operate. They as little produce the opinion
of a distinct existence, because they neither can offer it to the mind as
represented, nor as original. To offer it as represented, they must
present both an object and an image. To make it appear as original, they
must convey a falshood; and this falshood must lie in the relations and
situation: In order to which they must be able to compare the object with
ourselves; and even in that case they do not, nor is it possible they
should, deceive us. We may, therefore, conclude with certainty, that the
opinion of a continued and of a distinct existence never arises from the
senses.

To confirm this we may observe, that there are three different kinds of
impressions conveyed by the senses. The first are those of the figure,
bulk, motion and solidity of bodies. The second those of colours, tastes,
smells, sounds, heat and cold. The third are the pains and pleasures, that
arise from the application of objects to our bodies, as by the cutting of
our flesh with steel, and such like. Both philosophers and the vulgar
suppose the first of these to have a distinct continued existence. The
vulgar only regard the second as on the same footing. Both philosophers
and the vulgar, again, esteem the third to be merely perceptions and
consequently interrupted and dependent beings.

Now it is evident, that, whatever may be our philosophical opinion,
colours, Sounds, heat and cold, as far as appears to the senses, exist
after the same manner with motion and solidity, and that the difference we
make betwixt them in this respect, arises not from the mere perception. So
strong the prejudice for the distinct continued existence Of the former
qualities, that when the contrary opinion is advanced by modern
philosophers, people imagine they can almost refute it from their feeling
and experience, and that their very senses contradict this philosophy. It
is also evident, that colours, sounds, &c. are originally on the same
footing with the pain that arises from steel, and pleasure that proceeds
from a fire; and that the difference betwixt them is founded neither on
perception nor reason, but on the imagination. For as they are confest to
be, both of them, nothing but perceptions arising from the particular
configurations and motions of the parts of body, wherein possibly can
their difference consist? Upon the whole, then, we may conclude, that as
far as the senses are judges, all perceptions are the same in the manner
of their existence.

We may also observe in this instance of sounds and colours, that we can
attribute a distinct continued existence to objects without ever
consulting REASON, or weighing our opinions by any philosophical
principles. And indeed, whatever convincing arguments philosophers may
fancy they can produce to establish the belief of objects independent of
the mind, it is obvious these arguments are known but to very few, and
that it is not by them, that children, peasants, and the greatest part of
mankind are induced to attribute objects to some impressions, and deny
them to others. Accordingly we find, that all the conclusions, which the
vulgar form on this head, are directly contrary to those, which are
confirmed by philosophy. For philosophy informs us, that every thing,
which appears to the mind, is nothing but a perception, and is
interrupted, and dependent on the mind: whereas the vulgar confound
perceptions and objects, and attribute a distinct continued existence to
the very things they feel or see. This sentiment, then, as it is entirely
unreasonable, must proceed from some other faculty than the understanding.
To which we may add, that as long as we take our perceptions and objects
to be the same, we can never infer the existence of the one from that of
the other, nor form any argument from the relation of cause and effect;
which is the only one that earl assure us of matter of fact. Even after we
distinguish our perceptions from our objects, it will appear presently,
that we are still incapable of reasoning from the existence of one to that
of the other: So that upon the whole our reason neither does, nor is it
possible it ever should, upon any supposition, give us an assurance of the
continued and distinct existence of body. That opinion must be entirely
owing to the IMAGINATION: which must now be the subject of our enquiry.

Since all impressions are internal and perishing existences, and appear as
such, the notion of their distinct and continued existence must arise from
a concurrence of some of their qualities with the qualities of the
imagination, and since this notion does not extend to all of them, it must
arise from certain qualities peculiar to some impressions. It will
therefore be easy for us to discover these qualities by a comparison of
the impressions, to which we attribute a distinct and continued existence,
with those, which we regard as internal and perishing.

We may observe, then, that it is neither upon account of the
involuntariness of certain impressions, as is commonly supposed, nor of
their superior force and violence, that we attribute to them a reality,
and continued existence, which we refuse to others, that are voluntary or
feeble. For it is evident our pains and pleasures, our passions and
affections, which we never suppose to have any existence beyond our
perception, operate with greater violence, and are equally involuntary, as
the impressions of figure and extension, colour and sound, which we
suppose to be permanent beings. The heat of a fire, when moderate, is
supposed to exist in the fire; but the pain, which it causes upon a near
approach, is not taken to have any being, except in the perception.

These vulgar opinions, then, being rejected, we must search for some other
hypothesis, by which we may discover those peculiar qualities in our
impressions, which makes us attribute to them a distinct and continued
existence.

After a little examination, we shall find, that all those objects, to
which we attribute a continued existence, have a peculiar constancy, which
distinguishes them from the impressions, whose existence depends upon our
perception. Those mountains, and houses, and trees, which lie at present
under my eye, have always appeared to me in the same order; and when I
lose sight of them by shutting my eyes or turning my head, I soon after
find them return upon me without the least alteration. My bed and table,
my books and papers, present themselves in the same uniform manner, and
change not upon account of any interruption in my seeing or perceivilng
them. This is the case with all the impressions, whose objects are
supposed to have an external existence; and is the case with no other
impressions, whether gentle or violent, voluntary or involuntary.

This constancy, however, is not so perfect as not to admit of very
considerable exceptions. Bodies often change their position and qualities,
and after a little absence or interruption may become hardly knowable. But
here it is observable, that even in these changes they preserve a
coherence, and have a regular dependence on each other; which is the
foundation of a kind of reasoning from causation, and produces the opinion
of their continued existence. When I return to my chamber after an hour’s
absence, I find not my fire in the same situation, in which I left it: But
then I am accustomed in other instances to see a like alteration produced
in a like time, whether I am present or absent, near or remote. This
coherence, therefore, in their changes is one of the characteristics of
external objects, as well as their constancy.

Having found that the opinion of the continued existence of body depends
on the COHERENCE, and CONSTANCY of certain impressions, I now proceed to
examine after what manner these qualities give rise to so extraordinary an
opinion. To begin with the coherence; we may observe, that though those
internal impressions, which we regard as fleeting and perishing, have also
a certain coherence or regularity in their appearances, yet it is of
somewhat a different nature, from that which we discover in bodies. Our
passions are found by experience to have a mutual connexion with and
dependence on each other; but on no occasion is it necessary to suppose,
that they have existed and operated, when they were not perceived, in
order to preserve the same dependence and connexion, of which we have had
experience. The case is not the same with relation to external objects.
Those require a continued existence, or otherwise lose, in a great
measure, the regularity of their operation. I am here seated in my chamber
with my face to the fire; and all the objects, that strike my senses, are
contained in a few yards around me. My memory, indeed, informs me of the
existence of many objects; but then this information extends not beyond
their past existence, nor do either my senses or memory give any testimony
to the continuance of their being. When therefore I am thus seated, and
revolve over these thoughts, I hear on a sudden a noise as of a door
turning upon its hinges; and a little after see a porter, who advances
towards me. This gives occasion to many new reflections and reasonings.
First, I never have observed, that this noise could proceed from any thing
but the motion of a door; and therefore conclude, that the present
phænomenon is a contradiction to all past experience, unless the door,
which I remember on the other side the chamber, be still in being. Again,
I have always found, that a human body was possest of a quality, which I
call gravity, and which hinders it from mounting in the air, as this
porter must have done to arrive at my chamber, unless the stairs I
remember be not annihilated by my absence. But this is not all. I receive
a letter, which upon, opening it I perceive by the hand-writing and
subscription to have come from a friend, who says he is two hundred
leagues distant. It is evident I can never account for this phenomenon,
conformable to my experience in other instances, without spreading out in
my mind the whole sea and continent between us, and supposing the effects
and continued existence of posts and ferries, according to my Memory and
observation. To consider these phaenomena of the porter and letter in a
certain light, they are contradictions to common experience, and may be
regarded as objections to those maxims, which we form concerning the
connexions of causes and effects. I am accustomed to hear such a sound,
and see such an object in motion at the same time. I have not received in
this particular instance both these perceptions. These observations are
contrary, unless I suppose that the door still remains, and that it was
opened without my perceiving it: And this supposition, which was at first
entirely arbitrary and hypothetical, acquires a force and evidence by its
being the only one, upon which I can reconcile these contradictions. There
is scarce a moment of my life, wherein there is not a similar instance
presented to me, and I have not occasion to suppose the continued
existence of objects, in order to connect their past and present
appearances, and give them such an union with each other, as I have found
by experience to be suitable to their particular natures and
circumstances. Here then I am naturally led to regard the world, as
something real and durable, and as preserving its existence, even when it
is no longer present to my perception.

But though this conclusion from the coherence of appearances may seem to
be of the same nature with our reasonings concerning causes and effects;
as being derived from custom, and regulated by past experience; we shall
find upon examination, that they are at the bottom considerably different
from each other, and that this inference arises from the understanding,
and from custom in an indirect and oblique manner. For it will readily be
allowed, that since nothing is ever really present to the mind, besides
its own perceptions, it is not only impossible, that any habit should ever
be acquired otherwise than by the regular succession of these perceptions,
but also that any habit should ever exceed that degree of regularity. Any
degree, therefore, of regularity in our perceptions, can never be a
foundation for us to infer a greater degree of regularity in some objects,
which are not perceived; since this supposes a contradiction, viz. a habit
acquired by what was never present to the mind. But it is evident, that
whenever we infer the continued existence of the objects of sense from
their coherence, and the frequency of their union, it is in order to
bestow on the objects a greater regularity than what is observed in our
mere perceptions. We remark a connexion betwixt two kinds of objects in
their past appearance to the senses, but are not able to observe this
connexion to be perfectly constant, since the turning about of our head or
the shutting of our eyes is able to break it. What then do we suppose in
this case, but that these objects still continue their usual connexion,
notwithstanding their apparent interruption, and that the irregular
appearances are joined by something, of which we are insensible? But as
all reasoning concerning matters of fact arises only from custom, and
custom can only be the effect of repeated perceptions, the extending of
custom and reasoning beyond the perceptions can never be the direct and
natural effect of the constant repetition and connexion, but must arise
from the co-operation of some other principles.

I have already observed,^[2]
in examining the foundation of mathematics, that the imagination, when
set into any train of thinking, is apt to continue, even when its object
fails it, and like a galley put in motion by the oars, carries on its
course without any new impulse. This I have assigned for the reason, why,
after considering several loose standards of equality, and correcting
them by each other, we proceed to imagine so correct and exact a standard
of that relation, as is not liable to the least error or variation. The
same principle makes us easily entertain this opinion of the continued
existence of body. Objects have a certain coherence even as they appear
to our senses; but this coherence is much greater and more uniform, if we
suppose the object.% to have a continued existence; and as the mind is
once in the train of observing an uniformity among objects, it naturally
continues, till it renders the uniformity as compleat as possible. The
simple supposition of their continued existence suffices for this
purpose, and gives us a notion of a much greater regularity among
objects, than what they have when we look no farther than our senses.

[2]
Part II, Sect. 4.

But whatever force we may ascribe to this principle, I am afraid it is too
weak to support alone so vast an edifice, as is that of the continued
existence of all external bodies; and that we must join the constancy of
their appearance to the coherence, in order to give a satisfactory account
of that opinion. As the explication of this will lead me into a
considerable compass of very profound reasoning; I think it proper, in
order to avoid confusion, to give a short sketch or abridgment of my
system, and afterwards draw out all its parts in their full compass. This
inference from the constancy of our perceptions, like the precedent from
their coherence, gives rise to the opinion of the continued existence of
body, which is prior to that of its distinct existence, and produces that
latter principle.

When we have been accustomed to observe a constancy in certain
impressions, and have found, that the perception of the sun or ocean, for
instance, returns upon us after an absence or annihilation with like parts
and in a like order, as at its first appearance, we are not apt to regard
these interrupted perceptions as different, (which they really are) but on
the contrary consider them as individually the same, upon account of their
resemblance. But as this interruption of their existence is contrary to
their perfect identity, and makes us regard the first impression as
annihilated, and the second as newly created, we find ourselves somewhat
at a loss, and are involved in a kind of contradiction. In order to free
ourselves from this difficulty, we disguise, as much as possible, the
interruption, or rather remove it entirely, by supposing that these
interrupted perceptions are connected by a real existence, of which we are
insensible. This supposition, or idea of continued existence, acquires a
force and vivacity from the memory of these broken impressions, and from
that propensity, which they give us, to suppose them the same; and
according to the precedent reasoning, the very essence of belief consists
in the force and vivacity of the conception.

In order to justify this system, there are four things requisite. First,
To explain the PRINCIPIUM INDIVIDUATIONIS, or principle of identity.
Secondly, Give a reason, why the resemblance of our broken and interrupted
perceptions induces us to attribute an identity to them. Thirdly, Account
for that propensity, which this illusion gives, to unite these broken
appearances by a continued existence. Fourthly and lastly, Explain that
force and vivacity of conception, which arises from the propensity.

First, As to the principle of individuation; we may observe, that the view
of any one object is not sufficient to convey the idea of identity. For in
that proposition, an object is the same with itself, if the idea expressed
by the word, object, were no ways distinguished from that meant by itself;
we really should mean nothing, nor would the proposition contain a
predicate and a subject, which however are implyed in this affirmation.
One single object conveys the idea of unity, not that of identity.

On the other hand, a multiplicity of objects can never convey this idea,
however resembling they may be supposed. The mind always pronounces the
one not to be the other, and considers them as forming two, three, or any
determinate number of objects, whose existences are entirely distinct and
independent.

Since then both number and unity are incompatible with the relation of
identity, it must lie in something that is neither of them. But to tell
the truth, at first sight this seems utterly impossible. Betwixt unity and
number there can be no medium; no more than betwixt existence and
nonexistence. After one object is supposed to exist, we must either
suppose another also to exist; in which case we have the idea of number:
Or we must suppose it not to exist; in which case the first object remains
at unity.

To remove this difficulty, let us have recourse to the idea of time or
duration. I have already observ’d,^[3]
that time, in a strict sense, implies succession, and that when we apply
its idea to any unchangeable object, it is only by a fiction of the
imagination, by which the unchangeable object is supposd to participate
of the changes of the co-existent objects, and in particular of that of
our perceptions. This fiction of the imagination almost universally takes
place; and it is by means of it, that a single object, placd before us,
and surveyd for any time without our discovering in it any interruption
or variation, is able to give us a notion of identity. For when we
consider any two points of this time, we may place them in different
lights: We may either survey them at the very same instant; in which case
they give us the idea of number, both by themselves and by the object;
which must be multiplyd, in order to be conceivd at once, as existent in
these two different points of time: Or on the other hand, we may trace
the succession of time by a like succession of ideas, and conceiving
first one moment, along with the object then existent, imagine afterwards
a change in the time without any VARIATION or INTERRUPTION in the object;
in which case it gives us the idea of unity. Here then is an idea, which
is a medium betwixt unity and number; or more properly speaking, is
either of them, according to the view, in which we take it: And this idea
we call that of identity. We cannot, in any propriety of speech, say,
that an object is the same with itself, unless we mean, that the object
existent at one time is the same with itself existent at another. By this
means we make a difference, betwixt the idea meant by the word, OBJECT,
and that meant by ITSELF, without going the length of number, and at the
same time without restraining ourselves to a strict and absolute unity.

[3]
Part II, Sect. 5.

Thus the principle of individuation is nothing but the INVARIABLENESS and
UNINTERRUPTEDNESS of any object, thro a supposd variation of time, by
which the mind can trace it in the different periods of its existence,
without any break of the view, and without being obligd to form the idea
of multiplicity or number.

I now proceed to explain the SECOND part of my system, and shew why the
constancy of our perceptions makes us ascribe to them a perfect numerical
identity, tho there be very long intervals betwixt their appearance, and
they have only one of the essential qualities of identity, VIZ,
INVARIABLENESS. That I may avoid all ambiguity and confusion on this
head, I shall observe, that I here account for the opinions and belief of
the vulgar with regard to the existence of body; and therefore must
entirely conform myself to their manner of thinking and of expressing
themselves. Now we have already observ’d, that however philosophers
may distinguish betwixt the objects and perceptions of the senses; which
they suppose co-existent and resembling; yet this is a distinction, which
is not comprehended by the generality of mankind, who as they perceive
only one being, can never assent to the opinion of a double existence and
representation. Those very sensations, which enter by the eye or ear, are
with them the true objects, nor can they readily conceive that this pen
or paper, which is immediately perceivd, represents another, which is
different from, but resembling it. In order, therefore, to accommodate
myself to their notions, I shall at first suppose; that there is only a
single existence, which I shall call indifferently OBJECT or PERCEPTION,
according as it shall seem best to suit my purpose, understanding by both
of them what any common man means by a hat, or shoe, or stone, or any
other impression, conveyd to him by his senses. I shall be sure to give
warning, when I return to a more philosophical way of speaking and
thinking.

To enter, therefore, upon the question concerning the source of the error
and deception with regard to identity, when we attribute it to our
resembling perceptions, notwithstanding their interruption; I must here
recal an observation, which I have already provd and explain’d.^[4]
Nothing is more apt to make us mistake one idea for another, than any
relation betwixt them, which associates them together in the imagination,
and makes it pass with facility from one to the other. Of all relations,
that of resemblance is in this respect the most efficacious; and that
because it not only causes an association of ideas, but also of
dispositions, and makes us conceive the one idea by an act or operation
of the mind, similar to that by which we conceive the other. This
circumstance I have observ’d to be of great moment; and we may
establish it for a general rule, that whatever ideas place the mind in
the same disposition or in similar ones, are very apt to be confounded.
The mind readily passes from one to the other, and perceives not the
change without a strict attention, of which, generally speaking, it is
wholly incapable.

[4]
Part II. Sect. 5.

In order to apply this general maxim, we must first examine the
disposition of the mind in viewing any object which preserves a perfect
identity, and then find some other object, that is confounded with it, by
causing a similar disposition. When we fix our thought on any object, and
suppose it to continue the same for some time; it is evident we suppose
the change to lie only in the time, and never exert ourselves to produce
any new image or idea of the object. The faculties of the mind repose
themselves in a manner, and take no more exercise, than what is necessary
to continue that idea, of which we were formerly possest, and which
subsists without variation or interruption. The passage from one moment to
another is scarce felt, and distinguishes not itself by a different
perception or idea, which may require a different direction of the
spirits, in order to its conception.

Now what other objects, beside identical ones, are capable of placing the
mind in the same disposition, when it considers them, and of causing the
same uninterrupted passage of the imagination from one idea to another?
This question is of the last importance. For if we can find any such
objects, we may certainly conclude, from the foregoing principle, that
they are very naturally confounded with identical ones, and are taken for
them in most of our reasonings. But though this question be very
important, it is not very difficult nor doubtful. For I immediately reply,
that a succession of related objects places the mind in this disposition,
and is considered with the same smooth and uninterrupted progress of the
imagination, as attends the view of the same invariable object. The very
nature and essence of relation is to connect our ideas with each other,
and upon the appearance of one, to facilitate the transition to its
correlative. The passage betwixt related ideas is, therefore, so smooth
and easy, that it produces little alteration on the mind, and seems like
the continuation of the same action; and as the continuation of the same
action is an effect of the continued view of the same object, it is for
this reason we attribute sameness to every succession of related objects.
The thought slides along the succession with equal facility, as if it
considered only one object; and therefore confounds the succession with
the identity.

We shall afterwards see many instances of this tendency of relation to
make us ascribe an identity to different objects; but shall here confine
ourselves to the present subject. We find by experience, that there is
such a constancy in almost all the impressions of the senses, that their
interruption produces no alteration on them, and hinders them not from
returning the same in appearance and in situation as at their first
existence. I survey the furniture of my chamber; I shut my eyes, and
afterwards open them; and find the new perceptions to resemble perfectly
those, which formerly struck my senses. This resemblance is observed in a
thousand instances, and naturally connects together our ideas of these
interrupted perceptions by the strongest relation, and conveys the mind
with an easy transition from one to another. An easy transition or passage
of the imagination, along the ideas of these different and interrupted
perceptions, is almost the same disposition of mind with that in which we
consider one constant and uninterrupted perception. It is therefore very
natural for us to mistake the one for the other.^[5]

[5]
This reasoning, it must be confest, is somewhat abstruse, and difficult to be
comprehended; but it is remarkable, that this very difficulty may be converted
into a proof of the reasoning. We may observe, that there are two relations,
and both of them resemblances, which contribute to our mistaking the succession
of our interrupted perceptions for an identical object. The first is, the
resemblance of the perceptions: The second is the resemblance, which the act of
the mind in surveying a succession of resembling objects bears to that in
surveying an identical object. Now these resemblances we are apt to confound
with each other; and it is natural we shoud, according to this very reasoning.
But let us keep them distinct, and we shall find no difficulty in conceiving
the precedent argument.

The persons, who entertain this opinion concerning the identity of our
resembling perceptions, are in general an the unthinking and
unphilosophical part of mankind, (that is, all of us, at one time or
other) and consequently such as suppose their perceptions to be their only
objects, and never think of a double existence internal and external,
representing and represented. The very image, which is present to the
senses, is with us the real body; and it is to these interrupted images we
ascribe a perfect identity. But as the interruption of the appearance
seems contrary to the identity, and naturally leads us to regard these
resembling perceptions as different from each other, we here find
ourselves at a loss how to reconcile such opposite opinions. The smooth
passage of the imagination along the ideas of the resembling perceptions
makes us ascribe to them a perfect identity. The interrupted manner of
their appearance makes us consider them as so many resembling, but still
distinct beings, which appear after certain intervals. The perplexity
arising from this contradiction produces a propension to unite these
broken appearances by the fiction of a continued existence, which is the
third part of that hypothesis I proposed to explain.

Nothing is more certain from experience, than that any contradiction
either to the sentiments or passions gives a sensible uneasiness, whether
it proceeds from without or from within; from the opposition of external
objects, or from the combat of internal principles. On the contrary,
whatever strikes in with the natural propensities, and either externally
forwards their satisfaction, or internally concurs with their movements,
is sure to give a sensible pleasure. Now there being here an opposition
betwixt the notion of the identity of resembling perceptions, and the
interruption of their appearance, the mind must be uneasy in that
situation, and will naturally seek relief from the uneasiness. Since the
uneasiness arises from the opposition of two contrary principles, it must
look for relief by sacrificing the one to the other. But as the smooth
passage of our thought along our resembling perceptions makes us ascribe
to them an identity, we can never without reluctance yield up that
opinion. We must, therefore, turn to the other side, and suppose that our
perceptions are no longer interrupted, but preserve a continued as well as
an invariable existence, and are by that means entirely the same. But here
the interruptions in the appearance of these perceptions are so long and
frequent, that it is impossible to overlook them; and as the appearance of
a perception in the mind and its existence seem at first sight entirely
the same, it may be doubted, whether we can ever assent to so palpable a
contradiction, and suppose a perception to exist without being present to
the mind. In order to clear up this matter, and learn how the interruption
in the appearance of a perception implies not necessarily an interruption
in its existence, it will be proper to touch upon some principles, which
we shall have occasion to explain more fully afterwards.^[6]

[6]
Sect. 6.

We may begin with observing, that the difficulty in the present case is
not concerning the matter of fact, or whether the mind forms such a
conclusion concerning the continued existence of its perceptions, but only
concerning the manner in which the conclusion is formed, and principles
from which it is derived. It is certain, that almost all mankind, and even
philosophers themselves, for the greatest part of their lives, take their
perceptions to be their only objects, and suppose, that the very being,
which is intimately present to the mind, is the real body or material
existence. It is also certain, that this very perception or object is
supposed to have a continued uninterrupted being, and neither to be
annihilated by our absence, nor to be brought into existence by our
presence. When we are absent from it, we say it still exists, but that we
do not feel, we do not see it. When we are present, we say we feel, or see
it. Here then may arise two questions; First, How we can satisfy ourselves
in supposing a perception to be absent from the mind without being
annihilated. Secondly, After what manner we conceive an object to become
present to the mind, without some new creation of a perception or image;
and what we mean by this seeing, and feeling, and perceiving.

As to the first question; we may observe, that what we call a mind, is
nothing but a heap or collection of different perceptions, united together
by certain relations, and supposed, though falsely, to be endowed with a
perfect simplicity and identity. Now as every perception is
distinguishable from another, and may be considered as separately
existent; it evidently follows, that there is no absurdity in separating
any particular perception from the mind; that is, in breaking off all its
relations, with that connected mass of perceptions, which constitute a
thinking being.

The same reasoning affords us an answer to the second question. If the
name of perception renders not this separation from a mind absurd and
contradictory, the name of object, standing for the very same thing, can
never render their conjunction impossible. External objects are seen, and
felt, and become present to the mind; that is, they acquire such a
relation to a connected heap of perceptions, as to influence them very
considerably in augmenting their number by present reflections and
passions, and in storing the memory with ideas. The same continued and
uninterrupted Being may, therefore, be sometimes present to the mind, and
sometimes absent from it, without any real or essential change in the
Being itself. An interrupted appearance to the senses implies not
necessarily an interruption in the existence. The supposition of the
continued existence of sensible objects or perceptions involves no
contradiction. We may easily indulge our inclination to that supposition.
When the exact resemblance of our perceptions makes us ascribe to them an
identity, we may remove the seeming interruption by feigning a continued
being, which may fill those intervals, and preserve a perfect and entire
identity to our perceptions.

But as we here not only feign but believe this continued existence, the
question is, from whence arises such a belief; and this question leads us
to the fourth member of this system. It has been proved already, that
belief in general consists in nothing, but the vivacity of an idea; and
that an idea may acquire this vivacity by its relation to some present
impression. Impressions are naturally the most vivid perceptions of the
mind; and this quality is in part conveyed by the relation to every
connected idea. The relation causes a smooth passage from the impression
to the idea, and even gives a propensity to that passage. The mind falls
so easily from the one perception to the other, that it scarce perceives
the change, but retains in the second a considerable share of the vivacity
of the first. It is excited by the lively impression; and this vivacity is
conveyed to the related idea, without any great diminution in the passage,
by reason of the smooth transition and the propensity of the imagination.

But suppose, that this propensity arises from some other principle,
besides that of relation; it is evident it must still have the same
effect, and convey the vivacity from the impression to the idea. Now this
is exactly the present case. Our memory presents us with a vast number of
instances of perceptions perfectly resembling each other, that return at
different distances of time, and after considerable interruptions. This
resemblance gives us a propension to consider these interrupted
perceptions as the same; and also a propension to connect them by a
continued existence, in order to justify this identity, and avoid the
contradiction, in which the interrupted appearance of these perceptions
seems necessarily to involve us. Here then we have a propensity to feign
the continued existence of all sensible objects; and as this propensity
arises from some lively impressions of the memory, it bestows a vivacity
on that fiction: or in other words, makes us believe the continued
existence of body. If sometimes we ascribe a continued existence to
objects, which are perfectly new to us, and of whose constancy and
coherence we have no experience, it is because the manner, in which they
present themselves to our senses, resembles that of constant and coherent
objects; and this resemblance is a source of reasoning and analogy, and
leads us to attribute the same qualities to similar objects.

I believe an intelligent reader will find less difficulty to assent to
this system, than to comprehend it fully and distinctly, and will allow,
after a little reflection, that every part carries its own proof along
with it. It is indeed evident, that as the vulgar suppose their
perceptions to be their only objects, and at the same time believe the
continued existence of matter, we must account for the origin of the
belief upon that supposition. Now upon that supposition, it is a false
opinion that any of our objects, or perceptions, are identically the same
after an interruption; and consequently the opinion of their identity can
never arise from reason, but must arise from the imagination. The
imagination is seduced into such an opinion only by means of the
resemblance of certain perceptions; since we find they are only our
resembling perceptions, which we have a propension to suppose the same.
This propension to bestow an identity on our resembling perceptions,
produces the fiction of a continued existence; since that fiction, as well
as the identity, is really false, as is acknowledged by all philosophers,
and has no other effect than to remedy the interruption of our
perceptions, which is the only circumstance that is contrary to their
identity. In the last place this propension causes belief by means of the
present impressions of the memory; since without the remembrance of former
sensations, it is plain we never should have any belief of the continued
existence of body. Thus in examining all these parts, we find that each of
them is supported by the strongest proofs: and that all of them together
form a consistent system, which is perfectly convincing. A strong
propensity or inclination alone, without any present impression, will
sometimes cause a belief or opinion. How much more when aided by that
circumstance?

But though we are led after this manner, by the natural propensity of the
imagination, to ascribe a continued existence to those sensible objects or
perceptions, which we find to resemble each other in their interrupted
appearance; yet a very little reflection and philosophy is sufficient to
make us perceive the fallacy of that opinion. I have already observed,
that there is an intimate connexion betwixt those two principles, of a
continued and of a distinct or independent existence, and that we no
sooner establish the one than the other follows, as a necessary
consequence. It is the opinion of a continued existence, which first takes
place, and without much study or reflection draws the other along with it,
wherever the mind follows its first and most natural tendency. But when we
compare experiments, and reason a little upon them, we quickly perceive,
that the doctrine of the independent existence of our sensible perceptions
is contrary to the plainest experience. This leads us backward upon our
footsteps to perceive our error in attributing a continued existence to
our perceptions, and is the origin of many very curious opinions, which we
shall here endeavour to account for.

It will first be proper to observe a few of those experiments, which
convince us, that our perceptions are not possest of any independent
existence. When we press one eye with a finger, we immediately perceive
all the objects to become double, and one half of them to be removed from
their common and natural position. But as we do not attribute to continued
existence to both these perceptions, and as they are both of the same
nature, we clearly perceive, that all our perceptions are dependent on our
organs, and the disposition of our nerves and animal spirits. This opinion
is confirmed by the seeming encrease and diminution of objects, according
to their distance; by the apparent alterations in their figure; by the
changes in their colour and other qualities from our sickness and
distempers: and by an infinite number of other experiments of the same
kind; from all which we learn, that our sensible perceptions are not
possest of any distinct or independent existence.

The natural consequence of this reasoning should be, that our perceptions
have no more a continued than an independent existence; and indeed
philosophers have so far run into this opinion, that they change their
system, and distinguish, (as we shall do for the future) betwixt
perceptions and objects, of which the former are supposed to be
interrupted, and perishing, and different at every different return; the
latter to be uninterrupted, and to preserve a continued existence and
identity. But however philosophical this new system may be esteemed, I
assert that it is only a palliative remedy, and that it contains all the
difficulties of the vulgar system, with some others, that are peculiar to
itself. There are no principles either of the understanding or fancy,
which lead us directly to embrace this opinion of the double existence of
perceptions and objects, nor can we arrive at it but by passing through
the common hypothesis of the identity and continuance of our interrupted
perceptions. Were we not first perswaded, that our perceptions are our
only objects, and continue to exist even when they no longer make their
appearance to the senses, we should never be led to think, that our
perceptions and objects are different, and that our objects alone preserve
a continued existence. The latter hypothesis has no primary recommendation
either to reason or the imagination, but acquires all its influence on the
imagination from the former. This proposition contains two parts, which we
shall endeavour to prove as distinctly and clearly, as such abstruse
subjects will permit.

As to the first part of the proposition, that this philosophical
hypothesis has no primary recommendation, either to reason, or the
imagination, we may soon satisfy ourselves with regard to reason by the
following reflections. The only existences, of which we are certain, are
perceptions, which being immediately present to us by consciousness,
command our strongest assent, and are the first foundation of all our
conclusions. The only conclusion we can draw from the existence of one
thing to that of another, is by means of the relation of cause and effect,
which shews, that there is a connexion betwixt them, and that the
existence of one is dependent on that of the other. The idea of this
relation is derived from past experience, by which we find, that two
beings are constantly conjoined together, and are always present at once
to the mind. But as no beings are ever present to the mind but
perceptions; it follows that we may observe a conjunction or a relation of
cause and effect between different perceptions, but can never observe it
between perceptions and objects. It is impossible, therefore, that from
the existence or any of the qualities of the former, we can ever form any
conclusion concerning the existence of the latter, or ever satisfy our
reason in this particular.

It is no less certain, that this philosophical system has no primary
recommendation to the imagination, and that that faculty would never, of
itself, and by its original tendency, have fallen upon such a principle. I
confess it will be somewhat difficult to prove this to the fall
satisfaction of the reader; because it implies a negative, which in many
cases will not admit of any positive proof. If any one would take the
pains to examine this question, and would invent a system, to account for
the direct origin of this opinion from the imagination, we should be able,
by the examination of that system, to pronounce a certain judgment in the
present subject. Let it be taken for granted, that our perceptions are
broken, and interrupted, and however like, are still different from each
other; and let any one upon this supposition shew why the fancy, directly
and immediately, proceeds to the belief of another existence, resembling
these perceptions in their nature, but yet continued, and uninterrupted,
and identical; and after he has done this to my satisfaction, I promise to
renounce my present opinion. Mean while I cannot forbear concluding, from
the very abstractedness and difficulty of the first supposition, that it
is an improper subject for the fancy to work upon. Whoever would explain
the origin of the common opinion concerning the continued and distinct
existence of body, must take the mind in its common situation, and must
proceed upon the supposition, that our perceptions are our only objects,
and continue to exist even when they are not perceived. Though this
opinion be false, it is the most natural of any, and has alone any primary
recommendation to the fancy.

As to the second part of the proposition, that the philosophical system
acquires all its influence on the imagination from the vulgar one; we may
observe, that this is a natural and unavoidable consequence of the
foregoing conclusion, that it has no primary recommendation to reason or
the imagination. For as the philosophical system is found by experience to
take hold of many minds, and in particular of all those, who reflect ever
so little on this subject, it must derive all its authority from the
vulgar system; since it has no original authority of its own. The manner,
in which these two systems, though directly contrary, are connected
together, may be explains, as follows.

The imagination naturally runs on in this train of thinking. Our
perceptions are our only objects: Resembling perceptions are the same,
however broken or uninterrupted in their appearance: This appealing
interruption is contrary to the identity: The interruption consequently
extends not beyond the appearance, and the perception or object really
continues to exist, even when absent from us: Our sensible perceptions
have, therefore, a continued and uninterrupted existence. But as a little
reflection destroys this conclusion, that our perceptions have a continued
existence, by shewing that they have a dependent one, it would naturally
be expected, that we must altogether reject the opinion, that there is
such a thing in nature as a continued existence, which is preserved even
when it no longer appears to the senses. The case, however, is otherwise.
Philosophers are so far from rejecting the opinion of a continued
existence upon rejecting that of the independence and continuance of our
sensible perceptions, that though all sects agree in the latter sentiment,
the former, which is, in a manner, its necessary consequence, has been
peculiar to a few extravagant sceptics; who after all maintained that
opinion in words only, and were never able to bring themselves sincerely
to believe it.

There is a great difference betwixt such opinions as we form after a calm
and profound reflection, and such as we embrace by a kind of instinct or
natural impulse, on account of their suitableness and conformity to the
mind. If these opinions become contrary, it is not difficult to foresee
which of them will have the advantage. As long as our attention is bent
upon the subject, the philosophical and studyed principle may prevail; but
the moment we relax our thoughts, nature will display herself, and draw us
back to our former opinion. Nay she has sometimes such an influence, that
she can stop our progress, even in the midst of our most profound
reflections, and keep us from running on with all the consequences of any
philosophical opinion. Thus though we clearly perceive the dependence and
interruption of our perceptions, we stop short in our career, and never
upon that account reject the notion of an independent and continued
existence. That opinion has taken such deep root in the imagination, that
it is impossible ever to eradicate it, nor will any strained metaphysical
conviction of the dependence of our perceptions be sufficient for that
purpose.

But though our natural and obvious principles here prevail above our
studied reflections, it is certain there must be sonic struggle and
opposition in the case: at least so long as these rejections retain any
force or vivacity. In order to set ourselves at ease in this particular,
we contrive a new hypothesis, which seems to comprehend both these
principles of reason and imagination. This hypothesis is the
philosophical, one of the double existence of perceptions and objects;
which pleases our reason, in allowing, that our dependent perceptions are
interrupted and different; and at the same time is agreeable to the
imagination, in attributing a continued existence to something else, which
we call objects. This philosophical system, therefore, is the monstrous
offspring of two principles, which are contrary to each other, which are
both at once embraced by the mind, and which are unable mutually to
destroy each other. The imagination tells us, that our resembling
perceptions have a continued and uninterrupted existence, and are not
annihilated by their absence. Reflection tells us, that even our
resembling perceptions are interrupted in their existence, and different
from each other. The contradiction betwixt these opinions we elude by a
new fiction, which is conformable to the hypotheses both of reflection and
fancy, by ascribing these contrary qualities to different existences; the
interruption to perceptions, and the continuance to objects. Nature is
obstinate, and will not quit the field, however strongly attacked by
reason; and at the same time reason is so clear in the point, that there
is no possibility of disguising her. Not being able to reconcile these two
enemies, we endeavour to set ourselves at ease as much as possible, by
successively granting to each whatever it demands, and by feigning a
double existence, where each may find something, that has all the
conditions it desires. Were we fully convinced, that our resembling
perceptions are continued, and identical, and independent, we should never
run into this opinion of a double existence, since we should find
satisfaction in our first supposition, and would not look beyond. Again,
were we fully convinced, that our perceptions are dependent, and
interrupted, and different, we should be as little inclined to embrace the
opinion of a double existence; since in that case we should clearly
perceive the error of our first supposition of a continued existence, and
would never regard it any farther. It is therefore from the intermediate
situation of the mind, that this opinion arises, and from such an
adherence to these two contrary principles, as makes us seek some pretext
to justify our receiving both; which happily at last is found in the
system of a double existence.

Another advantage of this philosophical system is its similarity to the
vulgar one; by which means we can humour our reason for a moment, when it
becomes troublesome and sollicitous; and yet upon its least negligence or
inattention, can easily return to our vulgar and natural notions.
Accordingly we find, that philosophers neglect not this advantage; but
immediately upon leaving their closets, mingle with the rest of mankind in
those exploded opinions, that our perceptions are our only objects, and
continue identically and uninterruptedly the same in all their interrupted
appearances.

There are other particulars of this system, wherein we may remark its
dependence on the fancy, in a very conspicuous manner. Of these, I shall
observe the two following. First, We suppose external objects to resemble
internal perceptions. I have already shewn, that the relation of cause and
effect can never afford us any just conclusion from the existence or
qualities of our perceptions to the existence of external continued
objects: And I shall farther add, that even though they could afford such
a conclusion, we should never have any reason to infer, that our objects
resemble our perceptions. That opinion, therefore, is derived from nothing
but the quality of the fancy above-explained, (that it borrows all its
ideas from some precedent perception). We never can conceive any thing but
perceptions, and therefore must make every thing resemble them.

Secondly, As we suppose our objects in general to resemble our
perceptions, so we take it for granted, that every particular object
resembles that perception, which it causes. The relation of cause and
effect determines us to join the other of resemblance; and the ideas of
these existences being already united together in the fancy by the former
relation, we naturally add the latter to compleat the union. We have a
strong propensity to compleat every union by joining new relations to
those which we have before observed betwixt any ideas, as we shall have
occasion to observe presently.^[7]

[7]
Sect. 5.

Having thus given an account of all the systems both popular and
philosophical, with regard to external existences, I cannot forbear giving
vent to a certain sentiment, which arises upon reviewing those systems. I
begun this subject with premising, that we ought to have an implicit faith
in our senses, and that this would be the conclusion, I should draw from
the whole of my reasoning. But to be ingenuous, I feel myself at present
of a quite contrary sentiment, and am more inclined to repose no faith at
all in my senses, or rather imagination, than to place in it such an
implicit confidence. I cannot conceive how such trivial qualities of the
fancy, conducted by such false suppositions, can ever lead to any solid
and rational system. They are the coherence and constancy of our
perceptions, which produce the opinion of their continued existence;
though these qualities of perceptions have no perceivable connexion with
such an existence. The constancy of our perceptions has the most
considerable effect, and yet is attended with the greatest difficulties.
It is a gross illusion to suppose, that our resembling perceptions are
numerically the same; and it is this illusion, which leads us into the
opinion, that these perceptions are uninterrupted, and are still existent,
even when they are not present to the senses. This is the case with our
popular system. And as to our philosophical one, it is liable to the same
difficulties; and is over-and-above loaded with this absurdity, that it at
once denies and establishes the vulgar supposition. Philosophers deny our
resembling perceptions to be identically the same, and uninterrupted; and
yet have so great a propensity to believe them such, that they arbitrarily
invent a new set of perceptions, to which they attribute these qualities.
I say, a new set of perceptions: For we may well suppose in general, but
it is impossible for us distinctly to conceive, objects to be in their
nature any thing but exactly the same with perceptions. What then can we
look for from this confusion of groundless and extraordinary opinions but
error and falshood? And how can we justify to ourselves any belief we
repose in them?

This sceptical doubt, both with respect to reason and the senses, is a
malady, which can never be radically cured, but must return upon us every
moment, however we may chace it away, and sometimes may seem entirely free
from it. It is impossible upon any system to defend either our
understanding or senses; and we but expose them farther when we endeavour
to justify them in that manner. As the sceptical doubt arises naturally
from a profound and intense reflection on those subjects, it always
encreases, the farther we carry our reflections, whether in opposition or
conformity to it. Carelessness and in-attention alone can afford us any
remedy. For this reason I rely entirely upon them; and take it for
granted, whatever may be the reader’s opinion at this present moment, that
an hour hence he will be persuaded there is both an external and internal
world; and going upon that supposition, I intend to examine some general
systems both ancient and modern, which have been proposed of both, before
I proceed to a more particular enquiry concerning our impressions. This
will not, perhaps, in the end be found foreign to our present purpose.

SECT. III. OF THE ANTIENT PHILOSOPHY.

Several moralists have recommended it as an excellent method of becoming
acquainted with our own hearts, and knowing our progress in virtue, to
recollect our dreams in a morning, and examine them with the same rigour,
that we would our most serious and most deliberate actions. Our character
is the same throughout, say they, and appears best where artifice, fear,
and policy have no place, and men can neither be hypocrites with
themselves nor others. The generosity, or baseness of our temper, our
meekness or cruelty, our courage or pusilanimity, influence the fictions
of the imagination with the most unbounded liberty, and discover
themselves in the most glaring colours. In like manner, I am persuaded,
there might be several useful discoveries made from a criticism of the
fictions of the antient philosophy, concerning substances, and substantial
form, and accidents, and occult qualities; which, however unreasonable and
capricious, have a very intimate connexion with the principles of human
nature.

It is confest by the most judicious philosophers, that our ideas of bodies
are nothing but collections formed by the mind of the ideas of the several
distinct sensible qualities, of which objects are composed, and which we
find to have a constant union with each other. But however these qualities
may in themselves be entirely distinct, it is certain we commonly regard
the compound, which they form, as ONE thing, and as continuing the SAME
under very considerable alterations. The acknowledged composition is
evidently contrary to this supposed simplicity, and the variation to the
identity. It may, therefore, be worth while to consider the causes, which
make us almost universally fall into such evident contradictions, as well
as the means by which we endeavour to conceal them.

It is evident, that as the ideas of the several distinct, successive
qualities of objects are united together by a very close relation, the
mind, in looking along the succession, must be carryed from one part of it
to another by an easy transition, and will no more perceive the change,
than if it contemplated the same unchangeable object. This easy transition
is the effect, or rather essence of relation; I and as the imagination
readily takes one idea for another, where their influence on the mind is
similar; hence it proceeds, that any such succession of related qualities
is readily considered as one continued object, existing without any
variation. The smooth and uninterrupted progress of the thought, being
alike in both cases, readily deceives the mind, and makes us ascribe an
identity to the changeable succession of connected qualities.

But when we alter our method of considering the succession, and instead of
traceing it gradually through the successive points of time, survey at
once Any two distinct periods of its duration, and compare the different
conditions of the successive qualities; in that case the variations, which
were insensible when they arose gradually, do now appear of consequence,
and seem entirely to destroy the identity. By this means there arises a
kind of contrariety in our method of thinking, from the different points
of view, in which we survey the object, and from the nearness or
remoteness of those instants of time, which we compare together. When we
gradually follow an object in its successive changes, the smooth progress
of the thought makes us ascribe an identity to the succession; because it
is by a similar act of the mind we consider an unchangeable object. When
we compare its situation after a considerable change the progress of the
thought is broke; and consequently we are presented with the idea of
diversity: In order to reconcile which contradictions the imagination is
apt to feign something unknown and invisible, which it supposes to
continue the same under all these variations; and this unintelligible
something it calls a substance, or original and first matter.

We entertain a like notion with regard to the simplicity of substances,
and from like causes. Suppose an object perfectly simple and indivisible
to be presented, along with another object, whose co-existent parts are
connected together by a strong relation, it is evident the actions of the
mind, in considering these two objects, are not very different. The
imagination conceives the simple object at once, with facility, by a
single effort of thought, without change or variation. The connexion of
parts in the compound object has almost the same effect, and so unites the
object within itself, that the fancy feels not the transition in passing
from one part to another. Hence the colour, taste, figure, solidity, and
other qualities, combined in a peach or melon, are conceived to form one
thing; and that on account of their close relation, which makes them
affect the thought in the same manner, as if perfectly uncompounded. But
the mind rests not here. Whenever it views the object in another light, it
finds that all these qualities are different, and distinguishable, and
separable from each other; which view of things being destructive of its
primary and more natural notions, obliges the imagination to feign an
unknown something, or original substance and matter, as a principle of
union or cohesion among these qualities, and as what may give the compound
object a title to be called one thing, notwithstanding its diversity and
composition.

The peripatetic philosophy asserts the original matter to be perfectly
homogeneous in all bodies, and considers fire, water, earth, and air, as
of the very same substance; on account of their gradual revolutions and
changes into each other. At the same time it assigns to each of these
species of objects a distinct substantial form, which it supposes to be
the source of all those different qualities they possess, and to be a new
foundation of simplicity and identity to each particular species. All
depends on our manner of viewing the objects. When we look along the
insensible changes of bodies, we suppose all of them to be of the same
substance or essence. When we consider their sensible differences, we
attribute to each of them a substantial and essential difference. And in
order to indulge ourselves in both these ways of considering our objects,
we suppose all bodies to have at once a substance and a substantial form.

The notion of accidents is an unavoidable consequence of this method of
thinking with regard to substances and substantial forms; nor can we
forbear looking upon colours, sounds, tastes, figures, and other
properties of bodies, as existences, which cannot subsist apart, but
require a subject of inhesion to sustain and support them. For having
never discovered any of these sensible qualities, where, for the reasons
above-mentioned, we did not likewise fancy a substance to exist; the same
habit, which makes us infer a connexion betwixt cause and effect, makes us
here infer a dependence of every quality on the unknown substance. The
custom of imagining a dependence has the same effect as the custom of
observing it would have. This conceit, however, is no more reasonable than
any of the foregoing. Every quality being a distinct thing from another,
may be conceived to exist apart, and may exist apart, not only from every
other quality, but from that unintelligible chimera of a substance.

But these philosophers carry their fictions still farther in their
sentiments concerning occult qualities, and both suppose a substance
supporting, which they do not understand, and an accident supported, of
which they have as imperfect an idea. The whole system, therefore, is
entirely incomprehensible, and yet is derived from principles as natural
as any of these above-explained.

In considering this subject we may observe a gradation of three opinions,
that rise above each other, according as the persons, who form them,
acquire new degrees of reason and knowledge. These opinions are that of
the vulgar, that of a false philosophy, and that of the true; where we
shall find upon enquiry, that the true philosophy approaches nearer to the
sentiments of the vulgar, than to those of a mistaken knowledge. It is
natural for men, in their common and care, less way of thinking, to
imagine they perceive a connexion betwixt such objects as they have
constantly found united together; and because custom has rendered it
difficult to separate the ideas, they are apt to fancy such a separation
to be in itself impossible and absurd. But philosophers, who abstract from
the effects of custom, and compare the ideas of objects, immediately
perceive the falshood of these vulgar sentiments, and discover that there
is no known connexion among objects. Every different object appears to
them entirely distinct and separate; and they perceive, that it is not
from a view of the nature and qualities of objects we infer one from
another, but only when in several instances we observe them to have been
constantly conjoined. But these philosophers, instead of drawing a just
inference from this observation, and concluding, that we have no idea of
power or agency, separate from the mind, and belonging to causes; I say,
instead of drawing this conclusion, they frequently search for the
qualities, in which this agency consists, and are displeased with every
system, which their reason suggests to them, in order to explain it. They
have sufficient force of genius to free them from the vulgar error, that
there is a natural and perceivable connexion betwixt the several sensible
qualities and actions of matter; but not sufficient to keep them from ever
seeking for this connexion in matter, or causes. Had they fallen upon the
just conclusion, they would have returned back to the situation of the
vulgar, and would have regarded all these disquisitions with indolence and
indifference. At present they seem to be in a very lamentable condition,
and such as the poets have given us but a faint notion of in their
descriptions of the punishment of Sisyphus and Tantalus. For what can be
imagined more tormenting, than to seek with eagerness, what for ever flies
us; and seek for it in a place, where it is impossible it can ever exist?

But as nature seems to have observed a kind of justice and compensation in
every thing, she has not neglected philosophers more than the rest of the
creation; but has reserved them a consolation amid all their
disappointments and afflictions. This consolation principally consists in
their invention of the words: faculty and occult quality. For it being
usual, after the frequent use of terms, which are really significant and
intelligible, to omit the idea, which we would express by them, and to
preserve only the custom, by which we recal the idea at pleasure; so it
naturally happens, that after the frequent use of terms, which are wholly
insignificant and unintelligible, we fancy them to be on the same footing
with the precedent, and to have a secret meaning, which we might discover
by reflection. The resemblance of their appearance deceives the mind, as
is usual, and makes us imagine a thorough resemblance and conformity. By
this means these philosophers set themselves at ease, and arrive at last,
by an illusion, at the same indifference, which the people attain by their
stupidity, and true philosophers by their moderate scepticism. They need
only say, that any phenomenon, which puzzles them, arises from a faculty
or an occult quality, and there is an end of all dispute and enquiry upon
the matter.

But among all the instances, wherein the Peripatetics have shewn they were
guided by every trivial propensity of the imagination, no one is
more-remarkable than their sympathies, antipathies, and horrors of a
vacuum. There is a very remarkable inclination in human nature, to bestow
on external objects the same emotions, which it observes in itself; and to
find every where those ideas, which are most present to it. This
inclination, it is true, is suppressed by a little reflection, and only
takes place in children, poets, and the antient philosophers. It appears
in children, by their desire of beating the stones, which hurt them: In
poets, by their readiness to personify every thing: And in the antient
philosophers, by these fictions of sympathy and antipathy. We must pardon
children, because of their age; poets, because they profess to follow
implicitly the suggestions of their fancy: But what excuse shall we find
to justify our philosophers in so signal a weakness?

SECT. IV. OF THE MODERN PHILOSOPHY.

But here it may be objected, that the imagination, according to my own
confession, being the ultimate judge of all systems of philosophy, I am
unjust in blaming the antient philosophers for making use of that faculty,
and allowing themselves to be entirely guided by it in their reasonings.
In order to justify myself, I must distinguish in the imagination betwixt
the principles which are permanent, irresistible, and universal; such as
the customary transition from causes to effects, and from effects to
causes: And the principles, which are changeable, weak, and irregular;
such as those I have just now taken notice of. The former are the
foundation of all our thoughts and actions, so that upon their removal
human nature must immediately perish and go to ruin. The latter are
neither unavoidable to mankind, nor necessary, or so much as useful in the
conduct of life; but on the contrary are observed only to take place in
weak minds, and being opposite to the other principles of custom and
reasoning, may easily be subverted by a due contrast and opposition. For
this reason the former are received by philosophy, and the latter
rejected. One who concludes somebody to be near him, when he hears an
articulate voice in the dark, reasons justly and naturally; though that
conclusion be derived from nothing but custom, which infixes and inlivens
the idea of a human creature, on account of his usual conjunction with the
present impression. But one, who is tormented he knows not why, with the
apprehension of spectres in the dark, may, perhaps, be said to reason, and
to reason naturally too: But then it must be in the same sense, that a
malady is said to be natural; as arising from natural causes, though it be
contrary to health, the most agreeable and most natural situation of man.

The opinions of the antient philosophers, their fictions of substance and
accident, and their reasonings concerning substantial forms and occult
qualities, are like the spectres in the dark, and are derived from
principles, which, however common, are neither universal nor unavoidable
in human nature. The modern philosophy pretends to be entirely free from
this defect, and to arise only from the solid, permanent, and consistent
principles of the imagination. Upon what grounds this pretension is
founded must now be the subject of our enquiry.

The fundamental principle of that philosophy is the opinion concerning
colours, sounds, tastes, smells, heat and cold; which it asserts to be
nothing but impressions in the mind, derived from the operation of
external objects, and without any resemblance to the qualities of the
objects. Upon examination, I find only one of the reasons commonly
produced for this opinion to be satisfactory, viz. that derived from the
variations of those impressions, even while the external object, to all
appearance, continues the same. These variations depend upon several
circumstances. Upon the different situations of our health: A man in a
malady feels a disagreeable taste in meats, which before pleased him the
most. Upon the different complexions and constitutions of men That seems
bitter to one, which is sweet to another. Upon the difference of their
external situation and position: Colours reflected from the clouds change
according to the distance of the clouds, and according to the angle they
make with the eye and luminous body. Fire also communicates the sensation
of pleasure at one distance, and that of pain at another. Instances of
this kind are very numerous and frequent.

The conclusion drawn from them, is likewise as satisfactory as can
possibly be imagined. It is certain, that when different impressions of
the same sense arise from any object, every one of these impressions has
not a resembling quality existent in the object. For as the same object
cannot, at the same time, be endowed with different qualities of the same
sense, and as the same quality cannot resemble impressions entirely
different; it evidently follows, that many of our impressions have no
external model or archetype. Now from like effects we presume like causes.
Many of the impressions of colour, sound, &c. are confest to be
nothing but internal existences, and to arise from causes, which no ways
resemble them. These impressions are in appearance nothing different from
the other impressions of colour, sound, &c. We conclude, therefore,
that they are, all of them, derived from a like origin.

This principle being once admitted, all the other doctrines of that
philosophy seem to follow by an easy consequence. For upon the removal of
sounds, colours, beat, cold, and other sensible qualities, from the rank
of continued independent existences, we are reduced merely to what are
called primary qualities, as the only real ones, of which we have any
adequate notion. These primary qualities are extension and solidity, with
their different mixtures and modifications; figure, motion, gravity, and
cohesion. The generation, encrease, decay, and corruption of animals and
vegetables, are nothing but changes of figure and motion; as also the
operations of all bodies on each other; of fire, of light, water, air,
earth, and of all the elements and powers of nature. One figure and motion
produces another figure and motion; nor does there remain in the material
universe any other principle, either active or passive, of which we can
form the most distant idea.

I believe many objections might be made to this system But at present I
shall confine myself to one, which is in my opinion very decisive. I
assert, that instead of explaining the operations of external objects by
its means, we utterly annihilate all these objects, and reduce ourselves
to the opinions of the most extravagant scepticism concerning them. If
colours, sounds, tastes, and smells be merely perceptions, nothing we can
conceive is possest of a real, continued, and independent existence; not
even motion, extension and solidity, which are the primary qualities
chiefly insisted on.

To begin with the examination of motion; it is evident this is a quality
altogether inconceivable alone, and without a reference to some other
object. The idea of motion necessarily supposes that of a body moving. Now
what is our idea of the moving body, without which motion is
incomprehensible? It must resolve itself into the idea of extension or of
solidity; and consequently the reality of motion depends upon that of
these other qualities.

This opinion, which is universally acknowledged concerning motion, I have
proved to be true with regard to extension; and have shewn that it is
impossible to conceive extension, but as composed of parts, endowed with
colour or solidity. The idea of extension is a compound idea; but as it is
not compounded of an infinite number of parts or inferior ideas, it must
at last resolve itself into such as are perfectly simple and indivisible.
These simple and indivisible parts, not being ideas of extension, must be
non entities, unless conceived as coloured or solid. Colour is excluded
from any real existence. The reality, therefore, of our idea of extension
depends upon the reality of that of solidity, nor can the former be just
while the latter is chimerical. Let us, then, lend our attention to the
examination of the idea of solidity.

The idea of solidity is that of two objects, which being impelled by the
utmost force, cannot penetrate each other; but still maintain a separate
and distinct existence. Solidity, therefore, is perfectly incomprehensible
alone, and without the conception of some bodies, which are solid, and
maintain this separate and distinct existence. Now what idea have we of
these bodies? The ideas of colours, sounds, and other secondary qualities
are excluded. The idea of motion depends on that of extension, and the
idea of extension on that of solidity. It is impossible, therefore, that
the idea of solidity can depend on either of them. For that would be to
run in a circle, and make one idea depend on another, while at the same
time the latter depends on the former. Our modern philosophy, therefore,
leaves us no just nor satisfactory idea of solidity; nor consequently of
matter.

This argument will appear entirely conclusive to every one that
comprehends it; but because it may seem abstruse and intricate to the
generality of readers, I hope to be excused, if I endeavour to render it
more obvious by some variation of the expression. In order to form an idea
of solidity, we must conceive two bodies pressing on each other without
any penetration; and it is impossible to arrive at this idea, when we
confine ourselves to one object, much more without conceiving any. Two
non-entities cannot exclude each other from their places; because they
never possess any place, nor can be endowed with any quality. Now I ask,
what idea do we form of these bodies or objects, to which we suppose
solidity to belong? To say, that we conceive them merely as solid, is to
run on in infinitum. To affirm, that we paint them out to ourselves as
extended, either resolves all into a false idea, or returns in a circle.
Extension must necessarily be considered either as coloured, which is a
false idea; I or as solid, which brings us back to the first question. We
may make the same observation concerning mobility and figure; and upon the
whole must conclude, that after the exclusion of colours, sounds, heat and
cold from the rank of external existences, there remains nothing, which
can afford us a just and constituent idea of body.

Add to this, that, properly speaking, solidity or impenetrability is
nothing, but an impossibility of annihilation, as^[8]
has been already observed: For which reason it is the more necessary for
us to form some distinct idea of that object, whose annihilation we
suppose impossible. An impossibility of being annihilated cannot exist,
and can never be conceived to exist, by itself: but necessarily requires
some object or real existence, to which it may belong. Now the difficulty
still remains, how to form an idea of this object or existence, without
having recourse to the secondary and sensible qualities.

[8]
Part II. Sect. 4.

Nor must we omit on this occasion our accustomed method of examining ideas
by considering those impressions, from which they are derived. The
impressions, which enter by the sight and hearing, the smell and taste,
are affirmed by modern philosophy to be without any resembling objects;
and consequently the idea of solidity, which is supposed to be real, can
never be derived from any of these senses. There remains, therefore, the
feeling as the only sense, that can convey the impression, which is
original to the idea of solidity; and indeed we naturally imagine, that we
feel the solidity of bodies, and need but touch any object in order to
perceive this quality. But this method of thinking is more popular than
philosophical; as will appear from the following reflections.

First, It is easy to observe, that though bodies are felt by means of
their solidity, yet the feeling is a quite different thing from the
solidity; and that they have not the least resemblance to each other. A
man, who has the palsey in one hand, has as perfect an idea of
impenetrability, when he observes that hand to be supported by the table,
as when he feels the same table with the other hand. An object, that
presses upon any of our members, meets with resistance; and that
resistance, by the motion it gives to the nerves and animal spirits,
conveys a certain sensation to the mind; but it does not follow, that the
sensation, motion, and resistance are any ways resembling.

Secondly, The impressions of touch are simple impressions, except when
considered with regard to their extension; which makes nothing to the
present purpose: And from this simplicity I infer, that they neither
represent solidity, nor any real object. For let us put two cases, viz.
that of a man, who presses a stone, or any solid body, with his hand, and
that of two stones, which press each other; it will readily be allowed,
that these two cases are not in every respect alike, but that in the
former there is conjoined with the solidity, a feeling or sensation, of
which there is no appearance in the latter. In order, therefore, to make
these two cases alike, it is necessary to remove some part of the
impression, which the man feels by his hand, or organ of sensation; and
that being impossible in a simple impression, obliges us to remove the
whole, and proves that this whole impression has no archetype or model in
external objects. To which we may add, that solidity necessarily supposes
two bodies, along with contiguity and impulse; which being a compound
object, can never be represented by a simple impression. Not to mention,
that though solidity continues always invariably the same, the impressions
of touch change every moment upon us; which is a clear proof that the
latter are not representations of the former.

Thus there is a direct and total opposition betwixt our reason and our
senses; or more properly speaking, betwixt those conclusions we form from
cause and effect, and those that persuade us of the continued and
independent existence of body. When we reason from cause and effect, we
conclude, that neither colour, sound, taste, nor smell have a continued
and independent existence. When we exclude these sensible qualities there
remains nothing in the universe, which has such an existence.

SECT. V. OF THE IMMATERIALITY OF THE SOUL.

Having found such contradictions and difficulties in every system
concerning external objects, and in the idea of matter, which we fancy so
clear and determinate, We shall naturally expect still greater
difficulties and contradictions in every hypothesis concerning our
internal perceptions, and the nature of the mind, which we are apt to
imagine so much more obscure, and uncertain. But in this we should deceive
ourselves. The intellectual world, though involved in infinite
obscurities, is not perplexed with any such contradictions, as those we
have discovered in the natural. What is known concerning it, agrees with
itself; and what is unknown, we must be contented to leave so.

It is true, would we hearken to certain philosophers, they promise to
diminish our ignorance; but I am afraid it is at the hazard of running us
into contradictions, from which the subject is of itself exempted. These
philosophers are the curious reasoners concerning the material or
immaterial substances, in which they suppose our perceptions to inhere. In
order to put a stop to these endless cavils on both sides, I know no
better method, than to ask these philosophers in a few words, What they
mean by substance and inhesion? And after they have answered this
question, it will then be reasonable, and not till then, to enter
seriously into the dispute.

This question we have found impossible to be answered with regard to
matter and body: But besides that in the case of the mind, it labours
under all the same difficulties, it is burthened with some additional
ones, which are peculiar to that subject. As every idea is derived from a
precedent impression, had we any idea of the substance of our minds, we
must also have an impression of it; which is very difficult, if not
impossible, to be conceived. For how can an impression represent a
substance, otherwise than by resembling it? And how can an impression
resemble a substance, since, according to this philosophy, it is not a
substance, and has none of the peculiar qualities or characteristics of a
substance?

But leaving the question of what may or may not be, for that other what
actually is, I desire those philosophers, who pretend that we have an idea
of the substance of our minds, to point out the impression that produces
it, and tell distinctly after what manner that impression operates, and
from what object it is derived. Is it an impression of sensation or of
reflection? Is it pleasant, or painful, or indifferent? I Does it attend
us at all times, or does it only return at intervals? If at intervals, at
what times principally does it return, and by what causes is it produced?

If instead of answering these questions, any one should evade the
difficulty, by saying, that the definition of a substance is something
which may exist by itself; and that this definition ought to satisfy us:
should this be said, I should observe, that this definition agrees to
every thing, that can possibly be conceived; and never will serve to
distinguish substance from accident, or the soul from its perceptions. For
thus I reason. Whatever is clearly conceived may exist; and whatever is
clearly conceived, after any manner, may exist after the same manner. This
is one principle, which has been already acknowledged. Again, every thing,
which is different, is distinguishable, and every thing which is
distinguishable, is separable by the imagination. This is another
principle. My conclusion from both is, that since all our perceptions are
different from each other, and from every thing else in the universe, they
are also distinct and separable, and may be considered as separately
existent, and may exist separately, and have no need of any thing else to
support their existence. They are, therefore, substances, as far as this
definition explains a substance.

Thus neither by considering the first origin of ideas, nor by means of a
definition are we able to arrive at any satisfactory notion of substance;
which seems to me a sufficient reason for abandoning utterly that dispute
concerning the materiality and immateriality of the soul, and makes me
absolutely condemn even the question itself. We have no perfect idea of
any thing but of a perception. A substance is entirely different from a
perception. We have, therefore, no idea of a substance. Inhesion in
something is supposed to be requisite to support the existence of our
perceptions. Nothing appears requisite to support the existence of a
perception. We have, therefore, no idea of inhesion. What possibility then
of answering that question, Whether perceptions inhere in a material or
immaterial substance, when we do not so much as understand the meaning of
the question?

There is one argument commonly employed for the immateriality of the soul,
which seems to me remarkable. Whatever is extended consists of parts; and
whatever consists of parts is divisible, if not in reality, at least in
the imagination. But it is impossible anything divisible can be conjoined
to a thought or perception, which is a being altogether inseparable and
indivisible. For supposing such a conjunction, would the indivisible
thought exist on the left or on the right hand of this extended divisible
body? On the surface or in the middle? On the back or fore side of it? If
it be conjoined with the extension, it must exist somewhere within its
dimensions. If it exist within its dimensions, it must either exist in one
particular part; and then that particular part is indivisible, and the
perception is conjoined only with it, not with the extension: Or if the
thought exists in every part, it must also be extended, and separable, and
divisible, as well as the body; which is utterly absurd and contradictory.
For can any one conceive a passion of a yard in length, a foot in breadth,
and an inch in thickness? Thought, therefore, and extension are qualities
wholly incompatible, and never can incorporate together into one subject.

This argument affects not the question concerning the substance of the
soul, but only that concerning its local conjunction with matter; and
therefore it may not be improper to consider in general what objects are,
or are not susceptible of a local conjunction. This is a curious question,
and may lead us to some discoveries of considerable moment.

The first notion of space and extension is derived solely from the senses
of sight and feeling; nor is there any thing, but what is coloured or
tangible, that has parts disposed after such a manner, as to convey that
idea. When we diminish or encrease a relish, it is not after the same
manner that we diminish or encrease any visible object; and when several
sounds strike our hearing at once, custom and reflection alone make us
form an idea of the degrees of the distance and contiguity of those
bodies, from which they are derived. Whatever marks the place of its
existence either must be extended, or must be a mathematical point,
without parts or composition. What is extended must have a particular
figure, as square, round, triangular; none of which will agree to a
desire, or indeed to any impression or idea, except to these two senses
above-mentioned. Neither ought a desire, though indivisible, to be
considered as a mathematical point. For in that case it would be possible,
by the addition of others, to make two, three, four desires, and these
disposed and situated in such a manner, as to have a determinate length,
breadth and thickness; which is evidently absurd.